Playground

Our yard was a playground for the neighborhood, summer and winter. Summer was filled with fun, but winter was the most exciting. We lived on a hill overlooking the mouth of a river which could only be glimpsed from an upstairs window during the winter. The trees on the downslope within about twenty feet of the hilltop behind our house had been cut down years before. When we moved there, this area was overgrown with shrubbery and a few small trees that my father didn't try to control, except for one area. This was a narrow path created by water from our yard running downhill to a brook which eventually made its way to the river. We used this runoff area as access to the wonders of the woods which we could explore and pretend in to our hearts' content.

In the winter this path furnished the best sliding ever. Not only was it steep, but it also curved around a large tree about a third of the way down before it reached the brook at the bottom. After a good snowstorm, we first had to take our pieces of cardboard and flying saucers and pack down the snow. Once that was done, we were ready to get our sleds and flying saucers and go.. Each trip down the hill made the path icier and faster. The trick was to go as fast as we could to the bottom without crashing into the tree. At the bottom was the brook. If it was cold enough, the brook would freeze over and our route would be extended several icy feet; otherwise, we'd end up in a soggy mess. We spent hours sliding down and climbing up our special hill until we could barely move.  Only then did we feel our day was complete and we could go inside and get warm.