Everyone would bring their sleds - plastic one-man sitting sleds, and the long thin belly surfers, plastic saucers to match our beat up metal one, and old-style runner sleds. But the plastic saucers couldn't match up the dinged metal saucer in terms of quality of ride, and no sled matched our toboggan - we fit 7 people on one once, and just flew. It was fabulous, even the fact that I ended face down in huge wet melting pile of snow.

We never could convince my parents to put in a ski lift; we were forced to drag the sleds up the hill behind us, hoping for a spectacular run so we could stop and take a needed break, switch arms, cheer, and feel better that at least we weren't the furthest one down. For a good storm, we could have fifteen kids there - a couple of parents or babysitters keeping an eye out would often be chatting at the top of the hill, or - even better - there was someone designated as King or Queen of the Hill - and their word was law.

One year, we had so much snow that we built forts on the hill... on either side of the toughest (without being dangerous) sledding hill, and had an off-again, on-again war that lasted for days. We pelted everything that moved (even a stray sledder or two), and a lot that didn't. Our hill so great that even the neighborhood juvenile delinquint was on his best behavior lest he be thrown out ... most of the time.