A frozen driveway is the closest thing we'll get to pond hockey where I live. The annual coating of snow and ice this weekend took me back to a similar time a few years ago when my boys got to experience a little bit of what it was like for me growing up in the north, where we spent the winter skating on ponds and lakes.
There's something magical about skating outside on a frozen sheet, breathing the cold, fresh air with just the sound of your blades slicing the ice and laughter that seems to carry forever. It still reaches me even now. I especially loved it when my Dad came out, skating circles around us, leaning deep into the curves, his body at an angle that defied gravity and made me wish I could do it, too. He spent his life on hockey skates and navigated on a thin blade as well as he walked on solid ground.
We usually stayed out until our toes were numb and our bellies growled with hunger, and then we begrudgingly gave in and went home, tromping through the snow that crunched as it gave way under our boots.
These are some of my fondest childhood memories and there is nothing like seeing my kids get a taste of it. It's like taking them back with me and sharing a piece of my childhood with them. Their blades now cut the ice and their laughter fills the air. Time travel on a frozen driveway. It makes a cold winter day feel warm and cozy.