We’ve had two snow days this week. Well, not really snow days in the sense that everything is closed and buses aren’t running and everything is at a standstill — but significant amounts of snow nonetheless.
And, to be fair, yesterday’s snow day was pretty close. The school buses were cancelled and I opted to stay home rather than commute for an hour on country roads. It snowed and snowed, lots of wet snow, which also meant we had to shovel lots of wet snow. It took us an hour, all three of us, to dig ourselves out of the driveway so that BDH could make his way in to work. Part of that battle was because we got plowed in, giant metre-high boulders of wet compacted snow blocking the end of the driveway.
Well, although she wielded her red snow shovel throughout the morning, Stinkerbelle mostly shuffled bits of snow here and there on occasion, in between stomping through the great piles of snow accumulated on the front lawn and — her latest favourite thing — throwing snowballs at us. At which, of course, I retaliated with hefty snowballs of my own, plonking her on legs and belly and back and sending her tumbling over laughing her head off.
But for BDH and I, it was mostly shovelling, wet snow piled on either side of the driveway up to my waist. And I have to tell you, my arms ached when we went to bed last night. WOOHOO WORKOUT DONE FOR THE DAY.
And then, overnight, phase two of the storm rolled through, and this morning was another morning of snow. If possible, it was even wetter and heavier, and the drive was even worse. Fortunately, the only place That Girl had to go was to school, around the corner, so no need to stay home. But there was still a mess to be shovelled.
At this rate, by the time spring rolls around, Imma have awesome guns from lifting all this snow.
We haven’t had much snow this winter — or, rather, we’ve gotten a lot of snow, a little bit at a time, on and off. It hasn’t been the dry winter of last year, or the incredible snow mess that was a few years ago. It snows, it melts, it snows, it melts. All a little at a time. Few big storms, really.
I’m okay with that. I hate snow. No, that’s not fair — I don’t mind snow as long as I don’t have to go anywhere. I like shovelling snow, and I like looking at snow, and I’ll even take Stinkerbelle out to play in the snow if the wind is down. And as long as it’s not the sodden mess we have right now — excellent for packing into snowmen and snowballs, but it will chill you through in moments and bog down any sled or other fun winter toy you wish to play with. Not to mention soaking through any clothes and especially footwear you happen to be wearing.
I more hate cold, to be honest, and damp. And right now, wet and hovering around zero, it is both. Am I a giant pansy? You’d better believe it. I was meant for more tropical climates — or at least, where the chance of cold and damp are minimal. It’s a wonder I’m even here at all — I come from Irish/British stock via Newfoundland and Manitoba.
I swear though, that I am a throwback to some ancient branch of my family tree. One whose roots are in, say, the Mediterranean. Or the Caribbean. Which is funny given that my African-born daughter is never happier than when she’s up to her whatzis in snow and there’s the potential for MORE snow. Somewhere in her family tree there must be a branch that comes from Scandinavia. Possibly the Yukon. It’s hard to say.
Either way, unless there’s shovelling to be done, I’m keeping my cold-averse butt indoors. By the fire. Maybe with a glass of wine this evening.