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A Walk in the Rain
By David Jernigan of Hansa Center for Optimum Health
May turn this short story into a book. Enjoy! The rain poured steadily as I walked down the dimly lit street to the rhythmical squeaking of my already soaked wingtips. A cold chill ran up my spine in reaction to the rain trickling down my collar. Somerset county, England is famous for is downpours, and the small country village where I doctored, was in for a real gully-washer.
The dingy neon sign buzzed and flickered in the window as I walked passed the local pub. I could feel the vibration of the sign penetrating to the core of my being, like fingers on a chalkboard, as I passed. The dark night was suddenly split asunder by the splintering crack of lightning followed by an explosion of sparks as the lightning struck a transformer across the narrow street. Pins and needles prickled my skin as I barely contained my sudden, but fleeting fight or flight reaction to the jarring event. Thunder rolled down the street like a stampede on a boardwalk, seeming to shake the whole world. It was the same street I always walked on my way home from work, but on this night it felt foreign, with odd shadows and bizarre illuminations from the light show of the storm. All of this made it all the more warming and comforting to finally see the amber glow of light coming from the kitchen window as I reached our grey stone cottage. Even the rain and chill couldn’t erase the smell of hot baked bread wafting through the night from the oven vent on the side of the house.
As I drew nearer the rain-streaked window, it revealed a scene that I promised myself would be etched permanently upon my memory. It warmed my heart, which swelled with love and appreciation for God’s blessings. It was my beautiful wife, Alaina, my three young lovely daughters and my handsome son, all gathered with glee, around the steaming loaves of bread, now freshly delivered from the oven. I was home, and though the night was dark and the rain persisted, all was right in the world. The old mahogany front door grated, complained and required my shoulder to free it, as it always swells, jamming in the doorframe, during the rainy season. However, it made enough noise to alert the house that “Daddy’s home” as was sung in unison, amid the clamoring as small, socked feet slid and sprinted to be the first to hug, in what always ended up as a huge, family hug. The long walk in the rain had taken its toll, not to mention the stress brought on by yet another business deal down the drain. Yet, with determination I wiped my soles and my soul clean of the mud from the day. Everything I could do in this day was done and the rest was up to God. The night would be free to spend quality time with my family. Dinner was soon set on the table. It was simple country fare, but our family thrived on this live food, energized by Alaina’s love of taking care of her family and nutritious like only homegrown food, harvested ripe and cooked fresh can yield. The fresh baked bread was still hot enough to melt the freshly churned goat butter. Fresh spinach salad was garnished with dandelion leaves and edible bright yellow dandelion blossoms foraged from the yard, topped with crumbles of fresh feta cheese from our Nubian goat, Molly. Shiny new red potatoes and black-eyed peas with scallions from the garden completed my wife’s daily love feast. The table was set with the finery of the kid’s handpicked wildflowers, white asters, showy, yellow, compass-plant blossoms, and tall spears of false blue indigo flowers, all neatly arranged in an antique green, quart Mason jar. The table was specially set by the children in “secret” and with great anticipation of Dad’s arrival. As we gathered around the table, I once again thanked God for His blessings, and in the words I grew up hearing my Dad say, I asked God to further “Bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies…Amen.” The children were glowing as they ate and told the highpoints of their day. Allen had chased our rooster, King, around the chicken yard, having finally gotten over his fear of him, and had gotten a new T-ball and bat from Grammie and Papa. Dell had succeeded in getting her week old kid, Ginger, to follow her on a lead. Pixie had finished an entire novel, and was telling the story almost verbatim from start to finish, and not to be outdone, little Amy had drawn on the toilet with permanent marker and cut her own hair again.
As I sat there transfixed by the beauty of the moment, a last drop of water from my walk in the rain fell from my hair down my neck sent a shivering surge of energy through me. Life is good.
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Dr. David Jernigan's Blog - Hansa Center
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