Like most people, I won’t forget this winter anytime soon. Since the first big storm in mid- December, my yard had measurable snow in it for all but two days.  That’s 77 days in total.  Ridiculous.

But during February’s blizzards a weird thing happened. I felt myself transform from a desk-bound lawyer whose most active body part was his mouse-clicking finger to a parka- wearing warrior, armed with a shovel and an attitude. Old Man Winter was picking a fight, was he? OK, dude, like the Southwest commercials say, it’s on!

In the mornings, I laced up my boots with a purpose. They felt hefty and proper. Gloves, scarf, hat, shades, then it was off into the teeth of Snowmageddon. My inner Bear Grylls began percolating. I felt like trapping a squirrel and eating it.

Thoughts turned to basic necessities and survival. Warmth. Food. Shelter. I began talking in shorter sentences, grunting on occasion. I craved barely cooked meat. Hot soups and tea never tasted better.

I trudged through feet of snow to fetch firewood, like my Cro-Magnon ancestors must have. Each path I dug with my rudimentary tool activated muscles that had long been office-dormant. But it felt good. It was objective accomplishment. Where there once was snow, now there is not, and my people are free.

Snow blower? No way. Don’t even own one. This was personal. This was man vs. wild.

My kids looked at me differently, too, like, “damn, I didn’t know he could do physical labor.” The guy who wears suits was suddenly clearing deep paths to what looked like igloos. The guy who writes and talks all day was suddenly quiet and sweating. They might not understand a motion for summary judgment, but they understood Daddy made the front porch safer.

And I suppose that’s the point. Often what we do as attorneys is expensive intellectual gymnastics, shuffling papers, and hoping for that subjective accomplishment called justice. But some of us lose sight that, in a time of blizzards and natural disasters, a guy with a shovel is more important than a guy with a briefcase. Crazy as it sounds, for a week in February, I liked being the guy with the shovel.

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