So I’m working at my home office this snowy morning when Ruth knocks on my door armed with papers and ideas. We basically work out of several locations: my house, Ruth’s house, the diary office, The Dominion House (or The Dom as it's known here) and the Stock Auction. It’s one of the pleasures of being in Stratford, a small community, where you know all of your neighbours and you can’t walk down the street for five minutes without meeting someone you know.

(My home office desk: it's a wonder I get any work done at all!) 

Ruth is fast and to the point, not even taking off her snow covered jacket to sit. Then she’s gone.
I don’t even get a single email completed before she pops her head in the door again. “Can I use your German and Russin muscles to help with my car?” she asks. Ruth’s Mazda 3 is stuck on a small but significant wall of ice exiting the driveway of the Stratford Chefs School next door. When I come out I see it's actually pinned on a wide thick ridge of ice, the wheels spinning without making contact with the ice below. My other neighbour Greg Kuepher, head chef at Pazzo’s pizzeria is already shoveling the ice and snow from under the car.
I get to work when shortly a car pulls up. It’s the manager of the local Domino's Pizza. He jumps out, I grab him another shovel off my porch and he gets to work too. Soon we’re jacking up the car, shoveling, and pushing when another guy pulls up. He was on his way to a wine tasting at the Chefs School. Between the five of us, making jokes about how this should be an Olympic event and comments about why we don’t need a tow truck when nice people stop and help, the Mazda lurches forward and rolls free.
Laughter all around. Ruth promises to deliver cheese in thanks. And we all go our separate ways.

Life is good in Stratford, even in a blizzard