A storm moved through Wednesday night. I know, because I had fallen asleep sitting up on the short couch, and awoke at 2:45 to the POUNDING of hail on the metal roof of the Mansion. I hope we didn't get hail damage. I'm not posing such a question to Farmer H, because he would balance a ladder on the back porch and climb up to have a look. He doesn't need to be on a ladder right now.
I could hear those ice pellets beating against the metal front door. That means they were blowing sideways, across a four-foot span of porch, and an additional foot of roof overhang. I looked out after the hubbub died down, and saw the front yard/field white with hail. The front porch was covered. The brick sidewalk. It was pretty. Yet not healthy for man nor beast. I was grateful for T-Hoe and A-Cad's garage lair, and the carport roof over SilverRedO. My thoughts turned to my little Pony, but I daren't disturb him in the wee hours with a text.
By 8:38, I knew The Pony was still alive. I'm pretty sure he sent the text earlier, but that's when it came in on my metal-roof-sheltered phone:
"Holy hailstones!"
That's an accumulation on The Pony's car. I can see that he's parked at work. Looks like he didn't bother to use the windshield wipers on the way there. You'll also see that The Pony's nail polish is no longer chipped. He applied a fresh coat before our casino trip. It's highlighted even better below:
That looks like an almost perfect murder spear. Though it could possibly crumble before its goal was achieved. Pony described the hail at his house as "Thumbnail size." He said it woke him at 2:00. Ours was grape size.
When Farmer H got up, he threw open the front door in his underwear, and exclaimed that it had snowed.
"No. That's hail. Snow would have melted way before now. It was 70 degrees yesterday!"
When I went to town at 3:00, there were still pockets of hail piled alongside the road. Though it had melted off most of the porch, and the entire front yard/field. Winds were blustery, and the high temp in the low 40s. Five more weeks of winter. Or summer-like temperatures. Until spring officially arrives.
No hail, no snow here, just rain. Just the maddeningly slow drizzle that leads one to believe they are at the beginning or end of a storm. Drab and dreary days, one after another.
ReplyDeleteKathy,
ReplyDeleteWe have the extremes. I was sweating earlier in the day. It was shorts weather! Not that I wear shorts... Then that pounding hail coating the ground like snow less than 12 hours later.
Drab drizzle is maddening to me when riding with Farmer H, the windshield-wiper-conserving sweaver!
I'm reminded of the hailstorm we had while I lived in my previous home where edges of paths and corners of yards were piled high with hailstones about half the size of golfballs and they didn't melt away until the next day.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad The Pony's windshield didn't get cracked.
River,
ReplyDeleteI'm glad ours were not that big! There were still some piled along the blacktop road today. I like how they look like gems on The Pony's car. Yes, good thing his windshield didn't take a beating.