[Right. Duh. Russia is full of snow. Margaret watches Vasiliy with a slightly sour expression, watching him efficiently excavate part of the driveway. When he turns to address her, she lets out a huff in response, holding out her hand again to take the shovel back.]

I was trying to get the snow further from the driveway. [she complains, trying to justify her shitty technique.] It won’t be any good if there’s a big pile blocking your peripheral vision when you try to drive out.

[When she takes back the shovel, she resumes her work, though this time, she seems to be a little more careful with the way that she positions her shovel—bending down instead of over, lifting with her back and pushing instead of trying to throw it off to the side.]

I can’t imagine living in a place that’s cold all year ‘round. [She grumbles.] How do you even cope with it?