FanPost

When It Rains, It Pours. When It Pours, Iowans Pour.

This evening started much the same as any other. I cooked a delicious meal for my family, helped my children brush their teeth, and then herded the youngsters up to bed for storytime. Tonight's selection, by one Mr. Roger Hargreaves, was "Mr. Tickle", a parable about, um...molestation? In any event, it was a solid if unspectacular selection by my 4 year old (the 2 year old is partial to Faulkner). After getting the boys into bed and taking my post at the chair in the next room, I broke into some of this week's comic books (yeah, I read comics, wanna fight about it?!?). About fifteen minutes into nerding out, the steady patter of rain against the roof became a racket reminiscent of Beirut circa 1982. Startled beyond belief, my children scurried into my arms as we watched the most intense hail storm in memory from the ledge of our upstairs window.

My children, at once frightened, confused and exhilarated, were abuzz with curiosity. I reassured them that it was only ice and that it couldn't hurt us. Sure, I told them, it could destroy plant life, damage cars and wreak havoc on the roads, but inside we were safe. They steady torrent of heaven-sent missiles made it difficult for them to concentrate and my words largely fell on deaf ears. In fact, all this talking had made me thirsty...

Soon, the hail had died down to only a meager drizzle of rain and I walked out into the yard to assess the damage. Or should I say "harvest"?

Rocks_medium

via i870.photobucket.com

Well, I should say such an unusual event is cause for a celebration of sorts!

Templeton_medium

via gonemild.com

Ah, there it is. Cheers to you, God, Thor, Zeus, Tom Skilling, Global Warming, etc.!

Morehail_medium

via i870.photobucket.com




Unless otherwise expressly indicated by BHGP editors, this FanPost is strictly the viewpoint of the author and is not endorsed by BHGP in any way.

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