Vechelde My muscles are sore. My hands from holding the snow shovel. My shoulders and arms from lifting the sticky snow and throwing it off to the side. In better weather, I park my car out by my mom’s garden to unload seedlings and compost. This time, I parked my car out near the garden to avoid trees falling on it. I shoveled off the 2 feet of snow piled on top. Shoveled the 20 or so feet around it where the plow couldn’t reach. Shoveled my mom’s walkway and the driveway edges. Of course the feathery white wonderland after a snow storm is beautiful. But I look forward to blisters from turning in compost and pushing a wheelbarrow. Sunburn instead of soggy cold wet clothing. And rich brown soil instead of all this white.