Rain: A Natural and Cultural History | Cynthia Barnett

Rain and Frogs: A Nostalgic Journey

When a summer monsoon drenches the earth, forming puddles on the rough, rugged dirt roads like our neighbor Mr. Gombo's face, it's the perfect time for kids to splash around.And if you take a walk to the park at night, when human footsteps have ceased and before the puddles dry, you might just encounter some frogs. Or, you'll be bombarded by the loud chorus of frog croaks, as if under attack.

My sneakers, worn and marked like scars on a thug's face, aren't loud on the dirt path, but they seem to disturb the frogs, who abruptly halt their singing as if annoyed by my intrusion.They probably perceive my footsteps as an unwelcome interruption to their performance, like an off-key note in an amateur music band's concert. Or maybe they just don't like humans at all.

As I stand there, a bit embarrassed by the sudden quiet, the frogs wait quietly, hoping the intruder will pass by.The stars, now visible after the rain, watch from the dark sky, seemingly indifferent to the dull drama unfolding between a human and a group of frogs below.Maybe they're tired of the never-ending greed and chaos of city life and are seeking solace in this quiet park scene. At least, that's what I'd like to think.

With no rush, I too pause my walk, turning on my phone's recording button, waiting for the frogs to resume their chorus. At this moment, I might be the most leisurely person in the world. Amidst the silence, I find myself in a subtle standoff with the frogs. I have no intention of becoming notorious as a 'frog killer' like a character in Han Shao-gong(韩少功)'s 『山南水北,』 yet the frogs remain wary of me. Is it simply their nature to be cautious of humans? It feels unfair that they ignore me without offering an explanation, considering I pride myself on respecting animal rights.

My ordinary footsteps have become an extraordinary disturbance, causing the frogs to fall silent. Like someone awkwardly caught in the act, I feel a momentary embarrassment pass over me. I'm grateful no one is around to witness my awkward stance, and even if someone were, the dim surroundings would conceal me.

But I can't just stand here like a statue without purpose. I simply wanted to hear the frog chorus up close in all its vividness. In the end, it's me who surrenders first. Despite having more time left in my life than the frogs, and therefore the ability to wait longer, I find myself waving the white flag. Perhaps, if I'd stood my ground like someone determined to witness the first sunrise of the new year, the frogs might have recognized my persistence and resumed their singing. But since I didn't try, I'll never know.

As I abandon my small wish to hear the frogs and continue on my way, the triumphant frogs resume their loud croaking, their joy at winning this small contest with a human evident. It's a reminder that humans don't always triumph over nature.

The sound of frogs during the monsoon has been a constant since childhood and in recent years too. However, with fewer rainy days, hearing the frogs has become rare. I didn't realize until reading this book how much frogs love the rain. They cry for rain, sing when it comes, and croak in the puddles left behind, promising life for the next generation. Their endless trust in the rain, which governs the cycle of life and death, seems to warn us not to neglect the rain any longer.

A Hypnotist of Rain Memories

After reading Cynthia Barnett's 『Rain』, I felt compelled to share my thoughts in a typically long-winded introduction. Instead of writing a straightforward book report, reminiscent of those dreaded school assignments, I aim to weave my personal experiences, knowledge, and emotions into a unique review inspired by the book's sentiments. Perhaps I could call it 'review literature'. My hope is to bridge the gap between readers, authors, and books, which has grown wide and distant in Korea. This is one of my sincere wishes for my reviews.

The book offers a myriad of fascinating and colorful tales about rain, from humanity's relationship with it, to civilization, the universe, and nature. It's like a hypnotic journey that dredges up forgotten memories of rain. While these memories vary greatly with each reader, the peculiar and bittersweet feelings rain evokes are difficult to capture with my humble writing skills. For me, the memories include the sound of frogs and toads, and deliberately getting drenched in the rain as a child.

Do You Remember Playing in the Rain?

In Korea's cities, where even watching the rain has become rare due to climate change, hearing frogs has also become difficult. The city is becoming parched, and so are the emotions of its inhabitants. How many people truly worry about the lack of rain? Without proper monsoons, hearing the endangered toads' calls during a solitary night walk is a challenge. We face a bleak, dry era in Korea, where rain is needed more than ever to quench the parched land and spirit.

We should not only worry about the scarcity of rain but also its pollution. The era of calling rain pure is long gone. I vaguely remember the bland, slightly metallic taste of rain when I lived in Jeonnong-dong in the 1980s. Like someone discovering an oasis in a desert, I eagerly opened my mouth to catch the rain. I ran around outside, getting soaked, along with other children who reveled in the rain, nature, and friendship. It was a communal experience, and it didn't matter who started it.

Some kids washed their faces with rainwater, while others couldn't resist peeing in the rain. Girls, hesitant to join the boys in their boisterous rain play, gathered under umbrellas forming temporary tents. Some observed us with envy, while others gave us disdainful looks.

