An Almost-True Winter’s Tale

I should’ve known better. This was just history repeating itself. After dark, but just before sunrise. Heavy snows three days in a row. Had to get up that early to be on time for my morning gig, so I rolled out of bed and headed outside.

Tall snow boots, puffy jacket, Andes hat to cover the ears, leather choppers lined with woolen undergloves. Garage door opener in one pocket, phone in another, and a lightweight snow shovel slung over my shoulder; I thought I was fully prepared. The goal was to clear the driveway before the plows got through, hoping to make clearing the street-side end easier, once the plows came through and dumped the street’s payload on the end third of my drive.

And then they’d come along once more, just to neaten the streets and undo all my hard work.

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There are heated discussions over whether one starts at the end of the drive first, or clears the first three feet cross-wise to the garage door. Whether it’s best to use the snowblower, leaving a good half-inch of the white stuff when the blades have passed, and wait for the sun to continue clearing the rest. Or how light the snow has to be, to save the Earth by using a shovel instead. A shovel leaves a clean shave and lessens the chance that snow will melt, leave puddles, refreeze, and flip you on your backside when you scurry out to fetch the mail from the box by the roadside.

Sometimes you like to have a snowblower because the snow is wet and heavy, and the damn thing won’t start. Flames shooting out the side as it backfires, and you try to ease the engine gently out of choke. And then it dies. So you’re left with the shovel and a driveway that seems to have suddenly gotten longer.

We could discuss theory until Spring breaks the stalemate, or the second April blizzard arrives, or the cows come home. But the real truth is there’s tons of proof for all theories being true at one time or another. Don’t be fooled by statistical averages, or other forms of measures of central tendency and deviation about the mean. You just have to go with what the day (or predawn) drops on you, and keep the toolbox open and ready.

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I should have known better on that snowy, snowy day. Cold enough to freeze the hairs in my nose. Ill-smelling frost gathering on my lashes and the fold of my night watch cap. Snowblower on the blink, so it’s just me and the shovel, and I’m the only one out this early, this morning.

What a fool I am.

The snow is about a foot and a half and still coming down. It’s beautiful under the single streetlight on our suburban block. The slightest wind sprinkles me with star-like snowflakes, blown from the tops of the  snowbanks where I’d stacked shovelfuls for the last two days. It’s chilly, but I know I’ll warm up once I get going. I opt to shovel a path to the street first and then clear a majority of the pre-plowed end of driveway.

This feels good. I feel strong. I throw shovelful after shovelful on the snowbanks. Since the sun hasn’t risen yet, the snow is light and I go quickly. Sprays of snow come off my shovel, land on my face and cool my red cheeks. I laugh. I forget what I’m doing as I approach the end of the drive. I delight in the muffled sound of snow so deep you could almost be buried in your blanket, back inside the house.

It’s then I hear a faint rumble and bump coming closer and becoming louder. I remember I’m not a snowbeast. Not one with the snowflakes. I’m not visible in the darkness, standing too close to the edge and hidden by the snowbank I’d been adding to. And now I’m down, and snow is rolling me over, burying me in the swiftly moving pile that rings off the snowplow’s sharp blade.

Silence and weight as it rumbles away. I think to myself: Oh shit. Not again! Shifting gently under the pile, I pat my pockets and smile.

At least I broke with tradition this year. This year, I have my cellphone!

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2025)

This marks the last of FlashNano, daily prompts dreamed up and offered up by Nancy Stohlman for the past 14 years. Missing it already, but many thanks, Nancy!