By Tim King
Special to the Leader
So much for a nice, slow transition into winter.
The Dec. 2 storm hit with all the subtlety of a cannon ball. It seemed like one minute we were blissfully raking leaves and enjoying the warmth of the fall sun and the next we were bundled in hats, gloves and scarves, enduring words like “wind chill factor” and listening for the inevitable school cancellation announcement on the morning news.
Clearly, we have been spoiled these last few years. Imagine, wearing T-shirts outside on Christmas morning or having your grass still growing in December. I’ll admit it was pretty nice for a while. I was able to stay outside a little longer. It wasn’t quite as cold waiting with my son for the school bus. And, best of all, I could safely leave my jacket behind as I dashed across the Maine Mall parking lot. It was awesome not to wither away with a winter coat on inside the mall.
Yes, the transition from fall to winter was much more pronounced this year than it has been in the past. But, that “hard stop” – a term used in the business world to mean that a meeting actually has to end when it’s supposed to, caused me to recognize a kind of dance taking place in my neighborhood.
Call it the Man-O Tango or the Chugga Chugga Cha-Cha.
Perhaps it was more noticeable because it happened on a weekend, but the first snowstorm of the year definitely set the wheels in motion in my neighborhood. As I was preparing my yard to settle in for its long winters nap beneath a blanket of snow, I noticed each one of my neighbors taking almost the exact same steps I was.
Each of us spent the first part of the morning frantically trying to collect and dispose of the last piles of leaves. I’m not sure of their motivation, but mine is a selfish one – the more I take care of now, the less time I’ll need to spend next spring digging out wet, smelly leaves from my yard. The less time I spend doing that, the more time I’ll have at the beach, the baseball field or exploring the trails of Fuller Farm on Broadturn Road.
After a sufficient amount of leaves have been collected or discreetly blown into the neighboring woods, the rakes are put away, the leaf blowers are hung back on the wall and attention immediately turns from closing down fall to opening up for winter.
Specifically, it was time to get the snow blower running. (Insert “Tim the Toolman” grunting noises here.)
Now, this may not be much of an adventure for some, but for me and my trusty, albeit rusty, 1968 Hahn-Eclipse Snow Giant snow blower – yes, this beautiful behemoth of steel, horsepower and snow carnage is actually older than I am – the first pulls of the season can be instantly gratifying or impossibly frustrating. This year, it went pretty smoothly. It helps when I remember to open the fuel shutoff valve to actually allow gas into the carburetor. I’ll admit this is not always the case. Although their machines are much newer than mine, I noticed each of the other guys in the neighborhood struggling to bring their machines out of summer hibernation too.
It was pretty interesting to see all of us, within the span of a few hours, each roll out his snow beast of choice, add some new gas, give it a few starts, then proceed to, in this order, pray – persuade – proposition – then punish ourselves and our machines as they briefly came to life only to cough and sputter back into silence.
Like an old man finding it increasingly difficult to get out of bed in the morning, my Hahn-Eclipse certainly takes its time coming back to life each year. But who am I to complain? This machine was already 10 years old when it chewed through mountains of snow during the Blizzard of '78, still the yardstick by which all storms are measured back in Massachusetts where I grew up.
I inherited the Snow-Giant 10 years ago from a good friend, who got it from his dad – who got it from HIS dad. It’s amazing to think that each one of us has done the exact same thing on the exact same piece of machinery at the exact same time of year, since Nixon was president.
So, as my neighbors and I now circle the soon-to-be snow covered driveways with our rejuvenated machines, it occurs to me what a great equalizer weather can be.
Hundreds of years ago, people in New England lived their lives tied much more closely with the changing of seasons. There was a time to plant, a time to harvest, a time to stockpile and a time to feast. Today, with all of the conveniences of modern life – electricity for light and heat, clean water from a constantly flowing source, food for every palette and appetite – you would think that we would now be immune to the changing of the seasons.
But if you were to walk around my neighborhood that Saturday afternoon, you would realize, as I did, that we are all still traveling the same path, and that path is still maintained by Mother Nature. We all may have different size families, different careers, even different beliefs, but each one of us was united that day in the same way – and it was the same way that countless others had been united too. We were preparing to keep our families safe against the forecasted storm.
There is something I find comforting in knowing that, as bad as they may appear to be, my struggles are not unique, my joys are not unprecedented and my sadness is not exclusive. “Chill out. What you yelling for? Lay back. It’s all been done before.” – Avril Lavigne.
This concept restores my belief that everything does happen for a reason, and for the most part, there is not much we can screw up that can’t be fixed, with time. We’ve probably got a long, cold winter ahead of us this year. Let’s go into it believing that no matter how cold it becomes in January, the warmth of summer will one day return.
Remembering the hot, sticky summer nights of July makes a cold December wind almost seem refreshing.
We’re all in this together and knowing that is enough for me. And as they say, if you think you can…or you think you can’t, you’re probably right.
I think I can make it to spring. Who’s with me?

Tim King is a freelance writer who sees the forest and the trees from his home in Scarborough.
He can be reached at sylvan.sauntering@gmail.com