Lake Michigan sends its winters east, and by the time a squall reaches the west side of Battle Creek — Dickman Road, the long flats out near Fort Custer — it has turned into that fine, patient snow that falls eleven hours without seeming to try. Superior snow removal takes the four-a.m. shift against it: plowing drives and lots, clearing walks, salting where ice keeps wanting to form again. The measure of a good night is that nobody remembers it happened. Headlights, a straight push, and the pile set where meltwater will run off instead of back across the pavement. This town gets its full share of storms, and every one of them is answered the same way.