When the Rain Finally Comes

Notes From Alex

There are some evenings when the weather simply feels right.

Tonight was one of those evenings.

After several weeks of beautiful sunshine, warm days, and skies that seemed to stretch forever, the first real fall rain finally arrived. And around here, that rain is more than just weather—it is part of the rhythm of life.

It was about 55 degrees this evening when I took the dog out for a walk. The rain wasn’t a drizzle. It was a full-on Southeast Alaska downpour.

And I loved every minute of it.

By the time we got back, I was soaked to the bone. My jacket had given up, my shoes were wet, and there wasn’t much left that hadn’t been touched by the rain.

But honestly, it felt refreshing.

There is something about walking in a hard rain that can wash away more than just the dust of summer. It slows you down. It makes you breathe differently. It reminds you that you are part of something much bigger than yourself.

And right now, that rain is needed.

The streams and rivers are beginning to come alive with the return of the salmon. These fish have spent much of their lives out in the ocean, and now they are making their way home. Soon they will begin pushing farther and farther up the streams and rivers, following that ancient instinct that has been passed down through generations.

The rain helps.

It brings water back into the creeks. It fills the streams and gives the salmon the flow they need to make their journey. It is one of those natural connections that is easy to overlook if we aren’t paying attention.

Rain.

Rivers.

Salmon.

Life.

All connected.

For those of us who grew up around Southeast Alaska, these changes in the weather are more than seasonal markers. We notice them because they are tied to everything around us—the forests, the rivers, the wildlife, the fishing, and the way we live.

The first heavy rains of fall always seem to carry a message.

Summer is beginning to let go.

The days will slowly become shorter. The temperatures will drop. The mountains will begin to disappear behind clouds more often than not. The rain will become a familiar companion once again.

And that’s okay.

In fact, tonight, it felt pretty darn good.

As I walked along with the dog, listening to the rain hitting the trees and the ground, I found myself thinking about how easy it is to complain about weather.

Too much rain.

Not enough sunshine.

Too cold.

Too warm.

But sometimes we forget that the weather isn’t working against us. It is simply doing what it has always done.

The rain comes when the land needs it.

The rivers rise.

The salmon return.

The forests drink.

And life continues.

Maybe there is a lesson in that for us as well.

Sometimes we need the sunshine.

Sometimes we need the rain.

And sometimes getting soaked to the bone is exactly what we needed to remind ourselves that we are still here, still walking, still breathing, and still connected to the place we call home.

So tonight, I’m grateful for the rain.

After weeks of sunshine, that first heavy fall rainfall was a welcome sight indeed.

And tomorrow, somewhere out there in the streams and rivers, the salmon will keep moving home.

Just as they have for generations.

And perhaps, if we slow down long enough to listen, the rain has a few things to teach us along the way.