I live in the Midwest. Extremes of weather are normal. Nevertheless, not a summer goes by in without several articles in the paper about how the weather, whatever it happens to be, is hurting the farmers. This summer is no exception.

People here spent May and the early part of June discussing building an ark. The only thing that kept several people from doing it was the thought that they would have to take several varieties of snake in that boat with them. The rest of them were stopped at the thought of spiders on board. Personally, there were days when what stopped me was all that togetherness with my own family.

And then came the second half of June and July. Not a drop of rain. Not....a....drop. Yet here we are complaining again. I have visions of God, as many small children picture him, up in the sky, sitting on a throne and talking to his angels. He�s saying, �They prayed for dry weather and I gave it to them. What are they complaining about now?�

Although I am a little concerned about the white birch, Mr. Philately is reveling in the fact that the grass does not need mowing. Many people are watering lawns. Dandelions, however, stay green enough that we have not bothered to water. I�m very glad I never quite got around to planting the geraniums by the side of the house. The rest of my flowers are native perennials and can endure most of the weather Wisconsin skies dish out.

Still, I�m worried about Lake Michigan. I love that lake and its water levels are low and dropping. Although some people from California refuse to grasp the concept, Lake Michigan is not some little pond somewhere. It takes approximately four hours to cross it by boat from Wisconsin to Michigan (or vice versa) and it has waves. You cannot see across it�and it�s beautiful. I love to drive past it or to stop at the top of the bluff and look down the shoreline. I love to watch the subtle differences in color, watching it get bluer as you gaze from the shoreline out onto the lake. I love to watch the steam rise from it in the winter, forming clouds that, from a distance, look like purple mountains majesty.

So I�m doing my best to help it rain. I�m washing cars. I�m taking a kid to camp. If that doesn�t work, I�ll consider washing windows. I don�t seem to need it at the moment but if things get really bad, perhaps Mr. Philately would paint the exterior again.

Whatever happens know that I likely will write of the weather again�whether you want to hear it or not.

(Note: Approximately two hours after I wrote this piece yesterday, it began to pour but only for a short while. Rest assured, however, that today�s paper is likely to tell us that it was insufficient to end the dry spell.)

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