Monsoon Madness

It's been raining in Arizona. This may not seem blog-worthy to you, but in Tucson, Arizona when it rains, and when big, heavy clouds roll in from the South, the mood of the whole city changes.

The skies get dark, and the Catalina Mountains to the North of the city get bathed in hues of purple and pink. Sometimes a low rumble, like the sound of an approaching train, warns of the turbulence to come, and other times, without any warning at all, the skies will just open up, catching innocent pedestrians, bicyclists, and joggers by surprise in a downpour of huge un-dodgeable drops, as if the Storm God is playing a joke. People comically run for cover, desperately trying the avoid the inevitable to-the-bone soaking that a good monsoon can deliver. Then, just as suddenly, usually about the time they find shelter, the clouds move on, and the sun comes out. Monsoons do have a sense of humor! It’s a virtual guarantee that if you sense the ominous presence of an incoming monsoon, and have an errand to do, you will be the victim of its laughter. It will not rain until you get out of the car, and it will stop by the time you’ve run across the parking lot to the WalMart entrance, and are completely soaked, head to toe. With your hair dripping and plastered wet to your head, and your clothing clinging to the parts of your body you wish they wouldn’t, you’ll get the inevitable question by gawkers, “Oh, is it raining?” Of course, by the time you leave the store it’s sunny outside, the torrential rain has completely evaporated, and you have to endure the drive home with your legs sticking to the seat, and the humidity that your wet clothes are creating as they mix with the desert heat.

I love the monsoons!

When it rains in Tucson, it’s not like a rain in any other place I’ve ever been. It doesn’t drizzle. It’s not a slow, gentle shower that you might see in the Northwest, where it will stay dark and rainy all day. Oh, no. When it rains in Tucson, it is a violent, beautiful thing. A monsoon storm approaches suddenly, and leaves just as quickly. Unlike some storms that will move in and swathe an entire city, a monsoon is selective and unpatterned. It may drop an inch of rain in a mad and awesome downpour in one place, and leave the desert completely dry and without any indication of its presence less than a mile away.

Tucson, which has virtually no drainage, depends on the natural desert washes to collect the rain from the mountains. Unfortunately, when it rains in Tucson, it often does so with such enthusiasm that all the water simply can’t make it to a wash, and will create its own – usually right across the road of the route you use to get home. Flash floods are common here, and all too often, drivers on the road seem to think that they can challenge Mother Nature, and end up being washed away in the strong and dangerous currents from the rushing water.

In places where cloudy days are more the norm than not, then a sunny day might make you want to ditch work, play hooky, and enjoy being outside, with full appreciation for those warm rays. In Tucson, however, where it’s sunny 360 days a year, (are we spoiled or what?) it’s the rain that gets people out. Gets people talking. Makes people want to stop what they’re doing, play hooky, and enjoy it. As I said, the mood of the whole city changes, and people relax. They laugh more, they seem to be friendlier, and everyone suddenly has something in common: we live in this beautiful desert country where storms can actually bring us together.

Parking lots fills with rushing water, it gets very, very dark, and occupants of office buildings emerge from shelter to watch the phenomena. Shoppers quit shopping and go outside. Awnings over strip malls cover crowds of people who have stopped what they were doing to watch the water. Anywhere you go, you can see the familiar sight of Tucsonans standing around, marveling at the sight of rain, and wondering if there will be water in the Canada del Oro or Rillito washes. The monsoon rains get people talking to each other. It creates alliances, and gives people a reason to stop and pay attention to the desert. A monsoon demands attention. And Tucsonans gleefully oblige.

And the sound. Oh, the sound of the rain. I have an office in a big warehouse-type building where I like to work when it rains. When those huge, unforgiving rains hit the metal roof, the sound can be deliciously deafening. The now familiar “tink tink tink” is soothing, and makes me want to sit in the dark with a cup of iced coffee, fire up the ‘puter and write.

I’m going to miss the monsoons.