In the 50’s at S.S. #9 Sharon School in Edville, when those big, white, fluffy snowflakes came floating down outside the window, it was time for celebration! With the snow came all those activities that children love, skating, sledding, tobogganing, skiing, snow ball throwing, building snow forts, playing fox and geese, and many more. The most memorable for me was sledding downhill on the icy Telephone Road located to the north of the school. The long ride began just outside Mulhall’s gate, this was the steepest part of the run, and provided a fast start. When conditions were optimal, we began by holding the sled waist high, running our hearts out then slamming our body, tummy down on the sled. Chances were pretty good we could enjoy a pretty fast ride all the way to Cold Creek. There were a few hazards like gravel showing in ugly bareness through the ice, fellow sledders wiping out in front of us, a loose fitting knitted hat somehow positioning itself askew over both eyes, and of course, we always had to watch for traffic! We were always seeking new methods to increase the speed. The answer came in the form of more weight, two on a sled - one atop the other was evermore thrilling, but then the hazards were greater too.

On one occasion, we built a snow fort barricade across the road near Mulhall’s gate. The sledding must have been poor that day, perhaps it was mild, leaving drifts of wet snow in the ditches. This was a group effort, and upon completing the job, we had only to wait for the next vehicle. As it happened, it was the bread man making his rounds. We lined up on both sides of the road observing his slow approach all the way up from Cold Creek. We could hear his tires spinning and we watched him attempting to steer his truck towards this few bare patches. In retrospect, I’m sure he was observing us too and I know this was not the highlight of his day. He maneuvered his truck just to the snow barricade, which didn’t present too much resistance, but enough to bring the truck to a halt. Kids will be kids and we laughed until our sides ached. If only he could have appreciated the moment as we did, we probably would’ve pushed him through the barricade and over the brink of the hill. Instead, he walked to the school to tell my Mother and teacher, Muriel McDonald Reddick who came out, and then we pushed him over the brink. We knew he had recovered his sense of humour when he drove off with wave and smile.

When the one o’clock bell rang, we felt Mom would understand if we took one more ride, and she always did. There was something exhilarating about removing the wet outer clothing and finding the inner and underclothing wet too. Our hair was wet and stringy and our rosy cheeks were tingling with reheat from the box stove. We just felt wonderful and ready for the afternoon’s lesson.

My Mother was a very compassionate lady who treated all the children like her own. She recognized our strengths and encouraged us to live life to its fullest.

By Carole Reddick Ring, March 2009