Sometimes I worry about my kid. He says and does the strangest things. Then I remember… he’s MY kid… with the influence of Terry and Nikki and Millie and all of our friends. I suppose it’s only fitting that he be freaking strange. We’ve determined that he sounds like the psychos from Borderlands when he gets over-tired.
He will be ten years old in just a few short weeks. I can’t believe how time has flown. It’s baffling. We’re being bad parents and letting him see Deadpool for his birthday. Beyond that he said he wants to go bowling… so Terrace Lanes… here we come.
My story today is about my first winter in North Carolina. I wasn’t new to snow, we previously visited Maine one fall and played in 4 foot snow drifts. We didn’t get much snow at the brown house though. The very first time, my brother took me out to find a sled. We were too late. There had been a run on everything. We managed to find a little round one a few days later at ave hardware. Thinking back on it, we could have gotten away with using a trash can lid.
The next time, we were ready. School was out, Old Red Socks took the day off. “No one’s going to buy cars in the snow!” he huffed. Since my mom was a full time homemaker, the three of us decided too play. I wanted to go sledding, only there wasn’t a lot of snow on the ground. We climbed to the top of the hill in the vacant lot next door. I slid down a few times. There wasn’t even enough to make a good snow man.
The three of us piled into the car and started driving. My dad knew right where he wanted to go. He jumped on the parkway to head toward Mount Mitchell. We paused along the way to stop at Craggy Gardens. I didn’t know as a child that the frost covering the rhodedendron was called rime ice, or that it happened because of the high speeds of the freezing wind over the uniquely shaped crest. All I knew is that it truly looked and felt like a winter wonderland.
My dad would stand at the overlook, pretending to not be cold. “Look at that Jennifer,” (I grew up bring called jennifah in his heavy Maine accent) “ain’t that something special. Very few people get to see this sight.”. At eight years old, I believed him. The day was suddenly even more special than when we started out.
The snow was loose and fresh. The parkway was open almost to the top of Mount Mitchell. We stopped at the restaurant and carried the sleigh over to the field.
Where Craggy Gardens we’re covered in hard, unforgiving ice, the lawn here was coated in two feet of soft snow. We sled for what felt like hours – it might have been. We made it home and kicked on the heat and curled up after a great day.