Into each life a little rain must fall. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
And that it did last Thursday night during our June Block Party, if only for a time. It looked pretty iffy all day, nearly right up to the magic hour of 5 pm. Then, it looked like it might skip past us—until the skies let loose again for about five minutes just as the band really got going.
I’d been asked (maybe, urged) early in the day: should we cancel?
I stubbornly insisted on sticking it out—didn’t even really want to entertain the question. In a show of resolve, I went on our socials around 2 that afternoon to post what I meant to be an unequivocal rejection that we could be rained out.
Turns out, I was reading that post as only I could read it in my own head, knowing exactly what I intended.
Turns out, the post might have convinced some of you that I’d had the good sense to cancel.
Still, it also turns out, a good number of you routinely ignore me and my posts.
Thank goodness for that.
The Block Party was joyous—despite the uncertainty of the forecast, despite the brief downpour, despite my own stubbornness. The air hung heavy on the nose with frying chicken, warming peppers and onions, and grilling sausages. Ice cream gone soft in the building humidity left sticky dribbles on fingers, tables, and chairs. And the trombones blared to life and called out in celebration.
Not gonna lie: I love that Block Party. I love the sight of neighbors turning out. Some come down Sloan, beating a clear and determined path to the corner. Some wander past, take it all in, and then circle back to stay a while. Some have no idea what they’ve come upon, shrug, and then dive in. For a time, we’re pulled together by the lure of good food cooking, the energy of a brass band playing, and the promise of a community gathering as one.
Yes, sometimes the rain falls. And getting wet, maybe even soaked, doesn’t matter one bit because we find ourselves in a position to feel the sunlight just there on the other side of the shower.
I know there are far heavier clouds out there than the ones that tormented us last Thursday. Wondering whether you can afford to stay in the place you want to call home is one of them. Worrying that as a renter you’re at the mercy of a property owner who doesn’t see you, who sees only dollars. Watching things break one by one in your aging home, knowing you don’t have the money to fix them.
When storms like that rage, I think it rarely feels like the bad luck of happenstance, although sometimes it is. I imagine it can feel like you’re alone. And in that downpour, it must be hard to imagine the sun ever breaking through again.
That’s why something as small as carrying on with a block party matters. It reminds us there are other people who will dance with us, even in the rain.
Raise the Roof ‘25
Here’s your chance to keep on dancing with US and coax the sun from behind the clouds. Your community needs you!