Wild weather.

Yesterday we had a violent hail storm. Ice balls the size of lima beans pounded on our roof, shredded our strawberry patch, tore through our roses, and scared the crap out of our dogs. It sounded like there were a hundred people on our roof slapping and pounding our shingles with their hands. Miles followed me into the kitchen and sat on the floor, looking at me with his little ears plastered back over his skull. This is Miles' way of saying, "Please pick me up." So I did, and I held him so that he could look out the window and watch the streets fill with white ice. After a little while, he relaxed, and finally went to take a nap, though I had no idea how he could sleep with all that racket.

I still haven't had the courage to go and look at my poor strawberries. I planted them last year, and we haven't even been able to enjoy the fruit until about a week ago. The first year you plant strawberries, you should pick off all the blooms so that the plants grow strong roots. You get a much stronger crop in subsequent years if you do that. And we were definitely growing a lot of berries! When it gets warmer and stops drizzling, we'll see if they survived.

Today it's misty, drizzly, and cool, just the kind of weather we used to get in New York in early spring, or in the fall. It's wonderful that we're getting so much moisture. We live in a town at the base of the Rockies, and rain is hard to come by. When you live in an arid clime, you learn to accept water in any form, even if it bruises the tarnation out of your garden.