On Sunday, I told Clara and Charlie that I would take them to a magical place.
Then I did.
We drove up Alumni Road in our hometown of Newington, parked beside a gate that blocks off the road, and exited the vehicle. Then we walked past the gate, turned left around a hedgerow, and found snow.
Piles of snow. In September.
The kids couldn’t believe it.
“How?” Charlie asked.
“I guess it’s magically cold between these hedgerows,” I said.
Seconds later, we began flinging snowballs at one another. Wearing shorts and flip-flops on a warm, Sunday afternoon, we hurled as Elysha photographed.
In truth, I took the kids to a spot behind the Newington ice rink where the zamboni dumps its collected ice shavings, which look and feel exactly like snow. I had spotted the piles of snow on a recent bike ride and couldn’t wait to surprise the kids.
I revealed the secret to the snow once we were back inside the car.
It was the highlight of the our day. We returned the next day for another battle and got to watch as the zamboni dumped its treasure. Clara stuffed snow into my pockets. Charlie landed a snowball perfectly atop my head. I stood atop the pile and declared myself “King of the Mountain!” The kids joined forces and dislodged me from my mountain peak with a salvo of icy projectiles. I clobbered Clara in the face with a large, fluffy boulder of snow.
She laughed.
As we hurled snow at each other, a mother and son passed by. “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” she asked.
I explained. She was in a hurry but promised her son to return later in the day.
How could she not?
Snowball fights in September.
See? 2020 isn’t all bad.
