Rain on Tin“Oh, the sweet sound of rain on a tin roof.” John smiled. “Your mother and I hid out in a barn in a storm like this once. That’s when I kissed her the first time. Can’t help but think that sound is the purtiest I ever heard.” – John Phillips, Miracle in a Dry Season

One of my favorite sounds is rain patterig against a metal roof. And so–in Miracle in a Dry Season–I made that the backdrop for the first kiss shared by Casewell’s parents. John remembers that sweet kiss he gave Emily as he lies in his sickbed, wishing for rain.

I have many treasured memories of my years growing up on the family farm and one of the very best involves rain on tin. It was likely September or October–probably a Sunday afternoon–and it was raining. Not heavy, not a deluge or a downpour, but a nice, steady rain that would last a while.

I took a book and climbed high into the hay stacked in the barn. I was wearing a flannel shirt and jeans. There, under the eaves, the hay was stair-stepped against the slant of the roof, forming a cozy chair. I settled in to read as the music of the rain danced just above my ears. There was a yellow cat–probably Ben. And I fell asleep.

Waking, slow and easy, the rhythm of the rain still keeping time, I think I was as content as it’s possible to be on this earth, safe in a sensory cocoon where nothing bad could happen.

I didn’t understand how precious that sort of peace was then. But I do now. And I’m ever so grateful for that memory and for the chance to slip a shadow of it into one of my stories.