Shovelocity

Living in Minnesota, we love to brag about our intense weather . But here, now, in the midst of the winteriest winter we've had in a long time, bragging doesn't doesn't quite cut it. I just walked in from clearing snow drifts higher than my hips. I am beyond grateful to have a beast of a snow blower, (And it's green! GO SPARTANS!) but like everyone I know, I am a bit over it. But I did up my game.

I got a new shovel.

That's right. A. New. Shovel.

After a lifetime of scoffing at people with ergonomic shovels, I leaned into smarter not harder. And I have to admit, I have a crush on my new shovel. It's ergohandle. It's new sharp edge. It's invigorating yellowness that reminds me of a sun I have once seen. It also matches my yellow snow pusher, and complements my gray snow pusher. As for my two broken green shovels -- thank you for your service.

And then there is the workhorse. The metal grain shovel. A must have when the plow comes by and unloads a hellscape of snow into my now crystal clear driveway. We wait. And wait. Then we hear it come by. Once, twice, occasionally three times. Then we don our boots and earbuds, trudge out and get to work. Taking breaks to stretch our backs and expand our vocabulary of profanity. Maybe a well executed farmer blow. And once it's done, stand back and gaze upon it with the pride of an olympic gold medalist.

And I have found myself in frequent conversations about shovels. Collections...favorites... the gut-wrenching fear that one has been stolen, only to breathe a sigh of relief when you find it has fallen down and is buried in the snow. "You bet I'm glad I found it with my foot and not my snowblower!" Then we all laugh. A deep laugh. An in-the-know laugh. The laugh saved for talking about the weather.

But fear not. Soon it will be too humid. And there's no shovel in the world for that.