Slow Down and Enjoy the Rain

The first storm of the season was in full swing and I--along with thousands of other drivers--was motionless on the Golden State Freeway in Pacoima.

During the second storm a couple of weeks later, I was motionless again. And then during the third storm, there I was, stuck once more.

This time, an old red truck smashed into a smaller, newer car and closed the whole freeway for nearly 20 minutes.

Sitting there, my day soured by the drizzle, smelling the truck fumes, my mind began to drift--to a time when I was comforted by the rain and a place where people welcome--not cringe at--the cloud cover rolling in.

I was raised in Southern California. But I spent six years in Humboldt County before coming back here two years ago.

Humboldt is home to ageless redwoods, nourished by rain seasons that drop from 35 to 80 inches on the county’s lush forests and small communities.

The area has long been a haven to former Southern Californians lured by the the land’s natural beauty--grassy coastal hills and salmon-filled rivers--and yes, by the rain.

I lived in Arcata, a hillside town peppered with Victorian homes overlooking Humboldt Bay.

The talk of the town one uncharacteristic fall was the weather; people were concerned because it hadn’t rained in the first few weeks of the season.

I was walking under overloaded gray skies one evening when the clouds finally burst, releasing the fall’s first drench and prompting cheers from people in the houses along Union Street.

In any given year, about half of Arcata’s days are either foggy, overcast or rainy, but I grew to appreciate the cloudy skies--and the rain knocking on my corner window in the middle of the night.

Most people I knew did not mind spending quiet evenings at home during times when consecutive storms lasted for up to a month. We sprinted to our cars to go to work or the supermarket. We sprinted to our front doors.

On cloudy Sunday evenings, I could usually count on my good friend for my walks on Mad River Beach. But Brandye--herself from Garden Grove--didn’t love the rain enough to get drenched in it when we wandered too far for us to make it back to my truck in time.

Sunny days in Arcata sometimes were so rare that when the rays finally pierced the clouds, the bright day was well-appreciated, even by rain lovers. It created a sense of community because for the first time in weeks, friends could walk to the plaza for a cup of coffee or go on a fishing trip to the north county lagoons.

I’ve never seen a sunny day prettier than one on the North Coast. The light there somehow colored the sky extra blue while revealing all over again the lush green environment.

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The only drawback to that area’s weather that I can remember was not a car wreck or a flood. It was one year when I took up star-watching as a hobby. I followed the constellations that summer but began to lose track of them as the rain season moved in and clouds covered the night sky.

Before leaving Humboldt for the Southland, I enjoyed drinks one rainy night with a friend who had moved there from Granada Hills. He warned me that I would hate various things about Los Angeles.

“Just wait,” he said. “As soon as there’s a drizzle down there, you’ll have flooding on the streets and idiots skidding out of control.”

I did notice soon the “bad news” tone with which the weather forecasters announced rain--as if for a mystery still unexplored by science, Los Angeles had nothing to gain from the Earth’s natural cycles.

The “it-never-rains-in-Southern-California” view of the area has made even less sense to me in the two years since I’ve been back: Los Angeles is very much involved in an annual cycle that drops about 15 inches of rain.

Granted, this city and winter storms probably will never combine to make a rainy day inspirational. But it wouldn’t be hell, either, if a few people would simply slow down and keep at a safe distance from other vehicles the next time the wet stuff drenches the freeways.