The Driveway of Doom

It looks innocent now, vulnerable and exposed, its tough gravel skin gone after months of snow plow abuse. But throw on a dusting of snow, sub-zero temperatures, and a non-AWD vehicle and that thing becomes lethal. Lethal, I tell you.

It has a reputation around here. I’ve even heard it called “the worst driveway in town.” Makes me proud.

It tested us early on during the epic Let’s-Run-Out-of-Kerosene-the-First-Week-We-Move-In-and-See-If-Anyone-Will-Save-Us fiasco. And it threw a minor tantrum when we got our new mattress delivered, despite the generous helping of sand, perfectly seasoned with salt, I fed it for breakfast that morning. After that, it seemed to settle in to its new life with us, welcoming us home day after day with nary a complaint.

But there was that one night not too long ago when our driveway had had enough. Miserable after a day of wet, heavy snow, it was obvious it just wanted to be left alone.

“Not tonight,” it whined, as our tires spun and slid. “Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

We begged, pleaded, cajoled. But it was in a mood. A mood that only sunshine and fresh gravel could cure.

So things turned violent. We had no choice.

It still bears the scars from that fateful night.

I hope it forgives us before mud season.