Snow Day

20151215-HP9A0026The National Weather Service has been warning us that this was coming.  With a track record like theirs, however, to actually have a pile of snow land in Cheyenne was not considered a sure thing.  But today they were right.

We don’t really get a lot of snow here.  Occasionally we will get dumped on, but it melts or blows away, and much of winter is just cold, brown and miserable.  Every once in a while, though, it turns lovely.

Not everyone feels this way about snow. It seems the older we get (We = me and Sherry) that the more grousing we hear about winter weather.  Sherry and I love the snow, and we have talked many times about retiring to a place that had a real winter.  Like the ones we had in Wisconsin.

Growing up in South Milwaukee, we learned about snow.  It typically showed up in November, then hung around until March.  Rather than go through the snow- melt – snow process that we have in Cheyenne, it missed the melt step in the cycle.

All winter log, the combination of Dad blowing all the snow to the little grassy spot between the sidewalk and the street and the city snow plows pushing it in the same place, we often had mounds of the stuff that would reach 6 feet high, making it an adventure pulling out of the driveway. We never knew if we were going to get whacked as we hit the street, because we couldn’t see what was coming from either side.

All winter long, we would play in the snow. Sledding down Miller Hill, Lady Finger, and an assortment of places too scary to be named.  It was always a challenge to hit the snow fence that kept us from the traffic with our sleds, seeing if we had enough residual energy to break the wooden slats in the fence with the metal fronts of our sleds.  Hours were spent going down those hills at breakneck speed, then trudging back up to do it all over again.

Miller Hill had three runs that melded into one about halfway down. Games of chicken were common, with three sled drivers all starting at the same time – one from each side and one from the middle – seeing who could get the the common crossing first and how close we could come to a fiery wreck before going down the big part of the run.

The middle run was the steepest, and it started at the railroad track at the top.  To do this properly, you had to lay down on the sled, face first, then hook your feet over the tracks while hanging onto the sled, dangling at 45 degrees down hill.  The combination of lifting your feet off the track plus gravity equaled a hundred mile-per-hour run into the face of death itself, ending at the aforementioned snow fence.  Cracking a slat was a coveted result.

Well, maybe there’s a little exaggeration in those tales.  But not much, at least to a 10 year-old boy.  Spending 3 hours on a Sunday afternoon with my friends, in 15 degree weather, flying down an icy hill propelled only by momentum were some of the best times of my childhood.

And we never wore helmets.

My love of snow today is a result of all that.  Now it’s snow shoeing, cross country skiing, or watching it come down from the comfort of my living room.  But I still relive those memories every time the white stuff blankets the ground, and I relish every minute of it.

Thank you God for the gift of snow!  And thanks to the National Weather Service for getting this one right!


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One Response to “Snow Day”

  1. Atiyab Says:

    OH how lucky you are i Love Snow
    But in my city it never snows 😦


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