The rain was snare-drummed on the machine shed’s steel roof as Wednesday rolled to a close, those raindrops also pattering onto the farm’s soil and rattling against the leaves still standing in one of the neighbor’s adjacent fields.
It would have been easy to consider how more rain is the last thing farmers across this countryside might want to think about, as the soil remains saturated from last year’s carryover moisture and the snow’s thaw. The rain was coming while so many are concerned about a virus that’s creeping its way around the globe.
Then, in a surreal glow through the evening’s gloom, fire trucks’ lights flashed across the land.
The familiarity of echoing sirens had been saved for the middle of the day, when each rural community’s main emergency sirens blew to signal that noon had arrived; many of this region’s rural communities continuing that tradition. History notes the need for the sirens to blow to let folks know the time of day, but there also has been something comforting about those sirens: They reminded us that emergency services personnel are out there for us and with us, and have our backs.
The lights flashing on those emergency vehicles at 7 p.m. were offering that same sort of comfort.
A friend later explained that fire departments across the land had opened their doors at the same time to turn on their emergency vehicles’ lightsto show that solidarity — and to remind people that those departments are ready and willing to help during these uncertain times.
Such reassurance was nice to know about as the raindrops of uncertainty continued to snare-drum on the machine shed’s steel roof.
— Scott Schultz