Shouldn't…but Do

It’s out there. It’s waiting. I just heard the rumble of the truck.

The plow wall.

Those who live in warmer climes have no experience of the plow wall – the enormous mound of scraped ice and snow brusquely deposited by snow plow blade across the length of my driveway.

I like living on a corner. Not tucked in, tidy and neat on the street, but exposed.

Exposure costs. More tonnage gets dumped in my path, icy silage for my shovel and spinal column. My snowblower won’t touch it, the plow wall demands handicraft.

Last week my mailbox took a hit from an errant, but Very Apologetic Driver. It gets that from time to time, another benefit of exposure.

I found it, knocked back in the snow like a tipsy reveler, mouth agape, a look of surprise about the eyes. The mailbox itself is fine, but its wood support post broke clean off.

Despite email and internet, mailboxes still receive, contain and dispense news from the physical world. No need to go outside the box on this one, the small interior space of any mail or post office box handles a lot – hopes, fears, information, invitation.

My mailbox, though in top shape, is now busted off at its ground. Come a thaw, the husband of the Very Apologetic Driver and I will dig a new hole and reset it, or maybe I’ll just do it myself.

In the meantime, the unasked for deposits of frozen muck accorded to my driveway have become a gift. The frozen terrain scraped from the streets now firmly supports my mailbox. I still shovel it, but with a smile for its service, I am grateful.