MINA DIARIES: on rain

I spent a winter on the Big Island of Hawaii working on an orchid farm and while I was there, it rained every day. This was on the rainy side of the island, in Pahoa, an adorable little town mostly in the jungle but that also had a ‘downtown’ with Neo-hippie style shops and a laundromat that I frequented. 

I frequented the laundromat because when my clothes would come freshly out of the dryer and I would put them on immediately and revel in the feeling of being both warm and dry. I would even take out a warm dry blanket and I would sit there, wrapped up for a while, before bagging everything up and going back out into the rain and driving the old beat-up work van back to the farm. 

My screened cabin with its long tin roof protected me from the rain, but not from the mugginess that hung in the air and clung to everything including all my clothes and bedding. When I got into bed at night, nestled between my damp sheets and blanket in my moist pajamas and listened to the rain hit the tin roof, I felt like I was getting into bed at the bottom of the ocean. 

Six days a week I had to work outside in the rain. The air wasn’t cold, but the humidity and the ceaseless rain made it feel cold. I wore a poncho, and got to spend a few blissful hours each day in green houses, grateful for the shelter. After work, I would pick bananas and jackfruit and lychees off the trees and go to the garden for some kale and eat these things in the outdoor kitchen, with some wild boar that had been slaughtered and preserved for the season. 

Man! I was wet for almost that whole winter. Aside from those moments at the laundromat I forgot what it was to be dry. I developed athlete’s foot. Every day was gray. My hair was perpetually frizzy. 

But there were some great things about being in Pahoa too. The sounds of the croakies, the invasive frog species that drove the locals crazy, lulled me to sleep peacefully. The scent of a fresh orchid. The beauty of the black sand beaches. Walking through the thick foliage of the bright green jungle knowing there were no predators. Eating fresh bananas under a banana tree (the bananas grow upside down, I had never known that). 

And then one day, miraculously, the rain cleared and though it wasn’t sunny, the clouds took on a brighter tinge. All of us at the farm rejoiced. We took the work van and headed to the hot springs, and then the solidified lava from the volcano. We walked for miles on that lava. It was sharp, so we wore shoes for a change. We rode our bicycles up and down the winding jungle roads. And then, on our drive back to the farm, the clouds cleared and we saw something we’d never seen before: Mauna Kea, the great big volcano mountain, in all its majestic glory. It had been hidden from us, and now, revealed, we realized it basically took up the whole sky. 

So as I spend this rainy spring here in the great state of New Hampshire, I wonder: What’s up with all this rain? And why’s it got me so down? After spending a winter wet, you’d think I wouldn’t mind. At least now I have a solid home where I can close the windows. But still, it gets to me. So I try to remember my experience and see how I can make this one better. 

At the farm, we found creative ways to entertain ourselves. We didn’t have television (didn’t even have electricity). We played endless board games, we sat in circles and talked. We told stories, we made up stories. We invented games. We, on occasion, just bared our souls to each other. 

But also, without anyone asking us to do so, we spent time outside. We put on our ponchos and went outside and explored. We walked through the jungle and down the roads and checked out other people’s farms, we walked up and down the fields of orchids and just inhaled the damp sweet air. We were wet and we were uncomfortable and somehow also content. 

So that is what I have been forcing myself to do this spring. The air here is a bit chillier. I walk the dogs and the dogs love all the smells the rain has drudged up and they stop and take their time and I watch them explore with their noses. My feet are damp and my raincoat is wet and the dogs are soaked and we come home and have a big towel dry party. Some days we’re happy, some days we’re too uncomfortable to be happy but we’re glad we did it anyway. 

And the indoor activities. Oh, there’s so many more of them here than there were at the farm. I can do yoga and I can do art. I can cozy up with a dry blanket and read my books. It isn’t the same as reading outside in the sunshine while the dogs roll blissfully in the grass. But it’ll have to do for now. I take a long hot salt bath and I do a face and hair mask with all my favorite products, straight from my studio. 

And I remind myself: the sunny days are coming. They are coming and I have got my sunscreen and my aloe and I will be ready. 

We will all be ready!