Shoveling is Keeping Wisconsinites Busier Than a Yooper Lawyer in June

Years ago when I lived in Delta County, in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, it at one time had the dubious distinction of having the highest divorce rate in the country. Coincidentally, Delta County also received more snow than most other counties in the nation. At the time, I was young and foolish and hadn't been married long enough to put two and two together. Now that I'm older and wiser and currently living through one of the snowiest Wisconsin winters in history, it's as plain as the cold and runny nose on my face - snow is a leading cause of divorce.

I myself seriously considered it just today after stumbling over the impervious hump of solidified snow the size of an orca whale at the end of my driveway.

"I'm the only one on my block who can get out of their driveway," my niece bragged recently. "That's because I shovel every time it snows."

"Well, that's because your not married," I retorted.

"What does that have to do with it?" she asked quizically.

"Because you don't have a (insert adjective of your choice here) husband driving his big SUV into the driveway before it's shoveled and compressing the snow into a diamond-like substance that has no chance of ever being removed except with a jack hammer or a late August heat wave."

It's difficult for single women to understand the unique pressures of being married during the snowy season. Because husbands have an inability to actually see snow, they don't realize the walkway is still covered with snow from three snowstorms ago; or comprehend the rationale of taking their boots off at the door; and they don't seem to understand what the problem is with pulling up next to snow banks the size of three-story buildings when parking the car with a person (i.e. me) in the passenger seat.

Somehow they never notice the foot ice covering their wife's car parked inches away while chiseling their own vehicle free; they're unfamiliar with rock salt and its uses; and are oblivious to the fact that their wiper blades have been entombed within a small glacier resting on their windshield since December.

But the most perturbing aspect about being married during a snowy winter is the telltale snow hump. The hump is the mound of snow at the beginning of your driveway that grows with each new snowfall and every pass of the snow plow. It's the mounting mountain of aging, calcified ice crystals that stands between you and your chances of getting to the grocery store if yours happens to be the car parked at the bottom of your inclined driveway. It's the constant source of growing hostility you feel when you see your husband effortlessly back his all wheel drive vehicle to freedom each morning, while you take note of the errant minivan tire marks in your neighbor's yard made the previous day trying to get to a hair appointment. (Oh, yeah, did I mention that my unmarried neighbor's driveway has remained un-shoveled all winter, too? Need I say more?)

What remains a mystery to me is how those Yoopers racked up such a high divorce rate when most wives are stuck in their driveways from October through May.

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