Snow Man

On Sunday, as the winds howled, and the snow fell for hours, I was stuck inside. l got thinking about a possible topic for today’s post. I almost felt duty-bound to write about the latest shocking murders in Minneapolis. Or maybe I should tell you how “our boys,” the Blue Jays, are taking us to the cleaners with sky-high ticket prices because of last year’s success. Or perhaps I’d give a little jab at any Canadian who dares to criticize Mark Carney’s brilliant speech in Davos.

Then yesterday I changed my mind and grabbed my camera instead. We all awoke to bright sunshine radiating off sparkling piles of snow and I thought “Wow. This is beautiful! How lucky we are to have the change of seasons.” (Of course we also have indoor heating, and warming shelters, lots of salt, ploughs working around the clock to keep us going, and Snow Days. But I digress).

By 9:00 am. our neighbours were all out shovelling – two mothers and a son clearing sidewalks in front of their house, an older man across the street making a space for his car to back out, three teen-agers going house to house looking for shovelling work, and the kids next door heading to the hill with their sleds. Everyone seemed filled with energy.

After his second coffee, Peter put on his warm coat, boots and gloves, and even his hat which has been the butt of many jokes. He went out the back door to get his shovel. But where was his shovel? It’s usually standing right beside the back door, within easy reach when needed. But it wasn’t there. Had Canadian Tire run out of shovels and forced someone to steal ours? But there were no tracks. Could a Russian drone have picked it up? Or… could it be buried in a snowbank?

Peter got the kitchen broom from the cupboard and began his search. He brushed off the top step. He brushed his way to the nearby window well, where he spied a bit of red plastic. He inched forward on his knees and reached down. And up came his shovel. After shovelling a pathway to the walk on the side of the house, he gathered up the compost from inside and went cross-country to the big compost bin outside.

By then Peter was exhausted. He came inside for lunch and a quick nap. But he couldn’t sleep. The driveway was calling him. So he went into the garage and found the snow-blower which his son Daniel had given him several winters ago. It was practically unused. After searching a while for a suitable extension cord, Peter plugged it in and got started. The little snowblower looked a bit anxious about the daunting piles of snow ahead of it, but it chugged forward and back throwing snow to the sides of the driveway. I could almost hear it saying “I think I can, I think I can.”

And together they did. In less than an hour the driveway was cleared, ready for the cars to take us out. The pathway to the front door was cleared, ready for the mailman to bring us more flyers. And Peter had finished his day as the Abominable Snowman.

Yesterday was an exhilarating break from our usual day to day routines and worries, as we gave in to nature’s power; and beauty.

Sue