A month ago, we garden growers were griping about how dry it was. Be careful what you wish for. Shakespeare described these past few weeks best: “For the rain it raineth every day.”

I have it on pretty good authority that Will never made it to western Pennsylvania or New York. But let’s face it, he was an Englishman, and they know something about rain from the very first day they toddle outdoors. We are not accustomed to so many deluge days.

The rain seriously dampened our annual summer family visit. Initially, the weather behaved, and did produce a glorious Fourth for the parade. Even an extended family picnic the next day was perfect. But Mother Nature is fickle and spoiling our vacation agenda was on her radar.

In addition to the parade, we always plan a few days at the pool, one event at Chautauqua, a family mini-golf outing and a hiking trip or two. Along with familiar places to eat, and forays for ice cream, we often explore a new destination. The four Bostonians – my daughter and her family – jog or power-walk most days, working off the ice cream and the occasional grandmotherly treat. Hey, I can’t be held responsible for a little spoiling. It’s in my job description.

My son arrived from Annapolis with his usual sidekick, Walter, a 100-pound Labrador Retriever. When they are not exploring the woods together, Walter parks himself between the kitchen sink and the island, ever hopeful of a dropped morsel. My floor is clean while Walter is in residence, but cooking with him underfoot is dangerous. He is a sweet beast, though, even if the cat doesn’t agree.

The Massachusetts contingent always arrives in their well-packed family van. Car booster seats are a thing of the past – suddenly, the kids are full-sized people. Naturally, the contents of the van no longer include bathtub toys, Pampers or water guns. The cargo now includes electronics- computers, cell phones, earbuds, and the matching chargers. The big sack of books is now supplemented with an array of board games.

Despite the downsizing to electronic gear, packing the van is still a formidable challenge. The running joke is that my daughter, Alix, possesses the packing and loading gene. It’s in her DNA. She can find space in a vehicle that the average person cannot: “You think that car is full?

Move that soccer ball to the top, turn the biggest suitcase up on end and slide these skis down the middle.” Or something similar. The latest travel challenge is more demanding than it has ever been. Malcolm, now 13, plays the string bass.

Since being selected for the Boston Youth Symphony, wherever Malcolm goes for more than a few days, his double bass goes too. Malcolm is 5-foot-8 and so is his bass. Of course when it travels in the back of a van, it’s almost 6-feet LONG – and therein lies the problem: the strings, fingerboard, and especially the bridge of the instrument must be protected. Its canvas case protects only the finish. Geesh. Who knew? And how does all that fit between suitcases, coolers, tote bags and tanned legs in flip-flops? And don’t forget the bow box.

Alix had her work cut out for her. She devised a magic rigging system of third-row seat belts, some of which were suspended. I was impressed that everything fit, and the bass was sort of floating in its own space.

It was a pleasure having the bassist here in residence. During the rain most afternoons, I was usually prepping supper in the kitchen. Suddenly, the rich, dulcet tones would begin in the living room. It wasn’t long before I realized that I would not be hearing memorable melodies because the bass mostly plays … well, the bass line. Malcolm, who practices without being reminded, played his scales and scores in a gentle rhythm that I came to look forward to — a soothing accompaniment to my afternoon.

Although the family managed their annual putt-putt tournament between raindrops, our usual outings were replaced by indoor pursuits. While it poured, we played euchre – sometimes adults vs. kids, sometimes the vicious version with just three players. We played table games and we watched the early rounds of Wimbledon while the boys played tactical war games spread out on the dining room table.

Sadly, our normal summer outdoor meals were few. Yup, even when they left for home it was raining. Since I haven’t spent any time watering the garden, I’m laundering the many loads of sheets and towels in record time.

As I write this, it is raining. Again. And the forecast until Friday is — surprise! — rain. My north side is growing moss.

Marcy O’Brien lives in Warren, Pa with her husband, Richard, and Finian, their handsome Maine Coon cat. Marcy can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com.