Technically, this word means "sleet," but I found another translation that confirmed my French friends' definition:
Averse sudden and violent, with wind, hail, even snow, frequent in early spring, especially in March. Giboulée wind, snow, rain, sleet March, March showers that fall in April; sleet season, a time for showers and a whip sleet (windows), falls on the ground, runoff. passed The showers, and then the bright sun reborn, and the birds sang(Rolland, J. Chr. , Revolt, 1907, p. 583). Driven by strong arms wind, sleet slapped interminably Craonnais (H. Bazin,viper, 1948, p. 73).
We have been experiencing this gibloulée nearly daily for the past month. It'll be sunny, then moments later, the rain is drumming on the roof. Ken and I suit up to go on a bike ride or make plans to play Pickle ball, and then it's suddenly too windy or wet to leave the comfort of our couches or the company of "Bonanza" on the TV.
Maybe the gibloulée accounts for my changing mood these days. Nearly simultaneously, I am happy and relived that the sale of our home back in the states went so smoothly and quickly ... with a turnaround of less than a month, it made our têtes spin (stop smirking; têtes means heads) ... and then I am sad and tense. It was a good house, with great neighbors, and suddenly it belongs to someone else. We have no plans to leave France and return "home to the States." And we are quite satisfied with that. But now, there literally is no "home" to return to.
As I mull this over, I step outside to take a picture that will capture the essence of gibloulée just as my friend Andrea runs by with her dog, Rosie. It is sunny when she passes our back yard, but the rain begins again by the time she is on the other side of the park.
We all have to be ready for a little sunshine these days.