I Dig Shovels
I dig shovels. I believe shovels allow us to appreciate tasks accomplished through our own exertions. The minimal carbon footprint is a bonus. And what else can you buy for twenty bucks that comes with a 25 year warranty?
But shoveling, apparently, has gone out of style.
I’ve scooped a lot of snow over the past 50 years. And I’ve found satisfaction in revealing a clean, safe sidewalk with the simplest of tools. But typical I am not. I will never forget the beautiful Winter day (a day which shall live in irony) that our neighbor across the street asked me to relocate 7 inches of fluffy white crystals from her driveway - so she could attend her exercise class. I learned that day that a workout, at least one which involves actual work, is no longer considered respectable.
Last fall I needed to spread a huge truckload of gravel that had been delivered to my front yard. After I had accomplished about half of that with a spade and a wheelbarrow, a friend took pity on me and loaned me his diesel tractor. Faster, yes, but while the engine roared, I couldn’t hear the migrating geese overhead, or talk to my neighbor Nathan who came over to tell me about his day at Kindergarten.
Maybe shoveling needs a new image. Why don’t manufacturers of non-motorized tools design some enviable features into their products? If they ever market a wheelbarrow with a cup holder, I’ll buy one.
The New Testament tells of a steward who lost his job and had no other marketable skills. “What shall I do? ” he laments, “I am too weak to dig!” But spadework is not mere muscle. There is a rhythm and a technique to excavation. My father taught me how to use weight and leverage and balance to plant a tree or set a fencepost. Thanks, Dad. My dad learned from his dad, who fired the boiler on a B&O steam locomotive. Grandfather helped keep America on the move with his shovel.
Archimedes famously declared that, with the right tool, he could move the world. Well, with my round-point True Temper, I can move the earth.
The word “dig” once had a positive connotation. “I dig,” implied enthusiasm, as in: “I really dig jazz.” Respected archeologists directed “digs”. But when I started to spade up our front yard recently, normally chatty passers-by seemed unsure of what to say. Perhaps they assumed I couldn’t afford to hire a landscaper. Uh-oh, there goes the neighborhood.
When in Africa years ago, I was presented with a carved wooden stick as part of a welcoming ceremony. My host explained that this was a symbolic garden hoe, and signified my adulthood. In that ancient culture, turning the soil earned status. I believe Americans should rediscover the joy one can experience with a simple implement crafted of Mountain Ash and Pittsburgh steel. Wouldn’t that be a ground-breaking achievement?
Comments
anna childe
state college pa
Jan 25, 2010
i heard this essay the other day in the car, and i SO agree with it.
my husband and i are constantly moving things with shovels: dirt, mulch, gravel, and yes, after our snow blower (thankfully) broke, even snow.
we talk to the neighbors, observe the wildlife and even manage to get excercise without a gym membership.
we dig this essay!
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