Good Neighbors

Let me tell you the truth.

I have been crying.

I am sitting at the kitchen table on Saturday morning, and I am looking out my front window at about five feet of snow that is stacked against it, snow that has fallen off the roof. There are birds and squirrels hopping around outside. I threw some seed out for them. Watching them always brings me joy—so why the tears?

The main problem, I guess, is that we had a week when about three feet of snow fell on my little town, and the electricity has gone on and off, on and off. It is on now, and for that I am grateful, but also—my street has not been plowed. All the roads around me are clear. I can see people up the street driving in and out of town, slowly and carefully, without any problem. After the storm, after the three feet of snow, the world is open to them again! Not for me. In the decade I have lived here, the county has always plowed my street—but not so far this year.

There are reasons, I know. There was a plow driver who went into a ditch with a snowplow up the street during the first night of the storm. My neighbor watched and said it was quite a production, getting him out and back onto the main road again. Maybe that made everyone in the county office a little more cautious than usual?

Also, there was a car that skidded down the hill above my house early in the storm cycle. It finally came to rest across the street from me, basically in the middle of one of our main streets. My neighbor and I had dutifully moved our cars up the street and parked on the side of our road, like we always did when we knew a storm was coming. Except with the stranded car and my neighbor’s truck parked a little too close to the end of the road, the plow drivers weren’t sure they’d be able to get down our street and back up safely.

I didn’t realize this at first, though. It took me several days of calling the Public Works Department to actually understand why my road wasn’t getting plowed. The county has a new helpful feature on its website where you can track snowplows and see which nearby streets have been plowed. I learned about this Tuesday, the first day of our storms. I checked the “Where’s My Plow?” site and saw that all the streets near me had been plowed, except for mine and the one above me. The woman who answered the phone at the county office was helpful. She looked at the website, agreed with me that my street hadn’t been plowed, and promised to relay the message to workers in the field and call me back.

She left a message, assuring me my street would be plowed soon.

I checked the website later and noted that the street next to mine had been taken care of, but mine still had not. Strange, no?

I called again the next day. She said she would look into it again and call me back.

That was a long day without any plow.

The next morning at exactly 8:00 a.m. when the office opened, my phone rang. The woman from the county office explained what the problem was. She kindly reminded me that there was a law that it is illegal to park on the street during snow season and that was why the plow was unable to get to us. She said that I should talk to my neighbors who had their cars in the wrong spots and that I should move mine, too. She said they would be happy to plow the street as soon as the cars were moved.

I said I did not know how I could move my car when it was surrounded by three feet of snow. I also did not know the people who had abandoned their sad little car, basically in the middle of the road across from mine. She was sympathetic, but she said that the only way they would be able to get a plow to us would be to have the cars moved. I told her that we had parked on the side of the road for years, that I had lived here a decade, that people all over town have to park on the side of the road all year long, rain or shine, because most of us don’t have garages or driveways. She said that she didn’t live here so she didn’t know, but that was the rule, and we had to move the cars before the road could be plowed.

That was yesterday. It was not my favorite day. I noticed, though, that the people who owned the sad, stranded car managed to dig it out yesterday. My neighbor also moved his truck. At last, my car was the only one left on the road.

Now it is early Saturday morning and I am sitting, watching cars drive by up the street. There is a berm in front of my road and my car is surrounded by snow and the county office is closed on the weekend, so there is no one to call to say, “Hello, the cars have moved, except for mine! But every year you have managed to plow the road with my car in that spot, and that would be very helpful. Is there any way you could plow now? I would be most appreciative!”

It would make sense that my tears are because of the kerfuffle with my car and the road and the county snowplows. That’s part of it for sure. This most recent round of tears, though, was from gratitude. Because my neighbor just texted me that they were planning to drive up tomorrow from their other home and wanted to know if he would be able to access his driveway from our street. I said that I didn’t think it was wise, that the street was basically impassable because of the snow and the berm at the end of the street. I told him I was stuck up here, that there was nothing I could do to get my car out. I said that maybe they should wait until next week, because the weather is warming and it’s actually supposed to rain soon.

He immediately replied that he has a truck with four-wheel drive and a tow chain and that he’d be happy to help pull my car out. He also seemed to understand that I had been housebound for nearly a week and asked if there were any supplies I needed, that he and his wife would be happy to bring things up tomorrow.

This kindness—the hope that it brought, the reminder that I’m not alone—that was what made me cry this morning.

That was not the end of the story, though. I was feeling slightly better about everything after texting with my neighbor and the sun was shining, so Biscuit and I trudged through the deep snow on our street and made it to the main road, which was beautifully clear. I came across a neighbor with a tractor who was clearing snow near the community center so people would have a place to park for a fundraiser tonight. He said that he would be happy to plow my road so that I could get my car out; he also said he was happy to barter and that his wife could certainly use a professional massage—a service I could offer.

While he was starting to work on my street, a county truck pulled up and two men got out. One seemed to be in charge of all things snowplow-related in the area and explained again why they hadn’t been able to plow my street during the storm. It wasn’t personal, although it had started to feel like it. It was the stranded car in the middle of the road across from us and my neighbor’s truck being too close to the end of the street.

He had a younger employee with him and told him how far they usually plowed. He said that this young man would be back later to plow the road the rest of the way. Possibly I surprised him a little by giving him a hug—I was that grateful. He also clarified that it was basically fine to park on the street like we did; I just need to gently remind my neighbor that his truck needs to be a little farther back, and we need to hope that nobody ever gets stuck right across from us again.

Nothing seemed like it was going right, and then everything turned around today. First my neighbor promised to help tow my car out of the snow with his truck, then another neighbor brought his tractor by, then the official from the county drove by on a Saturday, just when I was there, and explained to me why things had gone the way they did. Also, the power stayed on and the sun came out.

It wasn’t an easy week. There was much snow and trees falling on power lines and electrical outages. But at the end of it, I am grateful—grateful for my neighbors and how they showed up and reminded me that I am not alone, that I don’t have to figure out everything by myself. I am not forgotten.  Sometimes I just need to wait, to be patient—and to trust.