I grew up on a farm on the prairies of Canada. In 1959 a massive hail storm hit. There were still piles of hail in corners of buildings hours later. My sisters held pillows against the big windows in our living room to keep them from breaking. We were days away from swathing the fields. We were hailed out 100%. That spring there was money for either hail insurance or seed grain--our Dad chose the grain and prayed, I'm sure.
It was a terribly tough winter. We survived on what our Mom had put up from the garden, our own butchered beef and pork--and the bi-weekly cream check. I learned to make do and make from scratch as a child. It stuck.