Afternoon sun gave way to clouds of portent within 15 minutes. I heard it before it arrived; the wind gusts quickly elbowed their way through the western forest before breaking free of restraint upon our farm. The yard’s maples held their own, while all of us below scurried for cover from the encounter’s resultant debris fling.
No branches or lightning struck us, but the chicken fence fell down, and an unsecured portion of our greenhouse swung loose. As the pelting rain came, almost like an aggressive massage – it was so warm out, and the blasts of drops in waves – the dogs and I bolted inside. I, up to the attic to shut windows. They swiftly after me, unsure about the rapid change of emotion.
And when it was over, the chickens scratched across the now muddy yard, I affixed the faltering greenhouse panel, and I discovered the day’s lesson in resilience: cilantro sprouts, grown 2 inches high over the course of 3 days, left outside for the 
day’s warmth . . . withstood the pummulling. Other lessons, from the previous farm: turnips planted in December, inside the greenhouse, have produced. And leaving the cold frame lid on during our moving process was bad news for the arugula – it got hot and bolted immediately.
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