by Lindsay Horvath

Created on: January 16, 2009   Last Updated: January 23, 2009

It was August when we bought our dream house. The driveway was covered in a canopy of shadows from the leaves of the vibrant green trees. The former owner assured us that the long, steep driveway leading down to the house required a little extra planning (and probably a plow) during the winter months, but it was no big deal. It was hard to imagine what winter would be like in the overabundant, late summer forest that surrounded the place we were ready to call home.

By September we had moved in, and by October I was pregnant. Although the leaves fell and the months of November, December, and January were cold, it was mild enough that we barely had to break out the rock salt. There had been no snow to speak of, and my husband Gabe and I repeatedly scoffed at all the warnings we'd been issued by well meaning friends and relatives about our "driveway of death."

And then came February. In the days before Valentine's Day, the weathermen were calling for a "big storm". Having grown up in Northeast Pennsylvania, Gabe and I were aware that a "big storm" usually meant "we haven't had snow for awhile, so let's all rush about like maniacs and buy enough bread and milk to last a week!" People who'd been living and driving in deep snow each winter would begin to freak out when the flakes started sticking. The home improvement stores would be full of harried people buying new shovels, snowblowers, and bag upon bag of rock salt.

Needless to say, we didn't put much stock in the predictions. But just in case, Gabe decided to be prepared. He talked his boss (also known as his mother) into letting him take home their business's snow vehicle, an old Jeep with a pitiful plow on the front. He reasoned that by the time he finished plowing himself out, he could immediately head to work and plow the parking lot. As darkness fell, we joked in excitement about how much fun the first "big storm" was going to be, and again snorted our noses at the naysayers who had told us we were crazy for purchasing a house with a long, scary driveway.

The next morning, the snow began around 7 a.m. Like a little kid eager to build his first snowman of the year, Gabe bundled up like an Eskimo and shoveled his way to the Jeep. He brushed off the snow, hopped in, and turned it to the height of monstrosity that was our driveway. He lowered the plow and turned to wave at me. I waved back from my stance by the living room window, where I was toasty warm in my pajamas and sipping my tea. I watched as the Jeep lurched

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