Rural Life in the UP of Michigan Some stories about life on 160 rural acres in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan

“Well, I guess Franco and I are going to head outside and plow the driveways.”

Alice looked up from her project and said, “You sure do take good care of us. All I do is bake pies, but you strong men keep our driveways clear of all that snow. Bless you!” *Editor’s note, these may not have been her exact words.*

“You’ll probably be tired when you come in from all that work. How about a nice pie warm from the oven? I think you like raspberry the best, don’t you?” she asked.

“I think I could choke down a forkful or two before I collapse,” I told her.

So Franco and I strode manfully from the house, dusted off the trusty old International Scout II with Fisher plow, and went to work.

Let me tell you a little secret. If you give most guys a chunk of iron that weighs thousands of pounds, power it with an engine in the hundreds of horsepower, stick an adjustable steel plow in front of it, and tell them to drive as fast as they can until they smash into yonder snowbank, they won’t think of it as work. Most guys that I know pray for snow, so they can get outside and smash into things for a while.

I’m reluctant to make too big of a deal of this for several reasons. First, there are lots of people that spend all this great winter weather on the beaches of the world, and kid themselves into thinking they really have it made. All they seem to have to do is contemplate scantily clad people walking by while sifting sand through their toes. Were they to realize the snowbank smashing they were missing, the Upper Peninsula of Michigan would be so crowded we wouldn’t have room to pee off the back porch anymore. So please don’t let on to these folks.

Were the recreational opportunities of moving snow to become more well known, vehicles like my 1977 International Scout II would become financially out of reach for folks like me. I’d probably have to resort to shoveling snow with an actual shovel, which might make me nostalgic for those boring tropical sandy beaches.

And finally, were the wife of this household to learn how much fun her husband is having, she might just want to take the controls of the old Scout, and become addicted to taking out her frustrations on innocent snow patches. And frankly, I’d rather eat the pie she makes, than be inside baking them while she is out there shouting Yee-Haw out the open window of the Scout.