It was a winter day after a long snowfall. It was the beginning of 2006.

We were out for a walk along our usual route — up our street, down and around the other, and back. The roads had been plowed, but everyone’s driveways were overloaded with snow. The day felt fresh, crisp, and not at all portentous.

They had purchased their house and moved in a couple of months earlier. The house had been for sale on and off for over two years and had finally managed to attract these new owners: Y, B (Mrs. Crazy), and their two daughters.

As we walked up to their house I saw Y trying to start a shiny new snowblower. The snow on their driveway was quite a bit higher than everyone else’s and this accounted for the excessively deep tire tracks that led from the road to the garage. You could tell that the driveway hadn’t been cleared all Winter and the heap of snow was now making the driveway impassable.

Y appeared frustrated with the snowblower as we walked by.

We walked around their cul-de-sac and ended up in front of their house again. This time Y looked at us and trudged through the snow to come and say hi. He seemed embarrassed that he couldn’t start the snowblower. After the introductions he asked if I could help him with the machine. I can’t remember if we ever really understood what his name was at that time because his English isn’t great. They are Polish and have been in Canada for about 15 years. They had been city folks since they moved to Canada and this now was their first experience with living in the middle of nowhere. Because the driveway they used to have was much narrower and shorter, they’d never had to deal with this quantity of snow.

I eventually managed to get to the snowblower and proceeded to fiddle with it. I had no idea what to do. There were too many knobs and switches and one long electrical cord connected to what I assumed was the starter.

You see, the hand-me-down snowblower that I had at the time was a tiny one compared to this beast. You started it like a lawnmower and it had one throttle control like a lawnmower. Granted, it was obviously undersized for the job of removing snow from our driveway. After one and a half winters around here, the busted snow chute had to be held precariously together with twine and duct tape. That little guy eventually got sent to snowblower heaven (or more likely hell since it belonged to me) and we bought one more suited to the job here. One like Y’s.

Anyway, after pushing a button here, pulling the electrical extension cord there, I got to the plastic safety key on Y’s machine and found that it was loose. I seated it firmly, tried the starter, and the blower roared to life with a billow of sooty smoke.

Y looked at me with the same embarrassed expression but was very thankful. It still took him about a week to figure out how to actually use the machine now that he was able to start it. He managed to clear a narrow track of driveway the first day, it took him a while longer to get the rest done.

I left his house pleased with myself that I was able to help a neighbour, but more importantly, that I was able to show The Girl that I could get heavy machinery to respect me.

Spring arrived, the leaves appeared on the branches and became lush, the smell of fecundity filled the air, and Y got a purebred German Shepherd puppy…

More to come: Canine control, courts, and campfire conversations.