Yesterday, the storm clouds came in, making the afternoon dark as night. Then the rain came down so hard that it fell in torrents off the roof of the house, and I felt as though I were under a waterfall. In the ditches, the water rushed fast and high, flattening the grass along both sides. In all my years of living on Narrows Pond Road—27 years—never have I seen it rain with such ferocity.
Naturally, we lost our power, and for our supper, my husband, Clif, and I had to go into town for roast beef sandwiches at Pete’s, where the power was on. At home, the power was still out when we went to bed, by torch light, as the British would say, and about 1:30 A.M. I woke up as everything switched to life—the beeping computers, the rumbling refrigerator, the lights that were left on. Oh, happy night! This meant that Clif could have his coffee, toast, and shower before going to work and that I wouldn’t have to scrounge around for a shower at a friend’s house.
This morning, I went to Longfellow’s Greenhouse to buy some perennials and annuals and to replace a cucumber that had decided to wilt. While I was there, I talked to a worker about the storm.
“What a downpour,” she said and then motioned to a man and a woman who were loading flats of tomatoes onto a huge cart. “The have a farm stand, and they lost everything to hail.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I said.
“The world is changing,” she agreed.
“Even though some people don’t want to admit it.”
She nodded. “That’s right.”
Today is cooler and calm. My gardens pulled through without any significant damage. However, I heard from my friend Esther that she had “much plant damage” but that she will wait for a few days before “yanking.”
Summer isn’t even officially here, but the season is sure getting off to a bang. I hope we’ve seen the worst, but I can’t help wondering what’s going to come next.