We’d been gone for five months and were eager to get home. Driving across Wyoming, Idaho, Utah, and Nevada, the mountains were graced by snow, but the highways were blessedly clear and dry. In fact, it was not until we reached our street that we encountered patches of the white stuff. It was not until we reached our short, steep driveway that we were in trouble. Several inches of unplowed snow made it impossible to reach the garage. I tried, then slid back to the street.
No problem, we thought; we purchased a snow blower last winter. It started easily, and my husband began clearing the driveway. It quickly became clear that the process was going to be a long one. Our machine couldn’t handle the amount of snow in clean sweeps. It would take two passes for each twelve-inch swath. We were looking at a couple of hours of work. We were almost home.
At about that time I noticed our neighbors’ clean, dry driveway and the impressively large snow blower resting just inside their open garage door. I figured asking to borrow it for a bit was a reasonable request, so knocked. These neighbors are relatively new to the street, and we had been gone. It was not as if we were old friends or even acquaintances.
Jim didn’t hesitate. Instead of lending us the blower, he cranked it up and blasted through our impasse, throwing a stream of snow at least 30 feet. It took him maybe ten minutes to clear the way for both of our cars. What a welcome home. What a wonderfully neighborly thing to do.
A month later, Incline Village has been smothered by several snow storms. The process of clearing driveways, stairs, decks, roofs, and hot tubs is shared by all residents; there is no escaping it. From the house-size Nevada snow plows to bobcats to pick-ups with blades attached to their front grill, from oversized to children’s shovels, on a day like today, everyone is working hard. Most people are also working to help others in some form.
There are those who are quick to criticize the public employees who maintain our highways and side streets. I am not among them. Time and again, I have watched these folks take the time, like our neighbor Jim, to stop and assist others. There is nothing as welcome as the giant blade of a massive snowplow gently easing into one’s driveway and taking with it the icy, 4-foot berm that is blocking the street. While I don’t recall the exact number, our little town’s streets add up to well over 1,000 miles, I believe. Those who keep them clear and the power running do not subscribe to a 9:00-5:00 kind of day. We who choose to live in wintry mountains should not be surprised when storms create inconvenience. Rather, we should be grateful for our good neighbors and their snowplows, metaphorical or real.
Glass Full 