Snowstorm 101

Anticipation, apprehension, glee, contentment, resignation, withdrawal, and even loathing; snowstorms bring out a myriad of human emotions. It’s as though someone uncapped a bottle of raw feelings in folks, all triggered by this one event. Snowstorms are interesting, but people’s reactions to them are even more interesting. It seems that if you chart the responses (for you scientific/engineering types) that there is a correlation to age, controlling nature, and responsibilities. Other than that, the reactions are all over the ball park and go far beyond rushing out for bread and milk.






This has been a month of snowstorms—58.9 inches of snow and now snowing again. So far, we have been spared a pure ice storm and a winter thunder storm. Other than that, we’ve had them all. Dueling weather services competing with the supposedly antiquated Farmer’s Almanac make things especially interesting. No human seems to really be tuned completely to these “acts of God.”


I sit gazing out our kitchen window looking past a four-foot drift and on to the sleepy, serenely blanketed neighborhood beyond. Giant fluffy flakes waft in the gentle air currents as they glide to their place among their already grounded kin. Soon a ritual will start. The silent bliss will be punctuated by various pitches of howling and rumbling engines as the snow removal regiment begins.






I am the lone “snow plower” in a neighborhood of “snow blowers.” Perhaps that’s how owning a Hummer feels. I justify my difference by secretly thinking that the low, manly rumble of my diesel powered plow make those whining high pitched snow blowers sound like an army of “sissies.” (Please don’t tell anyone, I live here and am fond of my neighbors!) My method of snow removal relies on good old brute force and I take a certain pride in it. (Also, a wall of pine trees adjacent to my driveway makes snow blowing almost impossible.) Since I’ve invested heavily in a small diesel tractor, chains, weights, plow, and all that goes with it, I am a “dyed in the wool” plow man. The frugal side of me looks forward to recouping a bit more of this season’s investment ($252 and counting) to get all this plowing equipment ready. (My proofreading wife says that’s not relevant; but to me, it is!)






Fortunately my driveway slopes downward so I never have to admit that pushing walls of snow uphill is virtually impossible. Occasionally I get stuck, and unfortunately it’s usually in public view. Now it’s almost time to start. As I go through the ritual of preparing to venture into the elements, I wonder if those “snow birds” in Florida secretly miss all of this. Already one neighbor is on duty and I have lost my opportunity to be “first” with just that one lingering cup of hot chocolate. I am an experienced “veteran” and know what I am doing. (And yes, I am dressed warm enough and don’t need to cover my ears.) I have moved beyond thoughts of everything else I was supposed to or wanted to do before being sidetracked by this snow plowing mission and am now committed. Actually, focusing on plowing with no distractions other than my own wandering thoughts is a bit of a peaceful delight. It’s almost like exercise—I don’t look forward to it, but there is a growing satisfaction as I wade into it and especially when it’s done.






Once I start, I follow precision time-tested patterns (not that I am a creature of habit). No one else could map this out and execute it quite like I do, or at least in my opinion. Occasionally, I stray and have a harvest of frozen sod instead of snow but no one is watching. (That I see, at least.) I plow with a sense of purpose and urgency, especially since at any moment the township snow plow could undo much of my elaborate work to open my driveway to the rest of the world. Fortunately, I don’t have to benchmark and secure my conquest with kitchen chairs like my urban friends. Still it’s quite an involved process and one that few folks and especially Mother Nature respect and appreciate. She seems to delight in covering over my plowing efforts as soon as I am finished. Perhaps it’s to trump any lasting satisfaction I think I’ve merited. She accomplishes a similar thing by gradually eroding my summer grass mowing efforts too. Perhaps it’s personal.






As I randomly reflect on this snowstorm, it’s amazing how deeply this simple benign event really touches my personal psyche. I don’t realize that emotions such as haughty pride, frugality, fiery independence, errant motives, competitiveness, and even suspected “martyrdom” could be triggered by an innocent pristine snowfall. Who would have guessed?