Snowburbia

An actual morning-after photo

There is a scene in both 'Edward Scissorhands" and "The Truman Show" of morning in a perfectly symmetrical suburban neighborhood where all the husbands come out of their houses and are kissed goodbye by their wives and then go off to work, all at the same time. That is sort of what it's like in my neighborhood the morning after it snows. Except all the husbands leave the house to fire up their snow blowers and commence clearing their driveways and sidewalks.

Except S.D. and I. We are the holdouts in this neighborhood of crisply-edged driveways. We still shovel. Even though it takes longer, even though it may not be as pretty, we still shovel because, well, I like to, SD isn't so sure that he likes it but he's not going to buy a snowblower. We also, coincidentally, have the longest driveway, and being on a large corner lot, the longest stretch of sidewalk.

This confluence of maximum clearable surface, the time difference inherent in snow shoveling vs snow blowing, and the kindness of neighbors, often makes the hour after the snow ends a bit of a race. You see, our neighbors, all 6 snowblowing enthusiasts that they are, are also extremely nice, and helpful, and we can shovel only so fast.

All shoveling here.

It is with this in mind that with every snow storm I am tormented by a variation of that suburban perfect morning. All the husbands come out of their houses, fire up their snowblowers, clear their driveways and sidewalks, and then, in one synchronized swivel, aim for our sidewalks and driveway.

Meanwhile S.D. and I have been innocently, and leisurely shoveling, enjoying the crisp air, the clean sound of the shovel slicing through powder, the muscular flick of the wrist that flows the snow over the ever-growing bank, when suddenly there is a offer of "Do you need any help?", the revving of a gas engine and boom, all the snow is gone.