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A long-awaited snowfall transformed the view from my eighth-floor Arlington condo into something almost magical. The large pine next door looked like an enormous Christmas tree, while the trees beyond it appeared dusted with powdered sugar. As the snow intensified, the landscape eventually disappeared into a genuine whiteout.

Just as striking was the silence. Construction booms and car horns vanished, and even the train behind the building stood motionless. From the condo, there was also no snow to shovel—a welcome change from earlier homes.

At our first Arlington house, clearing snow had been relatively easy. We lived on the sunny side of the street, and the driveway sloped downhill, allowing the sun to handle much of the work.

During one storm, we bundled our four-year-old into a snowsuit, placed her on a plastic sled and walked to Safeway with our snow-loving Golden Retriever. After buying far more than we probably needed, we loaded the groceries around her for the trip home. She rode surrounded by milk, bread, chili ingredients, chicken, Coca-Cola and a package of toilet paper that doubled as a pillow.

Snow also seemed to bring out a friendlier side of Arlington. People who might cut one another off or honk from behind the wheel smiled and exchanged greetings when they met on foot.

Later, our growing family moved into a larger house with a far less forgiving driveway. It climbed uphill and came with a long sidewalk and an extended path to the front door. My husband and I usually cleared it together—until the year he broke his leg.

While I struggled alone with a snow blower and heavy, wet snow, two boys from across the street appeared carrying their parents’ shovels. Without being asked, they began helping. It was a memorable display of the neighborly spirit that defined Arlington.

Snow has left me with plenty of happy memories. They are even easier to enjoy now that someone else handles the shoveling.