What's In Your Rain Gauge?

It was exactly 4” tall, made out of sheet metal, painted white, stamped with a Fort Dodge, Iowa feed store label, and housed a test-tube like glass cylinder, about 5/8” wide with a flat bottom. It was Dad’s old rain gauge that had been with him since the early ‘70s. It had traveled from “the old house” to “the new house” in rural Fort Dodge, Iowa. He had carefully packed it in a box and it moved with us to Emma, Missouri. And, three years later, it was packed up again and hauled to Walburg, Texas. Dad had it mounted to our clothes line post with a hose clamp that he tightly fastened to prevent wind or driving rain from holding it true and upright. The name of the feed store has faded from my memory, as had the label by the time I realized what a rain gauge was and what it meant.

By today’s standards, this rain gauge was dark-ages simple. Today’s rain gauges are digitized, computerized, micro-sized units that will tell you the entire outdoor weather spectrum from the comfort of the living room, measuring rain to the hundredths of an inch and tracking rainfall. Today’s units, battery powered and back-lit, will describe rain fall rates and totals almost as accurately as Tim Ross could do with his professional instruments at KVUE channel 24 in Austin in 1982. But Dad’s gauge was as low-tech as it could be, sheet metal and glass, and was marked in inches, down to merely the sixteenth of an inch. “Was” is a key word – the same paint that was used to identify the feed store was also used to mark the measurements along the side of the glass tube. If digital units were available for the home owner, he eschewed most tech –indoor or outdoor – and wanted none of that stuff. There were no lights, screens, or digital read-outs that tracked weekly volume and hourly rainfall rates.  I don’t know how Dad could correctly and accurately read that gauge, given its faded lines, but he could, and he did – with all the precision he could muster. That rain gauge told a story – before, during and after a rainstorm. And brother, did it speak volumes to Dad.

After a rain storm, Dad would begin the next journal entry to the story. Dad would go out to the gauge – with rain jacket and mud boots on, if necessary - and carefully, deliberately precisely read that glass tube. Adjusting the angle of his head to match up with his bifocals, he would study the meniscus of the water as carefully as a chemist and take his reading of the rain volume: “Right at inch and five-sixteenths,” he would declare. Then, he would reach up, gently extract the tube of water, and with a firm and expert grip, he would whip the cylinder twice, mouth downward, to fling the rainwater from the gauge with centripetal force. Twice was key – one fling might not get all of the water out and throw off the next reading; three flings was unnecessary. With a quick peek to confirm that it was dry enough (it was…always), he would then slide the tube into the gauge frame, ready to receive another chapter in the narrative. He would then turn, go back inside the house, and carefully record the rainfall on a “gimme” calendar – either from Mickan Motor Company or from the Eugene Buchhorn Germania Insurtance Agency – that he kept in the utility room for just such a purpose.

The story was usually not a long one, neither in quantity or quality. Literally, it was measured in fractions of an inch, up to four inches in depth; it took only a minute or two, from reading to writing. But that brief-moment-of-a-story was a microcosm of a greater story. 

For Dad, I think the rain gauge was a physical reminder of the truths taught in the Small Catechism. From the 9^th and 10^th Commandments and contentment, to the Creed’s enumerations of First Article gifts, to the Lord’s Prayer teaching us about daily bread, the rain gauge encompassed the waiting-in-faith truth of the Christian life. As the mouth of the rain gauge stood always open, looking heaven-ward and waiting to be filled, the Christian stands ready to receive the blessings of God when and as He distributes them. The gauge stood as a visible and tangible reminder of all the blessings God showered upon our family - both physical and spiritual. Whether the gauge had a sixteenth of an inch or three inches, Dad was grateful for each drop of rain. And when days turned into weeks and weeks into months where the gauge sat unused and gathered dust debris, Dad would flick the detritus from the tube and blow the dust out, look to the heavens, and pray, trusting that the gauge would soon be washed clean with fresh rain water and filled again.

And, there was even a reminder of the Christian-as-sinner in this gauge. Well, it wasn’t as much “in” it as “as a result” of it: bragging. On Sunday, Dad was part of the group of good ol’ boys (also known as “old timers,” even though some of them weren’t that old) who, when they got together, would compare those stories. It would usually start with someone who thought he had received a “good” rain – say ¾” of an inch. You could tell pretty quick who had more and who had less. The ones who had less would mumble their readings of a half inch, or five-eighths of an inch, but the ones who had more rain kinda swelled up a bit and crow that they had durn near a full inch of rain, and that was before he went to bed that night. When the totals were shared, and the discussion wrapped, up, the old timers would say something like “glad you got that much, but I hope I get it next time. The tank is drying up and the maize is gonna turn toxic if it doesn’t get some water on it soon.” And, with a collective look to the heavens, the old timers would say a silent prayer that God would fill the rain gauges soon.

This all came to mind this past week. A heavy rain storm blew through Mission Valley on Saturday. Sunday morning, the old timers were swapping their rain gauge totals. Lots of folks reported about 2” worth of rain. Sure enough, just like 1981, one quiet fellow reported “just shy of three eighths” and another fellow – with just a touch of pride – declared almost two and a half inches of rain fell on his place. And then, with true gentleness, the fellow who had just a shower said, with truth and genuineness in his voice, “Sure glad y’all got that rain. Lord knows we all need it. Hopefully I get it next time.”  And, just as true and genuine, the fellow who got over two inches said, “Yeah, but y’all need it just as bad. I pray you get some more rain soon, too.”

Yesterday, I was given a rain gauge. It’s not as classic as Dad’s. Mine is plastic, not sheet metal, and I doubt it would survive multiple moves. But it’ll do the job. It’ll read rainfall – to the eighth of an inch – and let me keep track of the blessings God showers (literally) upon the earth in rain. It’ll remind me to give thanks to God for all of His blessings, both what I can see and count, and what I cannot see or measure. I hope I can be generous and genuine in rejoicing with others who get rain I don’t, and it’ll remind me to be humble when we receive rain others missed. And, when there is nothing in it but dust and dry grass, I hope it teaches me faithfulness in trusting the Lord will provide, both now and into eternity.

All that from a gimme rain gauge. Now, I have to find a gimme calendar to keep track of the blessings of rain God sends to this house.