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

Then one day, I came home earlier than usual and saw Evan with a shovel, trying to dig out another pile of snow, exhausted and red-faced.

That was it. I'd had enough!

I hugged Evan. "Leave it," I told him.

"But you won't be able to get in after work tomorrow."

"I'll figure it out," I said. "You don't need to keep fixing something that isn't your fault."

He looked confused. "Did something happen?"

"Yeah," I said, more to myself than to him. "Something definitely happened."

A plan had already formed in my head.

That was it. I'd had enough!

For the next few days, I didn't say much.

I kept my distance, watched from the window, and let the situation play out. The forecast promised more snow, and like clockwork, it came. A thick, wet snowfall blanketed the neighborhood overnight, heavy enough to bend the smaller trees and clog gutters.

I woke early that morning, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and looked out the front window.

Our driveway was buried — almost invisible under the weight.

For the next few days, I didn't say much.

Evan padded into the kitchen in his socks.

"Should I start shoveling?" he asked out of habit while yawning.

I shook my head.

"Not today."

His eyebrows lifted. "You sure, Mom?"

"I'm sure," I said. "You're staying inside. Go make pancakes or something."

He blinked, surprised but clearly not about to argue. "Okay… are we letting it melt or what?"

I smiled at him. "We're letting someone else handle it."

And with that, I poured my coffee and waited.

"You sure, Mom?"

At 8 a.m. sharp, as if he were on some self-declared snow patrol, Mark came out wearing his usual gear — thick gloves, boots, and those ridiculous ski goggles.

He fired up the snowblower, and the engine roared to life, breaking the morning silence like a chainsaw at a wedding.

I stood by the front window and watched as he cleared his driveway, not even glancing over at ours.

He did what he always did — wide, easy sweeps — and then turned the chute at an angle that sent a fresh avalanche of snow straight onto the lower third of our driveway.

He didn't even hesitate!

He did what he always did...

Then, he disappeared inside.

I didn't move, grab a shovel, or call Evan. Instead, I grabbed my phone.

Our Home-Owner's Association (HOA) isn't aggressive, but it is thorough. I'd never filed a complaint in all the years we'd lived here, but I had done my homework.

There was a rule, a clear one, about snow removal. You were responsible for your property, yes, but you were also prohibited from displacing snow in a way that blocked someone else's access to theirs.

And intentional or not, Mark had been doing exactly that.

Instead, I grabbed my phone.

The form wasn't hard to fill out.

I included the dates it had happened. I attached a handful of photos, all with clear timestamps, showing the before and after of our driveway. Most importantly, I uploaded video footage from our doorbell camera.

It showed Mark in all his ski-goggled glory, blowing snow directly onto our side.

I clicked submit.

And then I waited.

I included the dates it had happened.

By the next morning, two HOA representatives showed up.

I recognized one of them — Maria, a no-nonsense woman who had chaired last summer's street repaving meeting. The other was a younger guy named Ben, clipboard in hand and already looking annoyed.

They didn't knock on our door.

Instead, they walked straight up to Mark's house and rang the bell.

I stood at my kitchen window, coffee cup in hand, watching it unfold like a scene from a courtroom drama.

They didn't knock on our door.

When Mark opened the door and stepped outside, his smug smile suddenly disappeared.

He immediately started talking.

I couldn't hear him, but I didn't need to. His body language said everything — defensive hand gestures, exasperated expressions, a smirk that faded fast when Maria pointed toward our driveway.

Then they walked him over. Right to the edge.

He immediately started talking.

He looked at the snow piled across our entrance.

His arms went out in protest, then dropped as he realized there was no argument to be made. It was right there. The proof was the snow itself, blocking access to our home.

Ben jotted something down.

Mark's mouth moved quickly, but his shoulders slumped. Maria said something calmly and directly. He nodded once, reluctantly.

Then they left.

Ben jotted something down.

Before Mark went back inside his house, he shouted so loudly that all the neighbors heard him:

"What the hell did you do?!" His words were obviously directed at me.

But I didn't come out so he could confront me.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at my door.

I opened it to find Maria standing there.

"What the hell did you do?!"

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