I should have known that something was up when TCM ran "The Rains Came" (1939) with Tyrone Power, Myrna Loy and George Brent (for it was, after all, George Brent Day). Little did I realize that we were fully in line for the thunderstorm that had skipped past us, north, south and east, since May.
It arrived just as we sat down to dinner (Sea Scallops on Oranges with Jalapeno Vinegar Dressing -- not bad, if I do say so myself). The skies opened up, the hail began and even the new gutters couldn't handle the deluge. Sheets of rain and hail blocked our view of Platte Canyon Road. Water went everywhere. It looked like a spring snow storm, with bits of green popping out amongst the white.
Even Sadie was shocked.
The tomatoes, honestly, fared pretty well, as they're bunched up enough to provide some shelter to each other. The crawlers, however, cucumbers, pumpkins, sweet potatoes and acorn squash, all took it square to the chin.
I'm not going to pull anything for the next week or so as I have come to firmly believe that plants are hardy little bastards and will surprise you in how they cling to life. Yes, Ian Malcolm was right, "Life finds a way."
Out front, the flowers were nailed. The Koleas was shredded, that will have to go -- too bad, as it was one of the highlights of the front yard -- other than me watering the lilacs in my Ben Franklin Boxer Shorts.
The front flower pots got nailed as well. The three small ones in front are trashed, while the two at the end of the driveway look like a chopped salad. We were going to pull those anyway for a Fall planting of ornamental Kale. We had just about talked ourselves out of it when God stepped in with a storm of Biblical proportions and made us stick to the original plan.
"Thou Shall Plant Ornamental Kale! 16 Cubits by 18 Cubits … wait, no … that's something else. Two Pots Will DOOOOOooooo!!!!"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, would you put some pants on? On the sixth day, I created an Old Navy just down the street from The Garden of Eden. (Mumbles) …"give them everything and the dumb bastards don't know enough to put on trousers."
"HEY! DON'T EAT THAT FRUIT … (Mumbles) Me damn it. One damned rule … ONE!"
(That, my friends, is what is known in my brain as "A Reverie." Back to it:)
The lilacs did okay … just some minor shredding issues on the leaves. (I can hear the lilacs saying to me now, "oh, why didn't you stand out here last night … get a little minor shredding issue on those elephants ears of yours!"
Don't worry. We argue like this all the time. There's nothing to it.
You see? This is what I call minor shredding issues. The lilacs are calling for major surgery.
Furious George continues to drink. He says it's to make him forget. He also does it when he wants to remember. I'm beginning to wonder if there is a problem.
Meanwhile, Mr. Bitterman sat on the back porch last night staring at the remains of his hard work. He's not taking it well, but I assured him that it's not a total loss. The sweet potatoes are still viable and as for the cucumbers, well, we've already had a bumper crop and the neighbors won't take any more. If that's it for them, we can handle it.
He then bit me, which makes me think he's well on his way back to his old self.
One final note: The hail damaged our Vladimir Lenin water feature, knocking the spigot off. (It was pretty flimsy, I must say.) I ordered a new one online from AllThingsPutin.com. They had one in stock, but I've got to go to Washington, DC, to pick it up.
I guess they've got a warehouse there.