Buried

35/365

Alright, that's enough snow.

I am not one of those faux-Mainers who complains about winter—all winter. I seek out the cold, track storms, hike in the snow, camp in it. I'll move to the South Pole if given the chance. If it is going to be winter, I want winter. Tall snowbanks, white fields and those cool, crisp, dry, blue sky days that wake you up the second your head's out the door.

I hate January thaws, brown snowbanks, mud, slush. There's a grime and a grind to it.

This, however, is getting to be a bit much. I shoveled snow Oct. 15 at the Madison Hut (click the links), and I've been doing it ever since. That's almost four months, a third of a year, and counting. And there's no end in site. Come April, when spring begins to hit southern Maine, I'll be heading north. Back to Madison, and back to winter. Two more bonus months, shoveling a winter's worth of snow out from around the hut. In total, that will equal six months of non-stop winter.

My back is sore, my arms hurt, my Limmer Boots are perpetually wet. I've broken two shovels. My snowblower doesn't want to blow snow anymore. And with all the shoveling I've been doing at work, my driveway hasn't been cleared from the last two storms.

Update 4:15 p.m. - Stacey and I borrowed Alex's snowblower this afternoon (Thank you Alex!!) and scratched and clawed our way to a clean compound. We came inside. Showered and made some coffee. 


Now it's snowing again...