As I hunker down here at the farm, an alert came over the phone. Rain is coming. Plink. Plink. Plink. You hear the first drops hit the tin roof. Before long, you know it will sound like bacon frying. If it rains hard enough, it turns to a roar. I smile as I remember all the rainstorms of my youth in this house. There was this one time when it rained in the back yard, but not a drop in the front!
If it rains hard enough, I’ll hear the water running in the creek outside Grandma’s bedroom window. But, as I write this, a gentle rain falls. I don’t watch TV, but when I want to feel cozy here on a chilly day, I turn it on and find the channel that plays a blazing fireplace…complete with snaps and crackles. There’s nothing better than the sounds and sights of a crackling fire AND rain on a tin roof.
I’m still here, waiting for word from the results of my Covid test. I still have a cough. I still have a backache. I’m still really tired. I know it’s something…probably just a cold…but I can’t risk making my sweetheart sick. So here I sit. My friend Diane called me the other night and told me our little town is delivering Thanksgiving meals. I called and ordered two. When I get home, I’ll make a couple pumpkin pies and we’ll call it good.
Yes, it sucks to not have our family around for the holidays this year. But, imagine what it was like during the 1918 influenza pandemic? For us, it means no TV…no Hallmark Christmas Movies or football games or even reruns of Andy Griffith. No electronics, no internet…few diversions. In 1918, the first wave was relatively mild with few deaths, the disease lasting about three days. When it came back in the fall, it killed with a vengeance wiping out entire families. No promise of a vaccine. No lifesaving super meds. Covid is rising rapidly here and I’ll do everything I can to keep it from hitting my home and my family. If it means empty chairs now, it increases the odds of full chairs down the road.
I’m praying my test is negative. Because, if it isn’t, I’ll be having Thanksgiving here at the farm alone and my sweetheart will be at the house alone, as well. My gut tells me it’s negative. I just don’t feel sick enough for it to be Covid…at least from what I hear about symptoms. Still, I’ll wait it out, listening to the rain on a tin roof, and feel so grateful for this safe place…this “home of my heart”.
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“My people will live in peaceful dwelling places, in secure homes, in undisturbed places of rest.”
Isaiah 32:18 NIV