Monday morning, I woke up to the sound of my father plowing the front yard along with our neighbors, my sisters bundled up and throwing themselves into the snow, and a text from my best friend saying she felt like we were back in sixth grade.
“It feels like middle school, snow day, and the Patriots in the Super Bowl,” she texted me.
I didn’t care much about football then — and I still don’t — but she was right. When was the last time we saw snow like this? There’s something unsettling about realizing that what once felt like winter magic — no school, no responsibilities — has quietly turned into a single anxious question: How am I going to get anywhere?
Throughout this week, I have seen a total of four plows, and one of those is from a picture. As a new journalist, I have gotten the opportunity to speak and also listen to hard-working people from the city to inform other hard-working residents.
I recognize and appreciate the time and money that we’re being told is being put into cleaning up Lynn and the surrounding cities, but looking around, I can’t see it being reflected.
As another storm moves closer to the region, we are still unsure of the exact amount of snow we’re supposed to get. But one thing is for certain: anything extra would be totally unmanageable.
I hope we don’t go from bad to worse.
That’s not a far-fetched claim at all. By two o’clock, students are trudging through unplowed sidewalks, residents are forced off the curb and into the street with the cars, and drivers must slither through roads once meant for two lanes — now barely one — while watching for pedestrians suddenly walking beside them.
This isn’t just a Lynn issue, but a regional issue. On the back roads of Swampscott, there are still roads that are not down to pavement but slushy streets. Cars are struggling to see around snow banks when turning onto a new street, and just crossing their fingers as they make their way in.
On the bright side of things, a Saugus friend did share a more positive note: “The DPW did a good job getting the roads clear. They started bright and early and kept plowing. A lot of the streets are pretty clear and drivable. All the ones near me look as good as they can right now.”
Inconveniently, though, just Thursday night, a lane on Route 1 in Saugus was closed due to a giant snowblower dumping snow in waiting trucks, and the town of Nahant suddenly has 4-6 inches off their roads.
As if we’re thousands of miles apart and not just 7, my friend from Marblehead and I exchanged our ‘war stories.’
“While a small town can only handle so much snow, it definitely helps being able to dump it in the harbor.” She joked. “I would say the roads are as clear as they can be, even though I did slide halfway down mine, but in the end I chose to live in Marblehead, not Miami.”
I huff white breath into the cold as I circle downtown Lynn, scanning for any break in the crosswalks that feels remotely safe. I step off the curb on faith, hoping the sharp cold hasn’t frozen compassion out of the drivers’ hands, and make it across. On the other side, I stop again, taking inventory — where can I actually walk now?
The choices feel bleak but familiar: a clean, deliberate cut in the snow, neatly cleared by the city, or a narrow, trampled path carved out by a frustrated resident who needed to get somewhere — anywhere — fast.
So when you find yourself buying yet another shovel, refilling the salt bucket you emptied last weekend, or half-seriously researching whether your 2010 sedan could survive being turned into a snowplow, remember the small moments along the way. Remember locking eyes with the driver coming straight toward you on what used to be a two-way street, the shared understanding flickering between you both: I’m really not in the mood to take photos of a wrecked car for my insurance company.
Or remember the laugh you let out when a high school track athlete nearly wiped out on an icy sidewalk during practice (I hope you’re okay).
And keep in mind, it can all get worse on Sunday.
