Rainy Days and Tuesdays

There’s a good reason that clichés become clichés. It’s because there is a grain of truth within, not just because clichés are easy to remember. For example, every sports coach tells his or her students, “You’ll play like you practice.” Or, the oft-heard lament along the Appalachian Trail, “No pain, no rain, no Maine.”
Thus is was, armed with these words of wisdom, that I headed out for a training hike, in the rain, this morning. And, like discovering the kernel of truth in a cliché, I rediscovered the beauty of hiking in the rain.
I needed a shake-down cruise in the inclement weather to be sure I remembered how to at least protect my gear, if not my body. There’s an extra tool set required for walking on slippery surfaces. A great way to sprain an ankle is to slip into a 40-pound pack and then slip on your ass when your foot hits the wet leaves.
The rain had lessened to a drizzle as I cinched the protective cover onto my backpack. Now I faced a choice of whether to don my rain jacket. The options were to get wet from the falling rain or get wet from the sweat I knew would come with wearing the “breathable” rain gear. I opted to put the jacket on—then took it off within the first mile.
Hiking in the rain I’m cognizant of birds, as always. A difference is, however, that I keep my head down more than up. I pay attention to where my feet land, and thus scan the multitude of plants and fungi that cover the forest floor.
While some might think hiking in the rain dampens the experience, I find the opposite the case. It adds new dimensions. The sounds of the forest change and the light is totally different. Colors become more saturated and, thinking about the cliché—gilding the lily—the rain adds a sparkle to many plants that would not otherwise be there.
My mother often said I didn’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain. I now see she meant that in a positive way.