Shoveled the walk, shoveled a path to my car, cleared off my car, started it up, moved it. Shoveled a path to the woodpile. Removed what felt like 500 lbs of snow from the tarp on top of the wheelbarrow. Took the remaining wood out of the wheelbarrow, noted that the bottom third was full of ice and a few peices of wood. Pushed the ice-filled wheelbarrow to the woodpile, loaded it up. Pushed it back, noted that the tires were more than a bit soft. Vaguely wondered about the last known location of my air pump. Unloaded the wheelbarrow, brought all the wood inside. Dragged the wheelbarrow up on to the porch (which actually the top of a bomb shelter, I love 1960s houses!) Flipped over the wheelbarrow with the vain hope that the sun will melt the ice sometime soon. Went in, tried not to track snow everywhere, failed miserably. Started up the wood stove. I love New England winters.