Storms reach Methuen from the northwest, over the New Hampshire line, and by the time they cross Route 213 the parking lots have already begun to disappear. Dawson's snow and ice management reads those hours the way other trades read a blueprint: when to start, when to come back, where the meltwater will refreeze after dark. Lots get pushed to their painted lines, drives get opened wide enough for two cars, walks get cut down to pavement, and salt goes where the shade holds ice long after the sun has done its work. The measure of a night is simple — headlights turning in at six in the morning and nobody having to think about it. In this corner of the Merrimack Valley, that quiet arrival is the whole job.