So it’s thunderstorm season here, and if you are anything like me at all, those are the kind of storms that belong on the weather network, not in your very own backyard. And no where near your garden, call me chicken, but our house has lots of windows…..made of glass… hail breaks glass, thunder is loud, and lightening is going to try and find me no matter where I hide in the basement.
See that quivering mound under the layer of blankets downstairs, Boo is looking at it, and wondering what it is. That’s me…well the chicken part of me…the only slightly braver part of me is actually trying not to scream at every wall shaking, window rattling lurch of the house. After all, someone’s got to pretend this is normal. Um…not!
The skies opened, literally dumped 3/4 inch hail on everything…it felt like winter all over again, except the humidity was so unusually high. It’s no wonder my seeds never came up, no wonder the streets were overflowing with debris. And the Hosta’s…oh my poor babies.
Too late to go outside, I could only cower in the doorway and cry…it felt like I was being punished for admiring those gorgeous green leaves when I first got back home. Take that the hail pellets seemed to say, “see I told you a gardeners pride goeth before a hail storm, you were so proud of those leaves.”
There was no time to set up a garden umbrella, not a second to throw a sheet over them…they suffered…the entire garden is damaged. The lovely Gingko, the tiny red Japanese Maple, the new Cercis…the daisy buds not yet even opened. The leaves on the roses, speckled, the hosta torn, and tattered. Drooping, sagging, shattered, and pitted..
But that’s the good news.
We were not flooded out of our house, and home. We still have a fully intact house, unlike many other areas in BC, and Alberta. Our vehicles were not found floating down the street in a sea of mud, our walls have no high water mark that will never go away despite numerous coats of paint.
We have a home, we have our lawn, our trees, our vehicles. And for that I am thankful.
Because hail hath no fury…and mud knows no limitations, water will always flow to the lowest point.
So take my Hosta’s, tear my leaves, rattle my windows…I am strong enough to go through this, maybe just maybe the furious weather will be a little kinder to someone somewhere else, because some of it’s anger is spread about here first.
I can only hope, and my Hosta’s are a small sacrifice to pay if that is true.