Last Night Great heaps Of Snow Fell From The Sky

• Years ago when my mother was a younger woman, and all of my children were small, she would come to visit me twice a year. My father would come too. For him it didn't mater what time of year it was, because his self appointed tasks were to chop firewood and do dishes. Afterwards he would sit in the living room, in the brown chair listening to the fire snap while he read his book. And every afternoon he would take a nap. In the summer my mother would busy herself with yard work. 
• In Alaska, in the summer, things grow all the time, even at night. My mother harvested the beach-grass we used for a front lawn, like she was a basket-maker, (she was not). After she got done with that she set about to tidy up the forest. She cleared away the sticks and branches that the winter-winds had carelessly tossed to the ground with a vigor and determination that commonly lay dormant until company came for a visit. She would stand back and admire her labor and will it to stay tidy, (it did not)
• Winter visits brought a different kind of energy. We stoked the wood-stove continuously day and night. Below the ice the creek still ran. Hauling water involved chopping a hole in the ice at the deep part of the creek. At the beginning of winter we tied a length of clothes line onto a galvanized bucket, and lowered it through the hole. Inevitably water slopped over the edge because the bucket always seemed to catch on the edge of the hole as it re-emerged. As the winter progressed the hole got smaller as the ice got thicker, and water was acquired by kneeling on the thick ice and reaching down through the hole to scoop the water, one "camp-cup" at a time, into the waiting bucket. 
• Late at night after everyone in the house was asleep, my mother and I would venture out into the night to shovel snow. We scooped great heaps of snow. Whispering, luminous snow that waited in the still, quiet darkness of the night.   It felt like the whole world was asleep and unaware, save for us. Three-hundred and fifty feet of the earth provided us the opportunity of shoveling snow. We took special care to shovel and scrape down as close to the earth as possible. The more snow we could remove the less ice would develop when the rains came again. When the surface met with our satisfaction, we went back and  tidied-up the edges along driveway and the trail that led to the house. Then invigorated, but weary we gloated with pride as we stood back and admired our artful accomplishment like it would stay that way forever, (it did not). 
• Last night great heaps of snow fell from the sky. My mother is 89 years old now. In the winter when I talk to her on the telephone I remind her of  the times when we would shovel in the still, quiet  night.  I can hear her smile, and feel our togetherness, as she sings out: "Oh yes... we did do that. I used to shovel snow."