This morning I wake up startled—late
for school!—and run down to the kitchen,
where Mama and Papa are eating together.
They only do that on Saturday.
“I’ll be late!” I say, panicked that I’d broken
my perfect attendance.
“No school today,” Mama says. “Look outside.”
“Today’s a snow day,” Papa says.
We never had anything called a “snow day” in California.
Outside, the snow blankets our yard
in one even layer, all the way to the trees in the back.
Instead of falling quietly, now it races to the ground
hard and determined.
All the cars and tanks around Farmer Dell’s house
are soft white hills.
Papa pushes back from the table.
“Get dressed, Meems. We have to shovel the driveway.”
“But it’s still snowing,” I say.
“Listen to Papa,” Mama says,
setting a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me. “But first, eat.”
“Can we ask Mr. Dell for his snowblower?”
“I don’t think so,” Papa says.
Papa started shoveling at the house end of the driveway
and moved toward the middle.
Mama and I started at the street end
and moved toward Papa.
Shoveling snow is like cutting up a cake–
you drop the shovel straight down to slice,
then push it flat underneath,
then lift and serve the snow to the side.
And repeat and repeat
unless the wind is blowing,
when all your hard work
ends up in your face.
I’m shivering in my sweat,
Mama is sniffling,
and Papa is puffing.
Down the road, I hear Farmer Dell’s snowblower.
With it, we could clear our driveway in ten minutes.
Papa might not ask Mr. Dell,
but I will.