"Playmate, come out and play with me.
And bring your dollies, three,
Climb up my apple tree.
Look down my rain barrel,
Slide down my cellar door,
And we'll be jolly friends for ever more."

I've just finished a long walk around our neighborhood where I noticed several rain barrels. They were made of various materials but all had that wonderful round shape that seems to say 'sturdy'. I love the idea that we have returned to form of collecting water from our natural sprinkling system. I have wonderful memories of my grandmother's rain barrel. My mother would draw water out of the barrel to wash my hair which seemed to always make it softer.

This 'rain barrel song' was one my mother taught me. When it came back to me today, I found myself filled with the same melancholy I felt as a young girl. You see the second part of the verse goes:
"She couldn't come out and play.
It was a rainy day.
With tearful eyes, she breathed a sigh
And I could hear her say:
I"m sorry playmate, I cannot play with you.
My dolly has the flu,
Boo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo.
Ain't got no rain barrel, ain't got no cellar door.
But we'll be jolly friends for ever more."

For some reason these lyrics always nearly moved me to tears. Why doesn't she have a rain barrel, a cellar door? Did the 'dolly' have the flu or did the playmate? The images this song once evoked to me…..rich girl, poor girl, playmates kept from one another….all came flooding back at the sight a the sturdy roundness of a simple barrel.

In some ways, it is a silly, child's song. And yet it proves the power of the music we learn in our formative years. Those songs go someplace deep inside, nest there, become a part of our DNA, and get drudged up at the oddest of times, transporting us to another time, another place, a whole range of feelings. In singing that song as I continued on my walk, the memory of my grandmother's house came into view. I could see the apple tree from which I hung upside down when I was about three years old….my first real memory. I felt the gentle drips slipping through my mother's cupped hands as the rain barrel water rinsed my hair. It seemed as if I might be able to reach up and touch once again the softness brought on by the rain's freshness.

All this….because I saw a rain barrel.