I Am Woman, See Me Shovel

December 20, 2010

For those of you who don’t know me, I need to tell you I am a teacher. Because of this fact I have two glorious weeks off from school every winter holiday. Yesterday I meticulously wrapped all of the Christmas presents. I had paused only once in order to give a special friend a present, which Santa had delivered ahead of schedule.

Early this morning, around 2:00am, I was lying in bed thinking of my day and debated how I should spend it.  What I needed to do was file some paperwork and write some college recommendation letters…but why do that when I could procrastinate a bit longer and take advantage of my friend’s wee wood cabin home in South Lake Tahoe? The more I thought about the matter, the more I realized I had nothing but time to make the trek up the mountain. I had prepared my car a while ago, purchasing tire chains, getting the oil changed and new car headlight bulbs replaced. With that in mind, I rolled over and soon fell asleep.

By 9:00 I had packed all items into my Jeep Liberty, including a sleeping bag, water, food, headlamp and tons of winter gear to wear over the next few days. Other than rain, the beginning of my journey was uneventful. My friend Rob had given me the phone number for California’s highway weather reports. As I reached Sacramento I dialed the number and learned chains were required to pass over Hwy 50. I cautiously headed up. As soon as I hit higher altitude it began to snow lovely laced flakes. I smiled and thought to myself THIS is why I’m going to Tahoe, to see this beauty. Look at those snowflakes falling from the sky, sashaying down. Look at the trees! Look at the snow-covered cabin roofs!

Soon I began to wonder when the chains would be required. Eventually I came to the point where the cars are checked and the “chain monkeys” are in full force. $30 dollars poorer and mere minutes later, I found myself driving in snow for the first time of my adult lifetime. I pressed my foot on the gas pedal and as my back tires were spinning to gain traction, my front ones started to slide across the icy snow. I was fishtailing, smoothly slipping across the snow with little control.

Immediately my mind recalled the same sensation, the only differences were that it was summer, I was riding a mountain bike on the Flume trail and sliding across granite sandy gravel a few thousand feet above Lake Tahoe. My guide and friend, Rick, had coached me at the bottom of the hill before we began the day. He warned me that we would be crossing sandy paths and I would likely lose control. He told me not to panic but to feel my bike and body almost glide right through it. Whatever I did, he warned me not to brake hard and quick. If I did, I would likely flip over my handlebars and could end up getting hurt badly. That was a challenging day. I was thinking of my responsibilities as the mother of my three nearly grown children, financially and in all other matters of the heart and wellbeing. In the back recesses of my mind, I was acutely aware. I looked kind of dorky, hugging the granite wall located on one side of the narrow pathway. I shared the journey with Rick and Eric, while Eric’s dog darted on and off, as well as an endurance race taking place with teams of four bicyclists passing us from the opposite direction. It was a tight squeeze. Still, it was thrilling and at the end of the day I felt I had accomplished something…more mental than physical. I could have fun, pushing my body and mind but still be a dedicated and loving mom…

Today, as I felt the same out of control sensation, I did not panic. I decided to ride through the sliding of my car across the ice. This occurred numerous times on the way over the mountain as the snow continued to fall. The truck behind me could see my dilemma and gave me a wide birth. Every time I lifted my foot off the gas pedal or started to press on it again the fish tailing would begin anew. I was quite calm and made it to the cabin. The same feeling of accomplishment washed over me.

As I drove down the street I knew there had been recent dumping of snow and that the driveway would likely be blocked. I pulled over to the side of the road and put the car in park. I grabbed my waterproof Sorrell snow boots, located my gloves and a hat and threw on a light Gortex jacket to ready myself for the upcoming chore. I trudged to the side of the house and grabbed the two shovels.

Hmmm, where to begin? I asked myself. I decided to get underway with a narrow path to one of the doors to the cabin. Within minutes I could recognize the time and effort that were needed to carve a spot for my Jeep Liberty. I shoveled and shoveled and shoveled. I was grinning the entire time. I know I looked like a jubilant rookie. I also know that as I was enjoying the work, I was simultaneously thinking of my sister Laura and what it must have been like when she shoveled paths in Boston, New York and now, Wisconsin. I’ve always admired her can-do attitude in regards to snow and the harsh realities of winter but perhaps even more so today. I took short breaks for sips of water. Just as I was about to tackle the more daunting task of the curbside icy wall from the street cleaners, a friend named Joel came to pitch in and shovel with me. He even made a nice pathway for the mailman to deliver mail.

Quite some time later, I drove my vehicle into the rather lengthy driveway with a sense of satisfaction. To outsiders, or seasoned mountaineers, really, what had I done today? I had driven in adverse conditions and shoveled a snowy pathway.  But I was still grinning and inside felt such joy. I laughingly told myself I am woman see me shovel!  The familiarity of my inner strength was once again renewed through circumstances that were as polar opposite as sand is to snow.

With that, I trudged down the newly formed path to begin the next leg of my journey.