A Stranger In a Strange Land

I never cease to be amazed at how much amusement I must be providing my neighbors since I moved out of Syracuse to a rural area in our county.

We moved ten years ago and my first memory of being here in the winter was in January 2007.

We had our first blizzard.

Now, I’m used to Central New York winters and even had a job between college and law school in which I was a night supervisor for the City Department of Public Works. My job was to monitor snow plows in a certain section of the city to make sure that they plowed the area they were dispatched to.

The job was a nightmare for a single guy, twenty-two years old, since we had to report at 6:00 p.m. and work until 7:00 A.M.

That winter, as I recall, every blizzard started on Friday night at 6:00 P.M. and ended on Monday morning at 7:00 A.M. We had 133 inches of snow that year. I thought I had seen it all.

The first blizzard of 2007 dropped about five feet of blowing and drifting snow in our driveway in front of the garage door.

I, being prepared like a Boy Scout, stepped outside with a shovel and began to dig my way out so I could go to work. I probably would have been able to reach the road by April.

Fortunately, my next door neighbor, Kevin, who is a good friend and Samaritan, drove by with his plow on the front of his pick-up truck and glanced to his right. He made a U-turn and a short time later I was able to leave for work. As he was leaving he commented, “You’re never going to get anywhere with that shovel.” For the next eight years I made seasonal snow plowing arrangements and all was right with the world.

Three years ago, Terri bought a Ford F-250 pick-up truck so she could tow a horse trailer with the other three jackasses that she lives with and trail ride with her friends. It’s like riding in a Humvee.

I should have seen it coming and one day she said, “We should get a plow for my truck so we can plow ourselves out.” Against my better judgement, I signed off on it.

We bought a seven foot plow with a joy stick that allows you to turn the plow in any direction you need. That’s the good news.

Hooking the plow up is like implanting a Jarvik heart. If you don’t do it perfectly, nothing happens and I am mechanically challenged.

Last winter, despite having 500 pounds of sand in the back of the truck, I kept repeatedly getting hung up on snow drifts.

After calling Kevin too many times to pull me out, he remarked, “You really should get some snow tires for this truck.” Terri replied, “When I bought the truck, the dealer told me I wouldn’t need them.” “He didn’t know where you lived or the kind of winters we get,” Kevin answered.

We drove to a tire dealer the next day and bought snow tires. The rest of the winter was uneventful.

This year, I was on track to be fully prepared for winter.

Two weeks ago, the weekend weather was in the 60’s and Terri decided to power wash the inside of her trailer and put it away for the season.

I made the mistake of walking outside as she was getting started. “Can you get the power washer started?” she asked. I pulled on the chord ten or twelve times and nothing happened.

“Let’s call our neighbor Joe’s son, George,” I suggested, “he got it started last time.”

I called George and explained the problem. He told me, “I can’t come now, I’m in a tree stand in Cutler but my dad is home.”

I called his father, a good friend and neighbor and he agreed to come and help.

On his second tug on the starter rope the power washer motor sprang to life.

“What did you do?” I asked. “Just got lucky,” he answered.

Then we noticed that there was no water coming out of the nozzle despite the fact there was a hose hooked to it.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Joe observed. Since he is a graduate of Clarkson University’s Engineering School, I deferred to him. He started to tug on the hose connected to the power washer and quickly discovered that it was not the hose connected to the water faucet. “You people are killing me,” he said with a laugh.

“If you think that’s funny,” I told him, “you ought to see us hook up the snow plow.”

“Let’s do it,” he replied.

We waited for Terri to finish power washing the trailer and she drove her truck into the garage where the plow was on the ground. After some maneuvering we got the plow onto the front of her truck and connected all the cables.

With Terri behind the wheel, Joe said, “Raise it up.” Nothing happened.

We examined all the connections and Joe said, “Try it again.” Still nothing.

Joe said, “I’m going to get my tools.”

He returned shortly and took the cover off the plow and began to test it to see if it was getting power to it. Everything checked out positive. He scratched his head and said, “Try it again.” Still nothing.” At that point, Terri was getting cold and went into the house to get a jacket.

While she was gone, I said to Joe, “Why don’t you take a look inside the cab and see that the joy stick is properly connected.” Joe went to the driver side and reached inside and raised the plow.

When Terri returned I told he Joe had the plow working.

“What did you do?” she asked. He pulled the joy stick out and hit the power button and raised the plow. “Oh,” she said, “I was pushing this button,” pointing to the down pressure on the joy stick.

“Oh my God,” Joe said, “you people are killing me.”

“We shouldn’t be living out here,” I told him, “I’d have pushed the same button too.”

As he packed up his tools I thanked him several times and said, “Joe, I promise to never call you again about the power washer.” He laughed and left.

That night, the snow started to fall and we would get 4 feet of drifting and blowing snow.

We were prepared for everything but that, since I hadn’t put the snow tires on Terri’s truck yet.

Still, being ever the optimist, I thought I could plow it and maybe stay ahead of it before it got too deep. It didn’t take long before the truck was mired in a snow drift.

I went in the house and called Kevin and said, “I’m hung up in a snow drift. If you’re going to plow later today, could you pull me out?”

“I’m working all day and won’t be home until after dark,” he replied, but Joe is working at home today, give him a call.”

I hung up and dialed Joe’s number.

When he picked up, I said, “Joe, you know how I promised that I’d never call you again?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“Well, I lied,” I told him, “I’m hung up on a snow drift.”

“I’ll be right over,” he said.

He arrived shortly and pulled me out of a good size snow bank but when he when to leave, he got hung up on a snow drift.

After trying to extricate himself a few times, he walked home and got a giant earth mover. He returned and pulled his truck out and cleared out a huge snow drift from the driveway.

While he was gone, I managed to get hung up on a drift which he pulled me off with the earth mover.

The snow continued to fall, blow and drift, by the second day all of the progress that had been made the previous day was gone.

My friend and neighbor, Jake, came over. He’s a mechanic and services the many vehicles we own but don’t operate well. He got chains on the front loader tractor and proceeded to move a lot of snow out of the driveway.

I continued to plow but with no snow tires managed to get hung up on the drifts three more times. Jake alternately pulled me out with the tractor and his truck. I asked him whether someone who managed to get hung up five times in three days didn’t qualify for some type of award. I don’t think I got an answer.

By the end of the week, after the snow stopped, I was able to get the snow tires put on the truck.

As I write this, I can gaze out the window and see the truck and plow. It has four snow tires on it and almost five hundred pounds of tube sand in the back of it.

The temperature is close to fifty and the lawn is green.

Still, a little voice inside me keeps asking; “Are you sure you should be living here?”

“Hell, yes,” I reply.