Snow storms were good news when I was a kid. If a snowstorm hit on the weekend, it offered the possibility to make some money. If a storm hit during the week, it also meant the possibility of no school...and the homework I had put off until before school that morning could be put off one more day until before school the next morning.
When the snow came, Mom would have to drag out all of jackets and mittens and hats and boots. I felt a little like a knight getting suited up for battle as Mom would clip my mittens to my jacket sleeves and help me buckle my boots. Off we went to the garage to dig out the shovels while dad worked on getting the snow blower going. Dad was one of the only people on the street that had a snow blower. This was a top notch machine but it could be argued that it would be easier to shovel the driveway than to continually pull the cord to get the thing going. But once it got going, there was no stopping it. Dad would eat a path through the snow down our driveway and over to the neighbors houses.
I don't know how it started, but a couple of the neighbors hired my brother, three sisters, me and Dad to shovel and plow their houses.
First came the Haler's yard. Karen had assigned me to clear the back walk by using the authority that comes with the being the oldest sister. Karen had assigned herself the steps, which was no doubt the easiest part of the whole job. Unlike something else, say a back walk for example, steps are finite. Three or four of them and you're done and off to the next house. Back walks, on the other hand, turn into patios. Patios lead to side paths which lead to front walks which lead to sidewalks. It was a never ending loop. But it was my lot in life to be (nearly) the lowest on the totem pole, so I did what I had to, mostly because I had no choice. Mr. and Mrs. Haler watched from their back window as I plodded along. When we finished up, Dad would get paid and maybe given a gallon of maple syrup before we would be off to the Davenport's house. From there, it was off to the Antman's. Karen had already cleared the measly three or four steps at each house and disappeared before the rest of us even got there.
By now the street was starting to show other signs of life. Other folks were starting to come out and work on clearing their driveways and walks. Little by little some of my friends would finish up their walks and be playing in the park. The distraction would be too much. I would rush through the Antman's sidewalks, leaving Dad to finish their driveway and I would bomb home to get some dry mittens. Karen would already be home, lounging in her post-shoveling attire, long underwear, and sipping on her hot chocolate while eating a disgusting concoction called "Snow Cream".
Snow Cream consisted of snow with vanilla extract on it. It was something I always felt I should like because, 1) Karen said I should, and 2) It was treated as if this was almost a forbidden dessert. To me, it didn't live up to the buzz. Each mouthful was more disappointing than the one before it. Despite having "cream" in it's name, this stuff had none of the texture, none of the heft of even the lesser delicious ice cream flavors. I haven't had any since.
Anyway, discarding my wet clothes in the furnace room and getting re-outfitted with dry clothes, I was off to the park with my brother and my other sisters. There we would build snow forts and snowmen and have snowball fights with some of the neighbor kids. In the background the snow blower would still be running. That was because Dad would be left to do our house by himself. We had other priorities.
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| Somewhere in the distance, is the sound of a snow blower. |
Now, here I stand today in my driveway with a shovel, alone. Looking down to the far end of the driveway I wonder, "What did I do to deserve this?"
