My grandparents had a beach cottage at Kitty Hawk when I was growing up. I spent a lot of time there. It was built about 1/2 mile back from the ocean on top of a sand dune. The dune was steep and covered in Bermuda grass in front of the house. It was a perfect place to sled. My cousins and brother and I would sled down that hill on cardboard boxes and sheets of heavy plastic–spending hours at a time shoving each other off the top of the hill. It was a fun, fast, short ride. I sledded a lot growing up, but I never sledded in snow until moving to these mountains.
This week, though, our sleds still stood in the yard–left where the melting snow deposited them. They became a big attraction for our young boys. Hythe pushes Steven down the hill, then dumps him out (sometimes right in the mud puddles at the bottom) and they walk back up and do it again. Our hill is not steep enough for the sleds to go on their own momentum in the grass, but it is still lots of fun for these boys. It is joy to watch them. Reminds me of our fun days sledding down a grassy hill at the beach.