The stillest morning of a Sterling winter is the one after the storm — everything blue and soundless, the older blocks near the college holding a foot of untracked snow. Son Of All Trades goes at that by hand where hand work belongs: the steps, the stoop, the narrow walk out to the mailbox, the strip no plow will ever reach. Snow gets carried off the concrete instead of smeared across it, and the edges are cut straight so the next thaw has somewhere to go. Then the drive, opened end to end with room enough to back out without guessing. Small jobs done close to the house are what actually let a neighborhood get on with itself.