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The trees are calling for rain

© Van Waffle

Saturday was great beach weather. On Toronto Island, a massive tournament of volleyball players leapt and spiked to "Come
on, Barbie, let's go party!" But by evening the sky threatened change.

My friend, Paul, and I were walking along a quiet city side street, headed for a barbecue, when he remarked, "The trees are calling for rain."

I absorbed this quietly for a few moments, trying to understand what he meant. Semi-mature maples lined the corridor between apartment buildings. Their limbs thrashed in street turbulence and a sea of leaves hissed in the wind. It did sound a lot like rain.

Knowledge passed down

"Did you just make that up or is it a real expression?" I asked. "It's a good one."

Paul explained that his great grandfather was a kindly man who worked all his life in the woods. He taught Paul that when rain is imminent, the tree leaves turn to show their pale undersides. I looked and sure enough: the maple leaves kept flipping sideways, reflecting light from the unsettled evening sky.

I envied my friend in that moment. All through childhood I ran barefoot through the grass at Poplar Bluff, climbed trees in the woods, snorkelled after bass in the golden shallows of Lake Fletcher. My parents learned and taught me the wild birds and animal tracks. A friend's father, who worked for NASA, taught me the names of stars. I studied wildflowers and learned them all by name.

Bedstraw. Bergamot. Blue flag.

I sat at the foot of nature and learned about her creatures. I acquired knowledge.

Urban heritage

But our old Ontario families were several generations removed from the land. I didn't have a grandmother or great uncle who could interpret that knowledge, who could bequeath the lore of the land.

"Red sky at night, sailors' delight," I learned as a child. "Red sky in morning, sailors' warning."

It was just a rhyme. It bore little relevance to my middle class youth, sheltered as I was from the elements. Only later did it strike me that a colourful sunrise truly heralded a bad day for gardening or hiking.

Legend and truth

Years ago I started to write a novel. It's context was the world I loved: one of rambling wilderness. It's people were what I aspired to be: those who lived simply, made their living from the Earth, but took no more from it than they needed, and paid back enough to keep their environment rich. But I didn't know how to make these characters real, because they couldn't read