During my childhood in the land of cotton, we saw more cotton blowing than snow blowing. During August and September, cotton blowing off wagons on their way to the gin was a common sight.

I moved to Missouri and for eight years experienced snow flurries and snowfalls, but on President's Day in 1993 came the blizzard. Fourteen inches of snow fell, and I then found out why snow shovels were sold.

It became necessary for me to shovel my driveway and I set out, armed with the necessary gear. I was not a happy camper while I shoveled. While I huffed and puffed, Sam McGee came to mind. Robert W. Service wrote the poem, "The Cremation of Sam McGee," which is about a gentleman who went from Tennessee to Canada's Yukon Territory to look for gold. Old Sam died and his friends made a crematorium and stuffed him in the fire. After a few days the companions peeked inside to see if he was cooked, and:

"There sat Sam, looking cold and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar,And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: 'Please close that door!'

It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm

Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm.'"

While I shoveled and froze, I thought about Sam and empathized with the frostbitten fellow. I went inside and wrote a parody of Sam's story.

Now Caroline was from Mississip, where the cotton blooms and blows.

Why she left her home in the South, God only knows.

She hated the snow but the land of the cold seemed to hold her like a spell;

Though she'd often say in her homely way that she'd sooner live in hell.

Now came that day of the presidents when the snow came without a hint.

It fell all day and it fell all night, and Caroline awoke to a horrendous sight.

Fourteen inches of the hellacious stuff put her in quite a huff.

She said, "I'll shovel it to the street so I can walk on my feet,

And then I won't fall on my duff!'

Then from Montgonnie came a call from Connie of life in the tropical zone.

And it made Caroline jealous and it made Caroline zealous and she said, "I'll shovel 'til I'm gone."

So she put on her wool socks and snow boots and she set out to show the world.

She strained and struggled and after much toil and trouble, that awful white stuff she did hurl.

She conquered the stuff with many a puff and then she felt so great.

She said,"It's not the land or even the lack of sand, but the white stuff that I hate."

Now Caroline was from Mississip where the cotton blooms and blows.

Why she left her home to roam past the line, God only knows.

With her white hair blowing and the white mound growing, she's still out there shoveling snow.

She's singing very loud to the growing crowd, "Almost quittin' time, only one more row to hoe."

This winter I am keeping $10 tucked in my pocket to hire a shoveler, should another "big one" occur.