A major reason I asked Dustin if we could move to this town was so because I wanted to be able to walk everywhere. I love walking, in all weather, all of the time. (Well, most of the time.) This little town of ours is a pretty pedestrian friendly place. There are sidewalks almost everywhere, and from our house it is an easy walk to just about every store/library/post office I would ever need to get to.
Until a polar vortex comes along.
The first big snow we had came on the weekend and I spent the better part of the weekend worrying about how I was going to walk Miles to school with a stroller full of little boys. In fact, I was so anxious about it that on Monday night I snuck out after 10 pm (which is like midnight in 34 year old language) under the cloak of darkness and actually shoveled my neighbor's sidewalks because I wanted to be able to walk to school the next day and I didn't want them to think that I thought they were slackers. (Super non-confrontational, I know.) The rest of the sidewalks on the way there were cleared, but I was fully prepared to shovel my way to the school so that in the morning I could make it there without snowshoes.
But that was the last time I've had to do that.
There is a little sound that I've come to appreciate hearing in these parts. It usually comes around just after the snow stops falling, but before any drivers have decided to brave the elements. The low hum is familiar to us now as it starts a few houses down and slowly gets louder as it draws near. Even the boys get excited when they hear the sound of it's motor, followed by the snow swirling around in a tiny blizzard around its driver. Children run to their windows with excitement, shouting things like my little neighbor boy once said, "It's the maker of the snow!"
It's my neighbor, Steve, clearing the way. In temperatures they warn us to stay away from, he suits up in a hat and gloves, armed with nothing but a windshield clad snowblower. He starts two houses from ours and works his way all of the way down our street, around the corner, to the school, across the street, and back down the other side. I haven't told him this yet, and I'm sure he doesn't do this just for me, but that single act, performed at every snowfall, makes me so incredibly grateful to be his neighbor.
Today I am thankful for Steve and his generous deeds.
My non-frozen toes and ankles thank him, while my grateful heart adores him.
Until a polar vortex comes along.
The first big snow we had came on the weekend and I spent the better part of the weekend worrying about how I was going to walk Miles to school with a stroller full of little boys. In fact, I was so anxious about it that on Monday night I snuck out after 10 pm (which is like midnight in 34 year old language) under the cloak of darkness and actually shoveled my neighbor's sidewalks because I wanted to be able to walk to school the next day and I didn't want them to think that I thought they were slackers. (Super non-confrontational, I know.) The rest of the sidewalks on the way there were cleared, but I was fully prepared to shovel my way to the school so that in the morning I could make it there without snowshoes.
But that was the last time I've had to do that.
There is a little sound that I've come to appreciate hearing in these parts. It usually comes around just after the snow stops falling, but before any drivers have decided to brave the elements. The low hum is familiar to us now as it starts a few houses down and slowly gets louder as it draws near. Even the boys get excited when they hear the sound of it's motor, followed by the snow swirling around in a tiny blizzard around its driver. Children run to their windows with excitement, shouting things like my little neighbor boy once said, "It's the maker of the snow!"
It's my neighbor, Steve, clearing the way. In temperatures they warn us to stay away from, he suits up in a hat and gloves, armed with nothing but a windshield clad snowblower. He starts two houses from ours and works his way all of the way down our street, around the corner, to the school, across the street, and back down the other side. I haven't told him this yet, and I'm sure he doesn't do this just for me, but that single act, performed at every snowfall, makes me so incredibly grateful to be his neighbor.
Today I am thankful for Steve and his generous deeds.
My non-frozen toes and ankles thank him, while my grateful heart adores him.
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