The mystery of how hail is formed had completely eluded me. How can chunks of ice the size of a quarter, or larger, manage to fall out of the sky?

It seems downright ridiculous that frozen projectiles come plummeting from the sky on a warm, sunny day. I learned that the secret to this icy surprise lies not at ground level, but high up in the atmosphere, where the weather is running a completely different program. Hail forms inside strong thunderstorms with powerful updrafts, which are basically nature’s version of an express elevator for hot, moist air.

On a toasty day, that warm air rises up, up, up, only to get slapped in the face by frigid temperatures at high altitudes, sometimes colder than the freezer.

 Up there, super-cooled water droplets, liquid water that’s somehow still chilling below 32°F, start freezing around whatever bits of dust, dirt, or bug wings they can find. This creates the humble beginnings of a hailstone. The storm’s updrafts hurl it skyward over and over again, each time adding more icy layers like a snowball gathering mass rolling down a hill.

Eventually, gravity gives in, and the now plump hailstone joins its frozen comrades for a dramatic crash-landing on cars, rooftops, roads, and any poor soul who did not make it inside in time.

 I should be glad it is only ice, which is relatively harmless. In places like Honduras, there is a rare phenomenon called “animal rain” where fish, frogs, or even tiny crabs fall from the sky during storms. Scientists believe the same powerful updrafts involved with making hail suck them up from lakes or rivers and drop them miles away. Imagine getting hit on the head with a fish, one would need an umbrella and a fishing net.

 I have been tricked by ice once before. We had decided to visit Niagara Falls in January because, in our infinite wisdom, we thought, “How magical would it be to see the Falls in winter?” Spoiler alert: it was magical all right—like being drop-kicked into a snow globe during the Ice Age.

 The moment we stepped out of the car, the wind slapped us so hard our nostrils froze.

Hubby, ever the optimist, said, “At least the parking was easy, there were plenty of spaces!” That’s because nobody else was insane enough to be there. As we waddled toward the viewing platform, bundled up with sleeping bags wrapped around us for extra warmth, we saw it: Niagara Falls, seemingly frozen mid-roar. Giant icicles clung to the cliffs, mist had solidified into a surreal icy fog, and the water itself looked like it had been paused with a remote control. I reached for my phone to take a picture, only to realize it would be impossible to do with all of my gear on. I would simply buy a postcard of the picture, which would undoubtedly present a much more beautiful view than I could take on my phone in the cold. After about 10 minutes of gawking, we shuffled back to the car. I must admit, it was a beautiful, thunderous, icy masterpiece carved by nature, and the trip was totally worth it.

We are currently in spring, waiting for summer. The sun stays out longer, and we get these glorious long days when it feels like there is plenty of time to do anything outside. The air is crisp and fresh. We no longer need coats or long sleeves with consistent 70-degree weather all around us.

May is perfect weather, Goldilocks temperature: not too hot and not too cold! It is a magical temperature where we do not experience heat stroke or frostbite. No more cranking up the heat, and it is not time yet to turn on the air conditioners. I can sleep with the windows open and feel the cool air drafting through the windows. Perfect!

That is, until I can step outside to bask in the sun, only to get pelted with ice cubes from the sky, which must be nature’s way of reminding me not to get too comfortable. Yes, surprisingly, May is a prime month for hail.