The Rain Comes.

Are you ready?

The first few drops were cold, hesitant. A question. A tentative invitation. Then, as the earth reached up, thirsty for a lover’s touch, they became a pattern, fingertips dancing across long-forgotten surfaces, falling into familiar crevices, the lusty-musty smell of petrichor rising and awakening everything.

It had dropped 20 degrees in a day the week before, and the fish were instantly stuporous, sinking, gazing into the memory of the long Indian summer that is September and October in California’s Central Valley.

But the cold does not separate the seasons. The rain does.

November brings rain, the trees reluctantly shake themselves free all of last year’s hopes and dreams, and turn their attention to the soil, where they will find the nutrients and inspiration for next year’s attempt to reach the sun.

The rain comes, transforming dry spores and sleeping creepy-crawlies into living, growing communities that spin forth webs, ladders, and roads inside soil that will become channels for next year’s rain to travel on its journey to nourish the soil again.

The rain comes, violently splitting billions of tiny seeds in two, splitting them into, forcing them to reckon with the future versions of themselves.

The rain comes and the soil inhales its abundance, quietly keeping the secret they have shared for millennia, the sacred compact at the foundation of everything about our existence.

A dear friend and mentor of mine calls herself The Ethical Rainmaker. She sees fundraising professionals as instruments of connection between resources (like money) and needs (like programs or problems). As a fundraiser, she “makes it rain” for nonprofits. As a Good Human Being, she does so ethically, in a way that cares for the entire community. See Community-Centric Fundraising for more about this revolutionary and timely idea and check out her thought-provoking and sexy podcast @theethicalrainmaker.

I think about soil a lot. From my earliest days of making mud pies in the driveway, I’ve been fascinated by its variety, its textures and smells, how it holds together, how it falls apart. If my friend is focused on bringing the rain, I am focused on the soil that feeds nonprofits.

I think about soil a lot. From my earliest days of making mud pies in the driveway, I’ve been fascinated by its variety, its textures and smells, how it holds together, how it falls apart. If my friend is focused on bringing the rain, I am focused on the soil that feeds nonprofits.

This “dirty” metaphor can mean the overall environment at an organization, the leadership style, its culture. It can be applied to the community within which that organization works. It works to describe the technology, systems and processes at a nonprofit – in particular I find it very useful in considering the CRM and communication tools that a nonprofit is working with.

In the nonprofit world, November is when the rains begin. The holiday season awakens generosity, tax advantages beckon and well, maybe people just realize it’s just time for it to rain. Months of preparation of year-end campaigns literally pays off as the rest of professional people are obsessed with Black Friday and all we can think of is Giving Tuesday. We work on New Year’s Eve, envious of for-profit colleagues heading for parties while we await the tremulous voice of that one thousand-year-old donor who calls every single year at the last moment to manually make her three-digit gift.

Is your soil ready for the rainy season? Do you have donor stewardship built into your campaign plans? Are you capturing your donation data and using it to inform your communications? Are your programs in good shape for next year, or are they thick and resistant like clay, or do they let all the precious water drain away? Is it time to top-dress or feed your soil, like farmers do in the fall?

Well, I can’t answer those questions for you without knowing more. But I can certainly help you take a good look at your soil if you’d like to reach out.

In the meantime, I’ll be playing in the dirt and dancing in the rain.

Good Tilth to you.