When the Ice Breaks

Three family members stand together, smiling and embracing amidst a backdrop of evergreen trees and gathered branches, symbolizing resilience and togetherness in nature's embrace.

When the Ice Breaks: A Reflection on Resilience

This past weekend, my wife Julie and I drove to Gaylord, Michigan to help family begin the overwhelming process of cleaning up after a devastating ice storm. The damage was sobering. Gaylord is currently under a state disaster declaration. Power outages continue to ripple across the region. Hundreds of thousands of trees were torn down by the weight of ice. Lodging was nearly impossible to find, as hotels were filled with out-of-town utility workers. Gas availability was limited—not just from demand, but because of power outages and difficulty delivering fuel. For days, exits into the city were closed under a stay-at-home order due to the danger of falling trees and active power lines strewn across the ground. We ended up staying over 30 miles away, one of the only places we could find electricity and a bed.

This storm system was as wide-reaching as it was destructive. From March 28th through the 30th, a massive weather front moved across Michigan—dropping ice across the northern half of the state while spawning fourteen confirmed tornadoes in the south on March 30th alone. The contrast between frozen destruction in the north and tornadic damage in the south paints a vivid picture of the volatility we’re now seeing in our climate. It wasn’t just one type of storm—it was many, all at once.

As we approached the town, the reality became more visible with every mile: treetops sheared, limbs stacked like cordwood along the shoulder of the highway. Once we entered surface streets, we saw power poles and transformers littering ditches—evidence of a system overwhelmed. We arrived at my sister and brother-in-law’s home, which had lost over fifty trees—and will likely lose more in the weeks to come. Remarkably, the house itself was untouched. Even more fortunate: their power was restored relatively early. Unlike most in the area, their service line from the street to the house was buried. Once the main overhead lines were finally repaired, they were able to regain power quickly—while many others with damaged, overhead service lines remained offline. In a situation like this, those homes aren’t a priority for utility crews, who must focus first on restoring the backbone of the grid.

The soundtrack of the weekend was unforgettable: the constant growl of chainsaws, used like machetes to hack through fallen trunks and limbs. It was a visceral reminder of how quickly the natural landscape can be changed—and how urgently people respond when those they love are affected. What stood out just as much as the damage was the resolve. Families showed up. Neighbors pitched in. And the quiet strength of helping one another turned chaos into something manageable. There's a shared responsibility in moments like these—where design and disaster intersect—and it begins with simply showing up.

Nature will rebound—but it will take decades to restore the mature forest that once defined this part of Michigan. As we cleared branches and hauled brush, I couldn’t help but think more broadly: How do we prepare our homes and communities for climate-related events like this? The loss of trees isn’t just a visual or emotional blow—it also reduces our natural capacity to absorb carbon from the atmosphere, adding yet another layer of complexity to the feedback loop between changing climate patterns and extreme weather. Why are events like this—right here in our own state—barely making the news cycle? In just the past few weeks, over 60 people have lost their lives across the country due to extreme weather. These aren’t isolated incidents. They're a pattern.

This isn’t about politics. Weather doesn’t check party lines. It doesn’t ask how you vote before it takes down your trees, damage your home, floods your community or cuts your power. These events are reminders—not of fear, but of responsibility. We can design smarter. We can build differently.

Resilient and regenerative strategies are not fringe ideas. They are logical, necessary, and increasingly urgent. Designing homes and communities that can withstand environmental extremes isn’t just good practice—it’s good stewardship. From buried power lines to passive energy systems, from native landscaping to low-carbon building materials—these solutions exist, and they work.

Nature is resilient. Families are resilient. And we should be, too.