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Our Town – July 31, 2014

| Our Town, Rain, Weather | July 30, 2014

The Soupster hears strange murmurs.

“There!” Mike pointed out the tiny purple star of a fireweed blossom, opening high on the stalk. “When the blossoms reach the top, summer is ending.” The Soupster regarded his friend bending over the plant, growing alongside the totem path.

“The raindrops have been getting bigger lately,” he said in agreement. “And starting to angle sideways, a little. Season’s a-changing, Mike.”

The two men walked on in silence. The soft forest floor muffled the sound of their steps and they passed by the totem poles without waking them.

“Do you miss having four distinct seasons?” the Soupster asked his friend, who hailed originally from Back East. “Real hot weather and real cold weather?”

“I don’t.” Mike answered. “I like Our Town’s three seasons better. Three seasons: light all the time, dark all the time and exactly half and half.”

“And exactly half and half occurs twice a year, right? Between dark all the time and light all the time.”

“You got it, Soupster,” Mike said.

They were quiet again. All around the two men, still dripping from that morning’s rain, much of the vegetation was deep in cogitation – probably chemically – laboring to decide whether it was time to start switching over to “dormant” or whether they could wrest a little more benefit out of this summer.The Soupster thought he could hear them murmuring

“You hear that?” he asked Mike.

“Hear what?” Mike said.

Then they both heard it, on the breeze, sounding like: “esaelp dens…”

“I hear it,” said Mike and the two men looked around them.

The next breeze brought the murmur again: “esaelp dens su nair, dens su nair.”

Mike and the Soupster quickened their pace. In an open area around the next turn a lone man stood looking at the sky and saying “Esaelp dens su nair, dens su nair. Stol fo nair!”

The man realized he was bring watched.

“May I respectfully ask what you are doing?” said the Soupster.

“My sister is getting married on the 23rd and she’s terrified it’s going to rain and ruin everything. I promised her I’d do what I could to keep it from raining that day.”

“OK, but in what language were you asking for it not to rain?” asked Mike, stepping forward.

“English,” said the man. “And I was asking for it to rain, not not rain.”

“I thought your sister didn’t want it to rain?” asked the Soupster.

“Oh, I’m asking for rain backward,” said the man. “I thought if I asked for rain backward…”

“Then it wouldn’t rain!” said Mike.

“I don’t know how well your plan is going to work,” said the Soupster, with a sympathetic tone. “Maybe you could do something else also. Like a Plan B?”

“Last week, I tried doing a rain dance backward,” said the man. “But I hurt my leg.”

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Would you like to create an Our Town?

The Sitka Soup would welcome an infusion of “new blood.” You may tell your story in words (450-500 of them), or as a graphic “cartoon” strip. We would even consider a short original photo essay with B&W photos. Your Our Town must be closely connected with the life of Sitkans, and the Soupster must make an appearance, even if it’s a brief one.

If we run your Our Town, we’ll pay you $50. To submit: Email your creation to and put “Our Town” in the Subject line. Or call: 747-7595.

What is Our Town?

Our Town is a bi-weekly column that tracks the life of the Soupster and his friends and neighbors.

The Soupster is a long-time resident of Our Town who seems to have all the time in the world to traipse around, visit friends and neighbors and get into minor scrapes.

The first Our Town was published December 22, 1999.

Read Our Towns published before February 2009 HERE.

Who is the Soupster?

The Soupster is a long-time resident of Our Town who seems to have all the time in the world to traipse around, visit friends and neighbors and get into minor scrapes.

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