Among its myriad duties, water sustains trees for decades and even centuries. Last week, I would have rejoiced that the forest surrounding my home celebrates this fact. This week, however, I lament that my forest is offering testimony that water also obliterates trees. An ice storm ravaged the woods last week. Each crash was fully anticipated. It was the sudden, sharp, piercing CRACK that preceded the crash that startled. It was the suspended silence that followed that terrified. Birds stopped twittering. Squirrels froze in their tracks. Breathing, swallowing, blinking halted as we waited for this ominous premonition to fulfill itself. Seconds ticked. Then the inevitable CRASH announced the fate of another towering tree. By the end of the storm tree carcasses lay strewn in disarray, as pitiful as beached whales, blocking the driveway, choking the stream, crushing our canoe, demolishing the terraces. One damaged survivor, a grand old oak, is leaning on the roof above my head as I write. The tonnage of embodied BTUs, along with fencing materials, and the potential to harvest lumber, wood chips, and logs is now written into the script that defines my responsibilities. I’m trying to convince myself that the storm did not devastate my property; it gifted me a treasure trove of valuable resources.  

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