It hasn't been a drought buster by any stretch of the imagination, but the steady rain that has fallen here at the northern end of southern nowhere for the past 30 hours has been one of the most welcome sights I have seen in a long time. By my calculation, my little corner of the Tallahatchie Free State is running a rainfall deficit of nearly two feet for the year. It has been so dry here that, to paraphrase Sheridan during his ruinous romp in the Shenandoah Valley, "a crow flying over the length of the Tallahatchie River bottom would have to carry his own canteen for water." The water level in my lake has dropped precipitously over the past 8 months--five or six feet by my reckoning. The three or four inches of rain we just got won't refill it, but it will at least arrest the decreasing shoreline for a few weeks.
Miss Brenda and I have a running argument regarding the descriptive appellation by which to refer to our liquid inpoundment. I call it my lake. She insists that it is merely a pond. She is unswayed by my definitive reasoning that if one cannot throw a rock across the widest portion of said body of water it is more correctly referred to as a lake. She cannot pitch a petra across, nor have I attempted to do so (the muscles of my throwing arm have atrophied to the point of severe embarrasment should anyone witness my fruitless fling). Furthermore, some of our neighbors have ponds that have completely dried up during this epic drought. My lake and its pescatorial population has survived nicely--though significantly decreased in surface acreage and fin room.
I think I have a way to put the lake v. pond dispute to final rest. Hereby and forthwith, my lake shall be known (with appropriate reinforcing signage) as Lake Brenda.