Soothing Saturday: The Great Snow Showdown
Big snowfall overnight, and the neighborhood is out in full force. Snowblowers roar, shovels clash, and snowbanks rise like fortresses. Join me for this week’s Soothing Saturday — The Great Snow Showdown.
Soothing Saturday — is my little corner for slowing down and stepping away from my usual genealogy deep dives. Think of it as a gentle exhale at the end of the week — a space for reflections, small joys, and simple stories written just for the pleasure of it.
Overnight, our little street had vanished under a thick white duvet, the kind that makes even the rubbish bins look romantic.
It was beautiful… for about three minutes.
Then it began — the unmistakable whirring, scraping, grunting symphony of a Norwegian neighborhood under siege.
By 8 a.m., everyone was out, armed and ready, facing the great white enemy together (and yet somehow, competitively).
From our window, I could see the entire drama unfold.
It looked less like a quiet residential street and more like Wimbledon in white.
🎙️ “And there’s Knut from Number 12, starting strong on the forecourt with his brand-new snowblower — the 2025 model with dual augers and LED headlights. Across the street, Olav’s returning serve with the classic shovel, steady swing, questionable technique, and probable chiropractor appointment!”
Inger Lise joined me at the window, coffee in hand.
“New machine?” she asked, nodding toward Knut’s driveway.
“Of course,” I said. “He couldn’t possibly go another winter with last year’s model. The old one probably only had five forward speeds.”
She looked at me over her mug. “You’re not going out there, are you? You’ll wreck your back again.”
“I’ll take it easy,” I said.
She raised an eyebrow — the kind that says “That’s what you said last time.”
Out on the street, snow was flying in every direction. Nobody really knew where to put it anymore — the lawns were buried, the hedges gone, and I swear someone had sculpted a small glacier around their mailbox.
🎙️ “Oh, and we’ve got a rally on center court — the boundary line dispute! Knut’s snow seems to have drifted onto Kari’s driveway, and Kari’s not happy. The referee’s pretending not to notice, folks, but tempers are rising!”
The real entertainment, though, came a few minutes later.
Knut fired up his snowblower again and, with one graceful sweep, sent a fine arc of snow neatly over onto Kari’s side.
Kari, not one to back down, responded with a perfectly executed shovel flick — a clean backhand right over the hedge and onto Knut’s newly cleared path.
🎙️ “And there it is — a stunning backhand return from Kari! Beautiful technique, full follow-through. Knut’s on the defensive now, folks — he’ll need to dig deep if he wants to stay in this match!”
Soon, half the street was engaged in what looked suspiciously like a snow-based version of mixed doubles, the snow flying back and forth across invisible boundary lines. No points were scored, but plenty of pride was at stake.
I stood there for a while, coffee mug warming my hands, feeling smugly superior to those poor souls out there battling the elements.
That lasted right up until Inger Lise said, without looking at me:
“If you’re going to do it, at least stretch first.”
And that was that.
I sighed, pulled on my coat, and stepped into the arena.
🎙️ “And here comes Martin — entering the match late! He’s chosen the vintage aluminum shovel, manual transmission, one careful owner. No lights, no batteries, just pure human suffering!”
I took my place in our driveway and got to work.
The snow was heavy, the kind that sticks to the shovel and to your soul.
Around me, engines roared and men shouted across driveways about horsepower, torque, and fuel efficiency.
It was less about clearing snow and more about establishing dominance.
Inger Lise peeked out the door again.
“Please don’t overdo it, dear.”
“I won’t,” I puffed, pretending not to notice Knut effortlessly clearing his entire property in the time it took me to do one square meter.
🎙️ “Martin’s playing the long game here, folks. Classic endurance strategy — slow but steady. Meanwhile, Knut’s showboating with the dual auger! Oh! And Olav’s shovel just snapped — that’s a forced error if I’ve ever seen one!”
By midmorning, the battle was over.
The driveways were clean, the street narrowed by towering snowbanks, and the neighborhood stood victorious.
One by one, everyone leaned on their shovels or switched off their snowblowers, pretending they weren’t completely exhausted.
Steam rose from hats and collars like tired athletes after a hard-fought match.
I trudged back inside, leaving perfect footprints on the clean path.
Inger Lise handed me a mug of coffee and said softly, “Well done — and no heroics next time.”
I raised my mug in mock salute.
“Neighbors 1, Winter 0.”
She smiled. “And you — still walking upright.”
Until next time — may your coffee be warm, your records be legible, and your heart find a reason to smile. Have a great weekend!
