Sledding on Carmichael Hill and "Life in a Northern Town."

 It's funny how when you're a kid, a day can last forever. Now, all these years seem just like a blink.

Bobby Garfield- Hearts in Atlantis

This is my ninth year in hot weather Christmas land. Instead of snow and sledding they do beaches and BBQ. They say you eventually get used to it, but I never have. If I close my eyes I can still remember winter in my hometown like it was yesterday. There was a lovely song once upon a time called, “Life in a Northern Town” that described it well. Snow, ice and cold for three months that the adults complained about and the kids dreamed about.


Fresh snow brought a world of possibilities for a kid in my town.


Pictured above is Carmichael Hill. It might not look like much, but for kids in my town it was the hotspot of winter activities. Even the least religious kids prayed for a snow day back then. It meant school was cancelled and you could grab your saucer or sled or even Black garbage back and make your way to Carmichael Hill.

That’s not to say you didn’t have to tread carefully. Much like the arcade or the 7/11 parking lot, there was a hierarchy here and you had to know your place. A wrong step out of line could still mean being pegged with an icy snowball or having your face rubbed in the snow.


There were “jumps” that were constructed that were a measure of both your skill level as a sledder as well as your tolerance for fear. You started with the little jumps, and for some people that was as far as they ever progressed. Those kids probably grew up to be insurance agents, carefully tolerating risk and reward.


Both for the rest of us, the big jump was where the action was.




 Now that’s not to say you could just point your saucer at the big jump and go. Remember I talked about the hierarchy? Well that applied to the jumps as well. The bullies got to eat first, and if you were lucky enough to get your shot at the big jump, you better grab for the brass ring.


I remember one winter when I was about 11, I decided my time was come. I had already run afoul of some of the aforementioned bullies (I had a big mouth even back then), and I can remember this particular scene like it was yesterday.

it was the first snowfall of the season. Early that year. Around Thanksgiving. There was at least 6 inches of powder on the hill that day and every kid within three towns was at Carmichael Hill that day.


“Look you little shits,” the head bully announced. (Bullies made announcements back then.) “We built the big jump and it’s not for you little kids to be playing on. You’d probably just go home crying to your mommies anyway.”


“Anyone who goes down the big jump before we’re done, is fucking dead!”


Well that certainly sounded ominous.


 And yet…


Whenever I’ve heard such things in my life, it just makes me want to do that thing more. This was no exception.


So when I took off down that hill it was from nowhere near the actual jump site. No, I was like a second tier marathon runner pushed to a different starting area than the big boys.


But I was undeterred.


My friends gave me one last, “are you sure you want to do this?” speech, and then wound me up for a push. Knowing they too may be in line for a beating for aiding and abetting.


To quote the movie “Stand by Me,”


 “I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?”


And down the hill I went. I could see one of the teenagers with blackened teeth had launched at approximately the same moment, and I needed to make up some time. I began turning my sled at an extreme angle, nearly falling off any number of times. And then the moment arrived.


And this jump WAS big. Much bigger than I even imagined. I saw Black teeth was going to arrive at the jump at about the same time, and made a mental note that was going to be trouble.


But I was committed now.


I saw my nemesis mouthing the words “fuckkkk youuuuu” as he hit the jump sideways and immediately crashed. But me? I I hit that jump perfectly flush and flew.




 I was flying, actually flying!




 Terrifying, exhilarating, soon to be crashing, flying….

And as much as I would like this to be a perfect “stick the landing” story like one of those Russian girls from the winter Olympics, I cannot.

I went crashing, and rolling, gathering snow as I went like a giant iceball.


There was snow in every crevice of my body.


But it turns out that was the least of my problems. Everyone had seen how much more “air” (that was how success was measured in this world), than the bully, and was pointing and laughing.

And again, I’d like to tell you this story ended with me delivering a beating to the much bigger bully like Ralphie in “A Christmas  Story.”


But alas, I cannot.


My face and a patch of “yellow” snow soon became intimately acquainted with the help of Black teeth.


Totally worth it though.


I recently caught up with a friend overseas and we were talking about our childhoods. Sledding, “hooky-bobbing,” which involved grabbing the back of a moving car and then “riding” down the ice until you inevitably fell.


It’s hard to even imagine in today’s world. I googled “Carmichael Hill” recently and read about a bunch of people filing lawsuits because their kids had been injured.

THAT'S a world I can easily imagine.


But with the right kind of eyes, I can still remember that day. That time. That place.


Life in a Northern Town.


It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.