I took a drive a couple of days ago. I was in the mood for nostalgia. Snow days had come up in about every conversation I’d had in town, and I got to thinking. I thought about growing up on Hickory and wanted a picture of days gone by. Not sure why Hickory Street popped into my thoughts, but maybe it was the 16 inches of snow we received last week and the “squall” we’d experienced on Thursday. (Ya, think?!?)
Every child in the area had gone down this hill, which seemed bigger than it appears, if they were willing to hoof it from across the way. The “way” being the last and newest neighborhood on the edge of town. The hill spanned for about half a city block. The use of city to help describe a distance leaves me amused. Hickory was a gravel road. This hill, for all intents and purposes, was in the country.
A well traveled road it would seem to us at the time but short of the mailman, families up the road and man who lived further to the east it was a quiet route – not taken by many or at all on winter days. This allowed for tunnels, igloos and ramps to be built on and for the hill. Often times we’d trade in wet gloves for socks out of the clean laundry basket mom left sitting on the deep freeze. She’d hollar at us to use the old bread bags. The ones collected all year to wrap around mittens. In an instant handmade winter gear became water proof, but boy did it make packing snow difficult and an even slower process.
The hill taught friends, my siblings and I a lot about team work. Our creativity and manpower steamed forward by the hour. Nothing kept us from returning to a group project after lunch if our mothers would allow it.
My mind’s eye sees the hill and the narrow walkway at the top by the barbed wire fence. We’d created a walking path at the top in an effort to travel from one house to the other during non wintery months, and everyone knew it was there. It was handy. Back and forth we’d go all day long changing the location of play. It was a lot like a highway and we had created it all on our own. This path kept us safely off the road.
On snow days, we’d plop our sleds on to the path. It was there under the snow somewhere, and we would pile on with the nose headed south. Everyone gripping the friend’s legs behind them as a way to hold on we’dcount down 3 – 2 – 1 – .
And then down, we’d go.
Oldest Daughter & Red Headed Sister 