Just as the Inuit language contains 50 different words for snow *, in North Devon we have a similar amount for rain in all its incarnations. Today it mizzled, drizzled, thought about raining, poured down, threatened, spat, spotted, dripped and tipped. Still at the Farm we worked through most of the day, clutching onto the charlatan weather forecaster’s promise of intermittent showers. By the end of the day I was soaked through sturdy waterproofs all the way to my liberty bodice. Whilst dashing from thundercloud to thundercloud, this Rudbeckia “Irish Eyes” was glowing in the gloom, supported and supporting the Cerinthe major. A rather nice pairing, I thought.
*It appears that this much bandied fact is thought by many to be at best apocryphal, at worst a hoax. Some however are adamant this statement is true. The “many” and the “some” are academics, professors of linguistics and the like, you would think that between themselves they could work it out. Anyway, as I was just using it as a handy way to illustrate that it rains a lot in North Devon, and I don’t (unfortunately) know any Inuits, I cannot confirm this either way. It may have been better just to have said “it rains a lot here”. It rains a lot here.