I live in the country, so you would think we would have lots of options for places to sled. You would be wrong. My family owns three-and-a-bit acres, but there are so many trees it’s hard to walk, let alone sled. The fire department has a little hill behind it, but it runs right into the creek. So, if you go too far, you fall through the ice, but hey, at least you’re right behind the fire house so they can come haul you out. If there is anyone actually at the fire house to notice you dying. That can be a gamble, but to each his own. You can’t use the farmer’s fields. They get grumpy and pull out their shot guns. I’ve seen it happen. Farmers are terrifying people. The only unclaimed, semi-safe hill is in the town cemetery.
Looking out over the picturesque view, you can play among the moldering old bones. If you angle yourself just right, you can race down the hill on a red, plastic sled. If you angle wrong or just can’t steer, you may hit some headstones, causing broken bones, bloody lips, or concussions. But it’s still good fun. If you happen to knock over a headstone, proper town protocol requires that you run for your life and beg your parents to put in an anonymous phone call to the cemetery keeper to get the big machine that helps him lift the headstone back up where it belongs. Some people may call it desecration, but I call it good old-fashioned country fun.