Saturday’s hailstorm in Hollister was not the epic, Biblical, crack your windshield type of storm they have in the Midwest. But it sure was close, at least at my house.
It hails nearly every year in San Benito County, so that wasn’t the news. The amount of hail was.
The first blast that afternoon was typical of a hailstorm. We were unloading groceries with our garage door open when the skies opened up and the frozen pellets began to pound my truck.
My sons and their friend were helping us unload when the hail really began to fall. And while my wife and I were content to watch nature’s show from the comfort and safety of the garage, the teens – wearing shorts, T-shirts and no shoes – did what young men do and they jumped out into the downpour.
First, they put their palms up in an effort to catch the hail. Then, they pulled their shirts out to make a catch basin for the pellets. As the storm continued, they grabbed plastic cups so they could eat the hail like it was Dippin’ Dots ice cream.
I snapped a picture of their adventure and posted it to Facebook, where I soon began to read posts and see pictures from other Hollister residents who were similarly impressed by the storm.
The boys eventually realized that their parents had the right idea by watching the storm from inside, but within a few minutes another cloud opened up and our back deck was coated in white as if it were connected to a Sierra cabin in mid-winter.
Their friend got the bright idea to grab a shovel and scoop the hail into a pile on the deck. Then, not wanting to waste nature’s wonder, they also grabbed a plastic bag and started scooping the hail into it, with no particular plan for what would become of it.
Over the next hour, wave after wave of hailstorms blew through, each one bringing all of us to the window or to open the back door to marvel at the splendor. Had this been Oklahoma, we would have probably paid no attention to the downpour and just watched TV. In Hollister, California, it was big stuff.
By the end of the storm, we had a kitchen garbage bag nearly full of hailstones and two plastic cups of hail stored in the freezer. Neither stash served a purpose, yet that didn’t matter.
The boys had witnessed nature’s wonder, braved the storm and taken their fill from the sky.
The next morning, the bag of hail was still on the front porch, slowly melting and running down the front steps into a puddle that was quickly evaporating. There was enough hail left that my youngest son could form a handful into a snowball – a hailball? – and throw it at me. I could appreciate that. No retribution required.
In Hollister, hail is the closest thing we get to weird weather. Sure, we can see a dusting of snow on the local hillsides after a cold storm and we get a thunderstorm once a year or so, but that’s about it.
A hailstorm is so unique that it might as well be raining cats and dogs, literally. Luckily, that didn’t happen as pets don’t melt quite so easily.
Adam Breen teaches newspaper and yearbook classes at San Benito High School and is a reporter for the Pinnacle. He is former editor of the Free Lance. Email him at ab****@pi**********.com and follow him on Twitter @AdamPBreen.
