Eleven days ago, the first of this year’s much-anticipated winter storms reached Northern Virginia.  We were already in a deep freeze, with temperatures rarely rising to double digits for days in a row.  Snow began falling, as expected, in the pre-dawn hours that Sunday morning.  It turned to sleet around mid-day and continued until late evening.  It shouldn’t have been such a big deal; we measured about six inches of accumulation.  But due to the biting cold, the effects of the storm have only intensified with time.  

The sensation of walking through the white stuff that first day was decidedly odd.   It was a snow without unity:  its discrete frozen pellets seemed to be doing their best to remain separate from one another.   I was reminded of the dry and quickly shifting sands that border the dunes by the Atlantic at the Cape Cod National Seashore in Provincetown. My daughter enjoys the challenge of running that hilly path toward the ocean.  I do not.  

The following day, the top layer of snow had hardened into an icy crust.  Walking across the yard was especially awkward.  A first step might remain atop the layer, while the next would plunge suddenly into the depths.  

With consistently glacial temperatures for the past week, the icy top layer has hardened and thickened.  The current challenge is to remain upright while crossing the yard, especially on sloping areas.  On the bright side, neighborhood kids have enjoyed sliding speedily across the frozen expanses, no sled required.  

When my husband cleared the steps that lead from our back patio to our basement door, the snow broke into boulders and sharp edged, ledge-like pieces.  Similar piles of snow rocks line the sides of local roads.  It’s a good time not to be a dog-walker.  

Our front yard looks beautiful, especially when the hard surface gleams in the sunlight with a polished, satiny sheen.  In appearance and consistency, it resembles the royal icing with which I coated the roofs of gingerbread houses I’ve made in the past.  

I find a year-round source of joy in observing our local wildlife.  This has been especially true during previous snowy seasons, when my feathered and furry friends look so charming against a snowy backdrop.  The sight of twelve brightly colored cardinals in a snow-frosted holly tree can hardly fail to lend the day some extra cheer.  

But this year’s extended period of extreme cold has brought worries about the outdoor critters.  Tiny bird bodies adapt to cold weather in remarkable ways: they fluff their feathers to create greater insulation, and their wiry, gnarled feet appear delicate, but they’re largely frost-resistant.  Even the smallest birds are surprisingly resilient.  But they have their limits, and this arctic chill was testing them.  The ice shield keeps insect-eating birds from their usual food sources.  That’s why we’re seeing bluebirds at our feeders for the first time ever.  I’ve tried to do what I can to help, including putting out more seed and suet, and getting a de-icer for the bird bath.   

Larger animals, as well, have been impacted.  We’ve spotted exceptionally few deer during this cold spell.  Nor have I observed many animal footprints of any kind in the snow.  No doubt the icy surfaces have proven treacherous for our four-legged neighbors.  Foxes have been largely absent.  My favorite regular, Freddie, whom I successfully treated for mange two years ago, has had an injured front paw.  He hasn’t visited since before the snow.  I expect I’ve seen his patient, wise face, sharply pointed ears, clear amber eyes, and fabulously fluffy (mange-free) tail, for the last time.   

Nature’s healing refuge is particularly potent when the  buzz of humanity takes on a menacing, anxiety-making tenor.  When the ravenous egos of the power-driven provoke victimization of the easiest prey: the most vulnerable and those labeled as other.  When truth and good will seem to be no match for the counterfeit currency of lies and dirty money.  

These days, though, I see in the frozen-over natural world a reflection of the barbarism of our human-made realm.   I understand that nature is not all greeting card sweetness.  I see the pair of enormous red-shouldered hawks monitoring my songbird sanctuary from afar.  I’ve witnessed their successful attacks.  I’ve seen a young fox prancing with jubilation, a squirrel in its jaws.  Predators, I know, must win some of the time. And I regularly see the painful effects of the manufactured world: deer, raccoons, squirrels, and even box turtles taken down by fast-moving vehicles.  The birds that meet with window glass.  All too memorably, I’ve witnessed the ferocity of a spike-topped iron fence.  The animals who live among us in our cities and suburbs were here first, and they’ve adapted to the perils we’ve brought.  In a sense, they signed up for these risks, and the benefits outweigh the negatives.

The animals in my neighborhood, though, didn’t sign up for weeks of intense cold and a blanket of brutal ice.  They aren’t arctic natives; they’re residents of the mid-Atlantic.  But now it’s as though the very atmosphere, the air they breathe, has turned vicious.  

In this respect, the frozen world of nature now mirrors American society.  ICE roams our city streets and intrudes with a vengeance into vehicles, homes, schools, work places and community centers.  Perhaps it’s only too fitting that a steely strait-jacket of ice currently threatens local wildlife.  It makes me want to hide away and try to ignore it all, both the chaotic world we humans have built, and the beautiful but sometimes cruel realm of nature.     

But I can’t hide.  And I urge you not to, too.  

What can we do? 

First, we must stay informed; arm ourself with facts, and be a witness to the truth.  Second, but even more important, we mustn’t give in to the urge to isolate.  Like birds that survive the coldest winter nights by huddling together, never forget the power of community.  When I most want to give up on humanity, I soon discover that I’m surrounded by great numbers of  brothers and sisters actively working for good.  Together, we can stand for and with those most in need.  We can’t do it alone.  And I believe that we can only do it with God’s help.  We mustn’t take the bait thrown out by those whose goal is to incite violence and civil unrest.  Even when our worst impulse tells us that those with whom we disagree deserve nothing but contempt, we must try to treat them with dignity.  

We’re at a pivotal point in the history of our country.  The most defenseless among us are being maliciously targeted.  But as we’ve seen with the killings of Renée Good and Alex Pretti, it’s dangerous for everyone out there.  Time-honored marks of privilege, including pale skin, U.S. citizenship, education, a command of English and a home-grown accent no longer offer any guarantee of protection.  We face an administration that decrees and demonstrates, in words and actions, that disagreement with its ideology results in a total loss of Constitutional rights.  It’s a position that goes against everything America represents.  We’re past the time for keeping our heads down quietly on the sidelines and hoping for the best.  It’s time to engage, to show up, to make use of our unique gifts as we take up figurative arms in this just fight.  It’s time to follow the example of the brave and persistent John Lewis, who still urges us to make “good trouble.”

For I was a stranger, and you welcomed me. (Matthew 25: 35)