Snow is the four-letter word in the East this year. The portion of the latest storm hitting my area dropped a cool 6 inches in my back yard. I would be content to stay indoors and watch the beauty in my pajamas. The dogs, however, would not be.

The weather forecasts told me all I needed to know. The snow would fall steadily over the coming 12 hours. Accumulations of up to one inch per hour were possible. The disheartening realization of the task ahead immediately registered in my mind.

It is not possible for me to shift even half the predicted amount in one effort. I needed to shovel and sweep every couple hours to stay on top of things. The weatherman said the frigid temperature would help keep the snow light and fluffy. Lighter snow meant less chance of downed trees and power lines. It would also be easier to shovel. So I shoveled, and shoveled, and shoveled.

The 30 minutes I spent in the back yard brought a flurry of memories to mind. Winter has always been the least favorite times for me. The cold hurts me to the bones. Thinsulate gloves bring only the slightest protection from pre-frostbite finger pain. I just never enjoyed being out with the other kids in the freezing cold.

I do not remember the exact year. I may have been eight. I was old enough to be down the street with the neighbor kids sledding. I suspect that was the last time I went sledding.

Dad took the wood and metal sled off the shop wall. It may have been a Radio-Flyer, I have no idea. I never was one to care about brand names. With nothing more than a mild, “Be careful.” Dad sent me off to sled. There was no instruction. No warning to lean, where to put my feet, or how to hold on.

The favorite spot was a pretty hard, right turn on a hill just down from my house. All the kids loved to sled that hill. Everyone seemed to understand what to do. I watched and gathered a little information. I noticed how the twins would lean when they were on their stomachs. I could see some of the older kids sitting up on their sleds, but I could not see they were steering with their feet. I did O.K. several times imitating the twins. Then I tried sitting up.

Sleds do not turn on their own. I started on the outer edge of the road. That was part of my error. As I sped down the hill, my nose cold and runny from the air, I realized I was headed straight for Mrs. Bowen’s block wall.

Mrs. Bowen’s block wall kept the hill from falling into her yard. Her house was four feed below the street. The cinder-block wall extended only six inches, or so, above the road, creating just a bit of a curb for parking. The handrail to the steps down to her yard was welded gas piping.

It is often reported that time seems to slow down when someone is in an accident. “It was like it was in slow-motion,” is frequently reported by drivers when they crash. In my case, things happened so quickly it was difficult to know just what happened. The sled did not turn. It crashed into the cinder-block wall, thrusting me face-first into the gas pipe handrail, and over the wall, into the yard below.

The snow broke my fall. The pipe broke my nose.

As the other kids laughed, I gathered myself up quickly and headed home. I was extremely embarrassed, holding back tears until I was out of sight. I was a frequent target for teasing by the neighbor kids. An incident like this just made things worse. Thankfully, that year we had significant snowfall, causing several days in a row of missed school. Most of the swelling was gone by the time classes resumed.

Tags: shovel, sledding, sleds, snow