I began my snow removal career as an indentured servant. I was 9 years old and had been enjoying a decent and well-fed lifestyle when my father told me it was time I began earning my keep by shoveling snow from our home’s sidewalk.

The next year I went pro and began shoveling snow for neighbors for a handsome fee of 50 cents while continuing my home servitude.

By the time I was a teenager, my younger brothers were old enough to help shovel snow and we shared the joy.

When I left home I moved into an apartment where snow removal was provided and I began to forget just how exhilarating the chore could be.

Then I married a cute brown-eyed girl and set up a household that included me and my snow shovel. In the early 1970s we had some nasty blizzards, but I cleaned up after each blizzard by myself.

On one occasion there was such a large drift across our driveway I asked a farmer cleaning our neighbor’s driveway with his John Deere tractor to finish cleaning mine. It was the first time I paid to have my driveway cleaned.

Then we moved to Sioux City where, it seemed, winters were even more brutal. Again my shovel and I kept things cleared of snow. One winter, however, a major blizzard blew a 3-foot drift across the driveway.

I had been chopping away at this drift for a while when I began to experience discomfort in the chest and profuse sweating. Alarmed, I went into the house, took off my heavy coat and laid on the living room floor for a while. Though still in my 20s, I realized the frozen white stuff could kill me.

After a good rest I spotted two teenage boys walking on our street with snow shovels over their shoulders. I quickly stepped outside and asked the boys what they would charge to clean the rest of my driveway. I can’t remember their price but I readily agreed to it, and for the second time in my life paid someone to shovel snow.

A year or so later we purchased a home with a long driveway (108 feet — I measured). The prospect of shoveling snow from this drive concerned me, and this is when I purchased my first snowblower.

Life goes on, and for the next 25 years I dutifully (if not enthusiastically) took care of snow removal for our own property as well as that of some of our older neighbors.

In 2006 my wife and I finally made the decision to buy a townhouse where lawn care and snow removal were provided by the HOA (homeowners’ association.) Around 5 a.m. one day that first winter, I was awakened by the sound of a small engine. Why in the world were they mowing our lawn at this time of day, I wondered. Then I realized it was December and it was the beautiful sound of a snowblower. For the next eight years my snow shovel went unused.

Life can change quickly, and in 2014 I sold my townhouse, remarried and moved to my new bride’s home in a small town in northern Iowa. Her home’s large corner lot had a sizeable driveway, a decent-size sidewalk and another drive in the backyard. Her house was on the north side of town and caught a lot of blowing snow. One of my first investments in that home was a large, powerful snowblower.

Two years later we moved into a retirement community in West Des Moines. We have the option of provided snow removal and lawn service, for a fee, of course. I considered myself fit enough to take care of these things myself, so we declined the services.

While clearing nearly 6 inches of snow from our driveway recently, I began to rethink my decision. My frugal nature and my OCD tendencies leave me conflicted. I can do a better job myself and save the fee, but with every snowfall the task gets more irritating. It may be about time to sell the snowblower.

After all, a 65-year career in snow removal ought to be enough.

Arvid Huisman began writing Country Roads 32 years ago, and today the column appears in several Iowa newspapers. He can be contacted at huismaniowa@gmail.com.