By KAREN MADORIN
Yes, you read that right. We had several worm days recently following a couple of soaking rains.
Hard, dry dirt or super fine dust became all too common for those who live near the 100th Meridian. Most of us hadn’t seen a worm unless we bought it in a Styrofoam box at the bait shop, so these overnight rains not only turned our hardpack to mud, it brought soggy wigglers to the surface where they could soak up sun and dry out.
Years ago, I read a story about first grade girls greeting one another on the playground before school started one rainy morning with jubilant cries of, “It’s a worm day! Yea.” Every since then, when we get a good soaking, I wake up thinking, “Yea! It’s a worm day!” How can I not celebrate.
First things first on such occurrences—still in jammies, I raced from window to window making sure bushes, trees, flowers, garden plants, and patio pots celebrated as joyfully as I did.
I hadn’t measured before the rain, but I’m sure our hollyhocks grew six inches overnight. Either that or increased hydraulic pressure due to extra ground moisture made them stand taller and prouder than they had the day before. The asparagus for sure grew enough to require harvesting. We dined well that night. Nearby, strawberry plants stretched their tendrils into new territory. One growing an actual strawberry looked more vibrant than usual. Around the corner, floppy horseradish perked up and looked like it flexed leafy muscles.
As I inventoried plantings, I spied joyous robins hopping around the yard. I had to check out front to see if as many lingered there as in the backyard. Yep, they like worm days too. For the next several hours I watched them score one delectable nightcrawler after another. They can’t store them so they must’ve eaten til they about burst.
Even the chickens seemed excitable. Perhaps they lucked out and found worms seeking dry ground in their pen. If sodden creatures emerged within reach of our four tiny dinosaurs, they didn’t last long. That might explain some of the squawks and flapping wings I observed. It might also explain extra muddy footprints on that day’s egg collection.
Later that day, a friend found multiple soaked earthworms attempting to dry out by lining his concrete driveway,. Neighborhood robins spied them before they crawled back underground. I’m guessing those stuffed birds resorted to an after-feast nap to recover from their gluttonous overindulgence.
Years ago, a student asked me how bored I was to focus on so many little details my yard. That caught me unawares. I’d never thought of my observations defining boredom. I always thought they enriched each day and offered more to be grateful for.
Worm days add additional layers to everyday blessings. Besides spying water-logged vermiculture, I see unexpected bird interactions—this is wooing time so I might see a worm become a tenderly delivered courtship offering.
Some might consider attention to detail boring, but it’s not—especially on worm days. What a thrill to witness minute details about how plants, birds, and insects respond to a long-prayed for rain.
Karen Madorin is a retired teacher, writer, photographer, outdoors lover, and sixth-generation Kansan.