Snowshoes! Who knew? If I had arrived in the Caribbean without a swimsuit, I wouldn't feel less prepared. Tomorrow is garbage day. Last week we put a bag of garbage in the garage and never faced the fact that the garbage can was in its accustomed spot behind the shed. This weekend, I decided that it was time for the garbage to make it to the curb. The problem is that I needed that garbage can. Why not just put out a plastic bag of trash? The crows. They are ravenous, and a bag of potential food would be sure to wind up spread across the snowbank.
So this afternoon I decided to trek across the snow to the shed. This is about 25 feet away. But 25 feet in 40 inches of snow is challenging.
I started to shovel through the initial drift, but gave up after a few feet. Snowshoes would have helped a lot. Snow pants would have helped too. I rescued the garbage can, and put the trash at the end of the drive. But when I came inside my pants were covered with snow.
The experience of being inside while the storm howls around the house is like traveling in a house sized plane. You aren't cramped in a narrow seat, but you are shut in, and stepping out the door is just as impossible as stepping out of a moving airplane. You look out the window and wait while the snow piles up and blocks the doors. You watch and wait for the snowplow, knowing that the task of digging to the roadway is impossible without machinery.
No comments:
Post a Comment