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» that d d th : 8 Memories of to prayed, "don't let the . : wind come up and \ ( / inte 'S Past break up the ice. Please don't let it snow." Our prayers The roads are plowed. The sun is peering through the grey ~~ were answered. Three with a sickly yellow hue. I am warm here, and lost in my days later, people reverie of Wil-o-lea winter days. Days when I would wan- could be seen from der down to the shoreline and out onto the ice. Yellow- Waupoos Canning grey days like today with a quiet wind that gently lifts the ~~ Factory, 2 miles floating flakes, fanning the pristine air with powder puffs. across as the pike Days when we would make a rink on the ice if Smith Bay ~~ swims, to Waupoos Island, to Pickerel Point, and all had kindly frozen over on a windless night so that the ice around Smith Bay's shoreline; skating, walking, and would be smooth. -- pulling sleds out on the ice. Even I ventured out. At the Only three days to end of the dock, I cleared off a patch of snow, sat down, wait for the ice to and put on my skates, (a long time now un-used), terrified thicken to a safe but inwardly elated. Like bike-riding, the skill is not for- enough depth to ven- gotten, only just reduced to that of a wobbly child. People ture out onto it, if whizzed by me, their tartan scarves flying in the wind, the weather stayed waving brightly mittened hands, and calling out breathless cold enough - itis a greetings. Little fish darted about and away from us, as shallow bay. Then visible as though we were on a gigantic glass-bottomed the crisp snowy boat. We chased them, and we chased each other. We white of miles and spotted long lost items on the bottom of the bay and tried miles of a frozen 9 to memorize where they were with hopes of collecting winterland would be ---- them once again next summer. I tripped, I was air-borne, 1 peopled with skaters, Eo ) belly-flopped. I must say the winter ice is much more skiers, and sleds; rigid than the warm, welcoming summer waters. I cer- with colourful scarves and tasseled hats splashing the tainly didn't sink softly beneath the surface. Daunted, I vista, flicking and flirting about for as many days again. dragged myself off the ice, and nursed my wounds while Keeping the rink cleared was my self-appointed, and very ~~ becoming a spectator for the rest of the day. enjoyable, job; a spiritual experience in that I was usually alone, skaters and rink shovellers being two different On Christmas Day, skaters by the dozens sped along for breeds of human being. I am a shoveller. I am a miles on the bay pulling sleds of exhilarated children and creative shoveller. I like to make curving pathways con- gaily decorated gifts to friends and relatives in neighbour- necting one cleared area to that of another. I make the ing homes and cottages. Colour exploded over the white cleared areas into a variety of shapes - a rectangle, a cir- expanse like an inverse fire-works display. Youngsters, cle, an arc, a long curving road. The stars are out - teens, and big, big kids alike donned their brand-new or I will make one of them. very old skates, it didn't seem to matter, and did figure- eights and pirouettes, and raced The night is still, the wind has dropped, the natives have and chased each other down the gone in to hang up their skates, build a fire, make hot shoreline. . The high-pitched chocolate, and watch TV. I meditate. I shovel. The chil- shrieks and yells resounded for dren will be so happy tomorrow when they see what I miles from those who played have created for them. I am an artist. hockey. The very brave, and foolish, daring one another to A few days before Christmas, in 1979, Smith Bay froze ~~ prove their worth, I suspect over one perfectly calm night. We awoke to a beautiful (disobeying their parents, I'm sight. It was sunny and blue. The sky was blue. The ice was blue. And as smooth as glass. We held our breath all Continued on page 16