Big Job, Little Shovel - Faux Real Story

 

Every time we have a build-up to another Iowa Winter storm, I am reminded of one of my earlier life experiences involving a significant snow.  I certainly felt the energy of the impending storm, just like every other elementary school-aged child who attended public school in the Upper Midwest. 

It was exciting!  It was different!  There was a definite tension being put out by the adults that the children certainly tuned in on too.

And, hey!  It was SNOW!  And possibly lots of it.  Probably enough for a snow day away from school, which was always fun - even if you happened to be a kid that liked school.

Maybe our family was different from yours, but we often undertook BIGGER play projects on snow days - if you know what I mean.  After all, there would be a whole day to fill.  Instead of a few crayons and a couple of pieces of paper, every possible writing and drawing utensil and REAMS of paper would come out. Instead of a batch of Matchbox and Hotwheels cars in a corner of the living room, we'd put together a track with a loop-de-loop and spend hours running cars off the edge of the kitchen table onto that obstacle course.

And, of course, we could expect a good session outdoors in the fresh snowfall.  Snowforts.  Snowmen.  Snowballs.

Prior to this particular snowfall, I had received a kid-sized snow shovel so I could help Dad with cleaning the driveway.  I seem to recall that I had a chance to use it a bit before the "big storm."  And, I am certain I had an outsized idea as to exactly how much "help" I gave Dad cleaning the drive after a couple of dustings or lighter snows.  It felt good to have the feeling that I had contributed and it was nice to be able to do something with him.

Flush with success on prior snow shoveling exploits, I was ready for the "big time!"  So, when this storm came along, I was ready.

We gathered around the kitchen, listening to the radio and waited for the pronouncement that Newton schools had closed - and there wasn't much wait this time around.  There had been a fair amount of wind and the drifting was severe - even in town.

I seem to recall that Dad still had to get to work and he said something about doing the shoveling when he got back home.  Upon hearing that I piped in with, "I'll shovel it for you Dad!"  There was a slightly amused look that passed between my parents, but I think I was given an encouraging reply.

Later that morning, I bundled myself up to perform my self-appointed task.  Our house had an attached garage that emptied in the back onto a covered patio and into the driveway in front.  My shovel was on the patio, so I went out there and pushed some of the snow off the edges of the patio and out of the way.  Then, I trotted through the garage towards the pass-through door in the front of the garage.

I opened the door.

And I looked straight into a wall of snow.  

The snow was pressed up firmly against the door and held in place when I opened the door.  As I looked up, the pile more than doubled my own height.  In fact, there was only a small sliver of light where the anemic sun shone through a tiny gap between the snow and the top of the door frame.

Now what?

Having minimal snow moving experience, I acted on the only solution that immediately came to mind.  I took one shovel-full at a time through the garage out to the patio and then threw that snow as best I could into the back yard.  If any snow fell off my shovel in the process, I would return to clean it up.  After a every couple trips I would stop and stare, with growing dismay, at the snow wall that didn't seem like it was changing all that much.

After a while, some of the snow fell into the garage (not a surprise really) and I worked on taking that snow through the garage, out to the patio and into the yard.  But, my level of dismay and consternation only grew with each trip.  Almost as if the pile of worry was trying to catch up with the pile of snow.  You, see, the image in my mind told me the snow was that deep ALL THE WAY to the end of the driveway.

How was I going to succeed at a task that big?

Eventually, my Mom suggested that I had done enough and I believe I was all too willing to believe her.  The shovel got pushed into the pile of snow near the garage door and I went inside.  Relieved to have had the responsibility taken from me.

When Dad came home that night, he was greeted by the image of a tiny shovel, poking forlornly - and maybe a bit defiantly - out of the snow pile by the garage door.  It turns out that the wind had really stacked the snow up on that side of the house and garage.  It's entirely possible if I had allowed myself to just be a kid and barrel into the pile a few times I would have found an escape through the door and pushed the snow away form the house more effectively than I had with the whole effort with a shovel.

But, it was a matter of pride.  I said I would SHOVEL that snow.  

So, I did.  No cheating.  No shortcuts.  Every bit of snow that DID get moved was moved via SHOVEL.

Sometimes we measure our success in different ways.  Today, I consider this effort a success because I gave my Dad a real laugh.  And I got a good story out of it.