This edition features wintertime fun in Cloquet’s Pinehurst Park.
Corey was standing a few feet from the sled run when she spoke; one hand on her hip, her other mittened hand trying to wisp away the strands of hair run renegade from under her cap.
Corey was 8. She often cut to the heart of matters with me, her nattering uncle — curt queries snapping her into adult demeanor, leaving me bemused and suddenly self-conscious.
“I’m just trying to make this more exciting, like we did when I was a kid.”
Corey only half-listened and then belly-flopped onto her plastic glider, tucking the tow rope under her purple parka. “Push me far this time,” she gasped. One-two-three and she zoomed off.
Her cousin was trouncing up the hill, excited for another run.
“Did I get the world record? Is that the farthest anybody got ever?”
“Ever. Now get snug to the front. Josh, you’ll never beat Corey with your rope hanging out like that. You gotta be smart. It’s the intangibles that get you to the top.”
He only winced. Another three-count and Josh grinned as he slid away. Corey was still at the bottom of the hill, eating snow while flat on her back, feet kicking in the air. I was happy to see her once again acting her age.
I remember fondly tubing down a hill on Seven Bridges Road. You used to be able to rent tubes from the chalet. They have a nice lighted trail system for cross-country skiing at Lester Park. What would be needed to get the sled hill going again?