As I was kicking the snow from underneath my car, I saw a large boot coming my way.

“I’m not going to kick you, am I?” the boot said.

“No, I’m good,” I responded.

The boot belonged to my brother, Jason, who was furiously kicking snow out from the other side of the vehicle.  

We were in this spot for the second time – this spot being stuck in the deep, pride-snatching snow in Circle Park. The first time it happened, we were in high school and driving our parents’ truck. We thought we were invincible in a four-wheel drive vehicle. Turns out, the snow on Circle Park has more will than a Chevy truck. And a Toyota Four Runner.  

My brother was driving and we managed to dig ourselves out, which is good because we were in our parents’ vehicle, so I’m not sure how they were going to pull us out. Also, we didn’t want to get in trouble, and that was a given if we called the parents.

So we lay in the snow and dug until we hit dirt and vowed to keep it between ourselves.

I told my parents as soon as we got home.

This time, we were in my vehicle and I was driving. I thought I could gun it. I mean I have really beefy tires.

But no. Circle Park hates us.  

My first instinct was to call Dad. My brother’s first instinct was to start digging. So I acquiesced, lay in the snow and started scooping snow away from the tires.

“Do you think that maybe we shouldn’t come up to Circle Park in the winter anymore?” I said to my brother.

“Probably not,” he said.

Jason is one of those people who is always ultra prepared for everything – whether it’s hiking, hunting, painting, work, cooking. He plans and plans and plans. Then he researches and researches. Then he examines the science behind it. Then the history of it. He becomes an expert.  

“I thought about bringing a shovel, but I didn’t,” he said, visibly disappointed in himself.

I was thinking, “I’m lucky I remembered to bring both boots for my skis. Also, I wonder if we will get out of here in time for lunch.” I kept that to myself.

Jason started using his snowshoe as a shovel. I had only my skis, which wouldn’t work, so I used my hands – my small, useless hands.

I got behind the wheel and he started pushing from the front. Nothing.

He got behind the wheel and rocked the vehicle back and forth. Nothing.

“That’s it, I’m calling Dad,” I said.

Jason kept digging.

Ring, ring. Dad didn’t answer, so I called our mom.

“Hey, Mom, is Dad around?”

“Yah, he’s in the garage. I’ll go get him.”

There was some muffled yelling in the background.

“What’s up?”

“Hey, Dad. Are you busy?”

“Not really. Just working in the garage,” he said.

“Well, Jason and I went up the mountain to, um, go snowshoeing and cross-country skiing and it was fun, and well, we got stuck on Circle Park, and um, well, I was wondering if you could come pull us out?”   

There was a bit of silence, then I heard laughing. He laughed because his irresponsible daughter had done it again.

 “Yah, I will be up in a minute.”

“Dad’s coming,” I told my brother, a little indignant.

In about 15 minutes, my dad showed up. His truck has bald street tires, so in the process of trying to pull out my vehicle, we almost got my dad’s truck stuck. Luckily, a friendly gentleman in a four-wheeler gave us a little push and we were both eventually freed. My dad had to back his truck down Circle Park Road, but we made it – a little worse for the wear.

Next time, I guarantee Jason will bring a shovel and I will bring lunch.

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