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So a great big ol' snowball fell on a two thousand mile wide swath of America last week. We live in Sharon, Wisconsin, right on the Illinois border, close enough to Chicago to be its snowy front porch. We got 18.8 inches here.
Before the storm hit I had a plan....
I have a small 21 inch snow blower with a three-and-a-half horsepower two-cycle engine. If there is less than four inches of snow, and the snow is light and fluffy, it works. Any deeper or heavier than that and it...well...doesn't.
Knowing the tool I had-or better, the one I didn't have-I proposed to stay on top of this storm from the start. Tuesday morning there was a couple of inches on the ground, and I dutifully whisked that right up waiting for the big one. I was on top of things.
The skies began flaking around noon. No big deal. At about four o'clock came the torrent. Sheets of snow bore down constantly for about seventeen hours non-stop.
But I was going to be proactive remember? The strategy was, of course, to stay on top of the snowfall so it never got deeper than what my "little engine that could" could handle.
At nine at night...much to the chagrin of my neighbors I'm sure...I went to the garage and flung my little toy to life. There was probably seven inches of snow-more than I expected-already on the ground. But I attacked.
And attacked...and attacked...and attacked...
I would like to state here for the record that my wife and three dogs were not much help, standing as they were in the window smiling at me from the warmth of the house. Later she said I looked funny.
After forty-five minutes, I had seventy-five percent of my driveway done, and I was hungry for the sidewalks. The little machine struggled mightily and battled gallantly...until...she started making funny noises. I noticed she was sputtering. I thought to myself that this machine is only three years old surely...
She sputtered again...and coughed... and shook....and died.
I walked briskly to the garage as focused as any EMT. I seized the special gas/oil mix, jammed it down her throat, refilling her just in case. Miraculously I was able to resuscitate her and she roared back to life. I launched into the sidewalk with renewed exuberance. But she had had enough. I drove her only about five more feet...and she died again.
I stood there...in the dark...snow pelting me like, well, like real heavy snow. There had to be sad music playing somewhere. I looked at her.
And then I said something I cannot repeat here.
I dragged her to the garage. I was done for the night and would await the morning. Maybe she just needed a good night's rest.
When I got up Wednesday morning at about six, I could see that my little strategy had utterly failed. Through the morning dim and the still falling snow, I saw that my driveway looked no better than anyone else's up and down the block. The wind and snow combined to pile enough back on my driveway to make it look as if I had not done a thing. Sigh.
Undaunted, I went to the garage and primed my little machine. I pulled her rope not once or twice but four times....and nothing. And then I saw it. The pull rope was frayed.
"What?" I thought. "I've had a lawnmower for seven years and it doesn't have a frayed rope!"
Fray or no fray she did me no good laying there silent. So I pulled one more time and...a snap...the rope disappeared like a rabbit down the hole and all that remained visible was a rubber pull handle in my hand.
Please insert another unprintable here.
I looked ay my tundra...my tundra looked at me. Being the determined and courageous man that I am, I would not be denied. I pulled out my shovel. If nothing else I would shovel out my front and back porches...and slice out an area of the yard for the dogs to...um...potty in. They were waiting anxiously.
I knew also that my elderly neighbor had a plow service. When they showed up I told myself I would run over and persuade them to dig us out as well. I am nothing if not persuasive-especially when I'm willing to pay them fifty bucks.
But I was in the backyard...digging out the sacred ground for our dogs...and did not hear the plow show up. By the time I slogged and swam through the snow that separated our property line from our neighbor's...he was gone.
Please insert...well, you know.
I spotted another plow down the block. I started walking, keeping my eyes fixed on my prey. This one would not escape. When I got there the plow was in a driveway, but the driver had disappeared. I had no idea where. I think the FBI is still looking.
I trudged back home. My elderly neighbor cracked her door open.
"Doug?"
"Yes."
"I just heard on the radio that we should check to make sure our heating vents to the outside are clear. Would you mind checking mine?"
"No problem."
And then I asked if she would do me a favor. Would she please call her snow guy and ask him to come back and plow me out. She said sure.
I went home.
I was warming up inside waiting for the plow to show up when I saw another of my neighbors. He with his very big snow blower...heading for my house...my driveway. He plunged in with a vengeance and an hour later my driveway and sidewalks were turned into a newly minted deep maze of snow.
And I thought that it's good to have neighbors with bigger toys than your own.
I texted my son Tim who lives twenty minutes away to see if he dug out alright. And he said it took three hours but he finally did. I told him what happened to me and ended by saying "Thank God for neighbors."
He texted back: "Yep. Today is a neighbor kind of day."
Rewind: I was in Lake Crystal, Minnesota about six months ago, working with a terrific company there called TBEI (Truck Bodies and Equipment International). I went to lunch at the local Dairy Queen.
Behind me were two elderly ladies sitting across the aisle from each other. It was obvious that they had never met before this moment. As one was getting up with her tray, the other leapt up and said, "Let me take that for you."
"I can handle it," said the other.
"No please let me," said the first.
"But why?"
"I just want to," the little ol' tray grabber said. "And who knows, maybe someday I'll need you to take my tray for me."
And I smiled at the thought that this old woman had just summed up all of life in that moment. Cooperation is the bedrock upon which society flourishes. Without it the human race cannot thrive.
Our tendency toward cooperation is based on need. We help because we may need help. It's the reason to cooperate with colleagues, with fellow employees, with other departments, with neighbors and with strangers at a Dairy Queen.
In business, as in life, it's always best when everyday is a neighbor kind of day.
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