A few weeks ago, a snowstorm struck in the evening with a prediction that it would continue to snow all night. I went to bed dreading the next morning when I would have to fire up the snowblower at the crack of dawn and clear the driveway and sidewalk before the morning traffic. But as the sun began to rise, I squinted out the bedroom window. I could hardly believe my eyes. Not only was our sidewalk neatly shoveled, but so was our driveway. Who was this snowplow hero, this Christmas elf who swept away our snow before dawn without making a sound?

If I’m being honest, my first reaction was not one of gratitude. I thought, “Hey, that’s my job!” I was supposed to be the neighborhood benefactor, clearing sidewalks for everybody on my block. I’ve done that for several winters in a row. Now somebody has beat me to it. How dare they!

I soon figured out that our secret snow shoveling Santa was our next-door neighbor, Carson, a sweet, energetic pre-med student who has a cute Jack Russel terrier named Thumper who considers every stranger to be its long-lost friend and who is so short it can’t walk on a three-inch snow without getting high-centered. When Carson first moved in, he actually baked us a loaf of banana bread. What 20-year-old does that?

Now, after a couple of good snows, I discovered I have more and more competition for the title of Neighborhood Stealth Snow Shoveler. This winter, snow does not stand a chance on our block. Zero tolerance. As soon as any snowflake hits the ground, out come the shovels and snowblowers. But the real trick is removing everybody’s snow while avoiding praise and recognition. Even the most clandestine shoveler gets caught eventually and must have his or her excuses ready. “Oh, is this your sidewalk? I must have gotten carried away.” Or, “Once I get the snowblower warmed up, I have to keep it running for at least 20 minutes.” Or, “I just have to run out the tank so I can fill it with fresh gas.” Or, “I dropped my keys in the snow on your sidewalk and I’m trying to find them.”

It’s all very well to do a good deed. But while you’re at it, as they say in the medical profession: first, do no harm. All that snow has got to go somewhere. But you’re not doing any favors by clearing the snow from somebody’s sidewalk and then spraying it back onto their front porch. Or plastering their picture window. Or blocking the alley. Or burying a fire hydrant. I’ve discovered my single-stage snow blower shoots gravel like a gatling gun and I have to be careful not to point it at anybody’s car.

It’s great to live in Iowa. I lived in Los Angeles for five years and never even met my neighbors. Here, the neighbors go out of their way to help each other. However, with every neighbor helping every other neighbor, it creates a kind of circle of gratitude with everybody sending thank-you cards or cookies to everybody else. Anonymously, of course.