Snowraven

Adventures in community co-ownership

It’s early on a Sunday morning. Bitter cold. An inch of snow so far, and more coming. I slurp down my first cup of coffee; it’s enough to get me through the task at hand. I’ll use that second cup, waiting for me in the carafe, as my motivation for slogging through the next hour or so of exhausting manual labor. I gear up: Long johns. Double gloves. Boots. 

A heavy sigh as I open the back door and greet the frigid morning. It’s six degrees, but there’s no Kevin Bacon. At least I have a good podcast to keep me company on this lonely labor. I grab my snow shovel, put the blade on the ground, and go. I hope I have five—maybe 10—minutes until my back is screaming for me to stop. 

A thousand linear feet of snow to go.

...is what would happen if I didn’t have this BIG-ASS SNOWBLOWER!! WOOOOOO VROOM VROOM!!

Make no mistake: I’m still too lightly caffeinated, I’m still geared up against the cold, and Ira Glass’ weird little voice is still ringing in my ears telling me that I’m listening to This American Life, but buddy—instead of that shovel, I’m yanking the pullcord on a hog that’s as big as me. This American life now has a snowblower in it, and it’s roaring to life. 

I behold the glory of Snowraven, for this is the name we’ve given to this machine.* Yes, “we.” We as in the people of the neighborhood. Because we co-own it. 

See, this is not the run-of-the-mill story of a tool-happy Midwestern dad getting a shiny new toy to plow his li’l 10-foot driveway. No, this is the story of a community adventure and the solution to a long-time problem that has vexed it.

We (as in my family and me) live on a corner lot—a big one, with a lot of sidewalk. It’s right across from the elementary school, which is quite a larger property, with even more sidewalk. And both properties are essentially atop a hill; no matter which of the four directions you approach the school from, you’re going to have to hoof it up a significant incline. 

And when all of that sidewalk gets piled up with snow, it’s a mess. Worse, a lot of it just doesn’t ever get cleared. Unless a little snow-shovel gnome comes and does it. (Actually, miscellaneous neighbors often will eventually just emerge from their own street and help get the school walks cleared. None of them are actual gnomes, to my knowledge.) 

The city is supposed to provide this snow removal as a service, but when the white stuff begins to accumulate at all, the crews become completely overwhelmed. Basically, the more snow there is, the less likely you are to get it cleared from your streets and sidewalks. (Whiiiiiich is backwards from the way it should be? Right?) 

And so, all of the little schoolchildren, and their parents, are always fighting snow and ice during pickup and dropoff.

I was seriously considering buying a snowblower last year. But I priced them, and anything good was close to $600, and I just didn’t want to pull the trigger on something that I would use only five or six times a year.

But this year, a frustrated community decided enough was enough. When I was out shoveling the most recent snow, my friend JK pulled up in her minivan and rolled down the window. “We need to get you a snowblower so you can get the school walks, too!” she yelled. We chuckled. We exchanged small talk briefly, and then as she drove off, she called out, “I’m serious about the snowblower!” 

She was. 

She put the word out on the elementary school parents’ Facebook groups. Who wants to go in on a snowblower? A bunch of families, apparently. Including one of the school’s teachers. A lot of people were excited about the prospect of having all the sidewalks around the school cleared consistently. Some were enamored of the idea of having such a powerful tool available for their own sidewalks and driveways, too. 

After a day or so of Facebook chatter and collecting donations, JK Venmo’d me $400. I put up some of my own cash, picked out a good machine, and now suddenly there’s a big ‘ol snowblower sitting in my carport. We named it partially after the school mascot--the raven. Hence: Snowraven.   

We still need to figure out some logistics, though. Who all has access to Snowraven? Can anyone on the list just...swing by and grab it? What is the optimal route? At what point do I hand it off to the next school parent to do their section of the neighborhood, and how does it find its way back to my carport, where it lives? How long will it take to blow a few thousand feet of sidewalk? Will I be able to avoid whooping loudly for joy while I plow?  

Well. Today was the trial run. 

And it was glorious.

Never mind the fact that it was only an inch of snow. I still don’t want to shovel that nonsense like a caveperson!

It took me just a couple of minutes to get the hang of the controls, and off I went. I had mapped out the perfect path. I was thwarted only because someone had already done most of the school sidewalks, leaving the surrounding neighborhood walks to me. No matter. 

I exited my driveway and turned south, then west to the edge of the school property, then across the street, then east, then...you know what, that part is exciting only to me, forget it.  

Okay but I’m kind of proud of it, here’s a map:

Just kidding. For real, here’s a map:

Initial results of the trial run? Superb. Thanks, neighborhood. It’s fun to all be on the same team. I can’t wait to not destroy my back for the next 40 years.

Long live Snowraven! Caw, caw!

*OH MY GOD, wait wait wait, should we call it “Snowpiercer”? Just thought of that.