I live way up in Northern Michigan. Not quite the Upper Peninsula but almost. Closer to Canada than Detroit, in what many would call the “middle of nowhere.”
We get a ton of snow storms — 125 inches of snow per year is the average. Weekends of 18 inches falling from the sky aren’t really that uncommon. “It snows every single day up there,” in the words of my father.
It was smart to trust our guts and leave when we did. In our modern world, we tend not to listen to our instincts. We think we are too smart for them.
But we don’t get too many ice storms. The temperature doesn’t tend to hang out around 32, accommodating the wicked mix of rain and sleet required to create any meaningful ice problems.
Frozen, creaking, snapping
Last weekend was different. The whole northern tip of Michigan’s Lower Peninsula was decimated by the worst ice storm we had seen in over a century. Everything shut down. Everywhere lost power. The streetlights were black. Gas stations unable to pump. Towns completely dark. Electrical substations were out of commission, hundreds of electrical poles had collapsed.
We lost power Saturday night at around 8 p.m. We assumed the lights would be back on in a few hours.
We were wrong. In the middle of the night, lying in bed, we listened to the frozen trees outside our window. The wind blew, and thousands of little cracks echoed in the air. The ice-covered branches sounded like mini machine guns rippling over our roof. Every once in a while, we heard a creak, a violent snap, followed by a low thud rattling the house.
It was eerie, lying there in the quiet, waiting for the next snap, wondering if one of the great trees in the back would end up coming down right through our roof.
The wind wasn’t terribly loud. There was no howling, only cracking. Being aware of the fact that the entire region was dark when viewed from outer space made those moments in bed that night all the more ominous. The whole wooded land dark, frozen, creaking, cracking, snapping.
Time to go
By noon the next day, things seemed to be getting worse. More branches came down, taking electrical wires with them. The electricity wasn’t coming back soon. We decided there was no reason to sit around and wait. We decided to pack up the kids and the $500 worth of meat in our chest freezer and head four hours south to stay with family in West Michigan.
With just under half a tank of gas, we needed to find a station as soon as possible. We found a Mobil with power in Boyne Falls. A line of cars stretched out of the parking lot. After 10 minutes, a worker came and told us they were out of gas.
We bought some ice inside, packed the coolers of meat full, and got back on the road. Fifteen miles farther south, in Alba, we found another station with power. This time they had gas. With a full tank and coolers full of ice, we were on our way.
Our neighbors stayed. They kept us updated with texts over the next few days. We told them to go over and raid our pantry, use our towels, and take anything they needed.
The great birch
Our power finally came back on Wednesday night, four days after it went out. Many suffered incredible damage. There are some in the country who still don’t have power. Thankfully, our house is relatively fine, though the great birch in the back is destroyed, and the maple lost some big branches, too.
With everything in life, there is always something to learn. Some lesson, some insight, some reflection. The smartest thing we did was leave when we thought we should leave. Four days without power isn’t a Herculean test, but it isn’t enjoyable when you are in the middle of an ice storm in the middle of nowhere. No one would really choose to do it.
I’m a workaholic. I’ve got too many deadlines and too many projects. If we would have stayed, I wouldn’t have gotten any work done. In addition to being out $500 dollars worth of meat, I would also be catching up for the next two weeks. Staying would have only made things worse for everyone.
It was smart to trust our guts and leave when we did. In our modern world, we tend not to listen to our instincts. We think we are too smart for them. They seem like hocus pocus when compared against the spreadsheet. We explain them away as being irrational or illogical. And of course, sometimes they are, but sometimes they aren’t.
This time, they weren’t.
Fragile systems
It’s incredible how fragile our modern systems are. We need electricity to do our work. We need electricity to keep our food fresh. We need electricity to call on the phone. We need electricity to get our gas. We need electricity to go anywhere. Just a few days without this thing, and the world comes crashing down.
Three hundred years ago, the same storm wouldn’t really impact life so much. The horses would keep marching, the letters would keep moving, the fire would stay burning, work would get done. No food would go bad, no systems would melt down. The only thing that might happen would be property damage due to a falling tree.
Today, if the electricity stops, life stops. It’s fascinating and worrying how fragile we, and our modern world, are. We are skating on egg shells.
The great, beautiful birch in our backyard is destroyed. The branches cracked at the top and buckled down. The old tree is drooped over our deck. We are all sad about it. We loved that tree. The long branches, the beautiful leaves, the white paper-like bark. Lying in the hammock on long summer days, watching the sky under the shady protection of the old beauty.
It’s the same story for all the big birches on our street. All those tall, lanky giants were taken down by the ice. Their strong trunks made no difference. Their long branches — the ones that only come with age — were too vulnerable.
The young ones around town are fine. Without any fatal cracks, they will bounce back soon as the weather warms. Their branches were too small and light to be broken under the weight of the ice. They’re OK. That’s how it’s supposed to be.
Lifestyle, O.w. root, Men’s style, Michigan, Ice storm, Upper peninsula, The root of the matter