A final shovel

We survived the snow.

It’s not a small thing.  More than a foot fell on these parts, stranding cars in snow banks, collapsing roofs and spawning tears of joy from drought-ravaged cattle farmers.

Yes, there’s always a silver lining.

We wisely stayed home on Thursday and so suffered little inconvenience. 

Nellie appreciated our being home. 

This is Nellie’s kind of weather … a Great Pyrenees is built for this, with a heavy coat of white fur, long and sturdy legs, and a big, black nose so curious that it sniffs and twitches every second that it’s awake.

Nellie surfaces.

To watch Nellie in deep snow is to watch a duck snorkeling on the lake.  She’ll wander a bit, sniffing the snow top, and then catch a scent.  Down goes her head, submerged as if she had no head at all.  She’ll push things around down there, right and left, until she finds her prize.  And she’ll bring it to the surface, snow crystals glued to her snout.

A stick, old rawhide, a piece of roof shingle.  It’s always a guess as to what.

Her favorite game is to romp across the yard with a ball of rawhide, her rear legs jumping in tandem like a giant Mad Hare.  She then tosses the ball into the snow.

Mad Hare.

Of course, then she must find it.  So she dives, makes broad, deep swaths with her massive head, secures the 'hide and leaps off to romp some more.

Nellie’s moves aren’t graceful.  More like the rolling gate of a polar bear.  But there is true grace there … a deep innocence and joy of life.

Rawhide Romp!

If Nellie was created with snow in mind, Linus was not.

Our newly known wiener-dog/poodle mix – still haven’t gotten used to that – suffers in this weather.  Not that he doesn’t enjoy snow; he does, very much.  But while Nellie’s head plunges below the surface, all of Linus does.

It’s not pretty.  At one point, when Linus needed to go out, we had to give the back door a mighty shove to open it. Unsuspecting, Linus leaped through and was quickly swallowed to his fur tops.

“I’m going out to dig some pee paths!” I yelled to Cindy.  For that’s what’s necessary – narrow paths that shoot from the door like vines, allowing Linus to reach various spots in the backyard and do his business. 

Linus on his pee path.

Digging is difficult with this much snow, of course.  I’ve not been in favor of a snow blower because deep snow is infrequent here.  Plus the exercise, when it happens, is welcome.

But this was different.  We have a large front drive, which is now surrounded by four-foot-tall snow banks – the product of my work.  (Well, that’s not quite true.  Our neighbor brought over his snow blower to help me do the drive’s last 20 feet or so. I think he felt sorry for me. But the rest I cleared.)

It required hours of toil.  But I took some comfort knowing that this probably would be the last time I’d need to shovel this drive.  We are, as noted in prior posts, refitting the house and getting it ready to sell. (In fact, daughter Meghan and son Zach were in town last weekend sorting through basement mementoes – a topic of a future post.)

With that comfort comes some sadness, too.  That’s been an underlying feeling as we work mightily to get the house ready.  All bathrooms have been updated now; our master bedroom looks fit and trim; Cindy completed the tile work in the sunroom just yesterday.

The realtor keeps calling, asking us when it’ll be ready to show. “The time is right,” he says. “There’s not much inventory, so houses are going at good prices.”

On the one hand, that’s good news.  On the other, I don’t like to be rushed.

“I’m going to miss this place,” I told Cindy.  “It doesn’t seem like I’ve had time to really enjoy this house.”

The new master bath.

Which is folly.  I’ve had about 15 years to do so, and did – many times.  Many, many of our best memories are here. But it’s been a whirlwind of middle-age life … kids and work and more work, with seemingly little time to contemplate the “here” of this place.

My fault, really.

And so we redecorate and modernize and make things pretty not with ourselves in mind, but in hopes of getting the highest price from a stranger.  The more we do, the less it becomes ours, it seems.

It’s a lesson learned.  If improvements are needed with our new house, we will do them immediately so we can enjoy them; we’ll feather our nest rather than someone else’s, and quickly grow to love what we’ve built.

The dogs, of course, will provide continuity.  Because wherever we settle, they will be there, too, God willing. 

And so Nellie will continue to dig deep, and Linus will follow his pee paths. 

And I will shovel.

In fact, it now appears I’m not done here yet.  The forecasters today warn of a second front by Monday, bringing another 4 to 6 inches.

Which is all okay.  I need the practice.