CREEK ROAD GANG
Your Subtitle text
Thoughts from the Editor:
February 2010
copyright 2010
Time
was when I found a white snow sky to be the most welcome of sights! It
meant building snowmen in the yard, creating a snow fort on the sloping
piece of land beside the Jenny gas station next door, and coasting on
the hill near the reservoir with Dad on the sled he had as a boy. My
brothers got their own sleds as Christmas presents, but I never had a
new one. I shared Dad's with him, and that was the best sled of all.
We'd come home, toes and fingers frozen, cheeks bright red with the cold, snow sticking to our snowsuits, scarves and hats and mittens. Mum would unbutton us, unzip us, pull off boots, and send us off to put on warm, dry clothes while she went to the kitchen to make us cocoa.
Of course, for our parents, there were some other less exciting features of winter in those days when I was very little. Mum had to pack us into our snow gear, buttoning, fastening, tucking with child after child, and by the time we were all set to go out, one of us had to be eased out of snow gear to make one more bathroom trip. When we came in again, she'd carefully arrange our snow-wet clothes over the radiators. She'd rub little fingers and little feet, towel wet hair, wipe up the snowy wet mess we left in our wake. For Dad, after he'd shoveled our porches, stairs and walks, he'd earn extra money clearing the sidewalks in front of public buildings, shoveling snow for the town where we lived, squeezing that in around his full-time job as a baker. In later years, we kids would take over the shoveling. But in my early childhood, Dad would work and work and work, and still find time to take us out and play with us.
It's been one heck of a winter so far this year, and it's not over yet.
Right now, the backyard is decorated with branches and limbs that have fallen to the strong winds. In the woods, I see some newly downed trees in addition to the lighter debris. Despite flurries all day, a five o'clock shadow of grass rises through the covering of snow in front of the house, but the street is totally white.
Maybe, after all, it would be good to veer from our schedules today. There are jobs to do, errands to be run, appointments to keep – but perhaps some of that could wait while we gather some of the dead wood, drag it into the house, and build a rousing fire in our fireplace. And maybe some hot chocolate, with a marshmallow or two, might be just the ticket to restore circulation to fingers frozen by the 11 degree weather. We could bake cookies, tell stories, laugh together, build memories that will warm us still, even years from now.
We'd come home, toes and fingers frozen, cheeks bright red with the cold, snow sticking to our snowsuits, scarves and hats and mittens. Mum would unbutton us, unzip us, pull off boots, and send us off to put on warm, dry clothes while she went to the kitchen to make us cocoa.
Of course, for our parents, there were some other less exciting features of winter in those days when I was very little. Mum had to pack us into our snow gear, buttoning, fastening, tucking with child after child, and by the time we were all set to go out, one of us had to be eased out of snow gear to make one more bathroom trip. When we came in again, she'd carefully arrange our snow-wet clothes over the radiators. She'd rub little fingers and little feet, towel wet hair, wipe up the snowy wet mess we left in our wake. For Dad, after he'd shoveled our porches, stairs and walks, he'd earn extra money clearing the sidewalks in front of public buildings, shoveling snow for the town where we lived, squeezing that in around his full-time job as a baker. In later years, we kids would take over the shoveling. But in my early childhood, Dad would work and work and work, and still find time to take us out and play with us.
It's been one heck of a winter so far this year, and it's not over yet.
Right now, the backyard is decorated with branches and limbs that have fallen to the strong winds. In the woods, I see some newly downed trees in addition to the lighter debris. Despite flurries all day, a five o'clock shadow of grass rises through the covering of snow in front of the house, but the street is totally white.
Maybe, after all, it would be good to veer from our schedules today. There are jobs to do, errands to be run, appointments to keep – but perhaps some of that could wait while we gather some of the dead wood, drag it into the house, and build a rousing fire in our fireplace. And maybe some hot chocolate, with a marshmallow or two, might be just the ticket to restore circulation to fingers frozen by the 11 degree weather. We could bake cookies, tell stories, laugh together, build memories that will warm us still, even years from now.
~ Kate Lydon
