Today I guess you could say we addressed a lofty, elevated situation. Not
in the sense of being intellectually important, but rather tangibly
high and critical, as in…an issue with our roof.
Twelve to eighteen inches of snow had settled in up there
(think: packed), and rain is in the forecast for Thursday. Consider the implications. Rain soaking into snow = massive weight. Several residential roofs in our general area have already
collapsed recently because of snow poundage, without the added stress of
additional load from rain. Our
roof is low-pitched and not particularly well supported. We decided
this afternoon we didn’t want to become the next cave-in statistic, so preventative measures needed to be taken.
Thankfully, our local son volunteered to come over and shed
the roof of its white blanket. He dug from the ridge (peak of the roof) down as far down as he
could reach with a shovel, while his dad scraped from below with our neighbor’s
long-handled tool (think: hoe with a forty foot handle). I wondered about the exertion levels
involved, but decided to keep my girly opinions to myself. This was manly
rescue work; I didn’t dare go out there with a finger-wagging womanly scowl. Between them, the snow is now OFF the
roof, and I am breathing a sigh of relief.
Afterwards, they took a short ice hike on the lake with our
grandson, age nine. I watched
these ant-like figures from my vantage point inside the house, three
generations of men I love striking out to conquer the desolate lake against the
backdrop of a beautiful sunset, a rosy fire pit in the sky.
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