Snowblowing

Is more than just moving the snow

Photo by Saa R on Unsplash

The snow falls heavenly in our neighborhood at night on the old brick homes and barren oaks lit softly by gas lamp lights. Focus on a single falling flake. Crystalline and bright, pretending to be small. Kind, even. But when that little bastard gets together with a septillion of its friends, it imposes itself. On our homes, our roads, our entire way of living – four months a year. Snow is a four-letter word in Northeast Ohio. But it’s almost able to convince you otherwise.

South of the shores of Lake Erie, we get more snow than most. Ours is one of the few areas in the world that receives “lake-effect snow.” Lake effect snow occurs when you buy a home in one of the only affordable regions in the country and later understand why you got such a bargain. Scientifically, lake effect snow forms “when cold, below-freezing air passes over a lake’s warmer waters. This causes some lake water to evaporate and warm the air.” The air acts like a sponge, dumping the lake onto your driveway at a rate of up to 1 to 3 inches an hour, punishing without apology.

These mass bursts of snow from the lake draw constant attention from our meteorologists. Some of them move to work here specifically because we have one of the world’s most interesting weather systems. They love a challenge. Lake Erie delivers. It takes skill to speak certainly about uncertainty, to predict that which never asked to be predicted. The meteorologists will tell you the lake effect is coming, but we don’t know exactly where yet. The heavy stuff falls “where squalls persist,” and exactly where those squalls will persist is what they’re keeping an eye on because the difference may range from a couple of inches to a couple of feet. The closer it gets, the more accurately they can point on the map to your county, your city, your street. They’re very good at this. If you’re caught off guard by snow in the Midwest, you likely get your news from TikTok, and your fate is deserved.

Because we get so much snow, and can get it quickly, the only responsible thing to do as a homeowner is to buy a snowblower with the engine plant of a guided-missile destroyer. These beasts announce themselves with a roar, slice the snow and slush and ice with precision and toss it gallantly 15 feet into the air. One last ride down for Mr. Snowflake, awakened from his slumber by a Briggs and Stratton Polar Force engine. The bigger machines are self-propelled, with multiple gears. Fast, for distances. Slow, for max pulverization. Maneuvered deftly on mini-tractor tires. The operator only hears the thrum of the machine, eyes focused intensely on the next 48 inches. It’s temporary power in the face of powerlessness. From a distance, it looks like revenge.

We Men and Women of The Snowblower, we who wield awesome winter might, each of us has a code. Your code is who you are and who you aspire to be and what you’d like to see in the world. We’re aware of what happens when codes break down; other things break down, too. We rarely speak of the code. It’d be like a fish speaking of water. But it’s there, and we’ll discuss it with others who understand what it is that’s being discussed. Because it’s about the snow but more about who you are. Some do the minimum, and they can sleep at night, I guess. But most of us go beyond, and our actions make our codes real.

1. Snowblow the driveway first

You need to be able to leave. Your guests need a place to park. You need a clear path to take out the dog. First things first, care for your own home.

2. Shovel the front walk

That area that exists between the driveway and your front door is the gateway to your home, and it signals to visitors what kind of people they will find inside.

3. Snowblow the sidewalk

This is for the mailman, for the delivery drivers, for the dog walkers, for your elderly neighbors who walk every day in an attempt to stave off death – this is for them. For the world.

4. Snowblow the sidewalk of both your neighbors on either side

It’s what good neighbors do. What’s an extra minute when you’re already out there with The Beast? It’s nothing. The Beast needs to eat. Feed The Beast. Your neighbors will be delighted and do nice things for you.

5. Snowblow and shovel for the elderly

Every street’s got a 98-year-old lady, and if you have a shred of decency, you know what to do. It’s a kindness. If, lord forbid, an ambulance arrives, you’re helping first responders. You’re not just blowing snow, you’re out there saving lives.

6. Afterwards, a whiskey, neat

Your reward for a job well done. This moment is why God invested whiskey.

7. Repeat as often as necessary

Making sure to never skip No. 6.

Now, those are The Rules, my rules, not The Code, which crystalizes the why behind The Rules. The Code is this: Take care of yourself so you can take care of others, and always keep a bottle around. In winter, bad weather is bad weather, but also an opportunity to be an outstanding person. Midwesterners understand this.

It is tempting to want to leave the snow there. To say it looks pretty and let it be. Snow covers flaws. The imperfect lawns. The leaves never raked. The house that needs a coat of paint. The bike the kids left in the yard sometime around November. Let me live in a Thomas Kinkade painting, you tell yourself. The snow will sort itself out. This sentiment may even feel virtuous. But it is not a code. A code says the world doesn’t fix itself, so put on your boots, pull the cord, move forward and push back against the storm.

Read more:

• What if the Point Isn’t Balance?

• The Awesome Power of Sitting in Your Car Before You Go Inside

• Thank you, Dave Barry