Recently, my son discovered the rink at Boutiliers Point. He’s played “pond” hockey there with friends a few times this winter. Not for the first time, and rather wistfully, I acknowledge his wider world and the diminishing role we as parents play in it.
It wasn’t so long ago that our family rink served as a treasured winter recreational centre for our children, who learned to skate through CanSkate, then honed their skills on home ice, quite literally. They enjoyed countless hours of healthy exercise on the rink, our daughters spinning around the ice and attempting jumps, and our son improving his edges and hockey shots. Early on, my husband played goalie–until the shots started to hurt. At times the rink became a social hub for visiting friends. Skating provided stress relief, too; late-night laps in the frosty air alleviated teenage angst. Occasionally I joined in the skating fun, but mostly I captured the scene in my mind’s eye and made hot chocolate.
The rink was my husband’s labour of love for over 20 years. His seasonal duty started casually with a fledgling affair in the back corner of our yard. The location had logistical drawbacks, so the next year we moved the rink to our more accessible front yard. From that moment, we lost our lawn to an ever-expanding rink (who needs grass, anyway?) and an almost obsessive effort to perfect the surface and improve the skating experience. We cut trees. We levelled the lawn. We extended the rink boards. We shovelled a path in the snow from the walkway to the rink, then unrolled a carpet down the steps, so skaters could lace up inside and walk directly to the ice. Our outdoor Christmas lights encircled the rink. It was grand.
Although not a skater, my husband devoted himself to regular rink maintenance for our children’s benefit. He stoically braved the elements on many a late night to take advantage of ideal ice-making conditions, flooding the thick ice scarred with the slashes of repeated use. What were a few hours of lost sleep in exchange for happy childhood memories?
Unreliable weather conditions, combined with the onset of adulthood and bigger dreams, led to the demise of our rink. Now, unblemished white drifts decorate our front yard. It sure is beautiful, but…empty. Like the cocoa mugs.
