As a youth in Fort Wayne, I loved the first snow of winter. I could hardly wait for the many lakes in the area to freeze enough for skating. If push came to shove, you could always find a farmer’s field that was frozen enough to skate on if the lake ice wasn’t thick enough.

Everyday after school it was a race to see who could get to the lake at Frankie Park first. You met all your friends in the warming hut and then it was out to the ice where the guys would immediately mark off hockey rinks and the girls would practice their figure skating.

Those were the winter days of my youth. Sometimes we would take to the hills at Hamilton Park, only a block from my house, and spend the daylight hours sledding. Whatever the sport, winter offered a great time of cold play and friendship.

When did I stop liking winter? I think it started when my children were little and it seemed I was constantly bundling and unbundling them as they went outside and then inside and then outside and then.... Well, you get the idea.

I stopped ice skating after my second child, and the sledding ended after the third baby came along. Falling on the ice was no longer fun and when the sled sunk a foot into the snow instead of heading smoothly down the hill, I knew my winter sports days were over.

But I still didn’t mind winter as I had three children to shovel sidewalks and driveways and my husband did most of the driving. All that changed nine years ago, when my husband died and I was suddenly alone with no one to shovel or drive but me.

The week before last some dear unknown soul came over and shoveled out my driveway and sidewalk. Imagine my surprise when I walked out the door to see a cleared driveway. I suspect it’s one of my neighbors but I don’t know who, so I’ll just say I live in a really friendly neighborhood.

But this last week things didn’t go so well. On Monday, getting out of the driveway wasn’t a problem because the city hadn’t even touched my street. The driveway and the street had an equal amount of snow and I was able to drive right out and go on my way.

Unfortunately, on Tuesday the city caught up with their snow removal and had been down my street leaving a large deposit of snow at the end of the driveway. I still thought I could make it out of the driveway. Boy, was I wrong. As the rear tires made it over the snow pile the front tires dug in and stuck with a vengeance.

Try as I might, those tires weren’t going to do anything but spin as the snow just got slicker.

That’s when my luck turned again and what should come along but a garbage truck. The three city workers on the truck didn’t hesitate for a minute. All three came to my rescue. And it took all three to get the car moving and get me off to work.

Ever since we moved to Washington in 1991, I have bragged about the garbage men to anyone who would listen. They put the lids back on the cans. They pick up if a dog has gotten into a bag. They are kind and push your car out if you’re stuck. I learned that I was the third car they had pushed out that Tuesday, and I’m sure they were nowhere near the end of the route.

So until I can afford to spend winters in Florida, I can only hope that the good garbage men of Washington will keep an eye out for poor widowed drivers like me, and maybe the city could give them a bonus per car freed from the clutches of old man winter.

nPat is very grateful for all the help she has received this winter whether from unknown sources or the wonderful garbage men.