
We're finally past the threat of freezing in these parts. A little earlier this year, so we can think about moving some plants out into the garden. My lovely bride has been growing some plants inside to give them a head start on life. It's very exciting.
For Christmas, my in-laws gave me a fancy weather gauge. It has a rain collection unit. I put the temperature/humidity sensor in the yard right away, but had to wait for the rain gauge until the threat of freezing passed.
Like yesterday.
The gauge is a clever contraption, tipping a little see-saw back and forth under a collection cup, sending the signal back to the control panel. There is rain in the forecast today. I'm excited.
As I installed the rain collection unit I remembered my neighbor. He and his wife were old. I think I remember seeing a son stop by once or twice, but for the most part we didn't interact.
His name was Woody Ore and the fence between our yards was either the backstop or home-run fence when we played ball. All summer long, the ball would end up in Woody's yard. He didn't appreciate it. We'd have to stop play, go to the front door, ring the doorbell, step into the vestibule, and ask permission to get the ball. They were teaching manners, but at the time I got stuck on old people smell, Mrs. Ore offering us old Mounds mini-candy bars, and Woody's hands. He was missing fingers on each hand.
As my friends and I got bigger, we were able to jump the fence and retrieve the ball ourselves. We also got pretty good at arranging our fingers into Woody's shape and threatening each other with "Get out of my yard!" No way he didn't hear us.
He had a rain gauge on the fence. A bright yellow one. He loved to check it against the official rainfall in the paper. We loved to break it. Accidentally, of course. It was right where we would jump the fence. As we grew and threw the ball harder and harder, the thing was like a magnet. I can still see a ball curving toward it, slow motion, breaking in two. Once I tried to put it back and deny I broke it, but invariably I would have to go to the door, apologize, hand over some money, maybe cry a little, and get back to the game.
My sister, though . . . she was the one who tortured Woody. When she was just barely big enough to stand on the lower rung of the fence and reach the gauge, she'd put a little water in it. We lived in Denver, and it rained most afternoons, just a little. Well, with my sister's additions, his rain totals were consistently off what was in the paper. He complained to my Dad about it but no one knew what was happening.
One day Mrs. Ore was on their back porch and saw a little hand reach over the fence and pour a little water into the gauge.
Busted. Finally, something for them to get mad at her about!
Wasn't like that though. My sister was adorable. Messing with Woody's gauge? Adorable. Everyone had a good laugh.
She got away with a lot.
My rain gauge doesn't have enough range for me to put it on the fence by my neighbors with the little kids. Too bad. I kind of look forward to a little highjinks/karmic retribution coming my way. That said, I promise if they happen to get a ball all the way over to the gauge and break it, they won't have to buy a replacement. However, they will have to sit and talk to me. Only seems fair.
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