Growing up as a Native person from the southwest, rain was one of those things that the Creator delivered. Yes, we had our ceremonies — a rain dance, but to counter that there was the occasional ceremony to stop the rain, or to cut the clouds. I saw the consequence of the latter only once, and it did not rain for seven years.

As a Native person — rain, sun, wind — are all a part of what’s natural. People here would question why I’m not scurrying away from rain. I’d explain, where I come from it’s a gift, and so we take the opportunity to embrace it rather than complain.

While New Englanders might not understand my affinity for rain, I must say I don’t understand your descriptors. “It’s raining cats and dogs”. Now there’s one that’s hard to imagine. Who has actually seen these two animals falling from the sky? I’ve never seen that phenomenon. I suppose it could happen after a tornado, when they could have been sucked up and dropped in the rain afterwards. But I understand why you dislike rain if it involves the possibility of being hit by one or the other. I imagine this leads to a few lawsuits, if the pet can be linked to the owner. I’ve heard of attorneys who are “ambulance chasers”. Are there “cat and dog chasers” when it’s raining them?

The next phrase to consider — “a driving rain” Does rain actually drive? And what state is rain licensed to drive in?

Then there’s the “hard rain” and the “soft rain”. A hard rain is not actually so hard that it may injure you. Out west on the Rez, a hard rain is actually an opportunity to take advantage of a free shower. Grab your soap and shampoo, and don’t forget your towel! A soft rain offers another chance to take a shower, but unlike the hard rain, people don’t necessarily seek shelter in a soft rain. I don’t see myself disrobing at a time when others may remain outside, strolling and singin’ in it.

The last phrase I’ll question is “raining buckets”. How come I’ve had to buy buckets when they’re falling from the sky? Where are they stored? Are they recycled? Collected and sold? Apparently there’s a fortune to be made if you’re willing to brave the elements when the weatherman predicts that it will be raining these items.

Back to the point. It is not in our nature, Native Americans, to curse the rain. But the torrents that we’ve had to endure this particular winter have left me less than a happy camper, and I haven’t even camped during them. For starters, I’ve chased my driveway down the street – how many times? I’ve had to gather all those stones to fill in the ruts that were left behind from the rain that gouged them to unprecedented depths. I suppose I shouldn’t complain when others have had to deal with ruts so deep their vehicles have been damaged driving into them. Those ruts are ruinous to our cars — the alignment, the tires, damage to the undercarriage. Mechanics must look out their windows and smile during this winter’s rain, thinking about all those owners left with holes in their wallets. I’m sure there were incidents necessitating tow trucks. There were also neighbors who risked life and limb retrieving their mail from receptacles on the side of the road.

This winter’s rains have created a small river in our backyard and in our front yard, actually small creeks. I’ve considered damming them and installing rotors to generate power when I lose mine, or to create alternative methods of electricity. Puddles are actually lakes, and I’ve considered skating on them when they freeze. I’ve also considered taking an engineering class to build bridges to navigate the puddles. Questions: What is the water flow per minute? What is the strength of the current? How deep is it, and what materials do I need so my crossing won’t get swept away in next week’s rain? We have over 40 gardens to deal with, too. We hear our poor plants call “help, I’m drowning here!” When we begin our annual spring clearing of winter’s debris, we are forced to consider moisture rather than leaves, branches, and budding daffodils. The task resembles puddle jumping rather than raking.

All this rain has promised us beautiful spring and summer flowers — and one really good mud season. My boots sink in and soak my feet and everything else. And there is my personal forgetfulness to contend with, my wife’s look of disdain when I walk into the house and forget to take off said boots. Are you denying that trail of mud is yours? I try to explain that I didn’t walk down the hallway, but the mud evidence disputes what I say. My wife likens herself to an F.B.I. agent. She’ll point to the patterns of mud left on the floor and then ask to see my treads. Of course, I’ll be found guilty. I clean up after myself, but only after losing my argument.

Still, I appreciate the rain. I remind myself, “Juan you’re from the desert. What are you complaining about?” I’ll remember the rain as I cut the dusty lawn in the summertime, or worry over a drought. I keep my choice words to myself when the Creator is listening; I look to the heavens and say “thank you for the rain”, while under my breath, I mention the picnic we had to cancel, that barbecue I’ve been promising, the party that depended on dry weather because – how could we fit everyone into the house? But we did, somehow, and the BBQ waited another day, as did the picnic. And so when it comes, driving, or in buckets, or with cats and dogs, all we can really say is, “Let it Rain!”

Juan Arriola