Waiting For The Plow.

Once again I find myself waiting on the street for someone to arrive. At least it’s a beautiful morning and I can feel the sun on my head. Here it is, freezing cold, and I can feel heat from a gigantic fusion reactor over ninety-million miles away.

What if it was a million closer or farther away? Still, the heat’s not warm enough yet to melt the tons of dirty, compacted snow that line the sides of the road and cover our driveway.

That’s why I’m waiting for the snow plow driver.

Our street sign disappeared long ago so I made a handmade sign and screwed it to a tree, but you can only see it from one direction. That’s why I meet new arrivals at the street rather than have to tell them such things as “go left at the waterfowl”.

The walk down was typical. Two dogs, two cows, one turkey, and a party of ducks and geese greeted me and everyone had something to say.

The birds are the loudest and the racket continues while I wait.

This snowfall was a doozy. Our mountain goat (car), finally bottomed out on three feet of snow compacted underneath her this morning. It’s hard to get traction when your wheels aren’t touching the ground.

My husband spent the better part of an hour shoveling before I woke up. We really need to get mechanized. I was still in bed when I heard the door slam followed by footsteps rushing away: a sure sign something was amiss.

I got up and looked at the security cameras; nothing. Then I backed it up and sure enough – there was my husband – storming out of the driveway and down the hill with our large blue shovel.

He must be stuck.

I grabbed some coffee and my boots (not necessarily in that order), found two mismatched gloves, and headed out just in time to see the car pulling into the home stretch. Then it drifted effortlessly off the side and into a drift.

“Chains”, I thought.

I went to the shed and rummaged through the car supplies and found them. About a half an hour later,  chains on, my husband pulled into the parking spot.

Time to find someone to plow. Usually our neighbor does it but just two days earlier, his machine went to the shop for repair. Our turn.

The people of eastern Washington know how to drive through the snow so there is no dearth of people with old trucks, plow attachments, and skills. Within a half hour, someone was on the way – or so I thought. Some wires got crossed so my first trip to the main road was a test run.


Now it’s afternoon and I’m back at the road only now I’m in the shade and entering the many stages of boredom. I made two snow sculptures, checked the mail, cleaned off the mailbox, worked on my blog, played soccer with a few chunks of snow and am now getting cold.

I look up and down the drag again: no one. I could be working on the cabin. I text and let the driver know I’m heading back up until I hear he’s leaving. Then there he is. I climb in, give him directions then hop out to walk up to eat and get warm.

As I sit here tonight typing, I wonder to myself if he got his truck out of the ditch? Perhaps tomorrow we’ll make it to the store?


Author: ldinlove

I am an eccentric blogger and artist. I used to live off-grid, which makes for some great stories. :)

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