When the World Turned to Glass:

Our Farm During the January 2026 Ice Storm

January 2026 will be remembered around Tennessee as the week everything froze — not just the ponds, not just the fences, but time itself. Life on the farm has a rhythm you can usually count on, even in winter. But when the ice storm rolled in, it changed every plan we had for the week and reminded us just how small we are compared to the forces of nature.

The Calm Before the storm

The forecast had been warning us for days, but forecasts don’t always prepare you for the sound of freezing rain hitting the roof like handfuls of gravel. By the time the sun set that first night, the temperature had dropped just enough for every raindrop to turn into a bead of ice the moment it touched anything solid.

By morning, the farm looked like it had been dipped in glass. Every blade of grass, every fence post, every branch shimmered under a heavy coat of ice. Beautiful, yes — but beauty doesn’t feed animals or keep power lines standing.

Animals, always first

The coop doors were sealed shut with ice so thick it took a hammer to break through making it difficult to get into.  The automatic doors on the chicken coops would get stuck halfway open because the track froze. Waterers were frozen solid. The animals — hardy as they are — were confused by the sudden silence of the world outside. Even the chickens, usually loud enough to wake the dead, seemed to sense the shift and stayed tucked in their coop. The ice also caused our walkways to the animals to be dangerous and slippery.

We hauled hot water, broke ice, added bedding, and checked every shelter twice. Farm chores don’t stop for weather; they just get heavier.

The Soundtrack of a Frozen Farm

One thing we’ll never forget from the January 2026 ice storm is the sound. During the day, the woods around the farm were alive with sharp cracks as trees surrendered under the weight of the ice. Some snapped like dry kindling, others groaned and split slowly or simply uprooted out of the ground echoing across the fields. Every few minutes, another limb gave way or another tree fell. It was constant, unsettling, and impossible to ignore.

But the nights brought something even stranger.

While we sat in the dining room, wrapped in blankets and listening to the wind push against the house, the ground itself began to make noise. At first, we thought something had fallen upstairs — a thud, a jolt, like someone had dropped a heavy box on the floor above us. Then it happened again. And again.

It wasn’t the house at all. It was frost quakes.

The frozen ground was expanding and contracting beneath us, releasing sudden bursts of energy that traveled up through the foundation. Each one felt like a small, muffled explosion under the earth. It was eerie, almost otherworldly, and it reminded us just how powerful the cold can be when it settles in deep.

Those sounds — the trees breaking by day and the frost quakes by night — became the soundtrack of the storm. They were a constant reminder that nature was in charge, and all we could do was adapt, stay warm, and wait for the thaw.

Neighbors Helping Neighbors

One of the things that makes our community special is how quickly people show up when things get tough. The ice storm proved that all over again. When the power went out, we didn’t think twice about lending our generator to our neighbor. They had no way to keep their pellet stove going to heat their house, and out here, you don’t let someone face that kind of cold alone. 

That kind of spirit spread across the whole community.

With trees down everywhere, there were a lot of people who could not get in or out without a chainsaw and a lot of patience.  There were many stories of neighbors helping neighbors to clear the trees out of their roads. You’d hear the buzz of saws long before you saw the people running them. Everyone worked together to clear driveways, open up the backroads, and make sure emergency vehicles could get through if needed.

It didn’t matter whose tree it was or whose driveway was blocked. If someone had a saw, they used it. If someone had fuel, they shared it. If someone had a truck big enough to haul limbs, they put it to work. By the end of the week, the roads looked less like a disaster zone and more like a community project — rough around the edges, but passable because people cared enough to make them that way.

In a week defined by cold and ice, the warmth came from the people around us.  Truly proving why Tennessee is called the volunteer state!

Finding the Silver Lining in a Frozen Week

By the time temperatures finally rose and the ice began to melt, the farm looked like it had survived a battle — fallen limbs everywhere, fences sagging, and mud waiting beneath the thaw. But we also found moments of unexpected beauty:

  • Sunlight turning the ice-covered fields into a sea of diamonds

  • The quiet stillness of a world without engines or electronics

  • The simple comfort of a warm fire after a long day of cold work

Storms have a way of stripping life down to what matters. For us, that meant family, neighbors, animals, and the stubborn determination that keeps a farm running no matter what the weather throws at it.