The Ice Storm

The Ice Storm


“Dad!” cried Richard, my youngest, “come see what the storm did to my tree!”

He sounded pretty upset, I thought, as I came to stand next to him at the window; I only needed one glance to understand his anguish.  The tree we had planted together almost seven years ago, a survivor of storms that had flattened more than one backyard shed, appeared to have met its match.  Last night’s storm had coated the poor thing in a sheath of ice that shimmered under the streetlights.  It looked as if the entire tree had been dipped in glass, and yesterday’s vibrant, graceful tree was now hunched over under the weight of the frozen water droplets.

“Is it dead, Dad?” he asked, tears in his voice and eyes.

“I don’t know, son.  We’ll have to call someone to be sure.  If the trunk’s split, we may have to pull it and replant.  Don’t give up hope just yet, Rich.  Remember the blizzard of ’03, and all the trees that didn’t make it?  That’s one tough little tree.”

After breakfast, I called a local nursery, who recommended Jess Williams, a very experienced gardener.  As Richard and I observed, Mr. Williams set up a canvas enclosure around the tree, placed a small heater at its front, plugged the cord into a generator on the back of his truck and then turned on both devices.  “The heater will gradually melt the ice,” he told us, “and then we’ll see.”

Two hours later, he had examined and bound the trunk.  "I'll check back in March," he said, "but, barring another bad storm, your tree should be just fine."

Richard’s smile was almost as blinding as the sunshine reflected from the ice-covered landscape.

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