Out past Samaria the fields open flat for miles, and when the wind gets under a night's snow it moves it sideways until drifts pile against every driveway and fencerow. That is when this snow removal crew is out — plowing drives and lots, clearing walks, and spreading salt on the ice that follows behind a thaw. Flat country makes its own kind of winter: not always deep, but blown, refrozen and stubborn. There is a particular pride in coming back for a second pass because the wind refilled the first one, and in a driveway that is bare pavement by the time the sky goes gray with morning. Nobody sees the three o'clock hour of it; they just see the way out.