We finally have snow that stuck. It started on December 23rd, warmed, cooled, and then fell steadily last night. Boxing Day thus finds us shoveling the dust.

The worst part of having late rain, besides interminable mud, are irreparable ruts. Luckily (or craftily on my part) Michael dealt with the bumps while I cleared a path for Irene. Now we just have the easy stretch to finish.

Which brings me to muse upon the relationship between capital and energy. In order to use our 1949 tractor to push snow for us, we would have to invest in a set of chains. Yet we haven't made that purchase because 1) limited funds and 2) limiting fun. Snow shoveling gets us outside and moving, burning some of the extra calories of Christmas feasts. It also allows time to examine the tracks left by rabbits, mice, squirrels, fox, and other neighbors.

Nothing eats the American high bush cranberries.

Aunt Harriette, who will celebrate 97 years come February, shoveled snow until she was 90.

The matriarch still gets around under her own steam.

Using a internal combustion engine device to move snow allows one person to do the work of two in a fraction of the time. Yet if time is no object, then using an internal combustion engine device may rob one of years of healthy living. It is good to have a shoveling partner, but I have shoveled snow by myself when Michael would travel in the winter. It is still one of my favorite winter sports. So happy Boxing Day, and may some snow (or its moral equivalent) fall for you.