LIFE ON THE PLAINS: The nice cozy, backyard ice rink

by Roland D. Hallee

This week we’ll take a look at another winter activity. This one required work, cold nights, and the help of some adults.

The four of us boys grew up in a family of Canadian descent: my dad and grandfather came to the United States from Canada. Even though my mother and grandmother were born in Winslow and Waterville, respectively, they were of Canadian heritage.

So, naturally, my dad played hockey in school, when he attended a seminary in Sherbrooke, Canada, (the Great Depression forced him to give up the avocation of priesthood and open a store in Waterville – lucky for me) before playing for the Notre Dame team, in Waterville. So, hockey was in our blood.

Growing up, we had an ice skating rink in our backyard. The process would begin in the fall when the grass was cut short, and 10-inch wide wooden boards were installed by driving wooden pegs into the ground, and attaching the boards to them. The area was approximately 40 feet long and 12 feet wide. It was mostly located under our mother’s clothesline, which she would not use in the winter.

When the first substantial snowfall arrived, we would pack it down using an old wooden crate filled with sand. Once the snow was leveled and compacted, we would wait for the perfect, cold night.

Our grandfather would haul the garden hose from his cellar, attach it to the spiget on the house, and drag it to the rink. We then would take turns spraying a light mist of water to form a good base. Once in place, we would apply more water until a smooth ice surface was formed. When we were finished, our grandfather would come back out, and drag the hose back to the cellar so it wouldn’t freeze. We would do this most evenings on days when we used the rink, which was mostly every day.

After school, we would get dressed warm, put on our skates, in the house, which our mother made sure we didn’t walk on her immaculately clean floors, and head for the outdoors. We would skate, shoot pucks, and even have small two-on-two pick-up games. When finished, the process would start all over to “flood” the rink and get a nice, new surface for the next day. Sorry, no Zamboni for us.

Neighborhood kids would often come to enjoy the rink with us – we even had a designated time for “public skating” for the girls. But, for some reason, when it was time to resurface the rink, they all had to go home to “suppah”, or do homework, or some other “lame” excuse. We didn’t like it, but our parents taught us how to share.

It was on that tiny ice surface that we learned to hone our hockey skills for what was to come later in life – youth hockey, high school, and beyond.

Keeping the rink going was work, but we enjoyed every minute of it because of its reward.