“The town plow decided not to plow to my house today, but close to it, which was no cigar. Or possibly a cigar; only time would tell. I wasn’t so much worried about myself, because my truck was able to manage the stretch of road I’m talking about, but as for the panel van of floor finishers scheduled to arrive tomorrow, it all was starting to feel like an impending fail. Anyone who has tried to schedule something for literally a year in advance, will recognize the sinking sensation of “the best laid plans of mice & men”. Just like the harried plowmen, the intrepid sanders, equipped with modern gear, would do their best, I was sure. It was I who was left with last minute decisions to make, based on the sudden dumping of 18” of snow, after a day of a similar, wetter, load, just the day before. Good skiing, you might respond, and you would be right. However, this was not to be a day of fanciful recreation, for me. The turns I would be executing in powder would involve a sticky gearshift, compromised winch cable, and a parking lot of buried vehicles. It’s lucky I like a challenge, and luckier still that I have some of the right tools to maintain a pretty good life, off the beaten track. I was out of coffee, yes, but I had had enough beans for my first cup of the day, and was eager to begin, with a shovel. The meditation of clearing my decks, a few wooden steps and a path to the parking lot, is easy, pleasurable warm up. A time to get to know the snow, and assess its qualities, and temperature, look at animal tracks and anything out of the ordinary that may have visited during the night. As for moving my pile of barn board for the third time, at least it was not a big one this time. I checked the creepage of driven snow, into my wood sheds, checked the table saw, and cleared the outside doors, so they could once again, slide all the way to the left, and to the right. Where the wind had forced snow, while I was sleeping, a marvel to behold. My daughter, and her friend J, emerged from across the yard, to join the effort. “The prediction was 3-5” I said. We stood, staring at a landscape that had obviously deviated from the prediction..”It blows up to Maine, and then comes back around to dump on the western side of the Greens”, he said. I nodded. He knew some things, I didn’t and that was oddly reassuring. I texted Katie, up at the yurt. “If you wanted to uncover your car, I’ve been scraping it but the defroster would help. Are the keys in it?” She texted that she’d been working on her painting but she’d come down after cleaning up a bit. It was clearly going to be a party now. J. was already pouring gas into the utility vehicle. I hate dealing with gas cans, so that felt amazing, to not have to do it myself. “Can I learn to plow?” Anna said, smiling from ear to ear. I nodded again, smiling back, with a proud mama kind of satisfaction, that my girl was following in my footsteps. They carefully backed it out of the garage, and began to push snow down towards the road. I continued to work on the areas the plow wouldn’t be able to reach, as Katie showed up, beaming, in her woolen poncho, and brown hat, and after her car had been deiced, we manhandled it, on its summer tires, about ten feet. I recalled all the grumpy men I’d ever hired, to do this for me, along with a few absolute saints, who did it for free. What an epic odyssey of collaboration it can be, to deal with mountain weather. Today’s crew were quickly jockeying into first place, as the best collaboration ever. But I still miss my Ford, which I can honestly say was almost mine, until my ex-husband took it away. Royal blue, stylish, old school, and the truck that educated me to plow for myself. Now there is no way I can justify or afford to have a dedicated plow truck. But I miss her, and the luxury of her empowering beauty encompassing mine, while it lasted, for a few short years.”
