Sharon Dow

Christmas is over for another year: decorations are all packed away; new toys have joined the old; new books have been read, their pages crinkled and turned; new clothes have been washed and worn; and now winter sets in.

Winter in Saint John as I remember it, was a joyful season. For many years I stated emphatically that winter was my favourite season; and I still love it, but I also see the beauty in each season as it unfolds.

I look out the kitchen window of our Guilford Street flat and watch the wet flakes pile up in the yard. Can anything be more beautiful? Once the storm has passed; out come the snowsuits, warm hats, knitted mittens, boots, and scarves. Once I’m inside all of this, I can hardly move but with great determination, I make my way down the back stairs and into the wonderland that awaits me.

Fresh snow, not a footprint in the yard. I make the first set of prints and wait for my friends to emerge from their homes. Once we’ve gathered, the fun begins. By supper time, there will not be a spot in the yard that has not been visited by us. We flop down on our backs and make a multitude of ‘snow angels’. When we tire of that; a big snowman is built. We roll the big junks of snow into snowballs so huge it takes all of us to lift them into place. We bang on our backdoors demanding carrots, coal, a scarf; all accessories for our snowman.

When he is complete, it’s time to build our forts. We separate into two opposing teams and quickly make and stack snowballs to be the walls of our fort. We then make another set to store in our fort for ammunition. When both teams are ready, snowballs begin to fly. We do have rules; no junks of ice or rocks can be in a snowball. That was perhaps the only rule. If we didn’t like getting hit, we could stay behind the fort, or worst case scenario; go home! Rarely did anyone go home.

Just down the street and around the corner, was an amazing outdoor ice rink. There were actually two rinks, one for hockey and one for skating. ‘Pop’ looked after the rink and we could always expect a good surface. The ‘shack’ where we put on our skates and where we went when we were cold, was always kept warm for us. I learned to skate there and spent many wonderful hours each winter, skating with my friends.

Sliding was another popular activity. On our block of Guilford Street, right at the top of the hill at the intersection of Ludlow Street, was the best sliding hill. I didn’t even have to go out on the street to get there. As there were no fences, I went straight there from my back yard. Those were the days of the wooden sleds with runners. My favourite way to slide was flat on the sled going downhill headfirst. That way I could see what was up ahead, steer better, and get the greatest speed. The only tricky part was that the best run went between two trees at the bottom of the hill. I only hit the trees once – never to be forgotten!

I remember how cold and raw our wrists would get, the ice that would form on our scarves from our warm breath, mittens so stiff with ice that they would stand up by themselves, chunks of ice slipping down into our boots; but oh, it was so worth it! A winter day: a thing of beauty. Enjoy God’s creation under a mantle of white. What could be more beautiful?