When I was a kid, my sister and I would grab our sleds and race to our pond bank every time it snowed. Our next-door neighbors, who had no such awesome hill – would come join us. We would play out there until we couldn’t feel our toes, and I remember one time in particular when it was so icy we flew all the way across the field and into the barbed-wire fence. Now that was a good time.
As an adult, the idea of standing outside in freezing temperatures and single-digit wind chills (3 degrees right now) is not my idea of a good time. Nor is the idea of sledding down (fun!) followed by trudging back up (not fun!). To my grown-up mind, the drudgery of climbing the hill far outweighs the fun of sledding itself.
But alas, my kids don’t have a pond bank to sled so I can’t just send them off while remaining in the comfort of my heated home. I sucked it up, donned my coveralls, and away we went.
I considered driving into the city to take a stab at Art Hill. After all, that is Where You Go in St. Louis and we have never been. But after looking online and seeing how very, very crowded it typically is, and wanting to avoid the inevitable lawsuit when one of my kids sledding down mows down a group of other kids coming up, I looked for other options.
It isn’t often that we grown-ups get to recapture our youth, but as I sat on that sled with Ethan, flying down that hill fast enough to make my stomach drop, I recaptured some of that youthful enthusiasm for sledding.
I think I may even have giggled a little.