Hail

It hailed tonight. For some this might not be a big deal - but its the first time my children have seen it. The noise on our tin roof slingshot me back through time to my own childhood. Hail meant destruction, devastation, a spate of frustration and tip toeing around Dad.

Sometimes we would have a little times warning before it hit - the cannons would start and my mother would groan. The Granite Belt is renowned for the size of the hail stones ( often as large as gold balls). Many fruit farmers invested in hail guns or cannons and shot them up into storm clouds to break it up. Many said it chased the rains away. All I know is that when the cannons started, hell broke lose.

In lambing season it meant dozens of dead lambs, frozen, battered ripped apart by nature. In fruit picking and vege harvesting, it meant shredded trees, leaves and produce. All laid to waste as the hail ripped the flesh and tore at the hearts. Any produce which escaped would no doubtedly be bruised and unable to be sold.


So when the hail started tonight, my heart thumped momentarily and my breathing got shallower. Then I remembered I was in the middle of suburbia.

I rushed my Pjamed kids outside and under the tin roof and we shreiked at each other trying tobe heard above the racket. We picked up icy stones and popped them in our mouths and watched as our lawn was carpeted in white pearls.

After the torrid of rain had settled, Morgan and Lilly took bowls out onto the lawn and collected the biggest stones.

It was like frozen peas - but without the peas they noted...