Growing up Adirondack by Mitch Lee

Making the most of opportunities courtesy of a cold, snowy winter 

Icicle On MapleThe winter of 1975 was in full gear with a heavy blanket of snow covering the ground around our Limekiln Lake home.

The snowbanks were high and daylight was sparse. It seemed that evening creeped in much too quickly after I got off the school bus each day which certainly cut into my outdoor playing time.

Nonetheless, it was a good winter that provided great sledding conditions, plenty of icicles to eat from the eaves, and thick ice on the lake for skating.

One activity I had been looking forward to was icicle-picking.

Once my father shoveled the roof there would be enough snow piled below for me to stand upon and gather them.

And as I got off the bus one particular January afternoon, I saw that the time had come.

My father had pushed the fresh snow from our cedar shake roof and it was laying in large piles underneath.

I decided that I would not spend one minute more than I needed to indoors.

I ran and deposited my bookwork inside the front door without stepping inside.

I could not wait to crawl up the banks and harvest those fresh, clear javelin-like icicles. 

The mounds of snow created by my father were the perfect height for me to scramble up on my hands and knees and free them.

The first icicle I broke off stuck fast to my mitten. It was totally transparent. I held it up, peering through it at the deep gray sky.

Then I stuck the broken end into my mouth. Droplets of melting water ran down to my mitten.

To me, this was one of the activities that made winter so great.

I decided to toss the icicle as far as I could from the top of the snowbank.

But when I let it loose, my mitten flew off with it. It landed  halfway out into the yard.

I trudged through a three-foot deep blanket of snow to find it still clinging to the icicle.

It was not long before I was back atop the snow mountain and ripping free every icicle I could find.

I smashed some together just to watch them shatter.

A few others I tossed up on the roof and watched as they slid down the shingles and fell into splinters.

My mittens were wet and frozen stiff making it almost impossible to grab ahold of the remaining icy spears.

I ended up taking them off completely and sticking them in my pocket.

Now, my bare hands were at the mercy of the slender, saber tooth-like icicles.

Every so often I put my fingers in my mouth to try to warm them up.

Just as dusk began to fall my fingers were nearly numb. I made my way indoors to warm up and blow my runny nose.

My fingers were hurting, stiff and blue and I ran warm water over them to help them thaw.

The sensation I felt was just another one of the great experiences that I correlate with winter. It reminded me of a perfect day of picking icicle fruit.

Correction: In last week’s column Mitch was described as a Civil War re-enactor. He is actually involved in Revolutionary War re-enactment.

Mitch Lee is an Adirondack illustrator & storyteller, living in his boyhood town of Inlet. ltmitch3rdny@aol.com

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