My Grandma and Grandpa lived in Montana. My dad was raised in Montana and for a while when I was young, I lived in Montana too.
Montanans like to hunt and Montanans like to fish. All year long, Montanans like to fish. They like to fish so much that sometimes they even put houses on the ice, creating impromptu villages around the edges of lakes.
The inside of these houses smell of the kerosene heating oil which doesn't really warm you up - because you and your brother have to sit still and be quiet so that you don't scare away the fish and you don't fall in the ice, which only makes you notice how cold you are and how bored, too.
At least that's how I remember it that time when my brother Bill and I went ice fishing with Grandpa and Mom and Dad.
I think Bill and I finally wore them out. After all how many times can a parent say, “Be quiet or you’ll scare away the fish”, or “Careful, sit down, we don’t want to fish you out of the hole?"
Finally, Dad said those magic words. “Come on! I’ll give you a ride on the sled.”
Excitement ensued. Mom made sure that we were completely bundled up. In my memories we looked like little Ralphie in the movie a Christmas Story. We got on our sled. Me in back, Bill in front. Dad aimed us away from our neighbor’s ice house - toward the middle of the lake.
One thing about Montana is that even on a calm day it is windy . The kind of wind that makes a little kid believe they can fly. That day Bill and I did fly. Maybe not in the air but across the top of the lake. No parents, just my brother and me!
The ice houses grew smaller behind us. We screamed for shear joy - a Disneyland sort of scream! We were going fast! We were free. We gathered speed. as the wind at our back pushed us ever faster. Bravely, we let go of the sled rails and put our hands in the air. Excitement and speed blended together in to childhood joy!
Suddenly, there was a truck speeding by. Honking, it passed us and stopped out in front of us . The driver jumped out caught us, ending our flight. It was Dad. Bill and I were upset at the interruption of our free flight across the lake.
Dad did that thing parents do, that I did not understand until I became a parent. He yelled at us at the same time that he was hugging us. “Didn’t you know going into the middle of the lake was dangerous! The ice is thin, it could have broken. You could have drowned, I’m so glad you're safe!”
He drove us back to our house in the ice village Mom's turn. And Grandpa...he yelled at Dad...”Harvey! Don’t you know the ice is thin in the middle of the lake? It could have broken under the weight of the truck. You could have fallen in the lake! You could have drowned!”
Then I spoke up. “It was so fun!”
We were all silent. Then the laughter began. The hugging and the story telling.
Mom poured us a cup of hot chocolate from the thermos she brought while Dad and Grandpa packed up the house to go home.
I’ve never forgotten that day and how it felt to fly - to be free. But as an adult I’ve come to appreciate that there is always a price to our freedom, a line, thin as ice that can destroy us if we aren't careful.
Here’s the recipe for the Hot Chocolate that my mom used to make us. It was on the back of the Hershey’s Cocoa container in the 1970’s. I’ve changed the amounts a bit. Also, with all the options we have for Cocoa these days - experiment until you find what you like. I used to dip buttered toast into this hot chocolate for a breakfast treat.
Hot Chocolate
1 serving
1 tablespoon cocoa
2 tablespoons sugar (adjust to taste)
pinch of salt
1 mug of milk
¼ teaspoon vanilla
In a sauce pan (I think the stove top works better than a microwave) mix the cocoa, sugar and salt. Add a couple of tablespoons of the milk and stir until you have a paste. Add the remainder of the milk and heat to desired temperature. Stirring occasionally. When hot chocolate reaches desired temperature add vanilla then pour into your mug.
