Snow has fallen — and fallen — and fallen. This is not an uncommon sight, in the middle of the winter, at the Center of the Universe (as our part of Michigan is often referred). The prevailing winds blow across Lake Michigan and the collected moisture collides with the cold land mass and the cursed phenomenon known as “Lake Effect” piles up on everyone’s driveway.

This is when the fluffy white stuff is measured in increments of feet, rather than inches. This is when success is measured in the car’s ability to start, hot chocolate becomes a staple, and snow shovel and ibuprofen sales increase at equal rates. This is the time when neighborhood gangs wear thermal lined hoodies and thinsulate lined boots.

As the day wears on and the snowfall appears to taper off, an army of snow combating warriors emerges from the warmth of their bunkers and prepares to take on the onslaught of “accumulation” that has over powered the driveways and sidewalks of the neighborhood.

It is easy to tell which of the neighbors are new to the tasks of fighting back the influences of lake effect. These are the ill-equipped, poorly prepared, and completely underdressed troops. Their weapon of choice is a mere snow shovel, purchased at the discount store. Their uniform consists of a light coat, thin gloves, and street shoes. Their fighting technique is to foolishly run outside, toss a few shovels full of white fluff in a pile next to the drive, then beat a hasty retreat to the warmth of the indoors — all while mumbling under their breath about the joys of living in Michigan in the

winter time.

Those who have been in this fight for a few years are a little better equipped. Their weapon of choice is a snow shovel with an ergonomic handle to lessen back strain and a coated surface for quicker release when tossing the egregious white stuff to the side of the drive. Their uniform includes boots, gloves and a coat that can hold back some of the biting wind and cold. Their fighting technique is to stand and fight the snow and cold — all while mumbling about never complaining again about how hot it gets in August.

Snow Storm Troopers that have weathered more winters than they care to count are the best equipped, most prepared, and fully capable of standing strong against the elements — no matter what the weather forecasters toss their way. Their favorite weapon is a Snow Chucker 6000, capable of throwing piles of snow a half mile or more.

Their uniform is tried and true — lined boots (good to some temperature below zero that no one wants to test), gloves that hold back cold and moisture (and is equally rated to sub-zero temperatures — again, no one wants to test just how well they protect at that particular degree of frigidness), long johns, flannel shirts and coveralls that create a force shield between the cold of Michigan winters and the warmth of the body within.

Their fighting technique is to hit the electric start on the Snow Chucker, power the exhaust chute in the desired direction, then grab tight on the controls as the snow chucker does all the work — all while laughing at their neighbors who have yet to invest in the power of snow chucking machinery.

As the battle winds down, the combatants align at the end of each driveway, waiting for the inevitable — the coming of the snow plow that will clear the street and clog the freshly cleared drive aprons with a wall of snow rubble.

This is the time for checking out each other’s equipment and bragging. First-timers stare in awe at the vast array of snow chucking gear. Guys that just purchased their first snow chucker brag about the width and breadth of the intake, the velocity and distance of the discharge, and the cubic centimeters of their engine. The seasoned veterans of snow removal brag about how long they’ve had their equipment, how much power it still has, and their secrets for keeping their tool ready for action.

Once spring stakes its claim and the winter retreats, these same warriors will change weapons and uniforms — ready to do battle with crabgrass, gophers, and drought plagued fescue. The fight never ends and is never truly won.

 

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His optimistic “glass full to overflowing” view of life shapes his writing. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. Wilson touts himself as “a dubiously licensed teller of tall tales, sworn to uphold the precept of ‘It’s my story; that’s the way I’m telling it.’” He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com.