When you move to a new home in the winter season, there isn’t much opportunity to meet your neighbours.
So this is a thank you letter to Tim, the fellow next door, who I have only met twice, talking to each other across the lawn.
I know he has a beautiful old dog that I see sometimes playing in the yard. I know he has a wife. I know their Christmas lawn display made me happy this holiday season. I’d come home at night and see the coloured lights, and I know it sounds silly, but it made the season brighter for me.
We were still unpacking from the move, so our holiday decor was stuffed somewhere in the back of the garage.
This winter, every single time the snow came, Tim showed up in his fluorescent orange jacket (a cape, if you ask me), with this snowblower, and cleared our driveway before we could get boots on to do it ourselves. You’d think it was his job, like we’d arranged this, but no, this is just who Tim is.
He wouldn’t just do our driveway, he’d navigate the sidewalks in front of both of our houses. He’d head across the street and clear a few other driveways, too.
After the wallop of snow this weekend, I did my best to get a jump on the shovelling because it seemed like this snow was never going to stop. Just because Tim has helped before doesn’t mean the guy is on call. You can’t expect a neighbour to bail you out every time.
I’m sure my shovelling technique leaves a lot to be desired, I can only imagine what I looked like doing this task. What I lack in upper-body strength, I make up for in huffing, puffing and weak-wristed tosses of snow. How could something that falls so lightly and beautifully weigh so darn much? Yet, I was determined that when the Carpenter got home from work, he’d find a clear driveway.
I also had to get my daughter to work because her role doesn’t allow for snow days. Getting out of the driveway in my little car wasn’t going to be easy. I was going to have to shovel a few rounds. I was working up a sweat, but I wasn’t making quick work of it.
Tim saw me out there trying to lift shovelfuls of the white weight. He called out to me to stop, said he’d be right over. Sure enough, by the time I got back to my indoor chores, Tim was out there, clearing my driveway before moving up to the homes of other people he takes care of, simply because he has the snowblower to help.
When asked how we could repay him, he said, “No need, the blower’s already started so might as well keep going.” (Rest assured, there is a plan to pay him back.)
It struck me, on a weekend where we celebrated the Canadian flag, that this is who we are, as neighbours, as communities, as a country.
In a world where powerful forces are working hard to create division, where the shadow of an unruly neighbour to the south looms large over us all, this is the time to remember the strength of our communities, the fabric of our little neighbourhoods, where kindness is as simple as shovelling a driveway.
We take care of each other. That’s who we are. That’s who we’ve always been.
Thanks, Tim.
