In Praise of New England Chores

On a recent cold morning, when our family woke up to four inches of freshly fallen snow, a few things were certain about our Sunday. There would be hot chocolate. There would be a viewing of some family-friendly movie in the afternoon, possibly featuring cartoons and most likely featuring musical numbers. And Davey, our six-year-old, would be up early, in his parka, snow pants, hat, and gloves, climbing on top of our cars.

New Englander that he is, Davey is cheered by snowfall, which means, in addition to the aforementioned hot chocolate and movie, a possible day off from school (though not this time, as the snow fell on a Sunday), and—not least—the opportunity to shovel snow. In particular, to shovel snow away from, and off of, our cars. Six-year-olds are still at an age when they want to please their parents, and I have no reason to believe that he will be this helpful 10 years from now. But that snow day, at least, he was intrepidly tackling the problem of snow on the roof of the car. He fell off several times, and every time that he did, he climbed up on the hood and thence to the roof. He would not be deterred from his appointed rounds.

These days, we hear a lot about “vibe shifts.” Some say that the country has turned against wokeness; others say we’re at the end of DEI, or the end of gender ideology; some have written epitaphs for the Democratic Party. I think those are all debatable, but one vibe shift that seems pretty ubiquitously accepted is the turn southward. New England, the upper Midwest, and the Pacific Northwest are all seen as past-peak, with residents fleeing for Texas, Florida, Georgia, and the Southwest. I do not live in the fashionable latitudes.

I understand why people move to Sunbelt cities, factors including (to cite The Atlantic) cheap housing, a business-friendly environment (read: low taxes), and warm winters. As a partisan of the North, I could argue back—many of our cities have better mass transit, shorter average commutes, and cooler summers—and the fight could go on, ultimately coming down, like all great rivalries, to sheer prejudice and chauvinism, like Celtics vs. Lakers, or Sallys vs. Pepe’s vs. Modern.

But on such a day as this, frostbitten and gorgeously white, I’d like to stake my claim for the North on a different factor altogether: we have better chores for our children. Growing up in New England, a child can simply be expected to perform a wider range of useful, character-building, and indeed fun chores that are not always at his disposal elsewhere in the country.

For Davey and his siblings, seasonal work in the winter—whether they do it willingly or only after being threatened with a swinging rake—includes shoveling snow, salting sidewalks, and scraping off cars. One could stretch the definition of “chore” to include selling hot chocolate to passersby on the sidewalk, as my children did some years back during a snowy January. In the fall, there are leaves to be raked (and leaf piles to be jumped in), and for some there are maple trees to be tapped for syrup. In between seasons, there is yard clean-up to do: at summer’s end, we have to put away the lawn sprinklers and the outdoor balls and toys that would get destroyed by the brutalities of fall and winter. When children get a bit stronger, they can be asked to help switch out the screen doors for the winter’s storm doors.

I don’t mean to imply that children in Shreveport or Tucson don’t have chores to do, but I do believe that different regions have different rhythms of life. The agricultural sector has shrunk—only 1.2 percent of U.S. employment takes place on farms today—but where there are still children growing up on farms, or in farming communities, they may have expectations placed on them that my children do not: getting up early to milk cows, for example, or knowing how to use a seeder or a baler. Hunting communities raise children who hunt; my children’s Alabama cousins, who are hunters, know how to use guns safely, a skill my children (and most Connecticut children) lack.

Even within our New England town, I sometimes wonder at how little thought people put into their choices, especially with regard to how those choices affect child-rearing. When you get rid of a land-line, you effectively deny your children the chance to learn how to answer the phone at a young age (by age five, I knew how to answer the phone and, when the caller asked for my mother or father, say, “May I ask who’s calling, please?”). When you buy a snow-blower, you’re telling your children that they don’t have to shovel snow. As for leaf-blowers, none for me, please: I like raking leaves, and I like that my children know how. (Also, the noise! The fumes!)

It’s possible to raise happy, healthy, and wise children anywhere, and I know that there are delights available to my children’s cousins in Austin, St. Paul, Chicago, and New York City that are unavailable where we live. But at a time when so many seem to be rushing heedlessly toward sweltering Southern suburban sprawl, I’ll stay put, thank you. And next summer, when you’re huddled inside against the 100+ degree heat, I’ll send you a picture of Davey, clearing snow from the roof of our car, to help cool you down.

Mark Oppenheimer is the editor of Arc: Religion, Politics, Et Cetera, and the author of a forthcoming biography of Judy Blume. He lives in New Haven, Conn., with his wife and five children.