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That time is coming again, folks. Winter is Coming, and with it the familiar mix of beauty, inconvenience, and the kind of treachery only an Alberta chinook can undo.
Pretty soon the sidewalk in front of your house — that narrow strip we all share — will turn into a skating rink unless we do something about it. The goal is simple: get it down to dry pavement so the mail carrier, the kids heading to school, the dog-walkers, and that older couple two doors down don’t end up on their backsides with a broken wrist.
I used to think the shopping-cart test revealed everything you needed to know about a person. Turns out shoveling your walk is the grown-up version, with higher stakes. Returning a cart is easy. Clearing a sidewalk when it’s minus twenty and your snow blower is coughing its last breath? That’s real work. And some of us simply can’t do it — age, injury, travel, money, life. Totally understood.
But for those of us who can, even a half hour with a shovel keeps the whole block safer and friendlier. It means the paramedics don’t have to haul someone away from in front of your house. It means Mrs. Henderson doesn’t have to tiptoe in the street because the sidewalk’s an ice sheet. It means we all get to live in a neighbourhood that quietly says: we look out for each other here.
So when the snow flies, let’s grab the shovel, clear our stretch, and—if you’ve got it in you—give the neighbour’s corner a quick pass if they’re away or hurting. Those small, extra gestures are what make winter survivable and community real.
Winter is Coming. Let’s not let it win—and let’s make our block somewhere worth walking.
bleatmop
Mystro
Dead Wild Roses 
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