I never liked snowball fights. I was a terrible shot, and I had a wimpy throwing arm — not much has changed there — and on the off chance that I made the mistake of poking my hooded head above the wall of the fort, I would most certainly be nailed with a stinging, soaking missile. Advised by my mother, who believed that snowball fights were a good way to lose an eye, I opted to hide behind whatever fortress my team had constructed and hastily make ill-formed snowballs for others to throw. I realize now that the strategy also served the interests of my mother, who was then relinquished of the sudden appearance of a shrieking child with a bruised face, for which the only remedy was hot chocolate.
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Until I was in high school, my parents’ very long driveway was all gravel, which meant that we had to shovel it during and after every Connecticut blizzard. Sometimes, my dad would just clear a path down to the bus stop and take care of the bulk of it later. He always made sure to salt the very beginning of the driveway so that it stayed ice-free; he liked to brag that he had “the cleanest apron on the street.” Sometimes, the snow fell so thickly and unrelentingly that we would take turns in shoveling shifts, forming thick snow barricades on each side of the driveway. Since I was a rather useless shoveler, my job was to clear off the cars, which involved any combination of climbing up onto the hood to get to the roof, using a big push-broom, and scraping ice off of the windows. The worst storms would dump several feet onto the cars and freeze them into vehiclesicles, much to my dismay.
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In college, we received a blizzard that dropped about two feet of snow onto the area, and I reveled in the novelty, since I had been deprived of proper snow in several years. I didn’t have to drive anywhere, and classes were canceled — what was not to love? JG met me at my dorm, and we tramped past a massive snowball fight to an empty spot by the library. Foraging for twigs and branches, we made a small snowman, catching the falling flakes on our tongues. To demonstrate the sheer depth of the snow, JG keeled over and made a snow angel. Not to be undone, I climbed up onto a bench (since the snow came up to my knees) and tipped backward into the snow. I landed softly, but I was alarmed when the force of my fall threw snow over me, and all I could see was white. At the sound of my distressed cry, JG came over and brushed the snow off with a thick glove. Agh, my burning face! I stood up, shook off the icy pricks as best I could, and suggested that maybe it was time to go in. We left our snowman to hold down the fort and headed back to my room, where a hot pot, water, and hot cocoa packets awaited.
3 comments
Oh, man, this post really makes me wish for snow! And I hate winter and all its coldness, so that is really saying something.
Was it hard shoveling a gravel driveway? I think shoveling our cement driveway is pain enough, but I can’t imagine trying to scrape that shovel along a non-smooth surface like gravel.
Shoveling over gravel is really really hard. Half the time, you’re lucky to scrape up just the top layer. We did have more traction than on other paved driveways, but that was not very comforting in the midst of it.
I remember that snowstorm. we had two days of canceled classes, and lo, it was GLORIOUS.
It really was. The rest of the state of Delaware was in chaos, but the university was this little enclosed snow globe of fun.
We have some wimpy little flurries in NYC today. The holidays have finally arrived!!
Once I get past the annoyance of scraping my windshield, I can certainly appreciate the possibility of a white Christmas. I can’t remember it ever snowing this early down here!
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