Snow meant money when I was a kid. $2 for a couple hours of hard work. Long handled coal shovels used to stoke the fires in locomotives could cut through the thickest of ice and was our weapon of choice. Wool mittens, one pair on and another in our pockets for when the first pair got wet. Homework done, my brothers and I would pull on our galoshes and buckle them up over our trousers legs in the basement, ready for some work. Up the basement steps and out the side door. Our driveway and sidewalk first then onto the neighbor's driveways which we would be paid to do. Sometimes pay was a pinch on the cheek and cookies. I remember Mrs. Mattes made her chocolate chip cookies with bacon fat once.
Snowflakes were still falling while shoveling. We were making the next day's shoveling a bit easier by getting out shoveling after homework. Something about shoveling in the dark and watching large snowflakes drifting down past the street light made shoveling easier and a bit fun. Mom would signal when it was time to come in by turning the porch light off and on. Shovels lined up by the side door, we stamped the snow off our galoshes before stepping inside. Our shoes alway came off with the galoshes and had to to be pulled out of the galoshes.
Seeing pajamas and moccasins laid out on the basement stove, we hung our trousers over the wash line next to the furnace with our wet mittens. Moccasins on, we brushed our teeth at the kitchen sink ready for inspection. Carmel toast was our treat on snowy nights, then up the stairs to our room which had no heat then. I jumped into bed and didn't move, sheets cold and only my body heat warmed them. Just as the bed began to warm Mom was up asking if we made our bedtime prayers. Out of the covers and kneeling on the cold floor I asked for forgiveness and recited my list of people who I wanted God to bless, and my request for a real telegraph key. The last and second request was for a Walter Foster book on drawing horses.
