We had a blizzard yesterday. We got about 2.5 feet of snow -- it was apparently one of the 10 most intense storms in Vermont history. Some towns got 3 feet! Anyway, my parents are away, so my dad left his plow truck for us to use. Their driveway is about 1/4 mile long and runs through meadow, so it drifts pretty badly. So my mission was to keep both driveways open. Mr. Sorrow started the plowing yesterday morning and got stuck; the neighbor's plow guy pulled him out. I resumed plowing after Mr. Sorrow went to work. I plowed once an hour and was running out of places to push the snow when the windscreen wipers quit (the truck is about 30 years old). So I rolled down the windows and plowed with my head out the window. Did I mention we had 45-mile-an-hour winds yesterday?
The truck cab was filled with snow and I was just getting seriously panicked because I couldn't keep up with the blizzard, and then my brother showed up with his truck. Yay! So we put Dad's truck in the garage. He fixed the wipers. I started shoveling around the garage; Bruce started plowing. He got stuck. So I trudged out with a shovel to help, without my knee brace (I messed up my knees a couple of weeks ago and they were ju-u-u-st about healed). We dug and spun for awhile; then he decided we'd better try pulling him out with Dad's truck. So he went back to the garage and I kept shoveling. And I shoveled. And shoveled. And shoveled.
Finally Bruce showed up: the truck's battery had gone dead, so he'd had to charge it. We attached the chain to the trucks and pulled; he got stuck worse. We shoveled. I stepped in a hole and fucked my knee up again. We attached the chain and pulled. He got stuck worse. We shoveled. Mr. Sorrow showed up. We shoveled. Bruce managed to get my dad's truck around in front of his, and we pulled from the front: success! And none too soon; it was getting dark, and Bruce's lights don't work, so he had to get home, about a 45-minute drive in pelting snow.
So Bruce left, Mr. Sorrow drove his car to my parents' garage so he could drive it out after plowing in the morning, and I drove down to our place and plowed us a bolt-hole in our driveway, just enough to get out. The wipers quit again, I got out to get a screwdriver to fix them and stepped in another hole, and this time I went down. Took me awhile to figure out how to stand up. Got back in the truck. Went back up and plowed my parent's driveway once more, got the truck into the garage, then I put on my knee brace and Mr. Sorrow and I walked home in the dark and pelting snow, me with ski poles for balance.
This morning everything was completely drifted in. The day was a rerun of yesterday, only more pointless. Mr. Sorrow got Dad's truck stuck in the middle of the driveway; now it's out of gas, and the battery's dead. (The gas tank was full yesterday morning.) We shoveled all day. Both driveways are completely full of snow, about 4 feet deep, so we can't get out except on snowshoes. It just blows back in. My dad's beloved truck just has to stay there in the driveway, getting completely drifted in because Mr. Sorrow has to get up at 2 AM for work and will be gone all day and I can't afford to lose any more work time, so I can't take tomorrow to rescue it. As if I could do anything anyway. It's going to take a backhoe. I feel like such a massive failure because I didn't plow through the night. Though how I could have done with no wipers is somewhat unclear...
I took my camera out so I could get some photos, but it froze and the battery died. I'll try again tomorrow. Meantime,
here's one from the local paper that kind of gives you the idea... Rest of their slide show is pretty lame because it was shot downtown, where they got only about a foot of snow.
Hey, watch
this till I can post some photos.