I just happened to glance out at the snow the other night, with the moonlight reflecting off it. It looked cold, but at the same time rather inviting. I really wanted to run out, find a toboggan and head for a hill.
I think there’s still a hill there. There used to be. Back in another century. It was out, across the street, through a neighbours back yard, up the path along the end of the bog and there was a hill. Really not far. And it was a pretty good hill. Although it’s probably a lot smaller to my adult self then it was to my childhood version.
On those rare times when the skates would come off, it was likely we were coasting somewhere. That was our usual name for it. Or tobogganing. Maybe sledding, but that was unlikely. Sleds were not really useful. Those thin runners tended to dig in, so you really needed a hard icy surface to get going on a sled.
And eventually there were the crazy carpets. Or even just a piece of cardboard. A large cardboard box and a snowy hill could provide hours of entertainment. One friend even had a home made bob sled. Not those fancy rockets you see at the Olympics. This was more of a platform that four or five kids could throw themselves on.
I just remember we spent a lot of time doing it. And building jumps and other obstacles to fly over.
The only adult supervision was our mothers making sure our coats were zipped up as we headed out the door. Maybe checking to make sure the outer mittens were securely pulled up over the inner mittens so our hands didn’t get too cold.
I don’t see a lot of children doing it these days. Whatever they call it. Everyone seemed to have a different name, but it all was about going downhill. Fast. Guess we can all do that on our own.
But I did see an old toboggan in the garage the other day. Maybe it’s time to drag it out.