I live in Canada; I live in snow. After a decent snowfall, when people leave their driveways to head off to work, the roads which have not yet been plowed get packed in with snow. This causes slick driving conditions; slick driving conditions lead to accidents.
To allay this problem, Canadian transportation engineers have come up with a solution: sand the streets.
Now, imagine if you will, a young lady who was born and raised in Mesa, Arizona. She had never seen snow until she was 12, and never saw it actually fall from honest-to-goodness snow clouds until her 20s. To her, snow was the stuff of childhood Christmas movies–the stuff of dreams. It was as real to her as fairy princesses or tax refunds.
Next, import the young Arizonan into Southern Alberta, Canada, where the only reason snow doesn’t last long is because hurricane-force winds come from the west and blow it all away. When someone mentions “sanding the streets,” the first image that comes to her mind are the handheld orbital sanders she used to refinish her parents’ bathroom cupboards back when she was 13 and ambitious. To her, “sanding the streets” involves some sort of giant rotating sander attached to the back of a government-issued tractor, slowly roughing up the top layer of ice just enough to provide friction for drivers.
That girl is me, and yes…I used to think they literally took sanders to the icy roads.
Imagine how embarrassed I was to find out it’s a bit simpler than that–all they do is sprinkle a sand/salt/calcium/secret agent chemical on the streets which simultaneously melts the ice and generates traction. {It’s good news that I’m majoring in English and not any sort of engineering whatsoever…}
Here in Canada, people not only sand the streets and salt the sidewalks (I pictured walking around outside with a salt grinder, crushing sea salt and sprinkling it around like the tooth fairy does with her pixie dust), but they plug in their cars. Their cars! It’s true–they plug in their cars at home on cold nights, and at little outlets provided by most parking lots. In Arizona, that sort of extra heat added to a car’s battery would send it on the fritz in no time at all.
Learning to shovel snow has been a perilous lesson indeed.
The differences between my birthplace and my married place are vast, to be sure. How do I survive the culture shock, some might ask?
Simple: I’ve learned that wool is not itchy when it’s 20 below, and hot cocoa tastes better with a giant dollop of whipped cream on top.
Have a dollop or two for me this weekend.
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