I couldn't resist sharing CDB's witty rhyme of a memory with you all. I enjoyed reading all of your thoughts to our inspiring photo today. Congrat's to CDB:
Ah, the Wooden sled
My winter's bed
And so much coldness around it
My toddler's discovery
Four walls will not smother me
We have the joy to surround it
O please, Wooden sled
Make memories, not dread
With speed unlike that which we found it.
Visit CDB's inspiring photos, over at Fingers & Paws: A 365-Day Photo Blog
4 comments:
Ah, the Wooden sled
My winter's bed
And so much coldness around it
My toddler's discovery
Four walls will not smother me
We have the joy to surround it
O please, Wooden sled
Make memories, not dread
With speed unlike that which we found it.
The sounds of metal scraping against thin ice with pebbles closely poking through from underneath
The sounds of giggles and laughter as cold fingers clutch wooden handles and three pairs of boots sit in rows down each side as the cousins hug each other.
The sounds of a trucks exhaust and a rope pulled tight behind as it pulls and gently guides, weaving ever so slightly.
Christmas tree hunting and pulling along sleds behind... happy faces and cold noses... then the scent of sweet hot chocolate and the crackling fireplace as we trim the tree.
Four children slogged along, two girls and two boys, pulling two sleds behind them as they climbed higher. The hill thrust up, a geological surprise in the middle of a flat meadow that beckoned sledders on snowy days off from school. The four couldn’t believe their luck, first on Rupp’s hill, they had the whole place to themselves. Though the wind chapped cheeks and roughened red hands, the ride down the hill was worth the effort and putting up with the effects of the cold.
They reached the top. “Race ya down!” cried the tallest boy as he flopped, stomach down, on the sled. The second boy jumped on top of him. The older girl slammed her sled to the ground, the younger one plopped on top of her and with a mighty push the foursome flew down the hill, double stacked. Boyish wide grins and glazed eyes covered their faces. Just behind came squeals and laughter from the girls as the red Flyer sleds took wing, runners gliding over snow and ice in a jubilant chase.
At the bottom of the hill, the top two rolled off the sleds, lying in the soft cushion of snow, laughing until icy tears careened down pink faces, while new arrivals began the trek up the hill.
We had to hike across the back yard and then climb over the low rock wall, the kind you see all over New England. When the ground was clear, there was a path through the woods on the other side, but in the snow, we just went to the right and trekked until the trees ended. The best hill was in the second field. Sometimes there was a path in the snow made by someone else. Most of the time our footprints were the first. My brother went first, dragging the sled. I went behind, stepping carefully in the holes in the snow left by his boots until he realized what I was doing and started taking giant steps, too big for me to match. Since he was bigger, my brother would go down the hill first, starting the path the sled would follow the rest of the afternoon. If I tried to go first, the sled would go about 3 feet and stop. After his first couple of runs, when runners of the sled were sliding well down the path he had made, we would take turns going down. It bugged him that he had to pull the sled back up for me after my runs, but he did it most of the time. Eventually our fingers stung from the cold coming through our wet gloves and we were finally just too uncomfortable to slide anymore. We’d hike back, then, through the woods and across the wall, prop the sled against the house by the back door and go inside to start the water for cocoa.
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