Nor'easter Sunday

Barry opens his eyes and the day greets him with a flow of brisk air making its way up the side of the bed and under the sheets. He sleeps with a long sleeve shirt and sweatpants on but is still cold. He gets out of bed, puts on an additional sweatshirt, and moves toward the window. He peals back the blackout curtains and is shocked by an unexpected site. The sun. It is February in Buffalo, NY and the past week has seen temperatures in the teens and has been quite gloomy. The sun fills him with hope and joy.

As Barry completes his morning routine consisting of a short yoga and meditation practice, he contemplates what he might do this fine Saturday. The options are limitless. In the end, practicality and productivity prevail.

Chore number one is to tackle the icy driveway that has been getting worse over the past few days. It is a miracle he has not slipped and fallen yet walking it every morning to his car parked on the street. Now, with the sun aiding and the ice melting away, Barry can start the laborious task of salting and chipping.

Barry opts for the rusty metal coal shovel because the thick ice renders the cheap plastic snow shovel useless. Halfway through clearing, a friendly face makes their way down the sidewalk in front of Barry’s house. “Good morning Mr. Bevilaqua!” Barry exclaims. “How are you this beautiful Buffalo Morning?!”

Mr. Bevilaqua is a tall slender man who walks with one leg dragging behind him. His strut is slow but purposeful. A widow of 10 years, he makes his morning pilgrimage to the local café and bookstore a mile away to have his morning meal, read the newspaper, and do the Commuter's Crossword Puzzle. The good morning hellos and brief conversation are the extent of his and Barry’s relationship.

“I’m tolerable” Mr. Bevilaqua offers in reply, his standard response. “Beautiful day today but don’t get too used to it. The groundhog saw his shadow yesterday.” While the famed Punxsutawney Phil is only right 40% of the time, Barry decides to humor the 75 years young gentleman.

“That pesky rodent! At least we are used to long winters.” Barry states. “Indeed. Don’t work too hard with that shoveling.” Mr. Bevilaqua has a plow service so that kind of tedious back breaking work is something he no longer partakes in. With Mr. Bevilaqua carrying on, Barry gets back to work. After a few hours on the driveway and sidewalk in front of his house, he is satisfied and returns inside.

On the way up the stairs to his second level flat, Barry collects the newspaper he bypassed on the way down. The headline of the day zaps the brightness the morning sun had filled him with. Nor’easter Storm Moves Towards Western New York. He had heard about a potential storm hitting the southern tier, but the band has now shifted and threatens to land overnight. At least it is the weekend and there will be no commute the next day. Maybe it won’t be so bad.

Barry now begins tackling the host of other chores he has for the day. Mopping the floors, vacuuming, hand washing the dishes, and a few loads of laundry. With those out of the way, he can relax with a day of sports and reading. The Buffalo Sabres are in action and like every other season since their last playoff appearance, this one is poised to be their year. Hope springs eternal for Buffalonians.

Sometime during the matinee game, the flakes begin to fly. Not heavy, but not light. It is clear the Storm has arrived. "Great, should've waited to shovel." Barry thinks to himself. Another loss to add to the one the hockey team served up. With that, Barry grabs a book off the shelve, queues up the lo fi beats, and dives into the story.

The evening passes by and the storm is now in full force. The local weather is now predicting about an inch of snow fall per hour through the night and late into Sunday. January was a tame month in terms of snow fall. February is coming in like a lion.

Barry sleeps in later than expected Sunday morning. He again peals back the blackout curtains to assess the damage the Nor'easter has done. By 8 am a foot and a half of snow has blanketed the city since he entered dreamland. The street is unplowed and undrivable without an SUV. Even though it is a Sunday and Barry is an adult, he cannot help but feel like a kid waking up to an obvious snow day.

Today will not be a wash for Barry. Most people who live in areas that experience all four seasons develop some sort of winter hobby to help them through the frigid months. His is snow shoeing. Barry bundles up, straps on the aluminum footwear, and makes way towards the city park.

