(For some reason I did not post this last year when I wrote it. It was one of the last times I saw my mother alive.)
An ice storm arrived the other day and it’s been unusual in its persistence. Typically, when such weather events occur, we receive a slight coating of ice and it disappears as quickly as it forms around branches, along walks and on fencing. But an unusual chill is causing the quarter-inch plus coating of ice to remain for days affording me time to appreciate its beauty.
Everything on the ground is covered in an undulating sheet that crackles intermittently sounding like dry cereal crunching in your mouth as I walk upon it. But no footprints remain upon looking back. The pointy crystal green blades of grass continue to stand firm as would stalagmites in an underground cavern.
Once the streets and my driveway are clear, Juana and I drive over to see my mother at her nursing home in Meadow Ridge. We arrive just before lunch time and she is just getting ready for the day. She give us a big smile as the nursing aide combs her gray hair making it neat.
“I didn’t expect you today,” she says. “What a wonderful surprise!”
“We would have come yesterday but the ice storm kept us at home,” I reply.
“What ice storm?”
Juana and I point to the window in her room letting her see the rhododendrons (Rhododendron) sagging under the weight of ice. Beyond is a white lawn that shimmers as the sun reflects on the icy crystals embedded on the surface. I can tell that my mother would like to see more.
Comfortable in her wheelchair, with a red-plaid, wool lap blanket keeping her warm, we wheel her out of the nursing area toward a hallway with large windows and a view of trees and bushes. Stopping in front of a double glass door, my mother is in awe. A weeping cherry (Prunus pendula) has become a drooping crystalline figure with tiny shards of ice beneath it. A row of black chokeberries (Aronia melanocarpa) is topped with ice while a nearby crabapple tree (Malus) displays pendulous fruits encased in ice looking like tiny red teardrops.
“It is so beautiful. I never have seen anything like it,” says my mother. We sit and watch the light play with the plants. My mother doesn’t want to leave the area as the sparkling garden has her enthralled. Birds fly by attempting to perch on the icy limbs of a nearby flowering dogwood (Cornus florida). One comically slips off a branch a few times before it is able to get a firm grip. Pieces of fallen ice scatter over the lawn appearing as sparkling albeit transitory diamonds.
We eventually arrive at the atrium, filled with tropical plants, whose three-story high translucent ceiling is covered with ice. Suddenly, without warning, sheets of ice slide downward sounding like marbles bouncing on the floor. Initially worried, my mother is calmed when we point out to her what is happening. She looks upward and then she sees for herself the ice move.
Next to her wheelchair, a small indoor waterfall splashes into a pond holding ornamental carp. The air is thick with humidity as the trees and undergrowth pump out oxygen. She takes in a deep breadth and a smile comes to her face.
“Can we have a cup of tea?” asks my mother. “You bet,” I reply heading off to fulfill her request. As I fill a cup for her I look back and see her with her head tilted toward the sky, watching and listening for the ice to fall.
