This morning, I was a little afraid to look outside. Not that I thought there might be zombies or anything.

I was afraid to see more trees and branches down.

That’s where I’m at these days, in fear of having to mourn the loss of trees.

Anyways, my fear was valid, but not, as it turns out, necessary. There were no new fallen trees that I could see.

Last night, on the other hand, I went to bed still hearing the boom snap of breaking branches.

It was forecast to rain yesterday and last night. We got some wintry mix and then some rain. I went out and enthusiastically shoveled the slush off of the driveway in hopes that we could prevent an extra slippy slush and still be able to go about our work and school lives.

Then, our rain started clumping together and looking an awful lot like snow.

As evening wore on, the thick, heavy snow continued. The accumlated blankets on the branches looked magical - like a painting. All white and stretching towards the ground. Unlike alpine trees, ours were not designed to let snow slide off. We were most concerned for the cherries. The beautiful cherry trees that surround the house and give us a storybook spring. The beautiful cherry trees that remind us of Japan and probably explain most of why we live here, in this house. If you’ve ever seen cheery blossoms covering a tree or swirling to the ground in sakura snow in the spring, you know what I mean.

Hubs and I marvelled at it for a minute before deciding to try to relieve the branches of their burden. We grabbed a shovel and a rake, to extend our reach, and started shaking branches. All around us, we could hear other branches succombing, further in the forest, or maybe in a neighbor’s yard - it was dark, we didn’t know. Shaking the branches worked - snow thumped to the ground, branches rose off the ground, the bending became a little less disturbing. After we reached all of lower branches (lower than, say 15 feet), we were absolutely soaked - covered in snow and melted snow. We knew we had not done enough, but we could not reach the higher branches, and they remained laden with snow.

Not long after we resigned to hope, I heard a wrenching snap. Looking out the window, I saw one of the cherry trees with one of its major branches had broken - ripped more like - leaving at least a six foot long gash starting about 12 feet up - where the trunk splits in three - and representing the loss of about 30% of the total woody mass. Woody mass is a horrible phrase to describe what all of those smaller branches and twigs represent, but I don’t know a better phrase.

I went to bed sad for that tree, sad for all the other breaking and broken trees that I could not see, and hopeful that it would not get worse.

I’m done with snow for the year. Looking at the forecast, it is not yet done with me.