The idea came to me a few nights ago when I found myself in a standoff with a City of Portland plow. Gripping my shovel like a determined farmer in a wintry version of “American Gothic,” I glared at the truck, which was sitting at a stop sign a block away, revving its engine and getting ready to charge.
Three times that day I had shoveled myself out, taking great care to heap the ever accumulating piles of snow atop the mountainous pillars flanking my driveway rather than allow any of it to spill into the road. And three times that day, shortly after accomplishing this back-breaking task, I retreated inside, removed my boots and looked out the window to find that I was once again plowed in.
So that night, as I stared down the snorting beast with its tremendous orange blades and blinking lights, I resolved that I would stand there as long as it took, fighting the plow off Don Quixote style with my shovel as my lance, to avoid facing the same fate a fourth time in fewer than 24 hours.
The plow driver seemed to know what I was thinking. He made one pass to clear the opposite side of the street, and then another on my side, but with his blades lifted as he went by my particular parcel of land, where I remained, innocently rearranging the few crumbs of snow that littered my otherwise pristine driveway. With each subsequent pass, I could feel the driver scrutinizing me, assessing the situation and trying to decide how to proceed. He needed to do his job, but he wasn’t about to plow me in while I was right there. And that gave me an idea.
Plow Watch.
Unlike Neighborhood Watch, which focuses on insignificant issues like getting rid of crackhouses and drug dealers and crime, Plow Watch would unite neighbors to fight a more pressing menace: city snow plows that erect solid walls of the densest, iciest, heaviest snow imaginable at the ends of driveways which have recently been cleared.
Here’s how it would work:
At an initial meeting in late October, walkie talkies would be distributed and all participating neighbors would devise cool handles like “Chrome Aardvark,” and “Sugar Tires.” Then we’d go home and wait for the first storm to hit, and as soon as the first six inches accumualted, Plow Watch would snap into action.
In pre-arranged shifts, P-Watch members would take turns watching for the plow, sounding the alarm as soon as those telltale orange lights became visible on the horizon. “Breaker 1-9, breaker 1-9. The salt shaker is at the table. Repeat, the salt shaker is at the table.”
Upon hearing the call on their radios, the rest of the members of the local PW team would don their foul weather gear and make for the ends of their driveways, shovels in hand. With so many witnesses to scowl at them and perhaps even shake a fist or two, plow drivers would have to think twice about where they put that snow. To plow-in a drive in plain sight would be like knocking down sandcastles while innocent children were still hard at work on them.
Of course, we’d have to stay outside for long periods of time and be able to staff our Plow Watch around the clock, but hey, we could make it fun. Neighbors could take turns providing refreshments — cocoa, cookies, hot mulled cider — and even providing entertainment. Perhaps someone could even position a large screen TV in front of a picture window so we could all catch a movie together.
It would be like a block party, and it would be well worth it. With three more months of winter ahead, I’d do just about anything to shovel once and still be able to back out in the morning. Let’s just hope my neighbors feel the same.
Belinda Ray is a homeschooling mother and freelance writer who finds time to write when her children and their friends have lightsaber battles in the yoga room (but only if the laundry is already folded and everyone’s been fed).