Grand Thoughts in the Snow

Crunch, sink. It was a beautiful Sunday.

Crunch, sink. Cold, about 18 degrees Fahrenheit, but clear and sunny.

Crunch, sink. I missed the big snowstorm. I rode it out in San Diego sunshine on a work trip.

Crunch, sink. Now I was home and the woods behind the house were a thirty-acre winter wonderland.

Crunch, sink. Quiet. The snow absorbing all sound except the faint hum of distant traffic and the sound of my snowshoes as I crunched and sank about eight inches with every slow step.

Crunch, sink. Quiet that calmed my mind and let me appreciate my place in this moment between the past and future.

Crunch, sink.

It started a week before. I had work planned in California. Work that was carefully scheduled around an equipment shutdown. Work that was completely unaffected by a New England snowstorm. The forecast called for eighteen inches of snow, so I flew out early and left Chrissy to deal with the storm. Right on schedule, while I was strolling along the harbor in San Diego, the snow started to fall at home. The forecasters got it right this time and about eighteen inches fell in twenty-four hours.

Chrissy weathered the storm just fine. She called our “plow guy” (everyone in New Hampshire has a “plow guy”) to clear the driveway and waited until the storm passed to attempt to clear the walk with the snowblower.

And that’s when the trouble started. The snow blower would run but would not blow snow. Despite video chat technology, I was unable to help troubleshoot it from 3,000 miles away in seventy-degree sunshine. Chrissy cleared the walk the old-fashioned way, with a shovel, and I went about my sunny California work.

I finished my work, said goodbye to warm temperatures and palm trees in California, and got home Friday night. Saturday morning it was time to fix the snow blower. It turned out that I left snow in the blower last time I used it. The garage never got warm enough to melt it and the mechanism was literally frozen in place. When Chrissy tried to run it, the drive belt snapped. Thanks to the internet, I was able to find a schematic of the mechanism and a video of what to do.

As I worked on the machine – removing the belt guards, loosening the belt tensioner, guiding the new belt into place on the sheaves, surrounded by the pungent yet oddly comforting smells of gasoline and grease – I was carried back a few decades to another garage with the exact same smells and similar machines.

My paternal grandfather, Paul, was a mechanic. He worked on farm tractors and lawn equipment, and if we had snow blowers in Florida he would have worked on them too. His shop sat behind my grandparents’ house and it was one of the most fascinating places on Earth to my childhood curiosity. I seized every chance I could get to stay with my grandparents and “work” in the shop with Papa Paul. I’m sure I wasn’t much help, but he was patient. He helped me learn how to change oil, clean spark plugs, clean and rebuild a carburetor, sharpen mower blades, and, indirectly, how to replace a belt on a snow blower forty-plus years later. I felt his presence as I put the machine back together and got it ready for the next storm, and it made me smile.

Crunch, sink. Then came Sunday.

Crunch, sink. The snowblower was repaired and I was taking slow, deliberate steps in my snowshoes.

Crunch, sink. As I looked at the trees and the wildlife tracks in the snow, I was once again carried back in time.

Crunch, sink. This time my thoughts turned to my maternal grandfather, Leonard.

Crunch, sink.

Papa Leonard was a sun-loving, thin-blooded Floridian by the time I came along, but he was a Michigan native. He loved the outdoors – camping, fishing, hunting, canoeing, sailing, golf. He just loved to be outside. Just like me. Although he eventually grew tired of snow and moved to Florida, I’m sure he was outdoors year-round in Michigan, including snowshoeing in winter. Just as I felt Paul’s presence with me on Saturday, I felt Leonard with me on Sunday – appreciating the outdoors, crunching and sinking with me in my snowshoes, and again I smiled.

Crunch, sink. My thoughts returned to the present.

Crunch, sink. Now I am preparing to be a grandfather.

Crunch, sink. Will my grandchild help me fix the snowblower in my garage one day?

Crunch, sink. Will my grandchild snowshoe through these woods with me and get excited about squirrel, rabbit, and fox tracks in the snow?

Crunch, sink. What memories will he or she conjure up from me forty or fifty years from now?

Crunch, sink. I think these thoughts and once again, I smile.

Crunch, sink. Being Peepaw will be a big responsibility.

Crunch, sink. I am thankful for great examples to show me the way.

Crunch, sink.