Can't Keep up with the Thanks

Yesterday, five strangers helped free me from walls of snow that had built up at the intersection nearest my house, and later, at the entrance to my driveway. I still have to learn how people in Michigan cope with the barriers deposited by snow plows as they go by. Do you park near the barrier, get out of the car, take a shovel from your trunk, and clear a path? Do you drive nothing but AWD vehicles? What am I missing?

Be that as it may, the help arrived in waves, in a moving crescendo of humane gestures, to the point that I was holding back the tears as I thanked the last helper of the day.

In the morning, I could not turn out of my side street onto a cleared road due to the piles and ridges of snow and my unskilled approach to the barrier. "Momentum is your friend," said one of the young men who pulled over to help me in an enormous pickup with a snowplow attached to the front. "After you get going, don't give it much gas or you'll spin." After they tried to push me out, one of them got in the car and drove it out of the drifts. I was so nervous about having my car sitting in the busy road as I resumed the driver's seat, I failed to give them my name, offer payment for the help (how do you know when that is appropriate?), ask if they would plow my driveway as a business arrangement, or do anything but stammer "Thank you." As I drove away, I reviewed all the missed opportunities to connect.

Coming home in the evening, I found my street plowed clean. At the entrance to my driveway loomed the biggest wall of snow so far this winter. As I approached, I had to decide whether to turn in. More rapidly than I am used to thinking, I reviewed my options: (1) park somewhere else (where?), go in my garage, retrieve my snow shovel, and remove the wall; (2) barrel through; (3) start to barrel through and if I get stuck, deal with it. I chose (3), and dealt with it for the next 45 minutes. I went forward and backward in quarter inches. I feared to leave the car untenanted while I went to the garage. Eventually, a young woman pulled over and asked if she could help. "Would you sit here while I go get a shovel?" She would. I returned with the shovel. "Do you want me to push you?" she queried. I estimated her weight at 105 pounds. "No, thanks. I will have to shovel some of this snow out of the way first." She looked wistful and drove on. The warmth of her sincere desire to help fuelled my shovelling for a few minutes. Then I tried again to move the car. I got a few inches of purchase but every time I saw headlights I braked because I didn't want to shoot out uncontrollably and hit an oncoming neighbor. A large vehicle stopped nearby. I hoped it was a city vehicle with some kind of car extraction mechanism on board. The neighborhood UPS driver walked over. "I can't stop long," he said, "but I'll try to push you out. Do you have front wheel drive?" "I don't know. I just know it's not all-wheel drive." "Do you want to go in or out?" (It was not easy to tell from the car's position.) He did push, but the car was not going anywhere. With apparent regret, he too left to go about his duties. First, he advised me to go inside and bring out some coffee grounds or sand or something else gritty to put under the tires.

I shoveled again. I remembered some sno-melt in the trunk. I shook the little pellets under the front tires. I was revving the engine again when an SUV stopped. A man who seemed uncertain how to proceed asked if I needed help. "Yes," I said. He parked in the street and took over with the shovel. After a few moments, he said, "I'll try to push you. Straighten your wheels." The car was absolutely stuck on patches of ice. He pushed on the hood. "Now go back. Now go forward." I did what I had been doing for the last 45 minutes, and the car climbed out of the clutches of the snow and ice and moved up the driveway. "I can't believe it!" I thought. What had he done? It was like magic. I parked and walked back down to the foot of the driveway where he was shovelling the remaining snow to the periphery. I feared that if I spoke, I would break into sobs of relief, gratitude and amazement at what seemed like a magical escape. "Thank you," I whispered.

As he was driving away, I remembered my regrets from the morning. "My name is Sarah Gorman," I said. "I'm a new resident here." "I've lived in the neighborhood since the '60s," he said. "Just around that corner, the second house down. I thought you might need help because the first time I drove by, you were stuck; and then when I came back, you were still here." He still seemed tentative about things. His manner was gentle and pleasantly uncertain. He drove away.

As I walked into the house, I noticed that the driveway itself had been cleared during the day. My next-door neighbor with the snow blower, I imagine. The sidewalks on either side of my driveway had been cleared, perhaps by another neighbor who came all the way to my driveway instead of stopping where his property line ended.

Not 5, but 7 people helped me yesterday to deal with the snow and my inexperience and my limitations of physical strength, judgment, and know-how. Every one of them was modest, compassionate, and effective. I am not usually all three on any given day. I don't refer to the winter storm when I say, What a blast!