The city is silent. No steady hum of car engines fill the streets. The snow has not let up. Upon arrival at the park, he makes his way down creek side to enjoy the sound of the flowing water that usually is drowned out by the noise produced by others enjoying the park. While the creek is partially frozen, a flock of ducks still occupy the same bank they have and always will. "Good day to be a duck" Barry says to no one. Something about the determination those ducks have to ride out anything the elements offer up and make it out the other side exactly where they started fills Barry with a sense of pride, especially for his city. Like the ducks, he, and everyone else could leave. Certainly, people do. Plenty of snowbirds exist. But the ones who stay and trudge on, to be where they love to be, are the ones who inspire Barry the most.

Barry observes the ducks for a while. Not too long but long enough to notice a young duckling do something quite spectacular. With the absence of insects and aquatic life in the winter, the ducks subside mostly on grass and weeds. The duckling has pulled a rather large weed in comparison to its own size off the bank and dragged it onto land. Once there, he eats his fill. What happened next was what interested Barry. Where he expected the duckling to leave the weed possibly for later, he did not. The young duck picked it back up and presented it to another larger duck on the bank. A small gesture the elder statesman duck clearly appreciated as he gobbled it down. The respect the new had for the old was quite impressive to Barry.

He wrapped up the bird watching expedition and began the journey home. As he turns onto his street, he notices the median that divides the two sides is completely invisible due to the accumulating snow. It is at this point he realizes his sleeping in prevented him from seeing Mr. Bevilaqua taking his walk this morning. He wonders if he even took the walk with the way things were looking. Barry doesn't pay this much thought as he heads into his house to warm up with a warm cup of coffee. He didn't have any hot cocoa one usually imbibes to cap off a snow day.

The evening passes and the snow stays steady. 2 plus feet has fallen now and the winter weather advisory has extended to Monday night. Looks like no work tomorrow. As Barry lays down for bed, he contemplates what he might do with the additional time. "We'll see what tomorrow brings." he says as he drifts off.

Monday morning Barry awakes early because he forgot to turn off his work alarm. As predicted, his business has shut down for the day due to unsafe travel conditions. Over 3 feet of snow has built up, which even in Buffalo is enough to raise your eyebrows. Due to city parking regulations Barry is forced to dig out his car and move it to the other side of the street or risk getting ticketed for parking illegally. That is how he starts his day.

The snow is light but heavy because of the sheer amount there is. He brushes and brushes and eventually frees his vehicle from the white prison. He manages to drive it to the other side only because a plow recently came down his side street for the first time since the storm hit. He again takes note he has not seen Mr. Bevilaqua. He begins to feel a bit concerned.

Barry is fairly sure Mr. Bevilaqua lives alone since the passing of his beloved bride of 40 years. He does not remember ever seeing any children visiting him or accompanying him on his morning treks. "I wonder if anyone has checked in on him." Barry thinks. Knowing the answer was more than likely no, he walks down the street a few houses to take a peek at Mr. Bevilaqua's house.

What Barry sees is very strange. Even from a few houses down he could tell the driveway had not been cleared. The snow blocked street must have prevented the plow service from accessing their customers on their block. Since it's illegal to plow the streets themselves, they must have been forced to leave everyone in the lurch.

He continues down closer to Mr. Bevilaqua's home until he is standing at the end of the drive. The entire driveway is untouched save for one disturbed area under the side entranceway into the house. Snow appears to be sunken and tossed about a few feet from the door. In fact, upon closer inspection, the door is cracked open!

Barry rushes through the waist high snow frantically to get to the door. He calls into the opening to Mr. Bevilaqua and hears a faint moaning. Barry crosses the threshold of the door and sees Mr. Bevilaqua laying on the floor of the atrium.

Sometime early Saturday Mr. Bevilaqua had indeed taken his morning walk to the café. He was unperturbed by the mounting blizzard. He went about his routine like he does every other day and returned home. Day turned to evening and Mr. Bevilaqua was getting frustrated that he had not seen his plow service yet. "What the hell am I paying for?" he grumbles as he dials the number to give them a call. An automated message explains that due to the blizzard conditions and inaccessible roads the plow service had to suspend operations until the next day. "If you want something done you gotta do it yourself" Mr. Bevilaqua decides.

