The Snow Shoveler
Photo by Filip Mroz on Unsplash
Today it snowed. I guess it doesn’t matter that March is here and the birds are anxious to create new nests for spring. Mother Nature must not be ready to close the book on winter, so we are left with the continued challenge of cold and flurries. Our driveway is clear of snow. The uneven piles of snow bordering the length of blacktop indicate that our driveway has been shoveled, which leads me to my point. With each snowfall, I work myself through the process of denial. Rising in the morning to see the dance of snowflakes fall with the grace of a ballerina is one of the loveliest visuals of wintertime. When the schools close and snow plows have not yet arrived to assault the stark layers of white, there is a quiet and stillness to the day which tempts me to gather my robe tighter about my waist, steep a cup of tea, and allow the spell of Ol’ Man Winter to work his magic just beyond my kitchen window. It’s breathtaking. Sooner or later, however, reality knocks as the snowplow trucks race down our streets. Their loud horse-power engines bully the serenity of the moment, and my trance is broken. Somebody, after all, needs to shovel the driveway.Funny how my husband leaves extra early on these mornings “in case of tricky road conditions.” And who gave our four children permission to grow up, design their own lives and move away. It seems like a lifetime ago when I had four able-bodied workers I could charge with shoveling not only our driveway, but the driveways of the elderly neighbors just down the road. I was willing to provide the hot chocolate upon their completion and loved the glow of their red cheeks and sweat matted hair as they came through the kitchen door tracking snow with their oversized boots.Not any more. The only help I get now is a text of encouragement. Pretty lame, I think. Now, it is up to me. I always know this when it snows, but as I sit in the morning hours enjoying my tea, I always hope the temperature will rise to 50 degrees by noon melting away the bliss of the morning. And why haven’t we made good on the annual promise to purchase a snow blower?
Not this year. At some point, I find the flannel lined pants, search the old laundry basket full of gloves and hats left over from a tenure of raising kids, zip up my boots, wrap myself in a scarf and invite the dogs to join me as I begin to clear the driveway.
It doesn’t take long for me to settle in to the rhythm of the scrape. The vapor of my breath escapes into the cold air somehow warming me from the inside out. I am grateful for my back muscles (until they begin to scream in a few hours) as they torque with each shift of show to the perimeter of my driveway. The air is still, void of the noises of a usual morning. I find myself enjoying the frigid air, feeling the satisfaction of a cleared driveway, and smiling as my dogs run playfully in the powdered playground of our yard. So here is the bottom line. I actually like to shovel. If I lived in Boston this winter I might feel differently, but here in manageable Ohio, shoveling as often as snow falls has been invigorating and down right fun. Just don’t tell my husband. I’m still hoping for the snow blower.