Dig This

I was grateful to our neighbor for plowing the path thru the snow in our driveway that would in theory connect us to the outside world. There were a few problems with his execution however. He made the path only as wide as his little Bobcat tractor's scoop. That is only about 6 inches wider than our van. Oh, and he left a layer of ice on the driveway that grows thicker every night when the previous day's snowmelt re-freezes. Therein lies the problem. Have you ever driven on a curvy, hilly, gravel driveway covered with three inches of sheer ice and lined with plowed snow that is several feet deep and mere inches from either side of your vehicle? It is almost like driving on a bobsled run except when you try to go thru a curve, you get hopelessly stuck in a snow bank. Sounds fun, right?

On Monday and Tuesday, I dug out our marooned minivan a total of four times. A snow shovel was no match for the thick ice, so I employed our other shovel- a spade. This would not be notable were it not for the fact that this shovel's main purpose is that of a pooper-scooper for the land mines left by our three dogs. Can you get this visual image in your mind: Bethany and Alex are sitting all buckled-up and cozy in the van while I am digging out the compacted snow and ice from under our wheels with a shovel coated in St. Bernard crap. "Whistle while you work?!" Try, "Dry-heave while you dig!" Cussing, spitting, slamming doors. Ah, the joys of country living.

Last night I got smart. I parked the van at the end of our driveway and we walked the rest of the way home. On our way out the door this morning Alex asked, "Dad, are you gonna yell and slam doors again today?"

"Where's my shovel?"