the perfect storm

Last week, I opened this newsletter with "the snow is coming down hard and fast." Every year, we usually get one good snow. The kids can go sledding, there's some ice on the roads, the city kind of shuts down for a couple of days, and it's a nice little at-home winter vacation.

This was not that.

We had one day of beautiful snow, several inches, and took the kids sledding twice. The whole family enjoyed the roasting hot sauna between sledding sessions, along with our neighbors. It was a perfect day.

Later that evening, the snow turned to sleet, then to freezing rain. I was exhausted after a long, full day and fell asleep by 9pm.

In the morning, I awoke to a beautiful yet precarious reality: everything outside was coated in a thick layer of ice.

I first noticed this when I got up for coffee. This was my view.

Gorgeous, like really breathtaking, actually, but it came at a cost.

I heard a muffled "pop" off in the distance. I thought to myself...gun shot? No. Construction? No. Then it dawned on me..the trees.

Weighed down by ice, limbs not built for this kind of weight, cracking right off.

I heard another one, a minute later, closer. It was ours, in fact, the river birch in our backyard. A medium-sized branch snapped and slowly fell to the ground.

Not good.

I got up and walked around the outside of our house. Lots of little cracked branches hanging down from our and the neighbors' trees. Nothing major. Light sleeting, no heavy snow.

Hopefully not much more, I thought, fingers crossed.

The kids woke up, and I made them oatmeal for breakfast. They finished up and started doing their own things around the dinner table.

Then "Creeeeaaak. Whoosh. WHACK."

A huge branch cracked right off the tree in our front yard and crashed into the front porch of our house. Everyone jumped up and looked around. A loud bad word escaped my lips without any consent on my part.

All we could see through the front windows were branches.

I went out the side door to survey the damage. Miraculously, the way the branch had fallen, it clipped the gutter but did not really touch any of the house or porch.

Whew. I think I can handle that, I thought. Maybe some buddies with chainsaws can assist.

As I studied it more, I realized that the branch had split the trunk in two near the top, and that the other huge half trunk/branch, with fresh yellow wood newly exposed, hung directly over the living room, swaying slightly in the breeze.

I walked purposefully back inside and shooed my wife and kids out of the living room.

"It's time to pray for our house," I said. I asked my daughter to pray because I believe kids have an innocence that pierces the spiritual veil with a sharper edge than adults. After she said her part, I closed us out.

Within 10 minutes, "Crack. BANG!"

The other half split and crashed down on our roof above the living room.

Back outside I went. What horror would I find?

This second giant branch had fallen in such a way that its curved middle portion essentially lined up with our roof ridge. Just wrapped right around it, almost like it was meant to be there. Also, it had been recently limbed, so there were no punctures, no major damage. Knocked maybe one shingle off.

I felt that weird, weighty feeling of being both totally overwhelmed at the situation and totally delivered from a horrific fate.

Like stepping out of a totaled car.

I'm not a regular user of tobacco, although I will occasionally enjoy a cigar, and on a very rare occasion, a cigarette.

This was one of those very rare occasions.

Afterwards, what do you do? I have no chainsaw. Everything is covered in ice. Fallen branches seem not to be moving or shifting any further. No longer do any branches hang directly over our house.

The lights flickered for about an hour, then the power went out completely. It was 20 degrees outside.

We had a gas range that we could use, but that was about it.

We waited a few hours trying to figure out what to do. Several folks stopped by, and friends reached out to offer help. Our wonderful friends down the street offered us their back house; we quickly obliged.

We camped out for a few days, having meals together, kids playing together. Their back house is beautiful, with soaring ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, and lots of plants. And a piano. I had a great time there. We had some really good conversations about life, kids, careers, and music.

I would go over to check on our house twice a day, dripping faucets, and look for water stains on the ceiling. Nothing else terrible happened, thankfully.

The power came back on, and a local tree company removed the branches from the porch and roof; insurance will cover it. We moved back in.

This week has been a good reminder of how thin the line is between "everything's great" and "my world is imploding."

So thankful for real friends and relationships, and the great blessing of modern conveniences.

The ordinary feels less ordinary. Like electricity and internet, for example, feel like a real treat.

Here's to writing about design, not storms, next week!

things i saw this week that i liked

This article, A Thousand Tiny Acts, by my friend Isaac French, is terrific. It's his manifesto, but it could easily be mine as well. I encourage you to read it.

Isaac perfectly articulates the antidote to the digital yuck & physical blandness so many of us feel today.