Endless Perfect Sheet of Ice

We would skate all winter long on the frozen Vermillion River above the old grain milling dam. The perilous, slowed waterway meandered lazily along the western edge of Centerville, South Dakota. Every year we anxiously waited for the current year’s essential cold spell to hit. Once we the welcomed arrival of Old Man Winter, he would miraculously create the preferred thickness of ice for the required parental green light to skate. As the skating season ensued, then the usual episodes of snowfall and the daily rapid fall of darkness were the only regretted impediments to our countless days of skating adventures.
The bridge over the Vermillion River northwest of town which that led to “The Old Beach” or to Gunderson Park served as a welcomed roofed haven. The spans of the bridge kept the frozen river free of snow and underneath structures created an imaginary hockey rink where scrap wood served as hockey sticks and tin cans as pucks. Many imaginary Stanley Cups were won on that secret, sheltered frozen oasis on numerous seemly timeless Saturday and Sunday afternoons under the old roadway.
Most of the time we kept warm by the sweat of our battles, but occasionally we stoked up a camp fire on the river’s edge fueled by the ample supply of wood of the tree lined ancient river.
Coffee thermoses filled with hot chocolate and homemade leftover Christmas cookies were freely shared, so we could play until we dropped.
Boys and girls, young and old were all welcomed additions to each hopeful hockey dynasties created and destroyed by the sparse supply of willing skaters each week.
Some years when snowfall was limited or if we were feeling a little more industrious, we would shovel a clearing on the ice behind our Centerville house which was perched on the eastern shores of the river. Being close would allow our kitchen to act both as the warming house and the snack bar, even though Dad had just installed a fresh new linoleum floor. Thanks, Mom.
One cold “snowless” winter in the 1960s, nature had blessed the meandering Vermillion with an endless sheet of perfectly smooth pristine ice that mercilessly tempted us to a cross-county skating adventure. The enticement to explore upstream river was irresistible since the river was left as a seemingly infinite seamless flat frozen meandering track.
With my brother and two other locals, willing explorers excitedly set off heading north into unchartered expanse of that year’s unusual gift. The decision to follow this frozen highway was more of spontaneous response than a calculated one, so we never thought about packing supplies, telling our families where we were going, thinking about getting permission, considering the time of day, anticipating the potential hazards or even considering our subsequent family responsibilities later on that night.
We skated and skated on the winding and the wildly snaking river across the farmlands north of town constantly looking back at the royal blue cylindrical water tower and the church steeples of town that served as our homing beacons as we excitedly raced away. The feeling of immense freedom, the changing landscapes, the novelty and the borderless track fueled our desire to thoughtlessly to press on. Around each bend brought a new experience. We meandered under old steel bridges, near country cemeteries, besides open water springs, behind vital majestic industrious farms, through old deteriorating abandoned rural homesteads, under high cliffs, through thick, old cottonwood groves and across sections of wide open flat plains.
The river had carved a path through the Dakotas many years before and the pioneer homesteaders choose to claim land next to the olden river. The land on the river edge was preferred for its natural source of free flowing water for the farmer’s year to year’s fight for financial survival.
Late, on that glorious day, a spur-of-the-moment testosterone driven challenge race was ended by an undetected barb wire strung across the shallow river below knee level that resulted in all four us being violently being slammed to the ice. Cushioned by our thick winter coats, hats and gloves, we were only projected aimlessly across the velvety smooth frozen paradise. Surprised, all four of us began to spontaneously laugh hysterically as were all spread out across the ice plopped down on our bellies like fish out of the water.
Once we gathered up our slightly wounded bodies we noticed that the sun was soon to set in the west and we realized that we were still several miles away from town. We immediately began debating; “Do we turn around and skate home or do we take off our skates and walk across the frozen plowed fields trying to avoid that mindless meandering that we had just completed?
In our infinite state of novice wisdom we first choose to walk, but our cold stocking feet on the rock-hard plowed undulating black dirt fields quickly convinced us to regrettably to put back on our skates. We were forced to hit the meandering river again for a dreaded rapid race against the soon predictable setting of the sun. We all knew we were doomed by the clock.
On our late arrival that night, all the fierce tongue lashings and the quickly forgetful punishments were paled compared to our once in a lifetime memory.
A lifetime of smiles and chuckles were my rewards for that irresistibly youthful journey of perfectly smooth sheer joy.