Steven is seated in the front
Growing up on Tweedside Road, winter never felt like something to endure — it was something to live in.
As kids, our winters were packed full of family rituals and outdoor adventures. We were lucky enough to always have an old single-lung Elan running, which meant rabbit traps got checked no matter how cold or snowy it was. Our trap line ran from our house up toward my grandparents’ place, and every night after school we’d bundle up and head out to see what the day had brought.
Fridays were special. We’d take our rabbits to the gentleman who delivered them stateside, then turn right around and put that money to work. First stop was filling the gas jugs so the old Elan could run another week. If there was anything left over, it usually paid our way into public skating at the recreation center — and, just as importantly, a few treats from the canteen afterward. Friday nights were cold fingers, fogged-up windows, and the kind of tired that only comes from a good skate.
Winters back then brought far more snow than we see now, and we made the most of every flake. We had one of the best sliding hills around. Dad would drag a trail using his ’78 Olympic sled and an old pallet, carving a run that started at the house and stretched down through two fields to the edge of the woods. We’d spend hours sliding, laughing, and hauling sleds back up again, only stopping when our legs burned or daylight ran out.
Steven is pictured on the far right
We were outside a lot. If we weren’t hosting sliding parties, we’d meet up with family or friends and cross-country ski a few kilometres to an old camp. There’d be a hot dog roast, steaming mugs of hot chocolate, and stories told through clouds of breath. And when conditions were just right, we’d head to Oromocto Lake. Dad would build a big bonfire on the ice, and we’d skate until our toes were numb, always circling back to the fire to warm up.
Looking back, I’m incredibly thankful for that childhood. We were always busy, always outdoors, cheeks rosy from the cold and lungs full of winter air. It wasn’t fancy, but it was rich in every way that mattered — family, fresh air, and memories that still feel warm, even on the coldest days.
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