My wife, Amy, and I lived in cities on the North Shore, the region above Boston.

Lynn, Mass., was rather unique.

In one apartment, we could watch high school football games at a stadium called Manning Bowl from our kitchen window. But then we moved when the Lynn City Council booked heavy-metal rock concerts. The Beach Boys weren’t so bad.

Next we tried an apartment in a five-story complex near Lynn beach. I attended a community college just a five-minute walk away. Two drug dealers were murdered on the first floor. We lived on the second.

Salem had cheap rentals. We found a large four room on the third floor near Salem State College. The noise of young people partying all night proved too much. Bad karma, man. That’s when we moved back to Maine.

A welcome relief

We ended up in Biddeford, in a two-story building. Our landlord and landlady on the first floor, Norm and Carol, were a welcome relief after the battleground of Massachusetts. We needed healing.

Here’s a bizarre thing: they gave us a bottle of wine as a welcome present. Say what? We slowly got to know them, and they us. Carol and my wife work at Maine Medical and on occasion, share rides. All of us are baby boomers. All of us attended night school. Norm, as a partner in a real estate firm, and I as a writer make our own hours. And of course, AARP….

Not a typical owner-tenant relationship. We gladly pay and they politely give us receipts. No fuss, no muss.

The following winter, it snowed and snowed. The first few storms I couldn’t get over the fact Norm had the snowblower working bright and early each morning. I’d peek at him from the window near my word processor and feel … funny. A good feeling, yet funny. I could stay inside, heat included, and be comfortable. I’m the tenant.

That funny feeling

One night we had an ice storm. Pretty in the morning, except looking at the large paved driveway you knew there was a lot of work for someone. The women folk cleaned off their cars and left. I put on my long johns and made coffee. Then I heard scraping.

Norm had started. I saw him, a small figure compared to all that ice. I had that funny feeling again. Then I decided he needed a hand and got dressed.

Now, we both have been in hospitals and both been warned by doctors. I’d scrape a row and he’d lap it up with the snowblower. I’d do another row, so would he. As we worked, the sun grew warmer. The job seemed easier or we were getting better at it. I think we pushed the sunset of our baby boomer years a tad further into the future.

More than ice melted that day.

Edward M. Turner is a freelance writer living in Biddeford who has published stories, essays and poems. His novel, “Rogues Together,” won the 2002 Eppies Award for best in action/adventure.