The recent deluge, the thunderstorms and hail have resounded with me. Three years ago we had ongoing hail over the summer, repetitive storms and tornado watches. It also brought my first ever hail damage claim.
Except for a brief decade sheltered in a double car garage, my vehicles have always remained outside in the elements. That is hard on the car but never before had it led to repairs.
In our travels Rob and I were temporary summer dwellers in the greater Vancouver area; that was a glorious experience. We spent days off strolling in Stanley Park, taking the ferry to Victoria to engage in British high tea and to visit the Butchart Gardens, a stunning visual overload of colour.
I don’t remember having stormy weather that summer. I did discover early on that as long as I carried my tiny collapsible umbrella with me, the rains would hold off. I usually had to walk a short trek to work. If I forgot to retrieve the umbrella as I headed out the door, a shower awaited. I had to sprint for it on occasion. I learned to carry it everywhere and we had a fabulous few months.
When we returned to bible school in Central Alberta, we quickly transitioned into fall and harsh winter. That year, the unrelenting snow and winds surrounded us and buried us in five-foot drifts. We spent a short time renting a vacant farm house near the campus. The offer sounded inviting but every trip down the lengthy driveway was an adventure. We were often stuck, often calling the snowplow operator to swing by yet again.
Our vehicle at the time was a Volkswagen hatchback, small, low to the ground, four cylinders. It was no match for the aggressive winter weather: small wonder that most of the neighbours chose to drive gigantic trucks with monster tires.
When we moved to Peace River we lived first in a rental property in the west hills above the river. The town itself lies mostly down in the valley stretching north and south of the massive bridge.
The first few months we experienced quite a lot of fog rising off the river. I recall one occasion having to drive in to collect Rob from the Greyhound bus depot. As I pulled out to the highway that bordered our property, I couldn’t see the road at all. I was a reluctant driver, especially with the old temperamental van we drove. The weather didn’t help my nerves.
Eventually we purchased a rather oddly structured house, an A frame in lower West Peace, with assistance from the in-laws. We lived there for 10 years or so and throughout the decade we witnessed some impressive storms.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. My parents had travelled through the region to visit with friends in Grande Prairie. They camped in a local campground and told of the sudden rainstorm that rolled through. My younger brother was in a small tent beside the truck and beat on the camper during the storm to be let in. His tent, sleeping bag, even his wallet, was saturated. He hung all of his possessions on mom’s makeshift clothesline the next morning, including his money. That campground was just up the hill from where we made our home years later.
One summer we were blessed with multiple thunderstorms. I recall a nasty one that began with an ugly yellowish cloud bank that morphed into shades of green. The rains descended into the valley, drenched our neighbourhood and seeped in around my patio door.
I had found all the candles in preparation, made a pot of coffee and gathered the kids and cats around me. The neighbours’ trees snapped. I found one stretched across the back yard of the house I was checking for friends away on holidays. Other than the many fallen trees, there was surprisingly little damage.
- Joyce Hoey is a longtime Gazette columnist
