A Toboggan's Memories

Upon opening our garage door, heaps of car parts, ancient posters and toys that we couldn’t quite bring to throw away sit untouched. In the corner sits a prized wooden toboggan. The simple wooden design is far from a fancy $350 “Northern Toboggan and Sled” downhill deluxe toboggan of red oak, but it got the job done just the same. During the first substantial snow of the season, our trusty toboggan seemed to beg to be taken out for a ride.

The L.L. Bean toboggan was made of honey colored steambent northern hardwood slats, which had suffered a fair share of scrapes and cracks through the years. A frayed rope lined both signs of the sled, providing torturous rope burns should anyone be brave enough to take a ride without gloves. Once-sturdy crossbars created individual spaces just perfect for young ones to sit and latch their feet around the person in front. The curved front end of the sled was notorious for continuously blasting the bravest of children who sat in front with snow.

Dad long ago attached a thick, long rope to the front of the sled so the toboggan could give a true sledding experience, not just a wimpy downhill ride: a continuous ride behind the pickup. The toboggan pounced around unpredictably as it flew over hidden pasture trails and frozen cow pies, always seeming to find the perfect bumps to send us into squealing fits as we fought with all our strength to stay on. If the toboggan seemed to be having trouble throwing us off, it always knew just what tricks to pull to send us flying into the snow.

As children, my siblings and I never wanted to leave that toboggan. Frozen fingers, bruised bodies and our mother’s worries didn’t phase us. As teenagers and young adults today, the toboggan holds countless memories for my siblings and I. Though we may feel and act that we are too old for such childish play, when the youngest begs to be taken out tobogganing, none can refuse.

Strength Through Generations

The morning of my confirmation in spring of 2004, I opened a small box to find a dull gold necklace inside. I took the necklace out and turned it over in my hand, examining the tiny worn chain that held a small gold cross with an opaque gem in the center. Clearly an ancient piece of jewelry, I knew I had seen it before but could not quite place where. My mom watched as I contemplated this, and then sat to tell me its origins. This tiny treasure had belonged to her grandmother and then was passed down to her mother, on to my mom and finally to me. The necklace was more than just an heirloom, however; it held years of memories, perseverance and, above all, strength.

I have few memories of my great-grandmother. What I do remember is a sweet, frail woman whose home always smelled like a mixture of her late husband’s woodwork creations and my favorite “m & m party cookies.” She passed on her favorite cookie recipes to her daughter, my grandmother, of whom I have a few more memories. Playing “good ball, bad ball,” sharing the best ice cream treats, and watching soap operas that I didn’t comprehend one bit are among the things that stand out to me. At the time, I never would have imagined that this ill woman had suffered from depression issues for most of her life. To me, she was full of happiness and laughter.

My mother possesses many of these characteristics, and the strength that has been a part of her family for so long is the most apparent. Faced with any obstacle, my mother prevails. Upon opening this small piece of jewelry, I knew it meant more than just a pretty accessory. The cross necklace represents the strength of my mother’s side of the family, the strength that I can only hope to one day have.