Adventures in Water Relocation

Once upon another February, I had to shovel snow out of a pasture on a Maine farm so that the sheep could frolic freely. The other high school student assigned to the task - also from Charlotte, North Carolina - had this to say: "It's depressing. Because when you think about it, all we're doing is relocating water."

That's what I did today. I shoveled snow off my porch. Mainly, because of this:


Do you see what's wrong with this picture? The snow is blocking the sun!!! That is how much snow the mountain has gotten recently.

Then, I actually got out there with my shovel, and I realized that the snow was more epic than I expected. For instance, there was no spot to stand.



I don't want you guys to think that I'm negligent. That is not the case. It's just that snow shoveling has never been a part of my day-to-day life. People who grow up in snowy climates probably just factor it into their weekly chores: floor to sweep, laundry to clean, snow to shovel, etc., etc. Not so if you're a girl from North Carolina. When it snows in Charlotte, the whole town shuts down. I'm not sure that we even owned a snow shovel, growing up.

I was undaunted. I turned on my iPod, raised my shovel, and did battle with the epic snow.

After about 20 minutes, this was my progress:


I was a little daunted. I was also overheating a little in all the layers I pulled on. So, I revised my shoveling strategy and peeled off my coat and gloves.

After a whole playlist worth of songs (admit it - I bet you measure time by playlists sometimes too), ie. over two hours, I had carved out a path through the snow:






From steps....

to door...

...to jacuzzi.

Obviously, this is of the utmost importance when I know that I'm going to be sore like whoa tomorrow.

Unfortunately, despite soreness, I may need to go back out there. 'Cause I missed a spot...ie. the whole back part of the porch...




...which is actually the part that is blocking the sun.



Deep sigh.

I know you won't be surprised when I tell you that with my very tired arms, I made a dinner that requires a near-constant amount of stirring. I ended up standing over my mushroom-chicken risotto, spoon in hand, reading Sarah Mlynowski's Bras and Broomsticks (so good! Where was this book when I was 12??). Needless to say, I neglected my stirring. Whoops! :-o

First, it looked like chicken and rice soup. Then it looked like rice gruel:


There is a happy ending to my story - the gruel responded well to more heat and more stirring. I had to google risotto to remember what it looked like, and also put down my book, but finally, I got dinner. :-)