Feb 1, 2005

It's difficult to miss a trailer,

but there are times (yes, there are a few) when I do.

Last night I was walking in the rain to my Mom's house to fetch back my daughter, and it's just now turned Winter here, with temps staying in the low 40's and rain pretty much all the time, so it was nasty, raining just hard enough to be called rain, just enough to make it clammy outside, and I walked underneath Mom's little aluminum shed/garage, and I could hear the raindrops making wonderful music on the aluminum roof.

My trailer made that noise for the 13 years I lived in it, and it was one of the most wonderful things to fall asleep to. When it rained, just ordinary rain mind you, not hail or anything with winds over 100 knots, it would make a wonderful soft drumming on the roof that was such a good sound, such a natural sound. It's hard to describe, but my Mom knows it well--"The Old Home" as she calls it where she grew up, had a tin roof and when she was young and living there she liked to sleep beneath that sound, the soft metallic drumming of rain on tin, filtered down through the attic and into the rooms like distant thunder.

Mind you, there were down sides to it, too. Living in the trailer, that is. I mean, it wasn't all heavenly rains soothing my troubles away. Very heavy rain would make that little trailer turn into a snare drum, and strong wind had a knack of blowing down it's length, so that you could see the interior walls flex in and out a little bit as the pressure changed, and the outside walls and roof would flex a LOT, and make booming and warping noises which were not at all reassuring. And hail? Oh my sweet hairy toes, the few hailstorms I was unlucky enough to have to endure were nightmarish. Hail made it sound like there was an avalance about to come down on your head, and the first few tons of stones were just now arriving. But regular old rain? Wonderful.

One of the drawbacks of living in a house with an attic with thick wood rafters and sheathing and an asphalt shingle roof and big solid brick walls is that you can't hear the rain. Even when it's really storming outside you can barely hear it, just the occasional hoot of wind around a corner or the very heaviest rolls of thunder and lightning. None of that soft pattering that is so strangely soothing. No gentle showered lullaby.

I miss that song. It's one of the few strong ties I still hold to that little trailer.

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