Steve Fernlund and The Long Way Home

As temperatures plunged the last few weeks, the snow didn’t stop. It just came in frequent, relatively small amounts, blown around by gusty winds. Due to my advanced years and easily frozen fingers, the only snow I moved during the lengthy cold snap was off the porch and around the car. Our driveway, better described as “park” way, is a couple of feet longer than our car and as wide as two cars side by side. While these inch-or-two snowfalls happened almost daily, I would sweep snow off the car and push it into a fast-growing snowbank where the second car, if we had one, would go. I left that growing snowbank until now, at the end of the month, when I shoveled it all. Temps were slightly above zero.  While shoveling, my thoughts went from avoiding my demise from a cardiac disaster to contemplating the birthdays of our direct descendants. There was a reason for those thoughts that went beyond the fact they’d get zippy-doo-dah from my “estate,” if my old ticker were to give up the gh...