The day began with telltale signs: winds from the east and temperatures in the 70s. Making use of the resident cloud cover, we harvested several hours longer than is typically possible in the heat of August. And then, as if to mimic our late-lunch stomach protestations, the skies began a-rumbling. Locked in blissful ignorance, as all who reside in an arid desert are with regard to water, we cheered the approaching storm, wishing sky-fallen wetness upon our crops in lieu of dragging it up with a pump from underground nether regions.
With the slightest of gentle foreplay, light sprinkles lasting roughly two minutes, mother nature let loose some serious energy. Hail began pelting down, the sound so deafening from within a tin-roofed shed that Tona and I could not even converse. Ollie the dog took up residence between my legs and we continued bagging produce for sale at the Ketchum Farmers market tomorrow. Another round of hail blew through, by which point all hopes for a healthy watering of the garden had given way to mourning the loss of the very same crops. Surely they couldn’t have emerged from such a barrage intact?
We splashed over to the garden through patches of mud and rain, a first on the farm. The rain gauge read 7/10 of an inch, which is incredible for this area. Rows with cover cloth were laid bare from force of winds, and aisle-ways had become ponds, water sitting nicely on our most compacted soil areas. Plants exposed to the harsh hail fared surprisingly well; older spinach, lettuce, kale and chard had been only slightly pock-marked . Younger leaves were tattered, fallen to the ground in abeyance; they should re-grow in a while.
The coming days will task us with additional hours of work, cutting out the damaged plant parts. But we’ll also be relieved from watering duties in the short term. Blessings and problems, always hand in hand.
Lots of ‘B’s’ these days, and actual bees will arrive in two weeks time. 
tool drooling hopefuls like me everywhere.
My fire crackles rapidly these days with burns-as-fast-as-it-grows cottonwood. A series of storm fronts is visiting, no, taunting, the area and dropping just enough snow to muddy our outdoor garden bed preparation, making our eager spring spirits look elsewhere. We have little difficulty hearing other tasks call us by name. Standing dead cottonwoods have received some attention, as have emerging patches of lawn encrusted with rake-able leaves left to lie last fall. The burn pile should prove exciting . . .
thawed hoop house, hoping to start some seeds. I eventually moved the starting pots into a close huddle around the fireplace, where nighttime warming should enable me to plant tomorrow. Visits with friendly farmers have revealed vegetable starts sprouted and well into their second and third inches of growth; we direct seed many of the veggies we grow, and purchase some starts from a local, organic grower. I’m willing to throw anything into a starter cell these days, just to feel some action, and thankfully have ten or so trial varieties to begin playing with.
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