He gets his snow gear on and heads out the door towards the garage to acquire his shovel. "Been years since I did this" he thought as he reflected on better days. That is when it happened. While he was in his mind thinking about all the times he cleared the way early in the morning so his wife could get to work on time, he hit an ice patch outside the door. Down he went like the tree branches throughout the neighborhood too burdened by the piling snow. Mr. Bevilaqua braces for the fall, but lands hard on his shoulder and twists an ankle on the descent.

Writhing in pain he determines if he is going to survive this fall, he is going to have to get back inside and call for help. With the hampered ankle and prior limping issues, walking is out of the question. He will have to scoot his way back, but with the throbbing pain in his shoulder it will have to be done with only one arm. Progress was slow and the snow kept coming down. With the sun gone for the day the temperature dropped and Mr. Bevilaqua was beginning to lose feeling in his hands. After what must have been an hour, he had made it into the doorway. He is exhausted. He passes out right there on the atrium floor. When he awakes, it is to the sound of someone shouting in his door.

Barry is now kneeling beside Mr. Bevilaqua asking a million questions. "What happened? Are you ok? How long have you been here?" Quickly Barry dials 9-1-1. He is in dismay when they tell him an ambulance will not be able to make it to them for hours. Hours? How can that be. A hospital less than 2 miles away never felt so far. He switches gears and is now planning how to get Mr. Bevilaqua there without an ambulance. Driving is not an option. He would not be able to carry him that far. That is when an idea just crazy enough to work pops into his mind.

Barry rushes back home and into the basement. He grabs hold of his spool of camping rope and hurries up the stairs to the attic. In the attack, he finds the decorative toboggan he places on the front porch during the holidays. With these in hand he rushes back to Mr. Bevilaqua's.

Mr. Bevilaqua is in the same spot Barry left him. Barry explains what he is about to do and hoists the elderly man onto the toboggan. He then ties the rope to the front and starts to pull. In the beginning it is difficult. Once he gains a little momentum, he is able to pull at a steady pace. They should arrive at the hospital in no more than 40 minutes if he can maintain.

Mr. Bevilaqua is admitted into the hospital. They put his dislocated shoulder back in and give him a walking boot for the high ankle sprain he suffered. They have him spend the night for observation. Barry stays with him and messages his boss to let him know he would not be in today. Sometime early Tuesday morning the snow ceases. The city is able to get some control over the streets and Barry walks back home to retrieve his car. As much as he would be willing to pull Mr. Bevilaqua back home on the toboggan, he does not feel Mr. Bevilaqua would reciprocate the feeling.

The physician does his morning rounds and discharges Mr. Bevilaqua. They load into the car and head back toward home. Barry makes a right out of the lot and another quick right to the head down the cross street their street is off of. "Where are you going?" Mr. Bevilaqua says from the passenger seat. "The café is back the other way". Barry looks at Mr. Bevilaqua, smiles, and gives him a nod. He then continues through the traffic circle all the way back to the direction they came from. They enjoy a nice breakfast and cup of coffee together while they get to know each other a little bit more. Barry learns Mr. Bevilaqua has no family left. He has been on his own since the passing of his wife. This meal brings them closer than he ever thought they would be.

From that point forward their relationship transcends the hello how are you exchanges on the street. Barry accompanies the older adult to the café whenever he can. He helps him with tasks around the house. He becomes his new driveway clearer so that an incident like that never happens again. They develop a bond that can only be described as that of a grandparent and grandchild. Mr. Bevilaqua shares stories of the olden days. Barry tries to introduce him to new music. Some things never change.

Winter indubitably yields to spring and the snow melts away. The snowbirds return and the city is bustling with activity. Mr. Bevilaqua and Barry take a stroll through the park one morning after finishing up at the café. They return to the creek side Barry visited a few months ago. The ducks remain, occupying the same bank they always have, always will. They cling to their independence and freedom like a bread crumb thrown by a well-intentioned human. Barry gets it now. For all the ducks to continue to occupy their space, they must fulfill their unique roles. The young help the old with tasks that are simple for them but monumental for the old. The old offer something else entirely, knowledge and experience. Whether you are blood family or like family, everyone benefits from this type of symbiotic relationship. The radiant sun shines on.