Bulldog Plowing

About Bulldog Plowing

Four in the morning in Forty Fort, and the Susquehanna lies black and silent behind the levee while the borough's grid of streets disappears under new snow. That is when Bulldog Plowing goes to work, blade down, headlights swinging across driveways that have to be open before the first alarm clocks ring in the Wyoming Valley. Plowing, shoveled walks, salted aprons — the work is simple to name and stubborn to do, one property at a time, until the pavement is dark again. There is a particular satisfaction in a driveway cleared right out to the edges, the banks squared off, the mailbox still standing. By the time the sun comes up over the far ridge, the street looks like somebody cared.