February 2, 2010

boy in snow tunnelWe are living in the land of perpetual snow and ice. My oldest son believes we have entered another ice age, and he points to the glaciers forming in our backyard as proof. After looking up the definition of glacier, I'm afraid he's right.

Glacier. A slowly moving mass of ice.

The slowly moving mass of ice in our backyard is not-so-slowly nudging the neighbor's fence off its track.

That glacier won't be melting any time soon. I know, because today Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow. Six more weeks of winter. At least.

Punxsutawney Phil lives in the house next door, except he's not a groundhog. He's a boy. And he digs his tunnels in the snow in our front yard.

Friends who visit do not know this boy. They glimpse him out of the corners of their eyes on their way up the front walk. Before they say hello, they ask, “Do you know you have a boy in your snow bank?”

We nod. Yes, yes. We know. We like that boy. He is welcome in our snow. But our friends look curiously back at him.

This boy takes his digging very seriously. He is not happy if my husband shovels too close to his snow fort, and he scolds our kids if they interfere with his plans.

To prepare for one winter storm, he lodged a giant snowball inside his tunnel, to keep the top from collapsing. I never would have thought of that, but it worked splendidly. Maybe this boy will be an engineer someday. If so, I will feel safe driving over his bridges.


Wait a minute.
Hey! That's my journal. 
Where did you find it?
You're not supposed to read that.
It's private. 
You already have?
Well, okay.
Maybe just a peek . . .