We had this massive hailstorm the night before last. We’d been getting evening rains, but this one turned black, with a pounding downpour. When you have a flat roof, like many of us here in New Mexico do, you really hear the rain come down, drumming just overhead. So, when the hail started, it sounded no different at first. But as it grew in size, it became sharper, heavier, more dramatic.
Then these started falling:
(Or how I imagine being under artillery fire would sound, since I’ve lead a blessed life and have never experienced such a thing. Actually, I’m pretty sure being under artillery fire probably sounds much worse and is far more scary, but I’m going for the dramatic analogy here.)
David and I kind of paced from window to window, staring out in awe. The desert ground looked like it was jumping with fleas, constantly in motion. The water shot off the roof canales with such speed and volume that it fell past the rain barrel catchments. And yet, they all totally filled anyway. We stared up at the skylights, fully expecting one of these missiles to rocket through.
Just amazing when something like that occurs and you just have to wait it out.
Mother Nature rules.
In the aftermath, we found that our grape arbor, which had been heavy with just-ripe grapes is nearly completely decimated. Grapes and leaves are two-inches thick on the ground. Other plants, like the Russian Sage, look like nothing happened. Our jelly feeder out front was battered to bits, while the agave below it appear untouched.Within moments of the rain and hail easing, the towhees and hummingbirds were out again, happily feeding. I have no idea where they sheltered.
This says something about resilience to me.
That and the fact that our skylights seem to be just fine. And that I’m contemplating making grape jam.