Mountain Memories -- Steel Saucer Sled

What was it every Appalachian kid dreamed about this time of year? Santa? Well, maybe. But what was the most important thing? Snow!

Snow--and lots of it--meant we could get out of school early for Christmas vacation. Snow meant we could have our fill of snowcream. But, most importantly, for some of us, it meant going sledding on the biggest hillside (or mountainside) we could find.

Near the bottom of the hill

I will never forget the Christmas morning my brother and I awoke to find a shiny, silver saucer sled under the Christmas tree. Now, we always got gifts from Santa, but they were rarely as awesome as that sled. Also, a deep snow had fallen on the mountain that week and still covered the mountain behind our house. We barely contained ourselves long enough to get bundled up before my brother grabbed the sled and shot out the back door.

My brother, Larry, being six years older, had control of the sled. He climbed up the hill where the garden is planted during the summer. That means it was mostly cleared of vegetation. I said mostly. Unfortunately, there were usually some corn stalks sticking up several inches, partially hidden by the snow. Also, the rows were a bit lumpy where mounds of dirt had been hoed across the hill.

Larry made it to the top, right next to a fence that separated our property from the family cemetery on the other side. He plopped down on the sled, grabbed hold of the handles, and rocked until the sled let go and flew down the mountain.

Coming down the hill

He screamed, "Woo-hoo," as he picked up speed. About that time, he hit one of those aforementioned protruding cornstalks and tumbled head over sled the rest of the way down the hill. I thought he would be a snowman, rolled up into the snow when he got to the bottom.



I squealed with laughter. Mom just squealed.

He built up so much speed as he rolled, that he didn't stop as the yard leveled out. He whammed into the back of the house with a big thud.

That's how our sled got its first dent.

We spent the day hiking up that hillside and sliding down. Often we took flight as we hit a cornstalk. Sometimes, we hit and tumbled. Each time we hit a row or built up dirt under the snow, we bounced on the steel sled. Our rears ached. It didn't matter. We laughed until our stomachs hurt. We mostly laughed at each other.

Taking flight as we hit a bump

After hours of trekking up that mountain, my face as red as Rudolph's nose and my fingers and feet numb from the cold, I decided it was time to take a break to eat and warm up. My brother continued sledding.

As the sun set behind the mountains and visibility became dim, which happens early in the mountains in winter, my mom went to the back door to call Larry inside for the day.

He ignored her.

As she started inside the house, she yelled up to him at the top the hill, next to the fence around the cemetery, "Larry, you'd better get inside before that little boy in the cemetery decides to ride on that sled with you."

He still ignored her as he completed his slide down the hill, grabbed the sled, and headed back up to the top.

Mom shook her head and came back inside.

A few minutes later we heard a loud crash into the back of the house. The door flew open and my brother whizzed into the house, slamming the door behind him. He stood in the doorway to the living room all red, covered in snow, panting, and staring with eyes as big as snowballs. He didn't say a word, just stood there.

He never told us what happened. However, Mom never had to tell him to come in before dusk ever again. As soon as the sun got near the ridge, he was inside, with the back door locked.


Did you have a saucer sled when you were a kid? Or did you use something else as a sled--like a car hood? Where did you ride it? Did you have a fabulous hill to slide down? Were there any wild adventures?

I'd love to hear your stories.

My brother, Larry, at the
bottom of the hill.
You can barely see the fence
to the cemetery 

Mountain Memories -- Ice on the Window Pane

This week, instead of doing an Appalachian Word of the Week, I'm going to share with you a Mountain Memory. I hope you like the change and you will share your Mountain Memories with us, too.

I live in the South now, but this past week vividly brought back memories of my childhood in Harlan County, Kentucky. We had a snowstorm that dropped up to eleven inches of gorgeous wet snow on a normally snowless area of the country.

Unexpected snow delighted me for over 24 hours straight, piling up on the trees and bushes and weighing down the branches until they nearly touched the ground. I had never seen so much snow this far south. It was beautiful and exciting--that is--until the juice went off and the temperatures plummeted inside my unprepared house.

We piled quilts on our bed to stay warm

Memories of winter in the mountains quickly returned as I piled more blankets on my bed, donned my furry robe and wool socks, and attempted to keep my nose warm enough to sleep through the night.

Do you remember those frigid nights in the mountains when all we had to heat the house was a stove in the living room, fueled by coal? Some families were fortunate enough to have fireplaces in their bedrooms. We weren't. It was like sleeping outdoors.

Coal stove

We warmed ourselves in front of the stove until our skinned tingled and then ran into our room, where the heat could not reach, and slid under the heap of blankets and quilts. We could barely move under the weight of all those blankets.

In the morning, we awoke to the dread of having to slide out from under the covers. We ran back to the stove to warm ourselves enough to take care of toileting and getting dressed for the day.

Ice on the windows

Sunlight filtered into the house through ice-encrusted window panes. On the inside! I loved seeing the designs each morning and how intricate or thick the ice formed. It reminded me of the fancy glass in a church, all bumpy and wavy. Those windows were our thermometer of how cold it was outside.

