While Doug was away it snowed. A lot. The wind had made maddening drifts preventing me from plowing my way out. Doug arrived home with the snow drifts still intact. It was this Florida boy's mission to teach me proper use of the snow plow.
I trudged behind Doug on the way to the shed more than a little put out that this southern boy thought he could teach this Texas girl the proper way to plow snow. After all he hasn't been home for any measurable amounts of white glitter. I had plowed my way to the road before. This time our little Polaris just didn't have enough ump.
I had made the mistake of telling Doug I got the Polaris stuck while attempting to gain freedom. I figured snow was like sand. Growing up in south Texas I had been stuck in the sand many a sweltering afternoon. Keep the wheel straight, go forward, back up, forward, back, keep the dumb wheel straight and eventually you are free. (To be honest, years ago at the beach I would never attempt to unstick my Camaro myself. I would hop out in my bikini and wait for muscular jocks to come by and push me out. However, thirty years later if there were any males to drive by I have no doubt me in a bikini would cause a screaming, please poke my eyes out accident. And it was 7 degrees outside.)
Doug's first lesson was twisting the blade. "Yes, I do that," I snapped. My nose was getting further out of joint by the second.
Climbing in the Polaris Doug continued to instruct me. In his best teacher voice Doug grasped the gear shift explaining the reverse, neutral, high forward, and low forward. I was sitting beside him humming "We're not going to take it Anymore" in my head.
Then it hit me. He said low forward. What is that? He was already on to tires and traction. I didn't dare ask. I was supposed to be a rapt pupil.
We were now barreling our way out of the shed headed for the cement hip high snow drifts in front of his "man shed." Doug plunged ahead only to be brick walled by the massive drift. He threw the Polaris into reverse, and then shifted into low forward. (Yes, this time I was paying attention.) His foot stomped on the gas and we fish tailed our way through the impassable drift narrowing missing a lone standing pine tree.
"Stop!" I screamed. I snatched the seat belt from its resting place behind me and clicked it securely around my body.
Rolling his eyes, Doug once again pounced on the accelerator of the Polaris. We swerved side to side, tossing snow every which way. The sea-sickening madness continued through the snow bank to inches from a small shed.
"Stop" I screamed again.
"What now?" Doug groaned.
"Where is my bicycle helmet? I think if I ride with you any more I may need it!"
Needless to say, I got out and Doug continued his lesson without his pupil.
Now on to the secret.
Later that day Doug decided to pull the trailer out to take his baby (the lawnmower, of course) to the lawnmower doctor to have it primed for spring. I glanced out the window and saw the Polaris several feet in front of the shed door. Doug was pulling around with the pick-up. "Not unusual," I think. Until Doug comes in for the evening.
As he is peeling off his outdoor gear, he makes the comment he was awfully glad I was not out with him to help. This is strange; he usually wants me to help with all sorts of cold jobs.
He begins to explain. He, the Florida boy known for instructing in snow removal, had gotten the Polaris stuck in one of the impassible snow drifts. Doug then preceded to sneak in the garage, back the pick-up out, and pull the Polaris out of the drift without me ever taking a picture. He was sure if I had a picture it would end up a story in my blog.
Newsflash for my loving husband. I do not need a picture to blog about it!
I suppose the moral of this story is: No person hailing from the south really appreciates the power of snow until they have succumbed to its life stopping ability.
Know anyone with a tractor for sale?
LAUGHED ALL THE WAY!
ReplyDeleteWONDERFUL!!!
xoxo
cuz