Rain has been falling since 3 a.m. or so--a steady cold rain that will continue all morning. No doubt our watery weekend will shatter the peonies. The big double blooms have so little fortitude against weather; every year they are crushed by a downpour. So I'm glad I picked this bud early and let it open in the house.

The rain is dampening the boys' hopes for a canoe trip, and my outing to the lilac festival will be cold and wet, but do not think I am complaining. It has been desperately dry here, and the sound of water is a delight. Last night, as the chill moved in, I basked in the charms of winter-in-May--lighting a fire in the woodstove, brewing hot tea, simmering an ancho beef stew, to be served with rice and tortillas . . .

Now, as I stare outside, the yellow yard chairs waver behind the window drops. The grass greens and thickens, and the black soil gleams beneath white flowers. Yesterday afternoon I weeded most of the flowerbeds, front and back, and they are wet and clean and beautiful. Even the Shed Patch bed, recovering from its tree-limb accident, looks fresh and happy.