SNOW DAYS

SNOWFIELDS

[an excerpt from my memoir]

       On snow days in Medford when I was growing up, the kids in town would come from all directions across the fields to “Adams’ hill,” located on a farm owned by, oddly enough, the Adams family (not of TV fame). Some of us would be carrying our sleds as we made our way across a log that spanned the Rancocas Creek.  We thought nothing of it, and I don’t recall anyone ever slipping off the log into the icy waters—we just did it without thinking.

          Anyway as far as we were concerned, the kids pretty much owned the town. It was all about us—the sidewalks, the woods, the swimming hole (Minnie Hole), the movie theater, the schoolyard and playground thereof, the Friends Meeting House yard (great for softball, tackle-the-man-with-the-ball, and hide-and-seek on summer nights), and the booths in the soda fountain at the drugstore. So to my knowledge, no one ever asked permission to go sledding on the Adams’ farm. We just took for granted that it was ours to use.

          Older kids would build a fire on the hillside so we could all keep sledding into the night, and we did. I know that some older folks are fond of talking about the “good old days,” and some of us are quick to respond that such days never existed, but the one thing that supports their point of view is that our parents were never worried sick about us. We could be gone all day, from sunup till sundown, and they were certain that we were completely safe—and we were.

          At the bottom of Adam’s hill was a stream that was usually covered with a thin coating of ice, and if you lost control of your sled, you might end up in it. If you did, it was to the great delight of all the other kids. No one went home crying even though you would get soaking wet in the freezing cold temperatures. If you went home, it was to change clothes and go right back again. (If that happened to me today, I would go home crying, and not go sledding again for the rest of the winter and maybe the next winter too.)

          I will say this about all that, when it snows and the fields around our house (we live on a farm) are blanketed white, I sometimes think about those days, not so much in wanting to go back there, but more in celebration of a time I feel fortunate to have been able to experience. It was a chapter of my life in which I felt safe and free to live with a sense of joy that required nothing more of me than my participation.

          I wonder if maybe that’s still a possibility as an adult if maybe we could let go of the things we can’t do anything about except to trust in whatever will be will be. Just a thought.