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Shoveling snow is fun.


If there isn’t too much, it isn’t too wet, it isn’t too cold, and the time and energy are commensurate to the job. Then it is lovely.

I woke to a Christmas-time snow that was deep and wet (already in trouble with criteria one and two) and oh so lovely to look at.

The loveliness dimmed a bit as I realized it was going to be a long and arduous task to shovel the driveway. As I worked, two neighborhood men got out their snow blowers and started blasting the snow off their driveways.

I admit to the following: trying to look capable and in need of help at the same time.

I kept working, but hoped that they would take pity on me and come over.  Fancying myself a modern day Ruth gleaning for her mother-in-law as I shoveled for my parents, I envied the ease with which they moved snow. Like Boaz, these men saw my need. Making quick work of the over two-thirds that was left, they blew that snow like it was nothing, leaving behind manageable castoffs. The snow left did take some time to shovel, but nothing compared to the time it would have taken without their help.

In ancient cultures, gleaning was to provide for those in need. Thank you neighbors for taking pity on me and my family, allowing me glean in the snow.