Winter Fun: Sledding

There is a place not far from the Farm where a great number of hills lie silent and waiting for a new day to begin. Oh! This is their very fa-vor-ite time of year! When the snow covers thickly, and little feet clad in boots and hands in mittens silently trudge up them, tugging at sleds that are trailing behind. When there’s yelps and hollers and laughing and fun. When the sun rises and daylight streams down on many a happy face, delighted to be living at such a time and place as this! And the Farmer and his Wife and their children, along with some of their friends, count themselves blessed to be among them.

And it goes something like this:

“How many sleds did you bring?” each asks to each other as they pile out of the vans and vehicles which brought them, fearing there won’t be enough. (Rest assured, there is.)

They pause. Each inspects the other thoroughly, ensuring they are who they claim to be. Can that truly be Hannah? So thick and fluffy? And David—is that really you? (Rest assured, it is.)

But the hills are calling, so the hellos and hugs are brief. Each man, woman, and child hurls themselves onto said sleds and makes the first trek down.

The hills laugh joyfully, right along with them.

You may be saying to yourself, surely not the Farmer’s Wife. She would know far better than to go sliding down a hill on nothing more than a piece of manufactured plastic. Well, let’s go ask her. Oh. There she is, at the bottom of the hill, covered head to foot in snow, gripping her piece of plastic tightly in her mittened hands.

Well, then.

And the Farmer? Please tell me he stands as the voice of reason, even if he had to stand alone.

Now, where did he go? Oh. Good. There he is, still at the top of the hill. I knew if we could count on anyone, it would be him. Oh…wait. No. There he goes. He was just waiting for everyone else to have a turn. Making sure the way was clear.

That’s so like the Farmer.

Well, I guess the hills have had their way today. And I guess I can’t begrudge them this bit of fun. In the Summer, they don’t have a lick of it.

Because, you see, in the Summer, they’re nothing more than a Boring-Old-Golf-Course.