In memory of snow storms past

Have you noticed? It snowed. . . lots! Space around the debating table at the Bakery in Rainy River was at a premium. The last ones in were the various snow removal enthusiasts. Spiker had taken a day off from his semi-permanent task of tow truck rescues to insure his other long list of clients were no longer snow-bound. He was busy answering cell phone calls from clients he had missed or ones who had their garden gnomes and garbage cans mangled.

“Serves you right for not getting your chores done in a timely fashion,” he snarled as he broke the connection and lifted the cup for his first desperately required shot of caffeine.

The Marquis de Sade was the last one to stumble in. Pulling off his gloves he revealed his usual quota of three blackened nails and a couple of bandages. . . on each hand.

“Spent three hours trying to get that snow blower un-jammed yesterday,” the Marquis complained as he delicately tried to pick up his cup with his bruised and mangled digits.

“Ripped off all the guards and checked the belts and the gear box before I realized it was a little stone jammed between the auger and the frame. A hammer and a crow bar soon righted the problem,” he added, sucking on his obviously sore left thumb.

“Not a big problem then. Gotta watch for those stones the first time in the fall. I always make sure I take a good skim of sod off in the fall and roll it up in front of the garage door or onto the ornamental bush. Got everything blown out then?” commented Spiker, wise in the ways of all things snow.

“No! When I fired her up again the first pass found a bunch more stones and took out the windshield in the truck and the side door window in the garage. Then it jammed up again when it sucked in that hammer I forgot to put away. Still haven’t got that jam rectified,” explained the Marquis as he examined the state of his other thumb.

“How on earth did you get out of your place then,” I asked having given up trying to get out of my own drive.

“Municipal plow came by and I managed to buck my way through the bank at the road. At least my tetanus shot is up to date. Gotta go get that window re-glazed and the new windshield installed. Spiker, how about you plow out my yard?” said the bruised, but wiser Marquis as he arose from the table, paid his bill, and headed for the door.

Spiker made a note in his diary and flipped open his cell phone chiming to the tune of jingle bells.

“Hello. . . plow your yard? But I thought you had a brand new snow blower. . . ate the garden hose, an extension cord, and a shovel. . . then stepped on a garden rake, puncturing your foot. . . then a black eye when you stepped on a hoe. . .

“Okay, I’ll see if I can get there before we head for Mexico later today. Any garden gnomes or other stuff I should watch for. . . No, just push everything up in a pile and you’ll dig it out in the spring when it melts. . . Sounds like a plan. Hasta la vista.”