In our bi-monthly Seattlemag.com column, Knute Berger–who writes regularly for Seattle Magazine and is a frequent pundit on KUOW–takes an in-depth look at some of the highly topical and sometimes polarizing issues in our city.

I felt a personal pang when I read about the man who was killed in Seward Park by a tree that came down in last Sunday’s windstorm and crushed his vehicle. A toddler in the car was blessedly rescued.

It felt personal because I walk frequently at the park, often along the very section of the upper loop where the accident took place. I take my granddaughter there sometimes. Seward Park is the closest thing we have to a true forest left in Seattle, one of the last stands of old growth in the city. I have learned over the years to stay clear when the wind blows. During many winter walks there, I have found trees freshly downed, sometimes across the trails. If you snoop around in the woods, it’s clear that rising and dramatic toppling is part of the ecosystem.

On Sunday my wife and I were walking on a trail on Bainbridge near the ferry dock and suddenly the wind picked up and began to blast the trees around us, many of which were clinging to a steep bank. With the water-soaked soil making it more likely something could uproot, we scooted to the ferry dock to get out of harm’s way. This was at almost the exact time that tree in Seward was said to have fallen.

I like winter storms and, if you are safe from the elements, they can be thrilling. One thing that bugs me is how the local TV news has turned every weather front into a “storm,” instead of just rain and clouds and wind, what we used to just call “weather.” But this week’s storm was a genuine storm. Scientists say it was an “extratropical storm” that spun in the way stronger hurricanes do, which was a bit unusual. Usually our fronts plow into the coast like a curled fist upper-cutting the Olympic Peninsula. This one spun in like whirling dervish. 

The wind changed direction, it picked up speeds as the spiral grew tighter. At its height, my wife and I rode the Bainbridge ferry that rocked and rolled. White caps were deep into Elliott Bay—usually more protected–and huge waves crashed against the seawalls. I found it bracing, cleansing with all that moving fresh air. I wondered what the sea-sickness factor was for passengers on an incoming Argosy tour boat that was docking around the same time we were.

We have had big storms before, even bigger. The Columbus Day storm of ’62 was also “extratropical,” meaning the kind of storm usually only seen in the tropics. That one was of hurricane forces, however, a “cyclone” in fact. It did massive damage and killed at least 46 people and injured scores more. I remember big trees coming down and the power going out. Scientists say that the number of 1,000-year-old trees that were brought down suggest that it was a “millennial” event, or even a one-of-a-kind storm.

The death at Seward Park is a sobering reminder that winter storms of lesser size can still be deadly and can hit close to home, or close to places that are part of our life orbits. We humans are changing the world’s climate, but we don’t control the weather, or its consequences. The forest at Seward Park, with fallen and aged trees and evidence of old fire damage, tells us the story of dynamic change over time. The next time I walk there, I will be more attuned to that. I will not take a walk in the woods for granted.