Once the space is cleared, some residents place a lawn chair, traffic cone, crate, or another household object in the spot as an informal signal that they hope others will respect the effort they invested. While these markers have no legal authority, they have become part of a long-standing local tradition commonly known as “parking chair” season. The practice reflects an unwritten agreement that someone who spent considerable time digging out a parking space deserves the chance to use it, at least temporarily.
Legally, public streets belong to everyone, and municipalities generally do not recognize reserved parking spaces created with chairs or other objects. Anyone is technically allowed to park in an open public space once it has been cleared. Yet many Pittsburgh residents choose to honor the tradition anyway, preferring to avoid unnecessary disputes and maintain good relationships with neighbors.
The custom has sparked debate for years. Some argue that public parking should remain available to everyone regardless of who cleared the snow, while others believe respecting the hard work of fellow residents strengthens community spirit during difficult winter weather.
To outsiders, the sight of a lone chair guarding an empty parking space may seem unusual or even humorous. But for many Pittsburgh residents, it symbolizes more than parking—it represents effort, courtesy, and the quiet understanding that surviving winter is often easier when neighbors show one another a little extra respect.
Mufasa, the Mountain Lion Chained to a Truck For 20 Years, Is Free
For two decades, Mufasa, a mountain lion, endured a life of torment, chained to the back of a truck by an illegal Peruvian circus. His story, marked by resilience and hope, highlights the atrocities of wildlife exploitation and the power of redemption.
Likely sold into the exotic pet trade as a cub, Mufasa was forced to perform in a traveling circus, moving from village to village. Without even the meager comfort of a cage, he spent his nights in an open truck, shackled and surrounded by tent poles.
“It was heartbreaking to see Mufasa chained among the circus equipment, living on the back of a pickup truck,” said Jan Creamer, president of Animal Defenders International (ADI). His body bore the weight of heavy chains and a harness, a constant reminder of his captivity.
Rescue came through ADI’s Operation Spirit of Freedom, launched after Peru’s 2011 ban on performing circus animals. In a tense eight-hour standoff with circus owners, ADI freed Mufasa. Creamer described the scene as “the most sad, wretched thing you’ve ever seen,” adding that Mufasa seemed barely alive.
