I was one of those kids. There was a hill
just across the street, and just enough hill for a little kid. My Dad would
haul my sled up the hill, get on the sled with me in front, and away we would
go!
We would whiz to the bottom in no time, time
and time again, until my little legs could take no more!
“That’s enough for me too,” Dad would say.
A short walk back across Station Street, up
the back stairs onto the porch to shake off the snow. Leaving my boots behind
along with my snowsuit, into the kitchen I ran to sit on the radiator until I
thawed!
As I got older I could go sledding alone -- that
is, alone with my dog Skippy. He was my companion. Up the hill dragging my
sled, Skippy leaping back and forth dipping his nose into the snow. At the top,
I would coax him close enough to get him into my lap, then off we would go. He
would wiggle away from me, preferring to run alongside and bark!
 |
| Off the sled I went, as Skippy races back.' |
We outgrew that hill. A little farther away
was the old lower road that led down from Seager's Hill. At one time it was
kept in good condition. It was once used by David Seager's farm to bring goods
to the railroad to ship to Boston. In the mid 40s it was showing deterioration.
A good snowfall hid all the ruts and washouts. It was a long, great ride down
that old road. But it was a longer pull up! Sometimes half way was
enough.
The upper road to Seager's farm (now Deer
Hill Lane) was even better to slide on because of its good condition . . . but
one would have to watch for Mr. or Mrs. Seager returning home. Only once did I
encounter Mrs. Seager coming up the hill as I was going down. Up and over the banking
I went as she drove slowly by with a smile and wave -- phew!
Another great hill was behind Torrey Little’s
Auction Barn, (formerly Hoods Milk, 575 Summer Street). This was a wide path
that ran up to Canoe Tree Lane. It was steep and fast.
 |
| A long tug uphill. |
Christmas and New Year's would bring a big
gathering of kids and adults from that area. There were a few times a kid we
called “Ham Bone” brought the six-foot-long double runner his grandfather made.
It took three or four of us to pull and push it to the top. On we would get, then
shove off, and down we would go.
We would be at the speed of sound as we
approached the bump at the opening in the stone wall. Into the air we would go!
Every time I can remember, we would come crashing down on the sled’s
side. We always made it without a scratch!
Bill Frugoli of Summer Street remembers, “The
slide started at Donald Hagar's house and came down the path just north of the
barn between a small opening in the stone wall. It stopped out in front of the
barn. Before you got to this point, you would go off the embankment by the rear
of the barn -- it was about a three-foot jump. It knocked the hell out of your
lungs and guts.” (circa 1948)
Bill said of Florence Tilden, (Harry Tilden's
wife) who also lived on Summer Street, ''She told us of stories when her
kids were young, they would come down the hill on toboggans and continue to the
left down Summer Street and come to a stop at about Alfred Hitchcock's house (663
Summer Street).”
“Back then, Summer Street was a dirt road. The
snow was packed down as hard as ice.”
"Strange---what brings these past things so vividly back to us---sometimes."
- Harriet Beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom's Cabin
"Strange---what brings these past things so vividly back to us---sometimes."
- Harriet Beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom's Cabin
by Ray Freden
Seaview/ Marshfield 70 years
