A looong time ago, my best friend and I decided we would go camping for the weekend in the middle of winter. We were young and stupid. Too stupid in fact, to check the weather first. There was already about a foot of snow on the ground and the skies in Pennsylvania are always grey in the winter anyway, so we didn't think anything about the sky getting dark and grey. That night (in our canvas Wenzel pup tent and cotton batting sleeping bags) we got a sleet storm. Starting about 2 or 3 in the morning - the trees started exploding! I had never even heard of such a thing. In the loud din of the whirling winds and sleet coating our tent there would be a bang like a grenade and the sound of a tree falling and the tinkle of breaking glass as the ice covered branches and twigs broke.
The next morning the sun was out clear and bright and we were in a beautiful ice-coated mystical winter wonderland. With trees exploding around us. I was never really 'scared' because if a tree fell on us and killed us - well, che sera sera. But we decided it would be prudent to just go on home anyway. Besides, we didn't even bring enough food for the weekend.
So many trees, so little time...
We follow where the Swamp Fox guides,
His friends and merry men are we;
And when the troop of Tarleton rides,
We burrow in the cypress tree.
The turfy hammock is our bed,
Our home is in the red deer's den,
Our roof, the tree-top overhead,
For we are wild and hunted men.