Denver is sometimes called the Hail Capitol of the World, since it’s one of the top urban centers for hailstones (a combination of altitude — so the suckers don’t melt — with the Front Slope and updrafts and Gulf moisture and the Jet Stream and all that jazz). If there’s one damaging natural disaster you can count on here, aside from the five-year-blizzard, it’s hail every spring.
Well, we’ve been getting it the past few afternoon/evenings. Last night, there were huge klunk-a-thunks coming from upstairs, such that we wondered what furnature Katherine was upending. Turned out to be big snowball hail — not icy rocks that would destroy the roof (alas — our roof is beginning to look like it could use a bit of replacement), but shudderingly loud nonetheless.
And this afternoon we got some little pea-to-marble-sized stuff, also kind of snow-soft. Katherine opined she wanted a raincoat, and who am I to deny my little princess.
So now she’s riding her little car on the back porch, in a raincoat, in the hail, picking up hailstones and eating them …
That’s my girl.