The Ogre Years…

 I hate to admit it but I have seem to have entered the Ogre years of my life. That period of time between cute young thing and cute little old lady.  Now you might be asking how does one find out they have entered the dawn of Ogre times? 

The snow moat in it’s infancy

My epiphany was brought on by the scads and scads of snow that fell last weekend and continues to fall without an end in sight.  When I first moved into my house there was a multitude of men who would volunteer to help the “poor” young woman clear what the City sees fit to dump into my corner lot driveway.   It was like they were fighting over the opportunity to help me out.  A truck with a front end plow would be passing by and the driver would slow down, wave me aside and take a sweeping pass to push the bank out of the way.  Or my early rising neighbour, with a tractor, would push the offending snow out of the way while I slumbered. Or if I decided to have a slow start to my morning and no one else had moved the snow my other neighbour would  snow blow my driveway after he finished his. Nothing beat  waking-up fully prepared for snow removing duty only to glance out the window and see the snow had been moved.  I would do a little happy dance, change back into lounge pants and sit on my couch sipping a cup of tea or hot chocolate, delighting in the luxury of it all.  

During those years, I remember experiencing occasional bouts of irritation, as this assistance brought with it the implication that I lacked the physical strength and endurance to clear the driveway and windrows by myself.  However my parents didn’t raise a fool and my chagrin was quickly replaced with gratitude, as it meant that I could hit the ski or snowshoe trails earlier than I thought.  If I had known that it would all come to an end, I would have cherished those moments all the more.

Flash forward 20 years.  Now when the snow flies I am out there with the snow float, for hours at a time, clearing as much as I can before the next snow squall strikes.  My neighbours with snow blowers come out well after I have started, clear their driveways and head back in to the warmth of their houses.  The tractors from snow removal companies zip on by ad nauseam, taunting me with how fast they can clear a driveway… seriously they are done in the time it takes me to load and move three floats of snow.

As I load the bucket of the float with yet another load of wet slushy snow, I can almost picture the thought bubbles over the tractor operators heads  “Just think if you had a contract with us you could be watching us work from the comfort of your house, but now you must live with your frugal a$$ decision to clear snow on your own.  It sucks to be you!!!”  So while the rest of the world continues on with their lives, I am spending minute after minute and hour after hour hauling and dumping bucket after bucket of snow.  The banks have reached an all time high in the front and the back and the snow still comes.  I must admit I am more than a little nervous about running out of space to dump snow if we don’t get a break and continue to have record breaking snow fall until March.  

Yes Virginia, that is a double snow moat around my house.

Now one could assume that this reduction in people proffering to help with  shovelling is a direct result of a change in culture.  That people in the 2020’s  are less likely to help if there is nothing in it for them.  I would like to think that that’s what is happening, but for one glaring exception to this rule that I have witnessed on Day 2 and 3 of Snowmagedon!

See there is a small in stature, but larger than life, 78 year old Greek woman who lives down the street who has a double wide driveway that she clears by hand, when she is not showcasing her mad snowblower skills.  Seriously you should see her rock her snowblower, wearing her dark wrap around shades and beanie toque.  She is so tiny her body is hidden by the auger housing of the blower and all you see is a winter bedecked head floating between the handlebars when you are looking at her from head on.  My view from down the street is a solitary blue Pom Pom moving up and down the snow bank as she methodically makes pass after pass… Pong the Winter version!  But I digress.

Everyone was out trying to rid their walkways and driveways of the foot of snow that fell overnight.  I looked down the street to see Mrs C slowly making her way down her driveway with her snow float.  I vowed that I would head down that way to help her out once I was done clearing the end of my driveway, but the operator of the tractor that was hired to clear her neighbours driveway beat me to it.   He made quick business of the neighbour’s driveway and then waved Mrs. C out of the way and zip, zip, zip her driveway was done and he was bombing down the street toward my house.   I was tackling the 4 1/2 foot wall of snow, the plow left at the end of the my walkway.  As the tractor got closer I started anticipating the nod and wave aside, the thrill of watching the snow wall being obliterated in one fell swoop.   I could almost taste the chocolatey goodness of a steam cup of cocoa that I planned to make myself to celebrate.  The hum of the motor was getting closer and closer, my excitement level was building… Am I warmed up enough to do a happy dance without pulling a muscle??? The tractor started to slow down as it approached my location… I’m waiting for the wave off, only there isn’t one and the tractor doesn’t stop.  Instead it speeds around the corner to the next driveway on his list.  

This is what I was moving when he went by!

D frickin’ ied!!! 

I’m standing there dazed and confused.  This didn’t use to happen?  I can’t believe it… I lost my come hither remove my snow mojo!  To add insult to injury, my other neighbours come out and snow blow their driveways and return back into the comfort of their houses while I’m still chugging away at clearing mine.  All that was offered was some sage commentary that they shouted over their shoulders as they headed into their houses- “Try not to have a heart attack!”  In fact, I heard this same comment at least five times over the course of the two hours it took me to finish shovelling.   I guess that is all that an Ogre can hope for in life is to finish two hours of shovelling and still be alive to start the process again the next day.  

Well if you need me, you know where I will be… out in the driveway shovelling and taking many water breaks to minimize the risk that one of my neighbours will have to perform CPR on this tired ole’ Shrek’s carcass.  

PS.  I can’t have you thinking my neighbours are all cavalier about my health and well being.  Mrs. C, the bad a$$ Greek woman from down the block, using her snow float for balance, made it half way down the street to another set of neighbours asking them to relay a message to me, as she is too old to make it all the way to my place (her words not mine).  She wanted me to know that I could borrow her snow blower if I needed it, as she was worried about me.  Us single ladies need to stick together!

PSS.  I had to call my brother to find out what the front part of the snow blower is called… he laughed when I asked what the part was called that covered the whirly whirly bit that munched up the snow and moved it to the shootie out part.   Joke was on him as he didn’t know what it was called either.  Google supplied the word auger… boring!  

PSSS.  If anyone wants some white stuff for Christmas let me know.  I’m will to ship it to you 😶‍🌫️

An ice boulder left at the end of my walkway, trying to close the snow portal, but not quite big enough!