Four Rules for Snow Blowing

Journal entry, December 1, 2002


Throwing snow, like mowing the lawn, is more than a job. It is an art. One gets better at it with practice. Here are some guidelines that can steer you away from some of those early pitfalls.

This first rule of snow blowing I learned on my maiden voyage. Don't get Snow on the House. To a seasoned practitioner, this dictum is obvious. It is not so for the novice. My first outing with the machine resulted in a house coated with snowballs. They stuck on the siding until spring. Worse yet, they leave their tracks on the siding, little all season mementos, reminders of the first rule of snow blowing.

A second rule, hidden from the neophyte is, Work from the Inside Out. Snowthrowing is the opposite of lawn mowing. In summer, which works from the perimeter into the center. What works well with grass clippings is a disaster for snowbanks. Blowing from the perimeter soon leaves one with all the snow in the middle of the driveway. This rule is easily remembered after the novice cleans the driveway a second time to repair the first.

Rule three is well known. Keep your Fingers to Yourself. A clogged discharge chute is every bit as seductive as the pump handle is to the tongue. It is much more dangerous. Of course, one is warned away from unclogging the machine with a hand by the user's manual. But everyone knows that those manuals are not about common sense. In this case the manual has it right. A lost digit is the first step life long humiliation. The answer "I used my finger to unclog the snow blower," is like being asked to call oneself stupid, over and over. Even a child knows better.

Dress Slick is the final regulation. Snow does not usually go where it is thrown. Ample helpings of it are for bathing the machine operator. Warm fuzzy clothing absorbs melting snow. Slick clothes repel it. Slick clothes in a snowstorm do look stupid. But you aren't out in the driveway to promote fashion. You are there to do a job. Looking silly means staying dry.

So a word to the wise is sufficient. . . as Miss Loughman used to say to her fourth grade class. This wisdom is the hard won product of long winter nights spent behind a snow throwing machine. Now that you have heard them, you can spend your snow blowing time thinking about other, more esoteric things; like unraveling the mystery of life itself, the libretto to a disco tune or a dripping faucet that requires your attention. The fact is, you will not blow much snow without such distraction. At least you can avoid some of the more unpleasant ones.

Frost and Sun

Reflections on the First Thaw - 1988

The sun rises from behind two jack pines to the east of the study. . . a fiery orange ball. First, it peeks through the trees with its intense gaze. Than it spreads a pink blanket over the horizon and then on the snow in the foreground. From there the sky phases to a yellow, to a white and a then to its blue.

Foolish talk of springtime seasons the day's conversations. Part of me leaps to a resounding "Yes!" The the calendar knows better. Can spring be around the corner, after the next bend in the road?

First Thaw - 1997

Holy Cow! It's warm outside! I opened the door to let the dog out when I first noticed the change. The thermometer outside the dining room window was nearly invisible in the dark. At first, I could not find the column of red liquid. I was looking too low on the instrument. When I finally lifted my eyes up the scale, there it was. It registered well on the way to 40 degrees. Could this be the arrival of spring? Or is it just a winter thaw? My calendar says we are still a month away from the last snowstorm. But the bitter cold has been broken. For now, that is enough to conjure thoughts of spring. I am amazed how 40 degrees can be balmy.

2009

The first thaw inaugurates a wrestling match. Jacob's night long struggle with the angel must have ended in such a dawn, a winter thaw. One does not greet first warmth openly, wholeheartedly. One greets the first thaw with deep suspicion. Hope and Reason may have met together, but they certainly have not made friends. Instead, they squirm and writhe. It is plain that the air in which we bathe sets the stage every other event of our lives. And when it is changing, I contend with it. The warmth on the skin is warned away by the experience of thaws past.

The first thaw is a rich medium for conflict. Only in the fullness of spring is it resolved. That is nearer, but not yet.