For my 50^th birthday, my husband took me to Paris. On my 51^st, he bought me muck boots. The gift was by request, much like my first technical rain jacket, he purchased years before. The boots are tall and brown, perfect for strolling through the bottomland after a heavy rain, and equally handy for stepping out on the dirt road when the dusty, orange clay turns to thick, sticky mud. Which is exactly what I feared would happen last weekend.

The girls were bringing friends to the camp for a couple days of fun before the end of the college semester and graduation. Lynn and I invited our close friends and their guests to join us for the day on Saturday. Entertaining off the grid is more preparation than talent. With illusions of throwing an event worthy of being featured in Garden & Gun magazine, I set to work planning menus, grocery shopping, and gathering supplies. Lynn ordered pounds of shrimp, potatoes, and corn, and brought out the 15-gallon pot for boiling.

As the week progressed, we kept a keen eye on the weather. When you live near the rainiest city in the country, thunder storms are common and often move through quickly. But when your entertainment venue can only be reached by a narrow, dirt road, a high chance of a gully washer is reason to cancel. For some freak of nature, rain is always in the short-range forecast when we plan to have guests at the camp. I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve had to call it off.

As Friday morning dawned, I opening the weather app on my phone every hour or so, hoping mother nature had a change of heart. But no, it read like this:

   Today, Mostly Cloudy, Precipitation 10 percent;

  Saturday, Strong Storms, Precipitation 90 percent;

  Sunday, Partly Cloudy, Precipitation 10 percent.

The forecast for the remainder of the week was sunny. I found myself putting “damn it” at the end of every thought. “Why does this always happen, damn it?” “When’s the best time to call it off, damn it?” “We’re going to have so much food left over, damn it.”  “It’s just not fair, damn it.” In so many ways, letting go was not going to be easy.

Our friend called, “Have you seen the forecast?” he asked. We spent the better part of 30 minutes debating the best time to cancel. “We’re worried about y’all driving on the dirt road after a heavy rain,” I explained. “I have muck boots and four-wheel drive.” We both agreed muck boots were not a staple in their wardrobes. Although, he suggested it would make a good title for a blog post.

That afternoon I packed my bag and my ego and headed for Washington County. Though the weather called for rain, I looked forward to quality time with my family. When a partly sunny Saturday morning arrived, I renewed my frustration with the weather gods and doubted our decision to put off the picture-perfect party. The girls spent the morning fishing and as I settled into a comfortable camp routine, I changed my perspective, and my attitude, enjoying the moment and making new plans for the extra food we would take home.

We downsized the shrimp boil to feed eight and used a clean garbage can lid, not a fancy platter to serve. From the smiles on the college students’ faces, and our girls’ gratitude for the hospitality, I’d say it was still a magazine-worthy event.

Shortly after clean-up, like a train on schedule, a record amount of rain came roaring through. At peace with our decision to cancel the party, we took a nap…to the rhythmic hum of rain on the tin roof.