On day six we finally got plowed out, or rather backhoe(d) out. By my mother's plow guy, the local Fire Chief.
New England is filled with small towns and at their heart are volunteer fire departments. As I have said before, this is a group that collectively has been nicer to us than most any other, both when we met up as friends or as strangers. As the name suggests, they are unpaid. They are also extremely dedicated and competent.
The blizzard caused significant medical emergencies. While we were all safely inside, not only did her plow driver have to react as a first responder in his capacity as Chief, but he also had to bring in his equipment to clear the snow to get there. In the aftermath, he has been recruited by the overwhelmed town to help clear the streets, while still responding to "snow-blowered" fingers and other accidents, and all the while attending to his regular plow customers, who were not universally in the best of moods!
|The Fire Chief, after six nights of almost no sleep, is still smiling.|
|The driveway with settled and very heavy snow was not a one-man job. His father, the former Fire Chief, operated the backhoe.|
Some pictures of my favorite Maine Volunteers and their Fire Departments over the years. It is much more interesting to watch them than to need them.
|The Heart of Many Towns|
|Still a One Bay Station|
|They aid a patient coming off one of the islands.|
|Now a Two Bay Station|
|They host chowder suppers.|
|With a diminished Coast Guard presence in this part of mid-coast Maine, water rescues fall to them.|