Benjamin Franklin had the right idea, though he stopped short. Among the certain things in this life, rudeness must surely rank alongside death and taxes. A case in point is the notice that a city friend received with her property tax bill. The bulletin, entitled “Winter Storm Information,” offered this bit of advice:

“Do not put snow on others’ property. If you plow your driveway, do not push snow across the street onto neighbor’s walk.”

Excuse me?

Or consider this city ordinance, lower on the page: “Do not block pedestrian passage on a sidewalk by placing snow or ice in the way.”

Mind you, the people who received this notice are the same ones who pay property tax. Whether by good fortune or hard work, they have become property owners. Yet some have apparently failed Civics 101, not to mention the rudiments of good manners.

Granted, piles of snow can be a huge headache. Few of us have enough land to make snow removal a cinch. Some people actually have to think about where to put the offending white stuff. Unless, of course, you just deposit it on a neighbor’s lot.

But since when did this become a solution?

True, your neighbor’s lot might solve one problem ”“ but surely it would set off another. The neighbor might assume (not incorrectly) that your little snow-gift was a hostile act, or at the least, inconsiderate.

“Where else was I supposed to put it?” you might ask rhetorically.

Such uncivil logic, however, is purely one-sided. It moves the problem without removing it.

While this may be a seasonal issue, it doesn’t end in April; it merely changes form. 

If you’ve ever watched someone use a leaf-blower, you’ve probably seen one of two things: Leaves being blown into bags, or strewn all over the adjacent (read: neighbor’s) lot.

The notion that leaves belong on someone else’s property, rather than one’s own, and that one might actually pay to displace them there, is a remarkable leap of imagination. It’s one thing for nature to run its course ”“ a little wind picks up, a few leaves relocate. But what would possess one to, how shall we say, “expedite” the process?

How different is that, really, from dumping trash on a neighbor’s lawn?

Not very, if you’re the recipient.

Leaves, like snow, are equal opportunity squatters: They land, indifferent to place or welcome. Squatters may have certain rights ”“ but neighbors, you’ll find, have expectations.

— Joan Silverman is a writer in Kennebunk. This article originally appeared, in slightly different form, in The Christian Science Monitor.