The sound of a skidoo squealed through the air on a recent sunny morning.
Our driveway had succumbed to yet another blast of hard-drifted snow, and we had been snowbound at home for eight days. Even the municipal plow had tried and failed to crack through this latest solid mass. It had gotten stuck and barely got out again.
In spite of the snow, here was our neighbour Peter Wolf arriving, crowning the four-foot-high drift triumphantly.
“We heard you couldn’t get out,” he said, his face red with the wind and cold after a one-mile trip over the fields. “We had to see if you were OK.”
“No one can get in,” I said, “but we can have things dropped off at the road, so we really are OK.”
Peter gave us a hand with a couple of jobs, and left after a short visit, with assurances from us that all would be well, and no help was needed.
A few hours later a heavy, vibrating sound came from the direction of the public road. Looking along the quarter-mile sea of drifts, I could just barely make out the machinery. It was the Wolfs, a pack of them, making their way towards us.
“We told you not to come,” I shouted when they came closer. “It’s too much! No one can deal with it now!”
“Never tell a Wolf that something can’t be done,” said Peter’s father, John. “We don’t believe in the word.”
There was no stopping them. First, they cut into the depths with a little bobcat, and following it with a Deere tractor and a snowblower that shot the broken pieces out over the field. When the chain came off the blower – they fixed it – and eventually put a heavier one on to cope with the load. They worked until nightfall, and came again the next morning, inching their way towards the shelterbelt and the yards full of sheep. By noon we were able to get a vehicle out to the road. Thank you Peter, Henry and John Wolf. Another perfect example of neighbour helping neighbour.
– Kim Langen writes from Holmfield, Manitoba