Real Soup

On Summer Rain

The sky changes. The air goes muggy. Immoderate colors appear in the close heavens.

Lavenders, pearly greys, deep mauve, great puffs of magenta stream overhead, flickering and churning, refusing to pose, moving on quickly to the great blue black masses in the east where their shapes compact behind the horizon and build power.

The uppermost leaves of the tall poplars I grew from sprigs flash their surprising silver underbellies, iridescent suddenly in the slanted light. The pine trees sing. Black-eyed susans pop out of their wild beds with startling golds against the

darkening sky. All the birds disappear without evensongs.

Caught in the vivid flurry, the bright charged air, we must let the old dog into the house where she will hide under the table for the next hours, drooling in panic. Roll up the car windows, stash the bikes, make note of the frog croaking like an old shoe in the greenhouse.

Pop two bowls of popcorn, hurrying now. Gather the lawn chairs, an umbrella, a book that will not be opened but is still worth bringing, a camera, all around the intent pivot of a large and agile youth playing hacky sack on the Stonehenge fire circle in the yard.

The overture has already begun.

Enormous knuckle-cracking explosions flash out of the dome. Crackle boom boom boom and the landscape is eerily lit strobe white. We squeal and applaud. The cats roll in for refreshments. The sky is breaking. Kettle drums in the distance pound our bones. Crickets in the field carry on dutifully, holding together the intermittent operatic tone with their sweet undercurrent. Everything alive responds to this; we are in unison.

The neighbors hoot from their vantage point and the power escalates. It is close. It is full. The optimum has been reached.

With a few electric cool splashings on our summer skins, the clouds begin to burst gently. Athletes dash about to catch a fat droplet in their mouths. The metal roof echoes like a tin drum. A silver lining appears in the clouds and disappears.

Connoisseurs quietly welcome the free and delicious sliding of water drops down the face and shoulders. Staying out in the summer rain holds memories.

Something splendid from the kitchen is in order now. Something easy so that the continuing crescendo may be savored. Something spicy and warming. Oven Fries may be prepared and put into the oven on such an occasion, a

nd the plug may be pulled on the television whilst they bake, and the storm can carry on as long as it wants.

We are elated. We cuddle and chat. Things will likely be back to normal by morning, but now is the adventure. Now is the oasis in the dry heat of August. It is the dramatic dark day in the light; it is like a warm day in winter.

Preheat the oven to 400. Scrub lots of potatoes, at least one per person and one extra. Red potatoes add a delicate sweetness that is appealing, but any good local potatoes you have on hand will do.

Now you can just cut them in half the long way, so that you have boat-shaped halves, or you can continue to slice them into long fingers for real fries. in any case, coat all the surfaces with a good quality mild oil - canola, safflower, olive, etc. - and oil a large baking sheet. I usually oil the sheet and put the potatoes on it, add a bit more oil, and toss them around with my hands. It's good for your skin.

If you chose halves, put the cut side down and bake for about 40 minutes. Test for doneness and season to taste with salt and pepper, dill weed, paprika.

If you want thinner fries, slice the halves about 1/2 inch thick. 'Proceed as above and bake for 30-40 minutes, turning them over with a spatula several times.

Drain them on absorbent paper and serve with a dipping sauce, such as Kids' Ranch Dressing, or salsa.

Now you are all set up to play Scrabble or to tell moderately scary stories until bedtime. In the morning the air will be like perfume.