My niece and I in 2010…I’m in my mom’s old snow suit and am an adult version of the mis-matched kid from my story below. 🙂

 

A more modern version of winter fun on the Rocke farm–dad on the tractor pulling some of my nieces and nephews on a home-made sled.

About every 2 or 3 winters, a natural phenomenon occurred on the Rocke farm.  The slight dip in the land of the lower pasture would flood and then freeze, and we had our very own skating rink for a few weeks.  Dad would smooth the top layer of the ice and we’d break out our garage-sale skates and to try and figure out which size we could get away with–inevitably, our toes were either mashed into the rounded tip of the skates or we had to shove tissues and/or an old sock in the tips to make them fit.  No matter, though, we thought we had it made as we scrambled down the back porch steps in our mis-matched snowsuits and miscellaneous winter gear while Skunky, Cubby, and a trail of no-named cats came running behind us.  We’d giggle and skate, or try to skate, as we were all pretty uncoordinated on ice, until our noses were pink and our toes were numb from either the cold or misfit skates.  Mom would call us from the back door–she never did master the blood-curdling war-hoop of Aunt Janet, but it was loud enough to know we had to come in.  We’d stomp in through the back porch, tracking in snow and ice as we hurried to the basement to hang our snowsuits over the clothes line in front of the stove and begin to defrost our hands.  Dad would crank the stove up a notch and we’d dry out a bit while the sweet smell of home-made donut holes wafted from the kitchen.  That was our cue, as with five kids it was survival of the fittest when it came to sweets.  We’d race upstairs for cinnamon and sugar donut holes pulled fresh from the “Fry Daddy” and served up with steaming hot chocolate.  The pasture skating rink was truly a divine gift–we got out of farm work AND got to skate and have donuts–a triple win.