Here's snow in your eye
If you're like me, you've been by Cherry Hill Park or the Coeur d'Alene public golf course back when we actually had snow on the ground, and you saw the multitudes sledding down the hills there. And if you're also like me, you did a little of that growing up.
Where I lived in central Montana, snow and lots of it was the norm most winters. With lots of time on our hands during our grade school years, my twin brother and I spent late afternoons and most weekends dragging our sleds to the nearest spot, and racing to the bottom of the hills with our friends, to determine who had the fastest ride and technique.
But the most fun I can remember from those winter days decades ago, aside from the snowball fights, was when a bunch of us would grab a toboggan and head for the largest hill within walking distance, ski hill.
Ski hill wasn't much of a hill for skiing's sake, but as a toboggan run, it was adequate. The unfortunate part of tobogganing was that you had to aim the sled very precisely toward the bottom of the hill, because steering one under the weight of a few people was not possible.
Our best run from my recollection was probably one of our quickest. We managed to fit nine sledders on our toboggan (four on bottom, then three stacked in between with two piled on top) on about a foot of hard-packed snow. The last two had to climb on after pushing the S.S. Minnow under way, and of course one or both of them managed to give the circus act a few course corrections, which undoubtedly led to the whole thing becoming out of balance and everybody toppling off and rolling to a stop about midway down the hill.
Even though I was in the middle tier, I saw nothing, since one of the pushers crushed me downward as he tried to catch the train.
Today they would have made a YouTube video of such an endeavor, but we participants just have to live with the memory of the attempt.
One of the best pastimes we came up with for winter fun was what we referred to as "rail jumping." On the eastern edge of town, the rail line was cut through some hills, and the snow would drift over the hills and down toward the tracks.
My brother and I would take turns running off the top of the hill and fall down toward the tracks. The farther out and down you landed, the braver you were. Often, one of us would fall through a crusty top layer and into the deep snow, sometimes becoming buried. When this happened, you were on your own - because the other one was too busy laughing to be of any assistance.
We decided by the time we introduced this new sport to our friends that if your snow boots came off upon landing - meaning you had to dig them out - you got even more bravery points.
Another great winter feat, "hookey-bobbing," was passed down in our town. It involved a snow- (or ice-) covered street and a pickup truck. You, and hopefully a few friends, would stand behind the vehicle with the slickest pair of shoes you owned (nice dress shoes were the best choice, much to the chagrin of mom). When the truck took off, you did your best to hold on and skate as long as you could, hopefully outlasting the others. Extra points were earned if you managed to stay upright after letting go and sliding to a fashionable stop.
But undoubtedly the best winter idea belonged to our mom, who had the wherewithal to make us slip plastic bread sacks over our socks before slipping our boots on. They kept or feet dry and toasty for the most part, until we lost them on our best rail jump.
Jerry Hitchcock is a copy editor for The Press. He can be reached at 664-8176, Ext. 2017, or via e-mail at jhitchcock@cdapress.com.