When we were kids, our favorite winter activity was sledding. Mom and Dad had a small hill in their backyard, which was great when we were small. At four years old, that hill seemed huge. We could entertain ourselves for hours in the backyard. As we got older, we realized it wasn't much of a hill, more of a little grade.
Fortunately, my great-aunt and great-uncle lived next to us. Their house was at the bottom of the mountain, and they owned halfway to the top of the mountain. There was a large hill next to their house. I wish I could tell you how high it is, but I don't know. We weren't allowed to even sled on this hill until we were in school. Then Mom or Dad went with us for a while. Eventually, we were old enough to walk over to Aunt Hazel & Uncle Sid's by ourselves to sled on their hill. We usually walked to the halfway point, and then hopped on our sleds and took off.
You couldn't sled down Uncle Sid's hill after the first snowfall. You had to wait for a good snow pack, because the hill was covered in weeds, high grass, and the occasional renegade small maple tree. Usually we could start using that hill in January, but some winters we were able to start in December. It was a favorite of all the kids in the neighborhood: Matt and Evan who lived on one side of us, Drew and Joylane who lived on another side. I don't remember who else came sledding, but I know there were always at least half a dozen kids on the hill, and sometimes up to a dozen. One of us would decide it was time, and we'd alert everyone else in the neighborhood. It took a few minutes to pull on the snow pants, boots, coats, mittens, hats and scarves. Then we'd grab our sleds and waddle across the bridge to Uncle Sid's. We all had plastic sleds. Some of us had the round discs, and others had an actual sled. In all of our layers, we didn't have the energy to lift our sleds up high, so one end always ended up clanking on the road next to us.
The hill was next to Uncle Sid and Aunt Hazel's house, in front of their driveway. The road curves at their driveway and winds around the side of the hill. There was a ditch at the bottom of the sledding hill, and in winter, the snowbanks pile up on the side of the road. We had to clamor over the snow banks before beginning our ascent up the hill. Aunt Hazel & Uncle Sid's yard was framed by a small fence, and in the front corner of their yard, stood an apple tree, its large canopy extending over the driveway.
Even though we walked over to the hill together, we were never without adult supervision. Uncle Sid sat in the living room and watched us from his chair. We always knew he was there, yet he never intruded. He enjoyed watching us have fun.
The most vivid sledding memory I have took place when I was 8 or 9, maybe 10. We had had a great, snowy winter, and had been using the hill quite a bit. The snow on the hill was so deep, there was no memory of the grass and weeds and little trees that covered the hill a few months earlier. The snowbanks at the bottom of the sledding hill were easily six feet tall. By January, we had worn a sled trail on the hill. Which translates into ice. If you keep using the same trail over and over, it ices up and becomes more like a bobsled trail. Of course, the icier it gets, the faster it gets. It becomes very thrilling.
This afternoon, we had already been sledding for an hour or so. I had been down the hill several times already. I went back up the hill and climbed into my blue plastic Coleco sled. I stretched my legs out in front of me, someone gave me a push, and I was off! Mid-way down the hill, my sled and I went airborne. Usually the ditch at the bottom of the hill slowed us down, and if that didn't stop us, the snowbanks did. But snowbanks can't stop you when you fly over them. I cleared the ditch, cleared the snowbank, flew across Aunt Hazel & Uncle Sid's driveway, and crashed into their apple tree. When I went airborne, the laughter and cheers of my friends turned to screams. I still remember my sister's piercing shriek.
Inside the house, Uncle Sid saw me take flight. He told Aunt Hazel 'call Kathy!', and as he said this, he was grabbing his coat and running out the door. He got to the tree about the same time I did. I hit the trunk of the tree about three or four feet off the ground. The tree did what nothing else had done- it stopped me. And then I crashed to the ground. Instantly, there were people all around. The other children had used their own sleds to get down the hill (careful not to use the trail which had just catapulted me into the tree), my mother and everyone else's mother came running from all directions, Aunt Hazel and Uncle Sid helped me off the ground. The kids were all chattering excitedly, recounting every second of my flight. The adults kept asking if I was ok: asking me questions, looking in my eyes. "Does your head hurt?" "No, my butt hurts. I landed hard." "Is anything broken?" "My sled!"
That's right. A plastic sled is no match for an apple tree. I totalled my sled! We usually got a new sled at the beginning of each winter. By mid-January; the stores have sold out for the year. Once the adults were certain that I hadn't broken anything other than my sled, and would probably just be bruised, they declared an end to sledding for the day. The other children didn't grumble, they willingly went home with their moms. I honestly think everyone had the daylights scared out of them.
The next weekend, we were back sledding, but we were more careful. We tried using different spots in the hill to avoid the ice. I had to share my sister's sled for the rest of the season. Eventually the temperatures started warming up, and the snow progressed to mud. The sleds got put away for another year. And the apple tree still had the dent from my sled!
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