Late yesterday afternoon, our family made the trek down, down to the river. Hubby and Sofia jumped in to the cool wet; Michelle climbed on her rock and started with her toe dip, and I was waddling around between the three of them, adjusting to the water temperature.
Almost with no warning, the sky yawned open and released its belly of rain onto us. The sky waters are ladles full of teardrop sky, slapping us happily anywhere that our bodies are not submerged underwater. Mich was a misery on her rock, and gave in to our outstretched arms, to enter the river. She curled herself under Hubby’s chin and went into a quiet hibernation, waiting, waiting. Sofia loved it, singing and teaching us songs that she made up in the moment until we all joined in.
“It’s raining, it’s river, we’re all getting wet! Our heads are wet our tongues are wet it’s river raining wet, it’s raining it’s raining…”
Last night in bed the storm returned. From the inside world perspective, I could hear another song of the rains. The storm became a group of ancient Monks, chanting one long, unending belly deep “OOOOO-AAAAAAAAWWWWWWMMMMMMMM”. Thunder joined in.
It is an announcement. The storm announces life and worlds larger than we are, and forces beyond us. They can rip our clothing off the line if they want. They are gracious in allowing us to be here. I honor you, I respect your strength, your omnipotence, your willingness to share your land. We are not fully welcome: We are allowed.
In the early dawn, I am also reminded that we have been here – one? – no – two weeks! And this particular chapter of entry to the farm will soon end. Soon, Jose and Katiuska will come home from their seminar in Europe and join us at the farm. Soon, other group members will come out of their own break time, and join us. It is a strange and wondrous thought. Right now, Felipe is hacking away at something behind me with his machete, in the cool morning. He and Rosa have been our only contacts.
The people that we moved here for, are coming home. The storm announces this, too. Everything changes, everything moves. I can’t wait to make them a special meal from some roots and juice from the passion fruit. I can’t wait to welcome them home. The first time I arrived at the farm for a seminar in January, Jose greeted me with his big bear hug. “You like?” he asked in his simple Dominican accent, as he saw me gazing around the farm with wide eyes. “Yes,” I said, “I like it very much.” He swept his arms wide to encompass all of the land and said, “It is yours.”
I took him at his word.