But all that changed this week--we got about 2 feet in my town. I am one of those annoying people who loves snow, even though I don't ski. (I cross-country ski, occasionally, but I fall a lot. And plus I don't think that's what people mean when they ask, "Do you ski?") I also like to shovel.
So Wednesday I was out shoveling for over 2 hours in the morning, while the snow was still falling, and by the time I'd finished our walkways and driveway and raked the roof, the first part I'd shoveled didn't even look shoveled any more. I came in and took a nap. My husband took a turn as well during the day, ably assisted by Patrick:
Only if you look closely, Patrick isn't really helping. He's eating snow.
I went out again late in the day to shovel more, after following up my nap with an intense, Zone 2 session of cookie baking. By now it was getting dark. The kids had abandoned all pretense of "helping" and were digging elaborate tunnels in the snow banks that were now so tall I could barely throw the snow over them. Here they are in their first tunnel:
Did I say I liked shoveling? I used to. Then, just before dinnertime, in the cold and dark, the snowplow made one last pass of our street. And left this at the end of my driveway:
I know, it's kind of dark in that picture. Trust me--it was a freaking lot of snow. I almost cried. I have been known to be, when someone (like my husband) suggests that we get a snowblower, a little bit self-righteous about my love of shoveling. Why would I waste fossil fuels to do something I can do with my own energy? But by the end of the day Wednesday, I would have clubbed a baby seal just to have the shoveling done.
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