The Day of the Ice Dam

More snow. Our roof is packed and icicles hang down like daggers waiting—to melt, to fall, to drip. We heard a dripping —a steady sound. The kind of sound you want to avoid hearing.

I moved clothes, bent down, felt the rug and stared at the stains on the wall—water. We emptied the closet and began looking for other leaks. The water had gone down the wall into the kitchen where it claimed a spot behind the cabinets. I couldn't find water stains in the basement, but I'm sure they are there waiting for discovery.

Two hours later two guys arrived with long ladders and patience to answer my questions. "Quite an ice dam," one said. "Bad," said the other. For three hours they banged away at the ice while we kept changing the towels we had laid out on the rug. "Do you think it's in the basement?" I asked. "Sure, should be. It's got to go down." "Sure," I thought.

There are so many problems in the area that it will be days before the snow removal company that cleans roofs will have time to attack our roof. "Will it continue leaking?" I ask. "Could be." None of the answers seem helpful.

We call the insurance company and they give us a number to call to assess the damage. Mike, the man who I spoke to, said that they will come with a moisture meter and check out all the walls. "If the wall board is very wet it has to come down."

Enough ice, enough snow—I close my eyes and envision moving books, dishes, a rug. Perhaps if I walk outside and come back in the whole problem will be resolved. That is I believe called magical thinking.