Love and the Snowblower
Adrea Gibbs When my husband and I moved to the East from the West fifteen years ago, some interesting things transpired. First hurdle, I had the challenge of procuring a home, using a laundry list of specifications from my well-intentioned significant other, while attempting to settle into both a new job and new area within in a very tight time frame. Check. Second, our next hurdle, we got married, as we managed to be in the same place at the same time and able to avail ourselves of a Justice of the Peace. Check. Third was keeping my adorable spouse, having never lived anywhere outside the greater Los Angeles area and possessing little to no understanding of what living in the four seasons meant, sane. Not sure that one is checked off, as yet. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say he tripped and is still laying on the track, foot caught on the top of said hurdle. My husband’s first encounter of snow was in Alaska over Christmas. We went with my parents and connected with one of my brothers and his wife who lived in Anchorage. It was the first time my (then) fiancé had been in snow. Ever. It was a novelty for him, but one that he could only handle for certain lengths of time. Usually fairly brief, and entailing either getting in or exiting the car, on the way to an identified location or a photo. Snow and its sundry subcategories can always be lovely, even magical, when viewed through windows from some warmly heated vehicle, restaurant, attractions, or shop (or any combination of the three latter points). Landscapes are wintry wonderlands. Main Streets take on additional charm given icicles and holiday décor. Homes appear extra cozy, candles set in the windows extending a welcoming invitation to come inside and sip cocoa or hot cider around the fireplace, laughter guaranteed to ensue. In short, every Currier & Ives, Norman Rockwell, and Coco-Cola Santa advert come to life. He fell for the romanticized holiday experience; hook, line, and ice fishing sinker. That is until, one short year later, we were living in the midst of it. As one might find, of those who are not acquainted with winter’s frigid alter ego, when harsh reality sets in and the first time your driveway is left underneath two feet of snow, it can be… um…daunting. Thank goodness for the kindness of strangers. A neighbor, unknown to us at the time, thoughtfully plowed for us after a huge storm. We had been fully prepared on the interior, Page 18
not so much where the exterior was concerned. To be fair, we did have snow shovels, though the priority of that first season was spent predominately on locating proper arctic wear, including battery-powered gloves, a score my husband, to this day, remains quite proud. However, the issue of being able to get our cars out of the garage, so we could continue to be employed and pay for the house and associated items within, remained at hand. My spouse, ever on the search to find the “local expert” in any given field, slushed his way out of the garage, and yes, one of the top items on the “requirement” list when I searched for houses. As a side note, I went one better with a two-car heated garage attached directly to the house, but I digress. He drove the 30 miles to our “neighborhood” household supply chain store to investigate thoroughly. Braving the bitter walk from the closest parking stall available he trekked in and went about finding the in-house survivalist. Now, an important piece about our house you should know. We live in a wooded area and none of the houses sit very closely to the road as they do, say, in a suburb. Our driveway, while certainly not one of the longest in our area, is still a good half-a-football field length from the town-plowed road (and subsequent huge mound of dispersed snow) and our beloved heated garages. To add to the fun, it’s all gravel…and uphill. That’s a lot of snow to move manually by hand, but not really enough snow to warrant a vehicle plow. There was always the option of hiring someone to do the driveway for us, something to which we resorted early on, as we lacked the requisite experience, knowledge, or desire to handle it ourselves, during our initial acclimation to the area. That particular option, we quickly learned, was neither always reliable nor fiscally responsible over repeated squalls. The top option was a snowblower and one we felt would be of great benefit. That was followed by the tedious task of researching brands, types and pricing, something which always falls to me because my husband likes to remind me; I am “better at it” (internet research) than he. Not sure I believe that as somehow he manages to find those things we really don’t need, but he wants, via the same method. Anyway, we were given some suggestions, which were limited to what was available at the store, and after too much time, effort and sanity was spent conducting the requisite research, Van W yck Gazette - Spring 2019 Issue