roads are white. White roads trap four wheel drive vehicles in
intersections. Fifteen minutes now, he has been stuck, much engine
noise, a little shoveling: at least he has a shovel.
Black silhouette, the cat stares out at the snow, the dreaded snow. I
feel for him. I wouldn't want to pee out there either. I shoveled a
path for him up to the backyard, but he still has to squat in six
inches of white under the tree. Usually the ground under the cedar
stays snow free, but this year, so much snow has fallen that we can't
see the ground. It lays at least two feet deep, even in broad sun, not
that we have seen much sun for the last week, week and a half.
Yesterday, and today, the sun shone, brilliant blue sky a counterpoint
to the blank whiteness of the snow.
That four wheel drive pickup made it out, with a little help. I would
have gone to help, but I really don't think that I would have been any
help. It was a big pickup. I would not have been able to swing the back
end around like I have been doing so often these days. The secret is to
dig out the drive tires on the downhill side. Have the person turn the
front wheels to point up hill, put it in reverse, then give it some
gas. As the drive tires spin, you push it down hill: push on the front
for front wheel drive, and on the back for rear wheel drive.
So far, we have been lucky and have not gotten stuck. I try to drive
without hubris, however. Getting older has made me more careful.
Yesterday, I tried to dig a snow-cave in one of our giant piles of snow
for my daughter. I didn't get very far, because I got nervous. I could
see what would happen if it were to collapse. I can picture a
seventeen-year-old boy digging and digging and nothing ever possibly
going wrong. It wasn't taking a chance, back then. It was digging a
hole in the snow fully possessed of the belief that nothing could
possibly go wrong.
