JOY ALONG THE WAY: SEPTEMBER RAINS BEGIN

The September Rains are spoken of as if they were a separate and special time of the year, much as one speaks of the Vernal Equinox and Indian Summer. Sometimes the season is spoken of dreamily as if remembering the nighttime sound of it from an upstairs bed close to the roof and at other times in a mild admonitory tone. We must patch the hole in the roof before the September rains, sow the hollyhock seeds, harvest the squash, hunt for the lost umbrella, inspect the downspouts.

The slow, steady fall of raindrops has a symphony all its own. The far fringe of trees provides the background beat. Nearer are the various sounds as the drops fall on different surfaces. The awning provides the more metallic staccato notes. The concrete walk section is F flat, the rooftop drops in G, the varied splatters on the oak trees leaves in B, E, A, C Sharp. Such a combination to those with musically tuned ears may prompt a cringe and a cry, "Oh, my!" But altogether, to my ear, it is a soothing melody. A person ought to do pleasant things when it rains to build up a good association.

During such rain concerts I look for the ever present birds at the feeders and the omnipresent squirrels. No sign of feather or fur. Where do they go during rains? I look in little leaf-sheltered crotches in the spreading oak. They are not there. I look at the sheltered hallway between the troughs of my big bird feeder where, on a summer day, the squirrels just love to hang out. They are not there. Surely they must be in the garage. More than once I have gone to see. Nothing but crickets there.

I have often thought of having neighbor Bill construct a roofed squirrel den for such seasons as the September Rains and the winter snows. Actually have the blueprints from the Missouri Conservation Department but so far have not activated such construction. "The Woodworking for Wildlife," which is the name of the book provided by MAD, contains plans for a barn owl nest box. I could make one of these myself, the plans are so simple. That is, if I could find a wooden box. Where did they all go? I know. To the antique stores.

The idea of a barn owl box is appealing to me because this owl is on the Missouri endangered list, but it passes in and out of my mind swiftly when I read that the best place for such boxes are in rural areas and I'm not there anymore. Also, the woodworking book states that a barn owl has been observed delivering 16 mice, three gophers, a rat and a squirrel to a nest of young within 25 minutes! Thus, should I miraculously attract barn owls to my premises, there would go my squirrels and as aggravated as I get at them, I should miss them if they disappeared. The gophers, mice and rats have gone the way of the wooden boxes, except I don't think they are in antique stores.

I'll content myself with the hoot owl who delights me some years with his eerie night notes and early pare-dawn calls. These owls would scoff at man-made shelters. And, too, if I should (not likely though) put up a squirrel den, screech owls might move in. They did one year for Thomza. Two little screech owl heads peeping out of the den's opening to see what the world was all about is a sight she says she'll never forget. Nor will I, for in my mind's eye I can visualize it. But screech owl screams in the night aren't as pleasant as raindrops on the roof.

Such thoughts occupy my mind on one of my mornings of the September Rains. What will the next rain concert bring? Any number of things, as the walrus said to the carpenter or the Pussy Cat to the owl as they danced by the light of the moon.

REJOICE!