Waking up to a new snowfall.

In the 1960s, on any good weather day at the crossroads where Keasey meets Star Grille, automobiles were a rare sight. On a day like this there was just no reason to go out driving except to go to the store and no one who lived around here did that on a morning full of snow. After a good snowfall, the roads were even more vacant.

Waking up to a new snowfall, especially a deep one, meant that until the salt truck came through, which would be later since we lived at the edge of the township, the hills and the roads were ours.

Whoever was around, Susie, Melis, me, and a few of the neighbor kids – the Coles or Mileys – would get all bundled up and we’d grab the Radio Flyer and the saucer sled from the garage, and head up the hill. Someone would take the first turn at standing where the roads met to watch out for cars, but we never seemed too worried about  the dangers of sliding down a road that was not meant for sleds.

Starting about halfway up the hill, there were two goals: speed and distance. On a good day the road was fast and the goal was to see how far up the next hill we could get.

We’d stay out there until we could stand the cold no more, our noses running, and then head back into the house where Grandma K. had hot cocoa and buttered toast waiting for us on the table.

Photo Credit: Melissa Somerville. Taken on February 8, 2011

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