Snowmageddon it wasn't. At least, not for us.

     OK, I mean we got maybe eight inches, all told, around here (not counting two-to-three-foot high drifts) – not nearly as much as predicted, and probably a lot less than other parts of the region.

     This little pocket of Southwestern Ontario is peculiar that way. I can remember leaving for work 40 miles away in the midst of a blizzard only to find a half-mile out that the sun was shining. Sometimes, the opposite was true.

     Tuesday night, after watching the front move across Missouri, Indiana and Illinois, and anticipating the worst, we went out about 10 p.m. and shovelled off the first two or three inches to get a start on today. This morning, we found several inches more, and crusty because apparently we had some rain mixed in overnight.

     An hour's hard work – and with some timely and welcome help from a neighbour to deal with what the plow had heaped up at the end of the driveway – we came inside and watched as the remaining rime melted off.

     This afternoon, I took off in the car to see how other people were faring. Pretty well, as it turned out.

     A couple of young lads were wandering around carrying shovels asking if people wanted anything cleared out, which impressed me.

     Meanwhile, the kids were having a blast on the toboggan hill at the conservation area where I volunteer, using everything from inner tubes to snowboards to pieces of plastic.

     After a brief skirmish with an icy rut, and with a little assistance from the good doctor, I managed to navigate the low-riding Sunfire back out to the highway. There are times I wonder why I sold the Grand Cherokee when I retired. I'm sure there were good and sufficient reasons; today I couldn't remember them.

     The road crew had been on the job early, plowing and salting. But a short ride outside town revealed drifting, slushy conditions, and I didn't even bother with the sideroad leading to the provincial park. Instead, I turned around and, after making a stop at the liquor store for a bottle of wine for tonight, headed for the harbour.

     This is a fishing village that has a tradition dating back more than 150 years. In fact, there's a movement afoot to have the Guinness people certify it as the world's largest freshwater fishing port.

     But today, under a blanket of snow, there wasn't much moving among the tugs; even the ubiquitous gulls had departed for once.

     They were weighing the relative merits of SkiDoo versus Yamaha. Sort of like the discussions I used to have with my motorcycle friends about Harleys and Triumphs.

     “Looks like a giant mosquito, doesn't it?” asked the neighbour.

     “Naw – more like a Transformer,” I said.

      “You're right – it does.”

   As it turned out, the only big losers were the village kids, and I felt insincerely sorry for them. This should have been a snow day off from school … but it had already been set aside as a professional development day for the teachers.

     They'd have been home anyway.