Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1903-01-08

suck our ears down on the old home
stead. All. yes, those were palmy
days. when we slept in the attic with
the seed corn and the smoked hams
and were lulled to sleep by the wind
whistling under the caves or the
melodious snores Of the weary hired
man.
How joyously we ran and skipped
and leaped and laughed and pranced
when the first snOwhakes of winter
came floating from the mud-colored
sky-and later rolled those same
snowfakes into balls and pressed
them fondly to our aching chilblains
and frosted ears on the long winter
evenings. And yet, if time would
turn back in it's flight and make me
a kid again I'd endure the frosted
ears and frozen toes just to exper-
fence the thrill Of coasting down on
the snow crust of the old pasture
hill in the SCOOP shovel once again.
Did you ever coast down a long hill
in scoop shovel? If you haven't
you want to try it the first time
there's crust on the snow. You
sit in the shovel with legs straddle
of the handle and go like the wind
till half way down and then the
shovel whirls around SO fast you
think you're riding a cyclone and
ends by jabbing a corner through
the crust and sending you ahead on
your bosom. 1t beats a sled all to
smash, but in about three trips the
shovel warns up till you begin to
feel as if you were sitting on a bum
BILE bees nest Or cOOkstove and
then it's time TO change shovels.
Oftentimes while enroute to school
we youngsters would slide down hill
on OUR feet till the crust broke and
we suddenly stopped and flung our
dinner bucket high into the air with
wild, joyous whoop. Of course
the lid always came off and the
cakes of sausage and the doughnuts
and the blackberry pie ran race
down over the snow and landed in
the ditch, where the fragments were
gathered up mingled with hot briny
tears and sorrowfully replaced in
the battered tin pail
In those days I enjoyed winter
and it's long evenings by the fire.
side with cider and apples and nuts
and pioneer stories of Indians and
people chased by wolves on snow
shoes and skates (the people were
on the snowshoes and skates, not
the wolves) and about the little boy
and girl who were lost in the woods
and the boy took off his coat and
wrapped his sister up and then lay
down and frOze to death--because
he didn't have sense enough to
throw rocks at the snow birds and
get up sweat-but as I grow older
l find l like winter best and do most
OF my hankering for it's joys along
in August and July. It's then
pine for snow and ice and blizzards
in carload lots and sigh for the jim
gle Of sleigh bells and the swish of
skates and the aroma of sausages
and buckwheat cakes and yearn to
see icicles on the moon in large
quantities.
In August there is nothing so ap-
peals to my imagination as the
sleighing parties of the winter be-
fore and I'm not happy until winter
rolls around and I have once more
experienced the joy of scroug-
ing down in the bottom of a sled
box with nails driven through it at
intervals from the under side and
with my feet done up in a French
twist or a psyche while someone's
else feet calmly repose on my breast.
1t is then I shrink with rapture.
Did you ever try it2 If you never
did you've missed one of the most
peculiarly gladstone and hilariously,