Whether you like snow and wintertime or not, I am sure all of you have special memories of that time of year while you were growing up.

One of the more pleasant memories of growing up in Nolan was sledding. Although it seems we did not get a lot of big snowfalls when I was younger and school was rarely canceled for inclement weather. Most of us walked to schools located in our own communities. The “walkers” always had to attend, even on snowy days. Those who rode the bus did not have to attend. That always seemed unfair to me.

But back to the sledding.

One Christmas, I got a sled as one of my gifts from Santa. It had the two metal sled runners at the bottom and the wooden top you laid on for your cold-weather adventures. It had handles where you could guide your fast journey down a hillside or hollow road, but it did not have brakes. Usually, your toes were hanging off the back where you dragged them to slow yourself down. I wore out plenty of shoes because of this tactic.

I was lucky living at the mouth of a “holler” and could just walk up that steep dirt road about 100 yards or so and sleigh ride. The only thing was that some cars and trucks still tried to make it up the road, even in the snow. So you had to be careful, especially rounding one blind curve about halfway down. You picked up a lot of speed heading down that steep holler road. We felt like we were Olympic bobsledders.

One good thing about the traffic was that they padded the snow, making for even better sledding. If not, we had to pat it down ourselves with our boots to make a good path to sleigh ride.

When I was older, in my teenage years, we would go up and down the “backway” at Nolan, holding to the back of car bumpers and sliding up and down the road. Or if it was icy enough, you could just take a run and slide ski-style for a few feet. But you had better have good balance or you would end up on your backside.

Another fond memory was when someone got an old car hood and a rope and tied it to the back bumper of a pickup truck. We piled on that as the driver pulled us up and down the road. Yes, it was dangerous, but when you are young you do not think about those dangers.

I know one thing: we had hours of fun.

One of my favorite memories is making snow cream after a big snowfall. For those who may not have heard of this tasty dish, it makes ice cream from fresh fallen snow.

All of these ingredients will go into your bowl of collected snow. Start by sprinkling the sugar over your snow in the bowl, then add vanilla and cream.

They say it may not be safe to do this nowadays because of the pollutants and pesticides in the air, but it was a thrill for us to make snow cream as a wintertime treat.

If you decide to make snow cream today, make sure the snow is deep and scoop it up from a fresh and clean area of your yard. We always joked: “Don’t make it from yellow snow!” Of course, that is where the dog may have relieved himself and changed the color of the freshly fallen white snow.

My mom always made me bundle up before walking to school. This meant wearing rubber galoshes with metal snaps that fit over my regular shoes. I was so bundled up that I felt like the younger brother Randy in the movie “A Christmas Story” trying to walk to school and barely being able to move with all of the layers and the rubber pull-over galoshes.

I was not too fond of the galoshes. Yes, they kept my feet dry, but they were so hard to get off once I got to school—and to put on again before the trek home. (I always had big feet.) I argued with Mom about wearing them, but we know who won that battle.

Snowfall included the inevitable snowball fight. We were at the local restaurant playing pinball and shooting pool one evening. Suddenly, a snow squall hit, leaving a fresh couple of inches on top of the snow already on the ground. Everyone headed outside, and before we knew it, about 25 people were having a snowball fight right in the road and under one of the few street lights we had. No one in particular was on a side; it was every boy or girl for themselves. In a snowball fight like that, you may be turned one way and nail someone with a good snowball, but then you may get one off the side of your head or face because you are facing the wrong way.

It was good, innocent fun.

These are just a few fond memories of wintertime growing up in Appalachia. I’m sure most of you have similar good memories. Until next time.

(Kyle Lovern is a longtime journalist in the Tug Valley. He is now a retired freelance writer and columnist for the Mountain Citizen.)