BEFORE THE STORM IN THE BARNYARD

For thousands of years, before meteorologists stood before green screens on news channels, and before the weekly forecast was just a click away, humans relied on another kind of wisdom to help predict the weather.

Their eyes would turn to the sky. If what was once blue was now grey, a storm could be approaching, or it could just be a cloudy day. But then, they might see birds flying lower, or hear frogs croaking louder. They might notice their sheep flocking together, and their cows lying down. These were signs that rain could be coming, and it was time to prepare.

Now that technology can tell us what used to be a guess, we rarely need to study the behavior of other living beings to discover what is coming around the bend. For this, we should be grateful. Earlier detection allows for greater preparation. But, as with all things, there are always two sides to the story.

As we have ceded our awareness to apps and experts, we have lost a bit of our connection to the natural world. We do not need to be as perceptive of shifts—of where the birds are flocking to and from, or if the leaves of the trees are curling. We can exist in our own little worlds and pay less mind to the greater context in which we exist.

On this day, I knew a storm was coming because I had seen the clouds in the sky and the data on my phone. But instead of watching the radar to see exactly when it would roll in, I decided to go out to the barnyard and depend upon our animals to give me warning.

As I approached, I noticed a few of our sheep huddled together beneath the eaves of the barn, but most of the flock was still peacefully in the pasture.

“A bit more time,” I thought.

And so, I walked away from shelter and toward the grazing herd, past sweet Ida, calmly resting on her mineral box throne...

And the guineas squawking on the roadside.

In the field, I found the flock grazing beneath the grey sky. There was no rush in their bites. They knew the day still had time before the afternoon deluge.

As I sat with them and watched them amble through the still-tall grass, a few of the goats came to visit me, asking for a few brief pets before returning to the feast. I ran my hands through their coarse coats as they nestled their heads against me.

Then I noticed other heads beginning to perk up as they sensed the air begin to shift.

And just as the sky began to darken, the rush toward the barn began. The goats ran first, their ears flopping in the wind, and the sheep sauntered not far behind.

With the barn in sight, they took a few more moments outside. “A bit more time,” they must have thought.

And then the goats and sheep sought shelter in the barn...

And the guineas filed into the coop.

I began my walk back to my home as the wind began to blow and the world grew dark. I stepped through the threshold and sat down, just as the thunder began to rumble and the rain began to pour.

Just in time.

Love,

Leila