Okay, shutty up. I know, yes, this is another post about snow. But think of it this way - you don't have to read another dating post. ;)
This is a pretty good pile of snow we received in the storm. 17" in Minneapolis, with plenty of blowing to create drifts. Back in the 1930's when the city laid out these blocks on paper, someone had the foresight to (or made the mistake to) give the west half of my block larger front and back yards, and the east half (my side) got what was left over. Thank God. I have enough mowing to do in the summer up at the lake, and I view my Lilliputian yard here as a wonderful thing. That sentiment doubles every time I need to go out and shovel my walks and driveway.
Actually I enjoy shoveling (and mowing). And yesterday evening, when the falling snow seemed to be in the winding down stages, I went outside to see what sort of dent I could start to make in it. I shoveled my way out the front door (I had already tried the back door and it was blocked closed by a good size snowdrift), down the front steps, and ever so slowly the very short front walkway. I got to the sidewalk, and was able to clear a path as wide as my shovel, down the middle. We're talking deep snow here. I went inside feeling fairly certain that I could shovel out the rest, and my little driveway, on Sunday.
Sunday: had a cup of coffee and then bundled up in fleece pants, jeans, 2 shirts, a hoodie, scarf, hat, warm coat, boots and mittens. Not exactly a fashion statement. Hah. As I take a last sip of coffee, I see someone snowblowing the rest of my front walk. I peek out to see this same guy snowblowing all the front sidewalks.
When I open the garage door from inside my house, I am looking at a cut out view of the snow on my driveway. 17" inches of solid snow to clear, plus the dreaded snowplow leftovers - those big snowcrete banks the plows block you in with as they go by. I will not look at, nor think about that snowcrete pile until I get there. As a matter of fact, the only way to tackle this is to divide this massive amount of snow into a imaginary grid. My job is to focus on removing enough snow for my car to get through to the alley. That is 5 shovels wide, by 4 shovels high, by I lost track of how many, rows long. A lot. I tried to be crabby, but seriously it is a GLORIOUS morning here. Blue sky and sunshine everywhere. And I really hate to say this - but this snow - it was the perfect type for shoveling! Not too heavy, not too light. Not loaded down with moisture, but just exactly the right amount so it formed a nice block of snow with every scoop. Very satisfying.
I am actually debating whether I will be able to remove all this snow, yes, there is that much. And my car is blocked in the garage until the snow is removed. I really like the idea of being able to do this on my own though, so I keep shoveling. I'm careful to try to lift correctly; my back is already starting to tighten up a little. 4 scoops down = one foot cleared. Move over, 4 scoops down = one foot cleared. Move over... I keep at it. When I see that I've cleaned off the first two feet of the driveway, I know I can do it myself. Shovelful by shovelful.
I have it about halfway cleaned off when a truck drives past me, down the alley. It's my neighbor, on the corner of the block. He's on the big yard side. There is a snowblower sitting on the open tail gate and the driver motions to me from inside the cab - "I'll come and do yours next".
What a nice offer! And I notice his coat is the same coat I saw on the mysterious snowblowing volunteer earlier, clearing every one's front walks. People are nice here. It is part of what makes Minnesota - Minnesota.
However, I'm on a mission now: a personal quest. I challenge myself, in the name of single women, in the name of hardy Minnesotans, hell - in the name of perseverance, and personal strength - YES I can shovel it with the best of 'em! I want to shovel myself out. Just to say I can, just to say I did it.
My corner neighbor returns with his snowblower, along with two other neighbors wielding snowshovels (but in good way), and all three offer to help me clear the rest of my driveway. I thank them, but send them on to the next neighbor. It feels good to toss that last shovelful, and head back into my house. Aching back and all.
Up next, a good movie and hot chocolate laced with ibuprofen.
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