/news/2003/01/23/ice-anniversary/ Sun, 14 Jan 2018 00:53:00 +0000 hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0.3 /news/2003/01/23/ice-anniversary/#comment-263087 Sun, 14 Jan 2018 00:53:00 +0000 http://home.bates.edu/?p=16604#comment-263087 One of the most vivid memories I have of my time at ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ was that Thursday night of the storm, walking across the Quad to commons. The sky was lighting up every few seconds, and I remember thinking it was odd that there was lightning in a January ice storm. It wasn’t until a nearby transformer on Campus Ave sizzled and popped, sent sparks flying, and died in a flash of blue that I realized something different was happening. After cleanup, and as spring came, my friends and I dubbed the tree pictured above near Hawthorne (which was of course just a trunk at that point) our shade tree. It was one of a few around campus I remember actively rooting for over the next couple of years. To hear it’s sprouting new growth is like finding out a friend you’ve fallen out of touch with has found their way in the world.

]]> /news/2003/01/23/ice-anniversary/#comment-263085 Wed, 10 Jan 2018 00:26:00 +0000 http://home.bates.edu/?p=16604#comment-263085 Bill forgot to mention that after being awake all night, hearing the cannon-like sounds of limbs and whole trees fall at his home in Greene (which was without power for 14 days) he got up, hopped in his little red front-wheel drive Honda Civic and slid down steep and icy North Mountain Road, even steeper and icier Gagne Road, and onto the North River Road to be at ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ at first light. He swerved under leaning and broken poles, dangling live wires, around downed trees, and through broken branches to get there–because ÀÖ²¥´«Ã½ always came first. And of course, since he was driving, there was no excuse for the then-Personnel Director to cower at home, so I rode shotgun, white knuckled and holding my breath for the the most frightening ride I have ever experienced in my life! But my favorite way to remember the ice storm is to look at the magnolia tree beside Hathorn. It split, it drooped, it lost branches, and we thought it was a goner. Now, every April as I walk by its resplendent flowering beauty, it whispers renewal and hope and perseverance.

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