Snow Deep

2/6/2010: I watched and waited, peering out the living room window to the streetlight. The snow didn't start falling 'till well after 10pm last night, but once it started it remained steady, albeit light, for the next 15 hours. I shoveled the accumulated 1" at 2am before retiring to my bed. When I woke at 4am, there wasn't enough there to get me excited. But after I sprayed my shovel with cooking spray this morning and went to work, I was surprised at how much snow there actually was. I scraped more than 10 inches of it off the pan of bird seed I'd placed out yesterday - and that had been somewhat shielded under the cover of the porch's arbor.

My puppy was resistant to her morning walk so my first order of business was clearing a place for her on the front lawn. After that I set to work on the path to the driveway. I broke for coffee and returned later to clear the driveway and the mound at the end that the plows had created. It's best to get to it sooner than later, lest it congeal into ice chunks. All in all the work was much easier than our last snowfall, or perhaps I am simply getting stronger with the workouts.

I had scraped off the pan of bird seed before I'd set to work, and I was surprised to see that the birdies must have already visited while I was working in the driveway. With the snow still falling, the pan was disappearing once again, so I moved it farther under the overhang, hoping that the blowing snow wouldn't reach it there. Once inside, the coffee and my guilt gave me enough energy to fill and rehang the largest of the feeders. It has a metal roof that protects the perches to the feeding station and, once hung, it remained a beacon of renewed hope to those who'd come to rely on my handouts.

Satisfied with my efforts, I curled up on the sofa with Gia and gazed out across my white yard watching the last minutes of falling snow dust my gray walk and driveway. Little Gia seemed oblivious, though I know she is not. When it is time for her afternoon walk I will need to carry her nine pounds outside to get her to go. Once there she will be quick, racing me back to the front door and whining until I get there to let her in. We have done this before. It is a routine in the repertoire that I've come to relish. She's been with me five short years, joining us just four weeks before my husband, Joe, died.

Some of us are care takers; some of us are care givers. There is a subtle difference but no one ever notices it. Those of us who do the work, however, prefer the latter title. It's more in tune with the concept.

I was a care giver before I met Joe and, even though Joe is gone, I am a care giver still. My empty nest leaves me giving to a smaller crew, but the work is only a little less satisfying. I help the birds; I care for my pooch; I reach out when I see someone in need. And I wait and hope for a day when there is more than that to take care of.

With that thought I hear a burst of wind whistling down the street, and I look out my window to watch branches shake and hunks of snow explode into the air, in a blizzard that wafts across my yard and beyond. My heart accepts the current winter chill, but secretly craves the promise of a reawakened spring.