westron wind, when wilt thou blow/ that the small rain down can rain?

It seems that it this part of the world most people can recall their grandparents' stories of drought, grasshoppers and poverty from the depression. For those of us who grew up in this part of Alberta those stories are particularly realistic, because to a certain extent we've lived them ourselves.

My junior high and high school years were marked by drought - severe, endless, soul sucking drought. Summers when the temperatures would sit at 40 degrees Celsius or higher for days on end; when the grasshoppers ate the crops down to dirt. Winters when dust instead of snow drifted in the yard. Springs when the grass refused to grow and farmers had to sell of the herds they'd worked years to build up. Other years when we couldn't sell our cattle even if we wanted to because of BSE.

I think that, in a way, I was lucky to have lived through that. It taught me to appreciate things like rainy days and my generally comfortable existence.

But at the same time it left a mark on all of us, a mark best defined as an extreme fear of drought.

East-central Alberta is dry country - there's no way to deny that: this is the peak of Palliser's Triangle, people are not meant to live here. But every spring day that passes without rain raises my pulse a little. Every cloud that drifts by makes me angry. Images of grass fire, grasshoppers, and grazed down pastures pop into my head and have me wondering just how one performs a rain dance.

This spring has been a dry one. At present there is a giant flock of geese grazing the stubble next to my house because there's no water in the sloughs. The roads are lined with blackened grass.

Yesterday a little rain fell - enough to dampen the dust, but not much more - and I've fallen back into an old habit: checking the forecast every time I see a cloud approach.

So far the predictions look promising - thunderstorms for today and tomorrow, a little more rain for the weekend. Experience teaches that weather forecasts have about as much accuracy as the average magic eight ball, but beggars can't be choosers.

Dear reader, if by chance you should watch the weather report this evening and see a forecast of rain for that big empty space on the Alberta map, stick an ear out the window. If you hear a wild whoop of joy coming from that general direction have faith that the weatherman was right.

If you need me, you'll find me dancing in the rain.