Next up: SLEDDING.
I mean, for REAL.
This ain't no joke up in IL. They have a "sledding hill", y'all. With an official sign and everything. So when you say you're going sledding, THIS is what you mean.
[just trying to get to the top (without spilling the kid), for cryin' out loud]
Obviously, Deacon had never been sledding up to this point in his short life, and if THIS is what true sledding is, then neither had I. A new experience for us both.
Neither one of us a big fan, after the fact.
[yeah, I am NOT laughing here. That is not laughter on my face.]
I mean, I guess if you grew up here and you had all the GEAR to go out and spend the day in sub-zero temps sliding down a hill made up of 4-5 inches of really packed down snow (and when I say "gear", I don't mean the sled), then sure. I guess that would be fun.
Not so much for us born-n-bred NC folk.
Nonetheless, word on the street is you haven't experienced winter in Freeport unless you've gone sledding at Krape Park. So we did (the total time we were out there doesn't really matter, right??), and we can now say we're in that club. The I'm-bored-let's-go-freeze-our-behinds-off-at-Krape-and-try-not-to-hit-any-trees club.
[one of the 2 other times Deacon went down; Grandpa Duane flipped him (purely by accident) and we were NOT getting him back on that sled after that.]
