The temp went higher than forty degrees in the night -- a true Chinook "snow-eater" wind -- but mostly what it did was solidify a deep snowfall into white cement. I was not looking forward to the chore of chopping it out where my driveway was bisected by the berm thrown up when the street was plowed. But, mysteriously, when I got up this morning the berm was gone. I work in the back of the house so I never see the Good Samaritans who do this kind of thing. They just do it. It might have been my neighbor or it might have been the town employees putting some final touches on their plow job.
Whoever it was, I'm very grateful. I was not in danger, but I was out of popcorn and peanut butter.
I often think about working men as a category, guys with muscle and smarts who are so often alert and protective. I don't know why anyone who graduated from college would feel more secure, elite, or productive than a working man.
Prairie Mary says thank you publicly.
1 comment:
You have it right, and it is an important reason I choose to live in a small Montana town. We are lucky; I am about 80, and marvelous things keep happening to me.
I am blogging again, Wheeler's World, if you should be interested.
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