A memory of a farmhouse

It was the best sled riding hill in the world. Or at least that’s what my children thought.

Not only was it steep and fast, the top of the hill was right by the laundry room door…a perfect scenario for three small children with perpetually cold hands and feet.

I sat by the kitchen window with a cup of steaming tea and watched three penguin children waddle up and down the glittery slope. Their red, navy and sky blue ski suits gleamed brightly against the white canvas of snow.

A black-speckled enamel sauce pan filled with hot cocoa simmered on the stove. The adjoining laundry room was cozy with the constantly running dryer.

When the knocks came, I would open the laundry room door and three red-cheeked children would crowd into the warm space…snow melting onto the ugly linoleum floor into immediate puddles adorned with discarded mittens and long, colorful scarves.


They would sip eagerly at small mugs of cocoa…anxious to return to the excitement of sleds in the arctic, or magic carpet rides, or whatever their imaginations concocted around the slickery fun of sliding down hills…fast, fast, fast.

Then each child would be lifted up onto the dryer where I would exchange their cold little socks for warm ones. Warm-from-the-dryer mittens would go back on little hands, warm scarves would wrap around glowing little faces…

…and they were off!

And so was I.

Mittens, gloves and socks went back into the dryer for the next round.

Puddles would be mopped up.

Cocoa mugs rinsed out.

And I would resume my post by the kitchen window.

I was the guardian of my children making memories...

...The official guardian of the hill…



This little memory is written in honor of the letter “H” for Alphabe-Thursday. H is for Hill.


This post is linked to Alphabe-Thursday's letter "H". To read other offerings, just click here.