Decades ago and 400 miles due north of my current residence, winter play outside was a favorite thing.
Part of it was a determination to keep up with older brothers. I want a sled! I got tired of sharing the vehicle at an early age as we swished down the hillside behind our house. Christmas brought the gift one year. And it saw lots of action on the worn route down the hill, past the garage, along the drive and into the snowbank at the end.
The two of us took a few side trips also as young hands learned to steer. (It’s good to be flat when going under a barbed wire fence.)
Our family moved. The terrain didn’t suit sledding so much. Chores replaced play as the years passed.
Last year we had more than usual snowfall in this city. The tiny park in view of my window filled with children on snow days. They rode plastic saucers, snowboards, and sheets of cardboard. The sled with two narrow runners is an antique now.
Vehicles change. Snow continues to call the young. Young bodies engerized by cold air and a spray of snow remain from generation to generation.