Winter

You know, there are a million different ways to exercise. In Oregon they hike in majestic redwood forests. In California they jog on sandy beaches. In Florida they play tennis in the citrus-scented breeze. In Iowa - we scoop snow. I just shoveled our driveway. Well, that's only partly true. I just shoveled 1/2 or our driveway. I'll do the rest when the feeling returns to my toes. Plus, is it fair to call it shoveling when at this point I'm just making tunnels? Whatever you call it, at least I got a good workout. Despite the fact that it is a balmy 6 degrees outside (with a -13 windchill) I was stripping layers and sweating under my Carharts. I guess busting 4 foot drifts will do that for you.

So far I've not found a website or diet book that tells me exactly what kind of workout you get shoveling snow, but I'm going to estimate (conservatively, of course) that I burned 42,878 calories out there - give or take a few. Of course, it doesn't help that I've taken in 43,952 in the last two days in hot chocolate and homemade bread alone. (Hot chocolate and fresh baked goods are frequently prescribed by physicians in the north to combat Seasonal Affective Disorder, Hypothermia, Cabin Fever and other common serious winter maladies.) I'm hoping that my afternoon scooping will put me back in balance, calorie wise, but I did promise to bake cookies for my daughter's 4-H club tomorrow...

I've never liked winter. I used to attribute it to the fact that I was born in Oklahoma and lived there until I was 6 years old. Winter there meant a light frost occasionally and a reprieve from weeding the garden. Leading child psychologists often say that the first 5 years shape the rest of your life. So, as a child, I assumed that I abhored December thru February because of my warm upbringing during my formative years. Now I've come to realize that it's just because winter sucks.

Don't get me wrong - I know there are people who just love the crisp, clean look of a fresh layer of snow. They don their parka and matching hat and glove set with glee, sometimes even strapping on a pair of snowshoes or cross country skis. These are the people who have jaunty snowmen in their yard. They are out cheerfully scooping by the time the fourth flake has hit the ground. They decorate with snowflake window clings and glittery snowmen figurines. I'm not sure - but they probably even make snow angels. Surely there is as village in Maine (or perhaps the Himalayas somewhere) that is missing them...

There isn't a single family in Iowa who doesn't have at least a half dozen grainy photos from each generation of bundled human shapes standing next to enormous snow drifts, snow men, snow piles and/or snow forts. It is often impossible to tell who is in the picture, since they are covered in 18 layers of clothing. Relative size, at that point, also is no help. A lone person standing next to a snow drift taller than his head could be little six-year-old Bobby (from the blizzard of '73) or Dad going out to hay the cattle (from the blizzard of '62). Living in Iowa gives you grit, and so we carry on. We scoop. We scrape windshields. We don boots and hats, gloves and scarves, wool socks and thermal underwear. We get chapped lips, chapped cheeks, and chapped hands. In short - we we make the best of it.

The coal stove needs to be stoked and shaken down, and I need to empty the ash pan. The chickens will need to have their waterer de-iced and filled, and the snow shovel is still calling my name. I guess it's time to throw on the insulated overalls and boots and get back outside. There may be drifts in the driveway, but at least I've got grit to get me through...