I long for those carefree days when we could joyfully embrace the rain. Drinking rainwater now is akin to consuming poison, and allowing it to soak your head is a reckless act that could harm your hair follicles. Nowadays, even crazy people wouldn't get drenched in the rain.

Is Drought a Disaster or Is Living in a Drought-Prone Area the Problem?

In those days, we stretched out our slender arms to embrace the sky, welcoming the gentle rain that nourished both our souls and the earth. Perhaps, instinctively, we understood the preciousness of the rain that moistened our spirits and breathed life into everything around us.

But now, the rain that once sustained us is drying up due to humanity’s long-standing arrogance and the reckless misuse of technology. In some places, the once-gentle rain has reached its breaking point, transforming into fierce storms that sweep everything away in their path. Elsewhere, severe droughts mock our feeble attempts at artificial rain, leaving the land shriveled and barren. In yet other areas, floods challenge our overconfidence in controlling water, sweeping away everything we’ve built. While it’s easy to blame all this on climate change—something humans are responsible for—it’s also a stark reminder of our hubris in thinking we could outsmart the natural systems of climate, water, and land with our man-made systems.

We’ve stubbornly chosen to farm in drought-prone areas, build cities on floodplains, strip away grasses and forests that naturally absorb water, and erect towering levees and dams. And yet, we still have the audacity to call these events 'natural' disasters. From my perspective, droughts and floods are less acts of nature and more disasters of our own making. Add to this the dubious overuse of technology, which has exacerbated climate change, and all of these disasters are truly human-made.

Ode to Rain

I have a special fondness for the rain. I love how it envelops me in an endless, melancholic mood, creating a spooky atmosphere where ghosts might just appear. The rain that seduces me with its intimate gloom is a delight. I appreciate the haughty rain that falls with the grace of an aloof spinster as well as the gentle rain that resembles a bride's tears on her wedding night. I adore the rain that trickles down like the shy tears of a girl quietly admiring her crush from afar, and I even find charm in the steady drizzle reminiscent of a man overcome with sorrow after a failed venture. And, of course, there's something invigorating about those heavy downpours that seem intent on turning the world upside down. For me, rain is a dear friend, warming my emotionally dry days.

Rain is the source of life, but it can also play the role of an accomplice, hiding all sorts of crimes, or working with the wind to humble humanity with what we call "natural disasters." It's neither good nor bad—utterly unbiased. Just like the dramatic action scenes set in the rain in the film 「Nowhere To Hide, 1999)」, rain adds a unique flair to our cultural experiences. It serves as an inspiration for countless artists and features prominently in our era's most intricate and pressing storylines—the weather forecast.

I'm currently using an app that plays the sound of rain, but those soothing sounds alone cannot capture the full essence of rain. Only on a rainy day can you truly experience the way dampness envelops you, the complex scents that arise when raindrops meet the human-made structures on earth, and the subtle imbalance the low pressure causes in our bodies. These are the elements of the rain's charm that only a real rain shower can evoke.

Rain Nourishes Both the Earth and Our Emotions

I won't shower Cynthia Barnett's 『Rain』 with clichéd praises. I'll simply say it contains everything about rain. From the history of rain shaping our planet to the fascinating evolution of human fingerprints for better grip in wet conditions, the book offers a wealth of intriguing insights. It explores rain's dual nature as both a savior and a bringer of despair.

Unlike other scientific books, Barnett's poetic prose captivates readers, whether they love or hate rain. Somewhere in this book, a frog might leap out, hoping for more rain. For those who love rain, exploring its essence while getting soaked in a drizzle can be enlightening. For those who dislike it, listening to the piano-like melody of raindrops on a raincoat can cleanse bad memories associated with rain.

Barnett notes that the smell of earth is strongest when rain quenches a dry land. Similarly, the smell of humanity is strongest when something quenches a dry spirit. While rain doesn't directly nourish a city dweller's dry emotions, it can briefly soften their stern expressions. Anyone who has paused their busy work to listen to the rain tapping on windows knows how much rain impacts us. Rain, a lifeline for Earth, is also a magical bridge reconnecting humanity and nature.

How much do we truly know about rain, once so precious it was believed to be worth child sacrifices? This book serves as a bible on rain. In Korea, rain is now a rare sight, and when it does fall, it's barely enough to wet the dry land and spirits. I worry about the future, but my concerns alone won't bring rain. While it's sad that rain is scarce, it's even sadder that people don't seem to care.

For city dwellers like me, rain appeals more on an emotional level than an ecological one. My mind is flooded with thoughts about rain, but my limited writing skills act as a dam, so I must end here. This summer, while I was glad for the unexpected rain, it sadly brought disasters that claimed lives. It was a summer that starkly reminded me of rain's cold, indifferent nature.

This reflection comes from someone who has always loved and missed the rain, and who also worries about the disasters it can bring.

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