Best Hill in Town

Don't like the cold? You'd best avoid Minnesota in the winter. Below zero? Child's play! As a kid, there was still fun to be had outside no matter the weather. I ought to know. My family had the best sledding hill in our small town of Park Rapids.

Our hill had a 100-yard run, with mostly between 20 and 40 degree angles all the way down. At the bottom was the Fishhook River, with a current slow enough to freeze it with at least a foot of ice. People drove on it to place their icehouses for ice fishing. Our neighbor to the south made beautiful ice sculptures every year by chopping out blocks of ice. They were usually churches with stained glass windows, lit up with colorful lights.

Those things are not what interested most kids about the river at the base of our hill though. It was our docks. We had two of them for tying up boats in the summer. They made perfect jumps for the end of a good sled run, landing on the snow-packed ice.

My older brother and his friends would sometimes pile up snow at the top of the hill to really get going fast out of the gate. They even poured water on it if they were up to the task. I was too scared to try the launch hill.

The hard part once we had our fun going down, was slogging it back up the hill with sled in tow. Sometimes, we'd slip and slide part way back down. Eventually, we'd have enough foot indentations to keep us moving in the right direction.

Once, my parents got us something called a "Skibob." It's like a bicycle with skis instead of wheels. We could go down the hill sitting up - well, unless we fell over. That one was great going down but even more of a pain going back up.

So often someone's parent would call our house, and my mom or dad would yell that they had to go home. So often, we would be called in from the cold at the height of our fun. With chattering teeth and red cheeks and noses, at least one of us would proclaim, "I-I'm n-n-not c-c-cold!"

The summer after my fifth-grade year, my family moved a bit out of town to a brand-new house. It was bittersweet. We all got our own room, painted with a color of our choice. Mine was - and still is - the blue room.

There was a river, the Straight River, which was anything but straight. It was so named because it drained into the Straight Lake. Unfortunately, it had a strong current. While good for canoeing in the summer (if you could avoid beaver dams,) you couldn't walk on it safely in the winter.

Worse yet, the hill leading down to the river was overrun with trees. No good for sledding at all.

Not to be deterred, my youngest brother and his friends invented a sport they called "ice surfing." They would find a chunk of ice they deemed worthy and chop it off from the shore, floating down stream standing up, sometimes with a branch for steering. Think of it as a frigid gondola. More than once, they had to book it for home after falling in. Don't tell Mom!

Once I got past an age where I appreciated winter sports, I hightailed it for the warmth of Arizona, only returning in the warmth of summer unless some necessity dictated a winter visit.

Even though I no longer care for the cold, I will never forget the fun winters growing up in Minnesota. All because we had the best hill in town!