My Neighbor Kept Dumping Snow from His Snowplow onto My Driveway – So I Taught Him a Lesson

But the initial relief turned sour quickly.

Mark's big, fancy snowblower — while effective — was apparently not something he could aim very well. Or maybe he just didn't care.

Every time it snowed, he'd plow his driveway at the crack of dawn and then leave behind a large portion of snow that conveniently landed right at the end of ours!

The first time, I thought it was just an accident. The second time, I assumed he didn't realize. The third time, I started to pay attention.

Or maybe he just didn't care.

Sure enough, no matter which way the wind blew or how little snow there was, a chunk of it would always end up pushed right across the front of our driveway.

I'd come home late at night, headlights catching the glistening mound, and have to reverse, park in the street, and wade through knee-deep snow just to get inside.

And the worst part? Evan would quietly grab the shovel the next day and clear it. Again!

He never said a word about it. Not once.

I'd come home late at night and wade through knee-deep snow.

One Thursday, after an especially long shift — three back-to-back trauma cases, one of them a fatality — I pulled into the neighborhood and saw Evan's small frame moving snow under the porch light.

I won't lie. My heart broke a little.

I parked on the street again, climbed over a ridge of snow, and stomped inside, shedding my coat and boots like armor.

Evan followed me inside and sat on the couch, looking exhausted. "Dinner's in the microwave. I made you a grilled cheese."

My heart broke a little.

My throat tightened.

He was 12. And he was already doing more for me than the grown man next door could be bothered to think about.

The next afternoon, I decided to say something.

Mark was out again, carving neat paths in the snow like he was proud of it. I waited until he turned the machine off.

"Hey, Mark," I called, trying to keep my voice even.

He looked up, squinting. "Oh, hey, Laura."

I waited until he turned the machine off.

"So, some of the snow from your blower keeps ending up on our driveway. My son clears it after school so I can get in, and it's becoming a lot."

He gave a short laugh and waved his hand.

"Oh my God, what's the problem? So what if a little snow falls onto your driveway? Am I supposed to watch that? Come on. That's just how it comes out, sometimes. It's not a big deal."

I blinked. But it wasn't just a little snow.

He gave a short laugh and waved his hand.

"It is a big deal, Mark, when it blocks access to the house."

"I mean, it's winter," he said, shaking his head like I was the one being unreasonable. "It's snow. It'll melt."

I tried again. "I'm not asking for anything major. Just a little awareness."

"I'm clearing my property," he said. "I can't worry about every bit of snow."

And with that, he turned the machine back on.

I stood there for a few seconds, watching the fresh wave of snow land right across our freshly cleared path. I didn't say another word.

I just walked back inside.

"It's snow. It'll melt."

Every time Evan finished shoveling, a few hours later, new snowbanks would appear on our driveway again.

One evening, I couldn't pull my car into the driveway properly because of the piles of snow.

Again, I asked Mark to find a way to redirect the snow, but he just laughed and ignored me.

Evan ended up clearing not just our snow but also the snow Mark piled on top of it again — just so I'd have somewhere to park late at night.

Again, I asked Mark to find a way to redirect the snow...

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