Winter Wonderland

My friends down South call this ice and snow storm in the early days of 2005 a Winter wonderland, but they just see it on a superficial level. Their whole concept of Winter in the Midwest is a Norman Rockwell painting, but to those of us who grew up here, it’s so much more. For me, the real wonder comes from watching the battle of wills between the ice and the trees.

You don’t really appreciate the individuality of trees until you’ve watched them battle the weight of all that frozen water. Some stand proud and defiant, still reaching for the sky, determined not to give in. They regally wear their sparkling robes of ice, the kings and queens of the Plains. Others lean on their neighbors for support, looking remarkably like drunken friends leaving a bar at closing time. Others merely rest, their heads lolling, and patiently wait for the reinforcing strength of the Sun to return and help them shake off the chill.

Some trees fall victim, losing a limb or even their whole selves in the battle. Some stand broken, utterly defeated. Others remain defiant, arrogantly displaying their war wounds that shine copper from a distance. For some, the loss of limb is a blessing, the ice removing a diseased portion the rest of the body had nursed all Spring and Summer. These trees sigh in relief, knowing the rest of the body will be stronger now.

Where a tree grows in part determines how it copes in this battle with the ice. Country trees, untouched by human hands and able to adapt at will, laugh in the face of the enemy. They are the defiant or the sleepy ones. The city trees, though, constantly trimmed and molded by humans, cannot cope with the ice. They fight, oh how they fight, but their pretty boughs are far too weak to hold out for long. Finally, they begin to give way with moans and shrieks, and at the very end, they have their revenge on the humans. As their limbs fall, they become kamikazes, rending power lines asunder and wrecking havoc on roofs. They plunge the humans into darkness and into the ravages of Winter, forcing them to face the biting wind and the gnawing wet.

As I ride down the interstate, heading for the airplane which will take me South and away from this battlefield, I’m a little sad. For almost all my life, I’ve been a part of this battle. I’ve stood in awe of the ice’s blitzkrieg, I’ve cheered the victorious, I’ve mourned the fallen. I see a redtailed hawk sitting shiva in the top of a broken tree, and my sadness deepens. As I ride, I say a prayer for the fallen and send encouragement to the defiant. I look on in admiration and realize – this really is a Winter wonderland.