I awoke this morning, poured my first coffee of the day, and settled into my chair to survey the latest gift from a Northwestern Ontario winter.

There, filling my driveway from edge to edge, sat fifteen to twenty centimetres of freshly fallen snow.

The meteorologists had predicted it.

I dislike admitting when meteorologists are right.

Yet there it was.

As I stared out the window, I found myself wondering whether I might somehow be related to Joe Btfsplk, the unfortunate character from the old Li’l Abner comic strip who wandered through life beneath a perpetual cloud of bad luck. If a snowstorm was looking for somewhere to deposit itself, apparently my driveway had once again volunteered.

The coffee disappeared.

The snow remained.

With shovel in hand and a few muttered comments about the “s-word,” I headed outside to begin the ritual.

Those who live elsewhere often imagine snow as something picturesque. They see Christmas cards, sleigh rides, and gently falling flakes.

Those of us who live on the North Shore of Lake Superior know that snow is better understood as a seasonal fitness program.

For the next two hours I pushed, lifted, scraped, and tossed winter back toward the edges of the driveway from whence it came.

Gradually, victory emerged.

The driveway became pristine. In a few places I could even see bare pavement.

The snowfall had eased.

The temperature hovered around a pleasant -10°C.

The air was crisp and still.

To my surprise, I found myself enjoying the morning. The exercise felt good. My lungs were full of cold northern air. The driveway looked magnificent.

Thank you, Great Snow Creature in the Sky.

Feeling rather pleased with myself, I returned indoors for a second coffee.

From my comfortable chair I watched the snow begin falling once again.

At first it was gentle.

Then it became heavier.

Soon I noticed fresh drifts gathering around the wheels of my car.

I considered my options.

I could rush outside immediately and defend the driveway.

Or…

I could sip my coffee.

If I sip my coffee slowly enough, the car may disappear entirely beneath a growing white mound and be replaced by a beginner’s ski hill.

If I sip my coffee slowly enough, neighbourhood children may arrive carrying toboggans and begin charging admission.

If I sip my coffee slowly enough, the snowplow may come by and thoughtfully deposit another mountain at the end of the driveway.

If I sip my coffee slowly enough, Spring may arrive before I need the car again.

And if I sip my coffee slowly enough, perhaps I will discover that some problems are best postponed until after a second cup of coffee.

GRB