It's Almost Over

I'm talking about the month of January. Now to get through February... Every year it gets harder as I age. I remember the wonderful snow and ice activities of my youth. My glory days remain clearly. So do the days of misadventure.

Going way back in years, probably sometime when I was around age 10 to 14,  I can still see bloody ice from when I fell and gashed my chin open. I always loved to be the end skater of about six or seven other skaters who formed the whip because of the speed of the crack the whip game, being at the end was exciting. I had lost the grip of the person ahead of me and everyone was in total awe to see such a blood puddle before they helped me walk home. My mother used clean snow made into a pack to help the flow and then came the iodine and a bandage. I cannot even see a scar today.

My neighborhood friends, both guys and girls including me, used to sleigh down a kid-made downhill trail on a very steep hill through the woods. This secret sledding place was about a mile up the road from where we lived. We had built lift off humps throughout the trail with snow-covered logs creating drop offs so that when you came to one you went airborne and then landed back down on the trail. The idea was not to fall off, get your wind knocked out, or crash into the trees on the side of the trail. WOW! Our parents never knew about this! It really took guts to go down that hill.

One year, sometime in the 70's when the snow was deep, the air was clear and the sun was out, I saddled up my horse and daughter's pony and we went for a ride on old narrow snow-covered roads in the backwoods. I had misjudged the depth of the drifts and my horse plunged through with the pony following. After many breaks to rest, I thought we were doomed. The end of this story is that my horse got us through, with much urging, breaking the path for the pony and rider behind. Whew! That was a close one.

Another story that comes to mind is when the Mister and I were snowmobiling with a group of others and, although we were well dressed for a long ride, I became very chilled and it's a good thing we got home in time for him to undress me from the suit and to cover me up with warm blankets because, I know now, that hypothermia was definitely beginning. It got to the point when we were heading home that I wanted to sleep on the back of the machine I was so cold.

No personal photographs to go with this today. There are none but for the ones in my mind. They are very real - still. But of course, I made a photomanipulation painting of cracking the whip.

End of stories today. February is just around the corner and then Mother Nature will continue her march through the seasons, as usual.

Remembering...

We always had a dog. We always had a cat. We had chickens and rabbits in our yard cages. (These were for food.) We had a large vegetable garden. We had chores but we always played outdoors when the weather was cooperative. We didn't stick together, though. My brother and I paired up and of course, the twins paired up. 

1946

From about 1943 through 1949

When I was a little older, I explored and played with both boys and girls my age who lived in the neighborhood. Our neighborhood consisted of three blocks of homes away from town and consisted of people of immigrant backgrounds, mostly Irish, Italian and Polish. We all got along ALL of the time. We ran "loose" and only returned home for lunch when the firehouse whistle blew and then, again when the 6 o'clock whistle blew for supper. We scavenged in the dump up the road. We played street games and ran rampant through all the yards during hide and seek. We hunted and collected lightning bugs, butterflies, frogs, snakes, pollywogs and turtles. We played war in the woods as soldiers and enemies and nurses and doctors. We even had a hut in the ground with a roof made of branches. We collected newspapers and bottles to sell to the junk man and then had a garage party with soda and cookies. We traded playing cards and comic books. Almost all had bicycles of some sort and knew how to use a hammer and screwdriver. Dirt and bandaids were the theme of every day. Mosquito bites and poison ivy were common. We ice skated on the ponds. We rang doorbells and ran away. What a gang we were! 

The neighbor next door was French-Italian and raised pigeons in his back yard. They had no kids but were very tolerant of our curiosity about the pigeons who were enclosed in the net-covered back yard. (I think they ate them.) It was hard to understand them due to the broken English but we all tried. They laughed a lot. The family next to them had 5 sons, all in the Navy in the early 40's. The lady across the street had a gold star  flag hanging in her door window. Another lady down the street had a harp and let me try it out. My best girlfriend's grandmother was German and her father had a wonderful accent. The family up the road had 12 children. I remember that one was a nun, one was a priest and one died. Another one through the woods and on another street had 13. There was always laundry hanging on lines and the older children of the large families helped care for the younger kids - always and without complaining.  

Then I got my first horse. Later my best girlfriend down the street got a horse too. New and exciting stuff with horses (and boys) was carried on. We correspond to this day. 

I wore boy's pants with a fly, back pockets and belt loops much of the time. They were passed down from my boy cousins and were very welcome in my world. I wore flannel shirts, but always knew I was a girl. I just liked to be different. I was a show off. My braids were cut off when I turned 13. 

Then things changed and the tomboy disappeared.

These are some of the things I remember. There is one thing from which people never recover - it’s their childhood. Mine was a good one. Lucky me!

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