When heavy snow hits, can a shovel be far behind?

     The news has focused on New England’s own snow globe, snow measured in feet and, in some cases, yards, not inches. Pretty, yes … if you don’t have to get our of your house, free up your car, drive to work or school or do any of the multiple tasks  that make up our daily existence.

     We were fortunate in Pennsylvania. The two weather systems that married up to produce such a horrific offspring hadn’t gotten together until they’d passed our area, so we got a mere four or five inches. Still, it had to be shoveled. A nuisance, really, compared to the burden for our neighbors in the Northeast.

     But the effort still reminded me of snowstorms past. I remember one that taught me a lesson in responsibility and priorities.

     Along the Southeastern Massachusetts coast, we don’t get many snowstorms. But what does fall is heavy, the flakes weighted down by the moisture content contributed by our location near the sea. It makes for heavy lifting – and remember, those were the pre-snowblower days.

     We woke to the snow still falling that day. No school! So out to play. By the time the snow had stopped, a neighbor asked me and my pal Art if we would shovel out her walk. Sure.

     Now remember, no snowblowers. And, for that matter, no snow shovels. As with most households, we had regular shovels, the kind you used to heave coal into the furnace, for that was what we used to heat our homes back then. (Can’t you still hear the roar of coal tumbling down the steel chute into the cellar coal bin?) Those shovels were wide pans of steel with five-foot handles. A handful for a man, they were awkward and difficult for a boy, and nothing ergonomically sophisticated about them.

     Still, that’s what we had and what we used. The alternative, a garden spade, was useless in the snow.

     We cleared my neighbor’s walk, and she gave us 50 cents each. Wow! In that era – oh, maybe 1947 or ’48 – that was good money!

     So off we went looking for other neighbors who had more money than desire to shovel their walks. We found a few, and as we knocked on doors, we wended our way farther and farther from home. At last, as it was getting dark, Art suggested we do his aunt’s walk. She lived about four blocks away – long blocks, so it was about a half-mile down towards the river. It was a good move; for her walk and driveway, she gave us a dollar each!

     By the time we finished, it was dark. So to home. I dropped Art off on the way and got home about five-thirty or six. And waiting for me was Dad.

     Boy, was he mad! I mean, really teed off.

     You see, while I was busy shoveling walks all around the neighborhood, I had left ours untouched.

     And Dad didn’t like coming home to a snow-laden walk and driveway.

     But, I said, look at how much money I made – about five dollars, if memory serves – certain that he would be proud of my initiative and entrepreneurship.

     No such luck. That’s all well and good, he said, but you always take care of your own first. You understand?

     And to ensure that I did, supper – already on the table – had to wait for me, while I shoveled our walk and driveway.

     Lesson learned.