Back when we got our new metal roof, courtesy of Mother Nature's hailstorm and American Family's refund of part of our 25 years of premiums...I told Farmer H to make sure he got those ice-stoppers. Not that I'm a regular mechanical engineer, and know all about the roof load and the angle and the coefficient of friction. I just happen to drive by a metal-roofed state prison at least twice a day, and delight in seeing large slabs of roof ice smash to the ground when I'm lucky. It's like watching icebergs calve!
That explosion of frozen precipitation is fun to watch, but that doesn't mean I want brain damage from my own roof if I happen to be strolling along minding my own business and a plank of roof ice slaloms onto my noggin. I tried to warn Farmer H about the perils. But he wasn't having it.
"Oh, HM. Our roof is not that steep. It will melt and drip off. You'll never be walking on the front sidewalk anyway. And you won't be behind the house. But if it makes you feel any better, I'll have them do it on the garage and the carport when they put that section on."
This is the front yard, directly in front of the porch pew where I sit and watch the chickens peck at tasty old cereal and bread (before they were eaten by assorted neighbor dogs--the chickens, not the cereal and bread) and the dogs frolic.
This is the front sidewalk, as the sun sets, those shards probably having decreased in size from melting during the day. Santa may be safe up on the roof, but I doubt the FedEx people are going to leave a package up there.
I don't know why Farmer H can't think like a teacher, always seeing possible