Writers' Workshop

. . with Mama Kat.

Prompt of choice:  2.) Describe a favorite Winter memory.

There is something idyllic about Christmas in the country, with snow.  I grew up in a small town on a twenty acre farm.  Roaming our land and that bordering ours was common place.  Even in the winter.  What snow we had tended to be accompanied by wind, so rather than a soft blanket of snow, the result was high drifts in some areas, and windswept ground in others.  We rarely experience a soft white winter wonderland effect, but the one thing you could count on was freezing temperatures.  And that meant ice.  

I have fond memories of running the hose in an attempt to get a good sheet of ice for sliding on.  But my parents, as to be expected, but a stop to that in a hurry.  My brothers and I were undaunted and we found a better way to enjoy the ice before long.  

Alongside our property ran a canal that cut through our land with the purpose of providing water for farmers.  Just beyond the far reaches of our fields, the canal came to a wide pond-like area.  Even though the water mostly drained in winter, that pond retained maybe a foot or so of water in the majority of its bottom, and in winter that meant ice.

The ritual watching of Christmas movies idealized ice skating on ponds, and us kids thought it was pretty cool to have our own private little pond.  It wasn’t big, but it kept us entertained for hours.  Apparently youth numbs one to the cold.  These days I wouldn’t last an hour out in the bitter cold, but as a young girl I could spend an entire afternoon sliding around on that little patch of ice with my brothers.

We never had anything as fancy as ice skates, but we occasionally towed a sled with us.  The sides of the pond were banked, which gave one a bit of momentum that would propel the sled across the ice to crash into the other side.  Or, if one headed lengthwise, to coast the entire length of ice with the wind blowing your hair out of your face. 

When our toes finally became numb and our speech impeded by the immobility of our lips, we headed home, following the drift of woodsmoke in the crisp air.   Our living room sported one of those fireplaces that stood away from the wall a couple feet and was placed on stone.  We would shed our wet things near the fire to dry and lay on the hot stones behind the fireplace to thaw out.  Occasionally the steam would rise from our moist clothing, and our cheeks would go from pink with cold to pink with heat.  

Now, as a mother with small children, I still get a tingle of excitement on days like today when the snow swirls and the schools close.  Even though I stay inside and turn the heat up, I still look out the door at my two little girls, bundled up in snow gear, jumping on the ice, and a wistful smile spreads across my face.  Oh to be young again. . . and immune to things like cold weather.