We got back home from the airport to find we could actually get up our drive - just. This wasn't the case when we got back from a trip a couple of years ago and the snow was waist deep. We had to leave the car out on the road and fight our way through it like Scott of the Antarctic. Fortunately a kind neighbour was on hand to rescue us with his personal snowplough, even though it was late at night. Western New Yorkers are like that. And yesterday he was back again.
Unfortunately it was a little premature. Today we had around ten inches and the drive was somewhere under it.
The streets in town were pretty dire too. I struggled in to the hairdresser, crawling all the way and leading a convoy of pickup trucks probably intensely irritated and dying to pass but Western New Yorkers are kind drivers and don't hoot at you much.
The hairdresser, my usual source of local gossip, confirmed that I wasn't the only one fed up with the road conditions. According to her, the town snow plough drivers aren't what they used to be. "They won't come out unless it's at least four inches", she grumbled, "It's in their contract."