There’s something strangely beautiful about summer thunderstorms here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. The sky shifts from blue to steel gray as clouds pile up like the work we still have ahead. Out here, storms don’t just sneak in but arrive with drama. Thunder rumbles across the vast open skies like an old engine coming to life, and if you’re lucky, there’s rain. And if you’re extremely lucky on a hot summer day, you can feel the relief as big drops fall.
But luck wasn’t on our side Saturday morning.
It was the kind of day where the sun doesn’t just shine, it burns. With five tons of river rock to be moved, the work area was a sun-blasted concrete driveway. No shade. Very little breeze. Just heat radiating up from the ground and reflecting off every surface, turning the whole space into a slow-cook oven.
HHH and I headed out to begin our day of work after enjoying a hearty breakfast. I’d picked up my metal bucket with bruised arms and began to fill it with rocks. It was then I felt the familiar lightning bolt in my back. Without argument, I was out for this job. There’d be other things I could do inside, but moving rocks was off my To-Do list. HHH would need to finish the job alone.
Throughout the morning, he drank bottles of water like there was no tomorrow. His shirt was soaked, his arms ached from moving the wheelbarrow, and his legs were turning into jelly with every trip. His muscles passed sore and were now screaming. You know the kind of ache that tells you you’ve gone too far, but you’re not done yet? HHH was there.
Throughout the day, his stubborn German side never hit the wall. Periodically, he’d stand for a long second, shovel in hand, sweat pouring off his chin, thinking: I can’t go on. He wasn’t even sure if he could lift one more scoop, but lift he did. Load by load, rock by rock, HHH kept going. There’s something incredibly satisfying about seeing a landscape transform under your own effort.
All that stone and sweat, placed like a quiet promise that something beautiful was coming. Over and over, he ferried rock until completely lining the entire driveway with five tons of it. (The remaining five ton will wait for a backyard refresh at a later date.)
By that time, I’d come out to marvel at his gorgeous job. Sitting on the tailgate of the truck like teenagers, we didn’t say much. It was a thing of beauty sitting along a mustang-poop-less street, thanks to the “Wild Hog Away” nuggets.
All of a sudden, the thunder cracked. That deep, rolling kind that makes your ribs vibrate and your eyes scan the horizon. The storm wasn’t overhead, but it was coming. The wind kicked up a little, just enough to stir the dust and lift our spirits. Somewhere inside us, something shifted. Maybe it was the promise of cool rain. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was madness. What it was, we became giddy with delight as the first huge drops fell as thunder and lightning danced overhead.
Fat raindrops sizzled on the driveway. The smell of wet desert earth rose up like a reward. We leaned back, let it fall on our faces, and laughed. The ache in HHH’s muscles remained, but the storm had washed the weight of the work. Satisfaction remained over a job done well and the deep, sweet calm that only a desert summer storm brings.
After enjoying a day of rest, today brings a new project. Painting the trim on the house. The transformation has begun and we can’t drop the ball now.
Stay tuned!