In the nearly 12 years I’ve been a resident of Colorado, we’ve never had any hail larger than something between pea and marble – mostly pea, at home. Denver and the plains are another story (you can read about last year’s hail storm here). That came to a end on Monday. Monday evening a storm came through that dropped hailstones the size of ping pong and golf balls. Of course, our cars were outside. Noah was able to throw a piece of foam on the top of my car to help deflect some of the hail. I stood in the garage and watched the hail fall, processing through every stage of grief during the onslaught. When the storm had passed, assessments and hailstone collection began. Our cars got dinged, but I know they won’t be totaled. Our camper survived, minus one hole in the AC shroud. Our roof has some questionable marks. Once again, I’m thankful for good insurance. The roof inspection has been scheduled, but we still need to call to take our cars to the catastrophe center that State Farm set-up in the next town over (some parts of that town got hit with baseball-size hail). When I moved to Colorado, I was warned about snow, blizzards, and the occasional tornado, but no one warned me about hail.

Here’s a picture of the some of the hail I collected in the front yard: