We made our sons shovel snow for free, with priceless results

After long hours of binge television, snowball fights and too many doughnuts, it was time to dig out. Less than a day after the Blizzard of 2016 dumped more than two feet of snow in our Northern Virginia neighborhood, my husband and two teenage sons headed out the door to start shoveling. And as a side benefit, meet some neighbors for the first time.

As much as any other event, an epic snowstorm turns us all into comrades along an unplowed road. The more shoveling we do, the more neighborly we get, as we stand at the ends of our driveways and swap stories about outages and remedies — or just rage against nature, as a dog we've never met starts licking our hand. For some enterprising souls, it's a chance to earn money, but in many ways, the non-monetary rewards are more valuable.

My husband had one shovel, so here's the first community lesson: If you're going to borrow shovels from neighbors, you need to help them before you help yourself.

Tom borrowed a shovel from a woman we only see in the few moments it takes either of us to dart from front door to car.

Lesson No. 2: Sometimes a snowstorm is the only timeout modern life allows. The flakes help everybody slow down.

My husband and sons dug the neighbor out while next door to her, an elderly gentleman began his painstakingly slow shovel work. My husband returned to our drive- way, but told the boys to help our neighbor's neighbor because they were young and able and the gentleman was old. Because subdivision karma comes back around. And because if allowed to just finish our house, teen lethargy, crumb-cake cravings, and attitude would doubtless sink in, immobilizing them in front of the PlayStation.

Washington Mayor Muriel E. Bowser and other leaders have broadcast appeals for acts of snow kindness — and simply for people not to shank each other over cleared-out parking spots. Baltimore started a snow-shoveling program to bridge "the gap between elderly residents and young people while providing students the opportunity to give back."

Justin Ross, a lifelong resident of Prince George's County, Md., and a former state delegate, says the snowstorm provided "an example, in action, of what community looks like." He and three of his four children helped clear driveways and dig out stuck cars.

"When there's a big weather event, there's sort of a common enemy," Ross says. "Mother Nature comes and dumps 2 feet of snow on us, and all of a sudden, regardless of politics, regardless of background, culture or core convictions, we're all in it together to dig out ... It gives you an excuse to have community with people and not talk about politics or world events. You jump past anything that can be divisive — and right into our common circumstance."

It was getting late when a neighbor asked if our boys could help a disabled veteran up the block. The veteran wanted to pay them. My husband said no. The boys looked crestfallen. Our disabled neighbor insisted, and my husband finally relented. At some point, the lesson of the day had to include respect for our neighbor's dignity and wishes as well.

As I rubbed the warmth back into one of my son's hands, I reflected on the dig-out. Part of life involves hard, manual labor. It can feel overwhelming if you're not used to it, but if you settle into the work, eventually you get it done. You've met some new friends, you've felt the satisfaction of your accomplishment. And then, you've truly earned your Netflix-and-doughnut break.