Submitted by Johanne on December 20, 2009 - 8:35am.
Reading this sends shivers up my spine. The description of being awakened by strange rumbles and seeing trees going upstream sent me back to the ice-storm of 1998. I was without power for 26 days in the beginning of January. I remember being exhausted, trying to go to sleep at night, but hearing trees and branches come crashing down, covered with inches of ice, breaking into million of pieces on the ice-covered snow below. Like a mad bull in a crystal shop. The trees seemed to groan in pain first, then wood snapping sounds and glass shattering, then the anticipated crash and thuds when the big pieces would make the coat of ice sitting on the snow rumble like a big drum. Night after night, having a hard time sleeping because of the destruction outside, shivering because of the cold inside, wondering if the roof would hold up. In the dark, the very, very dark night. Half of my hair turned white after that. But trees and branches grow back. At least, I don't have to breathe ash.
Submitted by onetahiti on December 20, 2009 - 8:44pm.
Thanks for sharing. What a thing to live through. That sounds as bad or worse than the Great Blizzard of '78 in Boston. The blizzard was at the beginning of February; my car and the end of my street were so buried no one there drove until mid-April. The drifts were so deep that our upstairs neighbor's pet skunk walked right off their balcony (1.5 stories up) onto the snow. Don't get me talking about that! :)
Reading this sends shivers up my spine. The description of being awakened by strange rumbles and seeing trees going upstream sent me back to the ice-storm of 1998. I was without power for 26 days in the beginning of January. I remember being exhausted, trying to go to sleep at night, but hearing trees and branches come crashing down, covered with inches of ice, breaking into million of pieces on the ice-covered snow below. Like a mad bull in a crystal shop. The trees seemed to groan in pain first, then wood snapping sounds and glass shattering, then the anticipated crash and thuds when the big pieces would make the coat of ice sitting on the snow rumble like a big drum. Night after night, having a hard time sleeping because of the destruction outside, shivering because of the cold inside, wondering if the roof would hold up. In the dark, the very, very dark night. Half of my hair turned white after that. But trees and branches grow back. At least, I don't have to breathe ash.
Thanks for sharing. What a thing to live through. That sounds as bad or worse than the Great Blizzard of '78 in Boston. The blizzard was at the beginning of February; my car and the end of my street were so buried no one there drove until mid-April. The drifts were so deep that our upstairs neighbor's pet skunk walked right off their balcony (1.5 stories up) onto the snow. Don't get me talking about that! :)
-- OneTahiti
The peninsula of land that those trees grew upon doesn't exist any more.