A neighbor helped me shovel upon our return home. He’s perhaps thirty years old and said he took a pain pill for his back, planning to clear our entire driveway. We convinced otherwise. Our cars can power through several inches, after all.
Interestingly, the young gentleman offhandedly reminded me that the paved portion between sidewalk and street is called an apron in US lingo. I suppose it’s due to tapered ends resembling an apron’s skirt.
Meanwhile more snow fell, as did darkness, and while shoveling gets harder as the years pass, I grew determined to retain passage. Discovering a light powder had fallen I grabbed my shop broom.
Dragging and even pushing light loads proved easier than expected. I proceeded to do the same for several neighbors. One fellow came and helped, shoveling more of my driveway after seeing me. He felt guilt despite the times he’s done the same winters past.
Our area seldom sees more than a few inches of the white stuff or we’d consider purchasing a snow blower. Perhaps we’ll hire a service in future years. I wish our drifts could be air dropped over fires around the world. ~sigh~ At least we’re getting plenty of ground water here.
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| My mother gifted me this waterproof fedora decades ago... Cool, no? |
