The Smell of Rain
As I write this it is raining, a steady, easy sort of rain that comes down a bit harder for a while then eases off the gas and just fills the air with water. When the first drops were beginning to fall the air took on that incredibly rich, fecund smell of dirt being washed away, and the sweet, sweet smell of clean, clear water.
All of my kids laughed at me as I stood in the rain and took in lungfuls of it.
My father called rain like this a farmer’s rain - a gentle soak, and then, boom - life.
There is something emotionally satisfying to watch a rain like this fall. It is a kind of assurance, a promise kept, that there is more yet to come. A hundred years ago I stood just inside the doorway of a polebarn and watched rain like this fall on a patch of Oregon’s Wilamette Valley. God help me, but I can’t recall the name of the vineyard, but I stood there next to tractors and backhoes and listened to the sound of the rain striking the fat, broad leaves of Pinot Noir vines not 10 feet away. I stood there with the winemaker and he just grinned at his good fortune.”Nice rain,” was all he said.
All farmers are gamblers. They place their best that they can work hard enough to grow a healthy crop, and are lucky enough to dodge the worst of nature and so reap the reward of their labor. It doesn’t always work out, but still they place their bets, confident that nature won’t punish them forever. We are the beneficiaries of such wagers. The rain that fell that day over twenty years ago in Oregon could be found in the wine made from the grapes that soaked in that rain. The wine I have here in the shop is just the same: it is raining in the bottle.
I love wine and how it makes our food taste better; I love it for its ability to reflect who we are, and what we aspire to be; it is also the singular expression of a specific place and time. When you open a bottle and share it with your friends, your family, with those you love and care for you are also completing the circle that began in the vineyard, that began with the rain.
As a child I would run outside when it rained. The smell, the wind, the power, the fact it could rain at all held me in its thrall. When I open a bottle of wine and can smell the earth, the place where the wine originated, I am like that small boy I once was - captivated by the gift of rain.
It’s a rainy day. Open that bottle you’ve been saving for a while. Invite some friends over. Stand inside the door way with someone you love and share a glass while it rains.