Breakfast usually consisted of hot oatmeal with raisins. Mom figured it would warm us and keep us strong as we walked nearly a mile to school. In high school, my favorite breakfast became Chicken Noodle soup. At least we survived.

I had my doubts about survival last week during our surprise storm. I sat huddled under blankets during the day, trying to keep warm enough to survive. It made me wish I had the old pot-bellied stove to warm me. Of course, the one big difference was that I had no juice to run my heat or the microwave. I couldn't even fix my morning Keurig hot tea! And taking a shower was out of the question. I've become soft in the South.

Winter was a game of survival in the mountains. And survive we did. As I look back on that life, I'm amazed at one thing most of all. We didn't spend our days sitting in front of the fire, doing nothing but trying to stay warm. We went about life.

Yes, it was tough. Walking to school and back is beyond my comprehension now. Also, having to go outside to gather coal and lug it inside to stoke the fire would challenge me beyond my ability today. But, my mother did it every day. She also stayed up late on an exceptionally cold night to keep the fire going and making sure it didn't overheat and burn the house down. I remember many times when the stovepipe glowed red. Scary.

There are good memories of winter, too. A heavy snow meant fun for a kid. We stayed home from school and played outside, building forts and having snowball fights. Living on the side of a mountain, a favorite pastime was sliding down on a saucer sled, if you were lucky, or any other item that would slide across the snow. A friend's family used an old car hood.

Building a snowman

It seemed to be a requirement to build a snowman, no matter how much snow fell. We rolled the balls around the yard, getting them as big as we could manage to keep rolling them. Unfortunately, having dogs meant we usually had tainted snowmen. We would grab some clean snow and pack it on top of any "dirty" snow.

That dirty snow is why we were extremely careful when we collected snow for our most favorite winter activity--making snowcream. It's also why we collected that snow first thing before we did anything that could possibly add undesirable ingredients to our snowcream.

That concoction of fresh white snow, sugar, cream and vanilla flavoring is one of my favorite memories. We filled a bowl with a huge scoop and sat in front of the stove to eat it. Even with the stove, our fingers and faces numbed. It was worth it.

Do you have memories of winter in the mountains? What was the hardest part of it for you? What's one of your favorite activities when it was cold enough to freeze your snot?

I love hearing your stories.

Appalachian Word of the Week -- SNOWCREAM

My childhood front yard

The appropriate word for the week, considering this is the first day of Winter, is one of my favorites -- SNOWCREAM!


As a youngster in the mountains of Harlan County, KY, I lived for the days when a massive snow covered the landscape. Not only did I enjoy playing in the snow, sliding down the mountainside in a saucer sled, and building a snow fort with my brother, but I loved making SNOWCREAM.


Of course, the process of making SNOWCREAM required us to collect fresh, clean (emphasis on clean) snow before anyone got outside and dirtied it up.


We gathered up all the largest pots and bowls from the kitchen and headed outside.

Now, there is a process to gathering snow. Since almost everybody around us heated their houses with coal, we had to first rake off the top layer of snow to remove the black spots of ash that had dropped onto the top layer. That completed, we began scooping snow into our bowls and pots.


Of course, we made sure not to scoop too close to the ground. Lots of dogs and wild animals used the ground for a litter box, so we made sure to avoid any yellow or brown snow. We also didn't want to get grass trimmings in our snow.


After gathering up all of our bowls and pots, we carried it inside to Mom, who was waiting with the bag of sugar, can of cream, vanilla flavoring and the salt box. She also had the hand mixer ready to get the job done faster.

She took the largest bowl and checked to make sure it was clean snow. Then she added about a cup of sugar and started mixing. Then she added pure cream out of the can. Some people make it with milk, but the flavor is nowhere near as good. Then she added vanilla flavoring and a pinch of salt. As the snow melted down, she scooped in more snow and the process continued until every bowl and pot of snow had been added to the mixture. She continued to add sugar and cream until the concoction was perfect and creamy.


She scooped out a bowl of snowcream for each of us and then put the main bowl into smaller bowls that would fit into the freezer for later.


Oh, what JOY to sit in front of the coal stove and eat that snowcream! Our fingers were numb and so were our lips, but we didn't care. It was glorious.

As we made our way through the main bowls of snowcream stored in the freezer, we sometimes added a bit of flavor to the mix. A favorite was Nehi Grape pop. We also tried peach pop, strawberry pop, or chocolate pop. If you don't know what pop is, you may call it soda or soft drink. Back in my day, we had some wonderful flavors available.


So, if you are fortunate enough to get a big snow where you live, why not give it a try and make some SNOWCREAM for yourself? Just make sure you watch out for yellow or brown snow.


Exact recipes don't work for our snowcream. You have to go by taste. If the mix is too sweet, add some snow. If it's not sweet enough, add more sugar. If it's not creamy enough, add more cream. You get the picture.


Have you ever eaten SNOWCREAM? Tell me about your experience.