The Snow Man

Tonight I got my snowblower out for the first time this season. Mother nature has thankfully not seen fit to really sock it to our part of Michigan yet, but enough snow had accumulated over the past several days to make it worthwhile to retrieve the snowblower from the depths of the garage and get it out on the street. Snowblowing is a manly sort of activity. Any activity that starts with mixing oil and gasoline is manly in my book. Basic, elemental type stuff. The possibility of explosions and burning down the garage. Excellent! I really wouldn't want to burn down the garage. The lawnmower lives in there and the lawnmower wouldn't like it. I don't think the lawnmower likes the snowblower very much, being from different seasons and all, but I digress. Once the snowblower is all fueled up we're ready to go and that's when the transformation starts. It starts with the first pull on the starter cord (no electric start for this born in Michigan, raised on pine needles, can drink Vernors without sneezing, native son. No sir!) The snowblower roars to life and announces to the entire neighborhood (and I mean ENTIRE neighborhood -This sucker is loud) that the snow situation is now under control. A feeling of invincibility comes over you; a pure testosterone rush. (I don't think it matters if you're male or female) You are suddenly Lord of the Snow, The King of the Hill and Vanquisher of Drifts. Feel my power and tremble! Snow becomes the enemy and you are Samuel L Jackson. You cop the attitude ( or 'tude for the more hip) "I want this motherf***ing snow off this motherf***ing driveway! So you conquer the driveway. Then you subdue the walk. Then you beat the sidewalk into submission. Then you look for other worlds to conquer. The neighbors walk. The neighbors sidewalk. The neighbors driveway. Then you start thinking "Hey, I've got plenty of gas, I should do the whole block!" I have, I admit, in the throes of this frenzy, snowblown my drive, walk and sidewalk, the neighbors drive, walk and sidewalk (both sides of my house) and then finished up on the rest of the sidewalk from corner to corner. If I hadn't run out of gas, I probably would have kept going. I swear if you live in Michigan and don't ski, this is the best reason to stay here in the winter. It's visceral sensation, an affirmation that the season can be beaten (or in this case, thrown) back from your door. So suit up warriors, dress warmly, fire up your machines and head out into glory. Just be sure to look up once and awhile to make sure your surroundings are still familiar. No sense getting lost.