Can I Get Mad If a Neighbor Throws Snow on My Lawn?
Welcome to "The Salty Cod," a monthly advice column on navigating uniquely New England dilemmas.
Illustration by Dale Stephanos
Welcome to “The Salty Cod,” the inaugural installment of a new monthly column in which humorist Steve Calechman grapples with uniquely New England dilemmas. First up, an age-old winter dispute that has launched a thousand cold shoulders: the sacred territorial rights of snow removal.
Dear Salty Cod: Can I get mad if a neighbor throws snow on my lawn?
You certainly could, because it’s just another relationship that we didn’t ask for, and your neighbor might be a jerk for any number of reasons. Not keeping their lawn neat and green. Playing music too loudly and having it be Bob Seger. Owning a hot tub and never extending an invite.
Snow always ups our orneriness because it’s unlike all other yard work. Raking and pruning can wait. Snow has to be dealt with, like, right now. The problem is we don’t want to go outside. It’s cold out there, and the snow might be heavy, sticky, and wet. But then we remember that we’re from New England, goddammit. Snow removal is our fifth sport. We might whine, but we don’t shiver when it’s 40 degrees (you, Californians) or become paralyzed by a one-inch dusting (hey, Atlanta). No, we put on our five layers—sorry, one light one—and go shovel and scrape until we can bust out an ottoman/space saver, sending the message that the job is done and “Don’t you dare take what’s not yours.”
Then it comes. A white stream over the fence, thrown by a snowblower (also never been offered). Oh, and it’s dirty snow, the final kick in the privates.
It might sound like a green light to haul off, but my first sentence did say “could.” Chucking snow over a property line isn’t illegal; at least, I’m pretty sure it’s not. There are 351 municipalities in the state, and I haven’t read all 351 sets of bylaws. (Truth is, I got about 348 to go.)
But in practice, if you’re gonna hate your neighbor, you need a good reason, and stuff that’s gonna melt on its own does not constitute enough “just cause.” Here’s enough: A bunch of us used to take our dogs to the playground for 15 minutes of morning crazy play. We all knew that off-leash wasn’t allowed, but we’re big risk-takers up here on the North Shore.
A new neighbor moved into a house abutting the field and started calling the cops on us, ending our playgroup. Two years later, I still ignore the guy every time I pass him as he walks his own dog. Yes, two years later. Because holding onto stuff is so local that the women’s pro soccer team looking for another new name should consider becoming the Boston Grudges.
Unless the snow goes into your window or your child’s face, you can at most be miffed. The best recourse is to pack that newfound snow into balls to chuck at that specific tree. Balls that…whoops…miss every time, but somehow manage to pelt their Rivian.
Got a question for the Salty Cod? Send it to editor@bostonmagazine.com.
First published in the print edition of the February 2025 issue with the headline: “Can I Get Mad if a Neighbor Throws Snow on My Lawn?”
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