Submitted by Nathan Bolls

During the Sunday of our recent “Endless Ice” weekend, I hiked some about our campus and natural area. The Place was sheathed and frozen in stillness, save for the frequent cat-paw-soft falling of freezing rain, the whistling of wind around brick wall corners, and the creaking and groaning of swaying grass stems and tree branches. Many trees and shrubs bowed dangerously low under more added weight than botanical structure might manage. Some branches gave way.

The many blossoms still clinging to Meadowlark Valley rose bushes were reflecting a stiff, cold icy red--a stark contrast to the mood they are grown to generate. All tree- and shrub-borne nuts, fruits, and berries were vacuum-packed in ice. A grass stalk on Bayer Pond Dam held a small fly in icy embrace, reminiscent of insects in ancient amber. A beetle slowly crawled its seemingly last breaths across the East Gazebo floor. But, come next spring…!

The pond surface was quiet, save for tracks of freezing rain. Recent raccoon tracks were rare, deer tracks a bit less so. Coyotes probably hunted. Skunks, opossums, and fox squirrels mostly stayed home. An occasional robin moved in the trees. Saw one northern flicker, one mystery sparrow. Small rodents that do not hibernate--but do move about via shallow grooved pathways through the grass--probably hunted for seeds to stoke their high metabolic flames.

From the woods--and across the wide quiet--came the hunting call of our resident great horned owl. Even in this Ice Palace, other surely were listening. A quote from John Muir, the great explorer, naturalist, and writer of Yosemite Valley fame, seemed spot on: When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe.