Tag Archives: Sledding

Last Chance

Posted by dkrashb on

Now that we’ve passed the autumnal equinox, all the signs that summer is over have become more prevalent.  Of course, there are the birds, having shed their breeding colors and stopped their incessant singing.  But, there are many other signs.

For one, the nights are cool and crisp, the air taking on a taste (or is it a touch?) that snaps as I move through it.  And the nights come faster, the sun setting earlier each night, while the mornings drag along, the sun too sleepy to rise.

Leaves have started blowing along the paths in the park, crunching underfoot and crackling against concrete as they dance in the breeze.  The leaves that remain on the trees have shifted from deep green to something a women’s clothing catalog might call chartreuse.

As I walk Tisen longer and longer before dawn, Venus continues to shine brilliantly as if it’s late at night.  Combined with the waxing moon, I find myself confused as to whether I’m getting up or going to bed.  With the morning temperatures calling for a fleece, I’m tempted to go to bed.

 

The pots of summer flowers on neighbors’ balconies have disappeared and been replaced with mums in fall colors.  Some even have pumpkins and halloween decorations displayed.  The stores have already stocked halloween candy (betting on compulsive sugar-eaters like me buying early and eating what they buy and having to replenish before trick or treat).

Yet, there are still persistent remnants of summer.  The Tennessee River remains the temperature of a warm bath (how I know that is a subject for another blog post).  The late afternoon temperatures still reach the mid to high 80’s.  And, on weekends, local families still gather on the sledding hill.

Just over a year ago, I did a post called Southern Sledding.  This was the most fascinating tradition to me.  It struck me as odd that up North, it had never occurred to us to sled on grass.  We waited around for 10 months out of the year day dreaming about when we could go sledding again, hoping against hope that we’d get enough snow over Christmas vacation (which never happened).  And then hoping for enough snow to close the schools so we could go sledding instead of going to school (which rarely happened).  Perhaps we liked the idea of sledding more than the reality of sledding and that’s what kept us from thinking of sledding in warmer weather on the grass?

Whatever the reason, the sledding hill seems to be more crowded now as if everyone who never got around to grass sledding during the summer is trying to get it in before the weather changes.

This is one tradition I have yet to try.  I keep waiting for someone to offer a class on proper technique.  I guess I, too, will have to try to get it in before the rains start.  Perhaps I will take a lesson from one of my subjects and wear a helmet.

Southern Sledding

Posted by dkrashb on

Whenever I go to a new place, I particularly enjoy discovering things that are different there. I grew up in the Mid-West where we had enough snow to go sledding every winter. In fact, I grew up feeling sorry for people who lived in places where they didn’t get snow and didn’t get to sled. Having recently moved to Chattanooga, I assumed it was one of those places. I have yet to discover if there will be enough snow for sledding in the winter, but what I did discover is that, in Chattanooga, no one actually needs snow.

Here, grass sledding appears to be all the rage. The sled of choice is a simple piece of cardboard. Perhaps there are high-performance grass sleds available–teflon coated cardboard or maybe graphite would be slipperier–but I haven’t seen any so far. What I have seen is people having a ball sliding down grassy slopes on 95+ degree days without spending a penny. To boot, grass sleds are 100% recyclable. Now that’s what I call inventive.

I watch groups of children with their parents sliding down the grassy slope from my balcony. Summer fun at it’s finest. They begin to gather in the afternoon, making the most of the last days before school restarts. I think back to my own childhood summers. They lasted forever. Hanging out under a shady tree–or, more often, up in it. Once, a summer storm was blowing in, whipping the branches of our giant silver maple into a frenzy. I followed my brother high on the limbs, riding the tree like a crazy swing swaying frantically in the wind, our mother below yelling up at us to be careful. I remember seeing her face and recognizing her indecision–torn between letting us have fun and calling us down to safety. Then there was a bolt of lightening and her face shifted instantly into decision–she hailed us back down to earth.

I imagine the parents on the hill and their relief at having something to offer their children that is both fun and safe. After all, what is childhood without a few grass stains?