Oaks hang onto their brown leaves half the winter, rattling above a snow-covered yard like something whispering. Oakwood Outdoor works those evenings in Vernon, when dusk goes blue at four-thirty and a driveway needs opening before the cold locks it up. Plow the drive, shovel the walk, cut down the ridge the road crew left at the end of the apron, salt at the steps. Wind will fill a cleared path again by morning; that is not a reason to leave it, it is a reason to come back. A path to the door, dark pavement showing, boots staying dry.