By Regena Handy

A large piece of card board was tucked away in an outbuilding, perhaps saved for some unknown future use. The round metal lid borrowed from the large barrel where the pig chop was stored. These were our sleds.

Wrapped in our heaviest winter clothes that gave us the appearance of stuffed sausages, only a portion of each face was visible. My oldest brother likely wore Dad’s rubber galoshes with the metal clasps.  It was probably my Mom who suggested old work boots for my other brother and I. After pulling on several pairs of socks, we were barely able to shove our feet into the normally oversized shoes.  As a finishing touch we covered our boots with plastic bags and tied them in place with cording.

Our recent cold spell has me reminiscing about that winter. While I’m not sure of the particular year, I’d say it was the early sixties. I recall that the snow was deep and I was a small kid. Just wading through the snow from the house and out the driveway, then climbing the hill where we planned to sled was a chore for little legs. But oh, the rush, the feeling of exhilaration as I tightly clasped the sides of the make-do sled and bumped my way down the hillside.

The path we wore quickly hardened and turned the metal lid into a spiraling speed machine as it raced down the hill. My brothers whooped with laughter when it careened into the driveway below with enough force to cross into the field beyond, stopping before it reached the nearby creek.

Despite the fun I was having, trudging up the hill soon wore me out. My knitted mittens were quickly snow covered and my hands freezing. The uncovered part of my face chafed from the cold. So I didn’t protest too much whenever Mom called for us to come inside.

Standing on the outside back stoop, we stomped the snow from our boots before entering the kitchen. Waiting for us on the wood cook stove was hot chocolate that Mom had made from cocoa and sugar, milk and cream from our own cow, and a touch of vanilla.

At some point while the snow was still fresh, we would have made snow cream. Clean snow, cream, sugar and vanilla stirred together and eaten quickly before it could melt. Occasionally, we would make chocolate syrup in advance, allowing it to cool before making the snow cream. Our own version of chocolate ice cream.

As the day aged into evening and the temperatures continued to drop, my mother hung a quilt over the open doorway leading to an adjoining room. We were cozy there with the wood heater, my parents, my brothers and I. A Chinese Checker board was set up for playing, dominoes lay nearby. Reading material included our own collection of books along with magazines such as Grit and The Progressive Farmer. There was no TV though we did listen to the radio at times.

But mostly we talked. And laughed and joked and sometimes teased one another. Together, safe and warm, we were family.