Proust: “But my grandmother, in all weathers, even when the rain was coming down in torrents and Francoise had rushed the precious wicker armchairs indoors so that they should not get soaked, was to be seen pacing the deserted rain-lashed garden, pushing back her disordered grey locks so that her forehead might be freer to absorb the health-giving draughts of wind and rain. She would say “ At last one can breathe!” and would trot up and down the sodden paths   too straight and symmetrical for her liking, owing to the want of any feeling for nature in the new gardener, whom my father had been asking all morning if the weather were going to improve her keen, jerky little step regulated by the various effects wrought upon her soul by the intoxication of the storm, the power of hygiene, the stupidity of my upbringing and the symmetry of gardens, rather than by any anxiety to save her plum colored skirt from the mudstains beneath which it would gradually disappear to a height that was the constant bane and despair of her maid.” (12-13)   This small description of Marcel’s grandmother resonated with me as I often feel this way during storms. Living for a time in North Dakota I loved the ever changing weather and my garden. It’s raining lightly and I am in my garden. The weather has been so humid and hot, this light rain is a relief as it takes the water out of the air and into the ground. Sitting quietly, weeding, I feel as if I can finally breathe again. I have large garden that takes a lot of work, but it is good work. Some days, I have my boys help with the chores, most days I do this alone, while they do their schoolwork. This garden, a hobby for many these days, is necessary for our families survival. It is what sustains us, along with the many chickens, rabbits and the occasional beef cow I raise. The grocery store is way too far away to walk, and I do not have a car. I move down the row to weed another section, and just for a moment take off my hat and lift my face to the rain. It feels so refreshing and peaceful. As I open my eyes, I see that the sky is darker on the horizon. I better get moving, and yet the peacefulness of the moment calls me back. Breathing deeply, I start to pull weeds again, enjoying the quiet natural sounds. A quick flash, then a loud boom. And another flash and boom. That darkness of a thunder storm approaching. The excitement in the air is building and I sit back and watch the darkness descend. The soaking rain and bit of wind still refresh me as they move over me and my garden. Lightening streaks across the sky, followed a few seconds later with its accompanying thunder. The smell of wet earth and ozone permeate the air. I sit in my garden, wet to the skin, relaxed and entranced with natures show. Then it intensifies. All of a sudden, I see the hail approaching. This is not as welcome as the rain. Hail begins to damage the plants, knocking them to the ground. It hurts when it reaches me and I run for the house, wishing I could protect the garden and fearing that the damage will be too much to salvage. The hail passes quickly, and the storm moves on. I am thankful that it didn’t last long. Some damage in the garden, and I return to weeding, and now standing plants upright, removing damaged areas, restoring the garden, breathing the clean air, and almost wishing the storm had lasted longer.