Winter Chill - Creative Non-Fiction

Photo by Alex Ramon on Unsplash

In Winter We Took the Hill

By Jeremy Robinson

I can recall the street of my childhood as if it were a rerun of a black and white tv show. This was not due to nostalgia, but rather the constant sludge of snow and dirt which covered our ground thirteen months out of the year. The extra month came in January, where the elongated days dragged at the pace of a school lecture about glaciers. Pickup trucks from local oil and gas workers would leave traces of tar black dirt which intertwined with the whiteness of the snow. The roads would be marked in zigzag patterns of 4x4 tires as if it was an extreme game of tic tac toe. The magic of the season had been extinguished like a puff of smog, leaving only dry air in its wake, and resulting in massive haemorrhages of nosebleeds. As children, there was very little we could do to fight back against this barrage of winter bleakness. The grown ups owned the outside with their intruding driving machines, and entitled maturity. Where was our sanctuary? Where was our Eden? Where was our snow covered Shangri-La which we envisioned in our small minds of enlightenment? Then, as if out of a dream came our refuge. A hill, untouched by human hands, and glistening with white powder of pure essence presented itself to us. It was an island left for children to conquer, and so we did. A game was created where one would be proclaimed king. They would stand on top of the hill, while the rest of us charged from the bottom. Our snow suits presented us as puffed out gladiators, and our boots would grip to the ever changing elements. The more we mixed into the snow, the more unpredictable the ground became. Soon our tracks mashed into pure ice,and our journey was hardened even more. Though it did not diffuse our brightened spirit. Our determination was intensified. We would trudge up to meet our destiny with the King, and if we failed, we would trudge up again. The squeaky squeal of our snow pants accelerated as we moved full force up the hill. We fought, we grabbed, we pushed, we pulled. The ice on the ground intensified, as the grip from our boots gave way. We stopped only for a moment, for, like Sisyphus and his boulder, we knew we couldn’t stop our futile pursuit to the king. The sound of our voices became hoarse with grunting. The bruises on our knees became blacker than coal. What drove us to this insanity? And how would it stop? Suddenly the sun would set, and our stomachs would growl. The grown-ups called us in., Icicles dripped from our noses like dried blood. Our mittens were wet with sweat and sleet. Our bodies were numb with cold, yet our souls were alive. We had taken back winter from the adults. We had our victory on the hill.

Never Again

By Melanie Holland

Surrounded by the mountains in Fernie, we were greeted with a blue sky, and a scattering of pink, wispy clouds.
We were so sure that our drive to Vancouver would be an easy task. We snapped pictures of the snow-capped Rockies and the low laying mists along the way. The mountain tops seemed to be suspended in the air as a blanket of white fog settled in the middle of the rocky terrain. The highway wasn’t crowded, the roads were dry, and we drove with ease. Conversation was animated, hands and feet tapping to the tunes on the radio. As the day progressed, the fog closed in on us, squeezing us into a small bubble. Visibility was low. Moisture accompanied us – rain, sleet and snow. Our driving pace slowed as we climbed up in elevation. Smiles now more forced and our discomfort was palpable. Dread creeped in with the setting of the sun. Panic was a passenger, reminding us that we would soon be in pitch black for the last few hours of our drive. There was no more singing with the music, laughing, or being in awe of the landscape around us. The blackness was too black. No stars to light the way. As we summited the mountain, the lines of the road were obscured by snow and ice. The fir trees, laden with snow, sagged under the weight of each snowflake. Tree branches, too weak to hold the accumulation of precipitation, lay haphazardly on the roads. Our eyes played tricks on us, thinking that shadows and rocks were animals. Every corner looked the same. We snickered tersely, joking that we were in an ever-ending loop of condemnation. Screaming to get out of the mountains, we cursed our decision to drive instead of flying to British Columbia. Finally, we descended from the mountain range. Unfortunately, the downpour of rain kept our hands and shoulders tense. The constant flash of car beams and a crowded thoroughfare kept our nerves on high alert. Leary of the cement dividers and the possibility of hydroplaning drove us to the edge of sanity. We were hard wired to reach our destination and braced ourselves for the last hour and a half. Finally, the rain stopped. Our hearts were no longer hammered our ribcages. We unclenched our jaws and stomachs, stretched out our legs that had been taut. We arrived at Granny’s half an hour later. Anxiety was replaced by exhaustion as adrenaline dwindled. We craved sustenance and a comfortable bed. A simple supper of ham and potatoes was a delight to our senses, the cup of Tetley tea was a taste of heaven. We were so grateful that we made it to Granny’s alive. As we climbed under the hand made quilts, a blanket of peace cocooned us. Drifting into a sweet slumber was intoxicating – until we remembered we would be doing this drive again the following week.

Canadians at Home in Winter

By Lauranne Hemmingway

The day is bitterly cold, temperature of -30 with the wind chill when I awoke. I wonder if the hockey game will be well attended. The proceeds from the gate benefit our Food Bank. The Battle of the Badges – the Innisfail Firemen facing off against the local RCMP officers. Almost everyone knows some players on both teams.

The parking lot at the arena is filling up fast.I park on the side of the arena we think of as the overflow area.The snow squeaks as I pick my way to the side door.It is locked.I must get round to the main door.The place is packed.Men and their wives and kids of all ages.Even babies and toddlers in their parent’s arms.

After the land acknowledgement, the announcer asks everyone to stand and remove their hats while we sing the national anthem.O Canada warmed us all.

Her worship, Mayor Barkley, comes on the ice to drop the puck with friends – 4 kids dressed either as RCMP or Firemen.Johnnie, our local newspaper reporter, accompanies them to take pictures.He recently had surgery, so needs help to get him on the ice.He won’t miss this for the world.He wants a picture.

The RCMP make the first goal, and the Firemen fire back.They fire 2 more shots into the net before the first period is over.The crowd is pumped and cheering for both teams in about equal measure.

At first intermission the Eaglets, a team of 4-year-olds in their hockey uniforms come on the ice.Several dads on skates are urging them to work the puck. Some of these miniature players are stickhandling without a puck.Some are too loaded down with their equipment and sit or lay down.When one falls, it starts a chain reaction and a few more fall in a heap. One little fellow was enjoying being on the ice and was not wanting to leave with his teammates when it was time to go, so his coach picked him up and skated with him under his arm to join the other players. They are adorable.Tomorrow’s hometown team.

The firemen win the game by a couple of goals, but it is a good fast action game.I appreciate the players on the ice and the many people who have worked to pull this event off.

Bittle cold outside, but a warm community spirit in that arena.

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