Passage I

The Art of Shoveling Snow

Most people who live in cold-winter climates consider shoveling snow a chore. But at my home high in the mountains of Colorado, I've started to approach it as an art. The frequent snowstorms that roll through the area gives me many chances to refine my shoveling technique.

[1] I think only of the six inches of fresh powder that fell overnight, but of the accumulation of snow that will fall over the entire season. [2] In early November, when winter's first storm hits; I start by putting the task in perspective. [3] I used to shovel just enough to free my car. [4] Now, as I work in my fifty-yard driveway, I shovel the first snowfall into mounds that will become the structural base for my creative winter work. [5]

My goal is to create something like a sculpture as the snow piles up. By establishing a pattern early, I can ensure the accumulation grows artfully as the season continues. Even though I enjoy snow, I think summer is my favorite season. [6] With each successive snowfall, and each additional hour I spend shoveling, the first small mounds become graceful, curving snowbanks that bury the split rail fence and eventually inch above my head. I appreciate how each year; the sculpture is different, a new design with each new winter.

Nature is my partner in this art. Periodic thawing of the snow causes my piles to slump a bit, and besides, the snow freezes again when temperatures drop, turning the surface of the formations into thick, packed ice. The high winds that drive late February storms carve my icy snowbanks into fantastic, swirling shapes and smooth the rough work of my shovel, whose work is carved by the wind. When the sun emerges, the two walls lining my driveway dazzle the eye with their glitter.

Several people in my area have their driveway's cleared by a pickup truck with a plow mounted where it is anchored on its front. It's less work, but the piles in front of their houses seem awkward and sloppy.

I prefer my polished snowbanks, their temporary beauty heightened for me by my understanding that, come spring, they will be reduced to little more than mud.