Clang, bang, thump. I was making a lot of noise and, sure enough, it woke him up.
“What are you doing out in the garage? "my sleepy-eyed hubby asked, slightly annoyed I had disturbed his Saturday morning slumber.
“Sorry! I was trying to be quiet. I’m just trying to get Dad’s Flexible Flyer off the hook on the wall. Did you see the incredible snowfall that accumulated overnight? I’m going to go sledding down the hill on the golf course behind the house.”
He laughed, knowing I had fond memories of playing in the snow as a child. He also gently reminded me that the sun was just starting to peek over the horizon and that I was likely to find that my narrow-railed sled would only sink into the two feet of fresh snowfall and not fly as I expected it to. “Besides,” he said, “it’s still snowing. Come back in the house and get a little more sleep. It is Saturday you know.”
He was right - I’ve always loved snow. To me, it’s never been the cold white stuff that’s a nuisance to be shoveled or plowed. Instead, I think of it as soft and pretty and have idyllic memories of walking to midnight mass on Christmas Eve surrounded by swirling, sparkling flakes.
Snow also means fun. There are snowmen to make, snowball fights to have and, if you’re lucky, there are days off from school too. The very best part of a snowfall, though, is the sledding. Making my way to the top of Morgy Birds Road, an abandoned coal mining access roadway, I would get on the sled and fly down the hill. Steering the Flexible Flyer, handed down to me by my dad, was great fun and brought an incredible sense of freedom. Aww, those were the days!
Today, though, I was back in our warm house, and as I nestled under the covers and slowly drifted off, I could hear my mother’s scolding voice: “Come back in the house right now! Did you hear me? It’s cold out there, you’ll get frostbite. And stop speeding down the hill; you’ll kill yourself if you go too fast. There’s sharp chunks of coal along the edge of that road and if you go over, we won’t find you until the spring thaw!”
Did I listen? Nope, not one little bit. After I sent my semi-frozen four-year old brother back into the house to thaw out, I would drag the sled back up to the top of the hill and ready myself for the next adventurous run. I got myself balanced on the sled, making sure my feet were firmly on the steering bar and my hands firmly on the ropes. Never mind that I couldn’t feel my fingers - I’d worry about my mother being right later.
And I was off. Zooming down the hill I would pick up steam and go as fast as I could, making turns and zipping up and over obstacles in my path. It was exhilarating. I was the “Speed Demon of Morgy Birds Road.” There was not a person - or thing - in the world that was going to stop me. I imagined that Amelia Earhart felt just like this when she flew her plane - the wind through her hair, the vast horizon ahead and the rush of adrenaline through her veins.
Ok, so maybe, at the age of six, I didn’t exactly know what adrenaline was, but I sure did know that I felt invincible. From the seat of my Flexible Flyer, I was dauntless and could do anything.
An hour or so later, I woke from my nap with a desire to have that feeling again. But a question started to nag: Am I at that age when I should settle down a bit, act more like a senior citizen and not do anything challenging or daring ever again?
The answer - a resounding NO! Why shouldn’t I be as fearless and determined as I was at age six? Ok, maybe I needed to be a bit more cautious when zipping down snowy hills; and take a little more care not to break any bones. But having the wonderful memories of speeding down that hill on Morgy Birds Road reminded me to never put on the brakes but to go full speed ahead with whatever I choose to do next.
Peeking into our breakfast room, I saw hubby having his second cup of coffee and watching golf. I started to pour myself a cup but something irresistible came over me. Giggling to myself, I quietly grabbed my parka and gloves and donned my boots. Without waiting for a reply, I charged out the door to the garage, yelling over my shoulder:
“Hey honey, I’m just going out for a bit. Don’t worry, I won’t be gone long.”
© 2024 Annie Sokoloff
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