An Early Winter Morning

I wrote this about four years ago, my adjective usage was pretty week, but it was one of the first short stories I had completed.

An Early Winter Morning

 

‘ScccrrrrCh!!  ScccccrrCh!! SCCrrcH!!’  The sound of metal, concrete, and snow mixed together makes the grating noise that I’ve been listening to for the past couple hours.  As soon as one scoop of snow leaves the end of my curved shovel blade under pile replaces it.  A small twinge of pain enters my lower back, but it’ll pass.

            

I’ve been out here since 5:00 A.M.  The weatherman had said we would be getting three feet in the night and…well…well he couldn’t have been more right.  Ever since eight o’clock last night the skies have been dumping fresh powder on us with little sign of let up.  It seems like when I move a foot of this stuff a fresh two feet replaces it.  So I keep shoveling.

        

Though most of my work has been covered up with a fresh dusting, I’ve still managed to carve out most of the walkway that surrounds the house.  The porch is also now clear of the half foot of snow that had accumulated over the night from wind whipping white winter dust around.  But getting this driveway useable has been a whole other issue.

          

With each passing scrape of the shovel I pull up millions of tiny snowflakes, but sometimes I take chunks of asphalt up as well, tearing up the driveway in the process.  I knew we should have repaved it this past summer, but doctor’s bills and other pressing needs came first.

I use two shovels; the heavier of the two has a metal head that has plenty of chips and dents on the end of it from the heavy winters around here.  Its handle is made of sturdy Oak, but has some…visible scars on it, most notably is the two-inch long chunk of wood that is missing from the top of it, where it had once been as smooth as a ripe melon.  The piece of wood that was missing came from the time when I had tried to use the thing as an impromptu pusher for the woodchipper that we had rented when we had first moved into the old farmhouse.  I still count myself lucky in that story.  The other shovel was a two-year-old curved plastic scooper.  Dalores’ father had given it to me as a present.  It did a damn fine job with fresh powder, but you had to be careful with these plastic ones when it came to any ice.  I’ve seen shovels of its like snap like a toothpick when used improperly, like my younger sister in law, she had tried using a similar plastic blade to scrape off her ice-covered stoop.  Before I could tell her to stop she’d already hit a thick piece of ice and  gravel, causing the blue curved plastic blade to split right down the middle.  I don’t think I’ll ever hear a woman curse that much at an inanimate object again.  Of course I laughed quietly before going to her aid.  How could I not?

            

'Grrrck!!  SccrCH!!  ssssRRRch!!  Grrerk!!’  The old oak handled shovel scrapes up more asphalt and snow as the remaining bits left behind crunch underneath my heavy winter boots.  At least I’m making progress.

            

I notice though for the first time that I can feel the winter cold nipping at my feet.  It has finally penetrated the thick leather boots and nearly equally thick wool socks that protect by toes.  At least no snow has leaked in yet.  Its one thing to feel a bit cold when its -10 degrees out, but getting wet, that’ll end you quicker and send you running for a warm fire faster than a dog on the hunt for a fresh butt to sniff.

            

Other than my feet starting to go numb the rest of my body has stayed quite warm.  Even my face, which is masked in a scarf that I wrapped perfectly around my head, has benefitted from continual work.  That’s the trick to truly staying warm out here.  You’ve just got to keep moving.  Let your own body take care of the internal heating.  Of course, that’s easier to say when you know you have a comfy house calling for you only twenty feet away.

            

The lingering precipitation from the night before has begun to slow, but still small snowflakes gather gently on my deep yellow leather gloves.  Tiny water crystals form a small elongated hill on the inside part of my left wrist.  Its amazing, how it can stick to the material so quickly and not get jarred off by the swing of the shovel.  This snow will be great for snowballs, which the girls will love, and if it weren’t so darn early in the morning I’m sure they would be out here now chucking them at one another, or worse at me.  They sure have become deadly accurate with throwing snowballs ever since they started softball two springs ago.

            

Jackie and Beatrix, those two are by far the least girly girls you can meet, shoot, they make their older brother Quentin look like a princess sometimes.

            

More and more snow is lifted up with my shovel as I make my way across the driveway.  Out of the corner of my eye I see that the piles are rising higher and growing larger in diameter as well.  Now that the snowfall has slowed I can start spreading some of the salt.  Before it would have been useless with the heavy precipitation just covering it up with layer upon layer of snowflakes smothering the rock salt.  Now that I think about it, where did I leave that bag of salt?

            

Scanning around the area, the salt has seemed to disappear underneath the piles of snow.  And of course the bag is white.  Why o’ why would they make the bag white?  Must be some company from Florida that makes it.

            

Digging through a layer of snow where I believe I last left the bag I find the rock salt buried under a half foot.  Even though the sack sits underneath an overhanging roof, the snow has somehow gotten in and covered the bag.  Snow…its a funny thing.

            

I spread the salt easily.  Just grab and spread, that easy.  And make sure you hit the important areas, like where we walk and by doorways.

Once I make quick work of salting the area I look down at my watch, pushing back the yellow glove on my left hand and I see that its nearly 7:45.  How had forty minutes just slipped by?

Grabbing the two shovels and the bag of salt I march back inside through the door of the garage.

Inside the garage I place the tools back on the wall so that they can dry out and avoid rusting, and I place the bag in the corner of the two-car garage.  Before going inside the house, via one of the two green doors that connect to the garage, I make sure to knock off my boots and clothing of as much snow as I can.  I don’t want to track too much of it into the house.  Getting your socks soaked from a big pile of melted snow is the worst.

With everything shaken off and now stripped down to a pair of pants, wool socks, and a sweater I make my way into the kitchen.  Turning the fake gold plated doorknob open I immediately take in the sound of people bustling around the kitchen, everyone is awake and grabbing food for the day.

Inside the kitchen the kids are busy scarfing down some food before they have to go to the bus stop.  They had a one-hour delay today, but they would have been happier with a cancellation.

“Morning!”  I say as I rub my hands together,  trying to warm them up.

“Morning!!”  Jackie shouts through her mouth that is partially stuffed with a piece of fruit.  “Good morning,” Quentin says with his back turned, shoving something back into the fridge.  I look and listen for the voice of my third child, but it appears Beatrix is missing.  

“An extra hour wasn’t enough for her apparently,” my wife Dalores says with a smile to me as she tosses me an orange that I immediately begin peeling, “she slept in even as a hollered at her to wake up.  I’m surprised you didn’t hear me.”  She says the final bit as she sits next to me at our dark walnut dinner table.  She then hands me a hot cup of coffee and whispers, “Thanks,” to me as she kisses me softly on my cheek.

“Nope, sure didn’t.  I barely even realized that it was almost eight.”

Sitting at the table I continue to peel my orange, and as I’m about to tell the children about how good the snow is they begin shouting through stuffed mouths, “Goodbye,” or, “See you Later,” as they run out to catch the bus.  Beatrix trails behind with her blue scarf flapping in the air as she runs to catch up.

Sipping my tea and peeling my orange, I decide that with my day off today to build a snow fort for the kids.  That’ll be fun.

By: J.W. Kendrick