I’m at the age that has allowed me to see quite a number of Januaries flick by, yet on delving into the dim depths of memory, I cannot recollect a January without a thaw, and sometimes accompanied by an ice storm.
On stirring further through the studio of my mind come thoughts retaining memories from years that left us long ago. I can recollect a thaw in January that flooded our swamp area, which ran the full length of our farm. The six-inch depth of water froze solidly. For days later, we could skate at random the half-mile length of the farm and on into the neighbour’s with no problem.
The weather stayed cold and clear for well over a week, so it was not unusual to see cars lined up on the road while the packed-within occupants tumbled out and hopped over the fence to speed skate up, down, in and out, and around the entire tree-spotted valley.
We kept a bonfire kindled beside our pond where a large willow tree trunk lay prostrate before it turned 30 feet skyward. It was here they could plunk their butt, warm their hands and feet, and thaw out frozen boots while changing to go back home.
On another year, I recollect a storm that brought freezing rain that iced the roads to such an extent they were impassable to both motorized and horse-drawn vehicles. Earlier in the season the road crews had stored a large pile of gravel, drawn while the ground was firm in the fall, in preparation for spring road repairs. It was heaped on the sawmill property that cornered the highway and the downhill road past our house.
We were the proud owners of a 12-foot-long bobsled, which my dad had built by hand for us on a previous Christmas. Eight kids, of various sizes, if squeezed in crotch to butt with legs tucked around the one ahead, could ride in reasonable comfort, with the front occupant able to steer with his feet.
We would take turns hauling this sleigh up to the top of the gravel heap, and shooting down its long slope gave us enough momentum to glide over the slight upward grade, then on down the road and over the bridge at reckless speed and up the slight grade to the house where we lived, which was a stretched half-mile from start to finish. Let me tell you, “That was a fun week!”
I remember another year when the January thaw brought a light rain that froze, crusting the snow cover on the fields, to the extent that you could walk on it anywhere without breaking through. On windswept days, we could stand upright, unbutton our coats, hold them outright like sails, and with properly braced rubber booted feet, you could glide across the field at such speed it made the average mother stand wringing her hands and praying.
On another occasion, I recollect a large wind-swept area on a neighbour’s farm, known as the flats, that was flooded a foot deep with water that froze solid. Here again we could practise our speed skating and, on days that a slight breeze was available, you could open your coat and, holding it spread like sails, you could shoot across the ice at breakneck speed.
If any necks were broken, I don’t quite recall. I do remember some tumbles that hurt, but the blue bruise marks and swellings, which stayed with you for days, were outweighed by the amount of fun.
Keep in mind that these were days long prior to the commercial skating rinks, indoor arenas and snowmobiles. The dollars were not available, so you simply made your own entertainment. I’ve said it before and I just can’t help saying it again, “Though the times were tough, they were good times!” Thanks, too, to God for January thaws.
Take care, ’cause we care.
barrie@barriehokins.ca
519-986-4105