First of all, I have to clarify – Bre and I are vegetarians, so even though she saved the day I had to make the post title a meatless vegetarian option. Clear? Sunday was the nicest day we’ve had in quite some time. In fact, temperatures reached above 50 degrees which is rare for our area this time of year. We both had the day off, so we thought we’d take the puppies out to the land for a nice hike to investigate the current status of the snowpack on our building site. We had been out to the land just a few days prior and were able to drive all the way back to our building site, so we figured that since some of the snow had undoubtedly melted given the temperatures we would have no issues driving back now. We were wrong. Very wrong.
Our driveway is of considerable length. Including the loop we put on the end last fall, it reaches almost 2500 feet. The first 1320 cross our neighbor’s 40 acres by way of an easement. After that, our driveway angles north so that our building site is on the north side of the field which allows us a south facing, sunny atmosphere. Throughout the winter we’ve been able to drive out to the building site without too much difficulty. Of great concern to me as we make plans to move out there is the snowdrifts that likely occur across the field. With so much open area, it makes sense that the driveway is bound to get covered frequently by the blowing snow. So far, the only place this seems to be an issue is directly where the driveway begins to angle north. We will have to accommodate for that in the future.
On this fateful Sunday, however, that was not a concern. I mean, we had just been out there a few days before and made it all the way back without any problems. Given the fact that a visible path through the snow had already been broken by our previous trip, and again considering the warmer weather, I thought we’d have an even easier time getting back. We only made it half way.
Before we even got to the turn the brush guard on my truck got hung up in the snow. We were floating on the snow, and unable to move. Thankfully, I threw a shovel in the back of the truck before we had left. After three hours of shoveling I realized that when I bought the shovel 7 years ago for $4.99 instead of a nice metal shovel 10 times the price, I had made a horrible, horrible mistake. The shovel that I had was of a particularly cheap, plastic design. The kind that flexes from a whisper and unable to bite into whipped cream much less hardened snow. This exacerbated our situation. Because of the warm weather, the top half of the snow where we had broken trail the last time out was pretty slushy. The bottom half was pure ice. Along the unbroken path between my tire tracks was completely frozen. It was the perfect storm for getting stuck, and we were ill prepared (terrible, worthless shovel). To make matters worse, I could have taken any number of wonderful metal shovels that dad has a plethora of. They adorn the walls of his pole barn like a shrine to digging. He has shovels in all shapes and sizes for shoveling just about any matter. But, I had not taken any. I figured we could make do with our worthless shovels for a few more months until we moved, and at that time I would procure some of dad’s real shovels. Luckily it was warm out and we had some time.
Bre took the dogs for a walk while I set out to free us from the grip of stupidity and ill-timed poor decision making (on my part). After 45 minutes of attempting to dig us out, I hadn’t made much progress. The shovel was unable to bite into the hardened snow, and it just ended up cracking along the length of the handle. It goes without saying, but when you need a shovel, you need a shovel. Even if you think you’re poor (like I was when I bought the shovel) don’t make the same stupid mistake that I did and actually buy it. I didn’t just buy one, but I bought two ridiculously unfaithful, irrelevant “shovels”. I digress.
In order to break up the snow I had to resort to poking it with a random piece of bar stock I had lying in the back of my truck. Then I could shovel out the tiny flakes that began to break apart. After another half hour of this tactic, I was able to free the bottom of the truck. Huzzah! We were now able to begin backing out the 1500 feet to the road, or so I thought. Instead, the tires just spun on the ice, and our predicament was no more promising. Bre was able to coax me into pulling forward and then back out which worked – for a while. I was able to back out almost half way when there was a small crest I needed to climb, and backing out was no real joy. Almost to the top of the crest, the truck lunged to the left, threatening to pull me into the field and into the deeper snow. That would have been the end our day as I can envision no way to cure that calamity. I was forced to slow down, thus halting my momentum. That would be where I got stuck for the second time.
Now, let me preface my frustration by explaining that I had gotten less than two hours of sleep both of the two previous nights. I am prone to crabbiness and being short tempered when I’m tired, and this certainly fit the bill. After exiting the truck to examine my newly stuck position I thought that we were hung up again and we’d have to begin the process all over again. More shoveling. This time, we quickly realized that we weren’t hung up but that the tires were just slipping. We had spun through the slush all the way down to the ice beneath it. To further complicate the matter, the spinning of the rear tires had created an icy ramp of packed slush that there was no way to overcome. I tried pulling forward and then backing out, but every time I reached the “ramp” I would be thrown off the driveway and into certain despair. After five or six tries, I began to lose my temper. That’s putting it mildly, really. It was more of a curse laden temper tantrum. I was upset that this had happened, that I was unprepared for it to happen, and that I couldn’t get us out of it. And this is where Bre came to the rescue.
Using my floor mats for traction, she was able to devise a system of placing the mats at just the right place so that we could overcome the ramp without being thrown off the driveway. Now, every time we crested the ramp we’d get stuck again so she had to repeat the process. Multiple times. We could see that if only we could reach the top of the hill that we were at the snow got considerably shallower and we’d have no problems. But, we were about 100 feet away still and it was beginning to get dark. Through all of this, and all of my despair and crabbiness, Bre never gave up. I’d probably still be out there whining about my bad luck if she hadn’t rescued us. By using the mats, we were able to creep out foot by foot until we reached the top of the hill. Once we got to this point we made a beeline to the road, and I was finally able to calm down.
The point of this whole story is that building a homestead is a lot of work. Throughout the process so far I’ve felt that I am responsible for doing it. You can call it sexist or chivalry or whatever, but first and foremost I think that’s my role as a man and my responsibility to my family. To provide for them and care for them. Building a homestead is a natural part of that. Furthermore, Bre is so busy with clinicals and school, that she understandably just does not have the same amount of time to invest in this project as I do. I’m not demeaning her for that, much the opposite. I’m proud of where she is in her program and excited for her future career. In the meantime however, this has stressed me out. But it’s vital that I remember that I’m not doing this alone. It’s too much for one person to bear, and even though I am doing a majority of the work right now, I’m not doing it alone. She’s there for me, and she’s the ying to my yang. She’s calm when I am not, and she’s optimistic when I am not. She helps me see through the trouble at hand to reach our end goal. And I know that, together, we can be successful in creating our homestead. I knew that before Sunday, but this experience epitomized it.