Most of the hills surrounding my home when I was growing up were used for grazing farm animals and harvesting wooden posts. Almost all the virgin wood had been cut years ago and only a few selected areas contained the 200 year old oak trees. With hickory nut and walnut trees mixed into this arrangement, a few rabbits and squirrels and an occasional quail would fill my hunting jacket.
Winter days, if not filled with hunting and trapping along the Buffalo Creek, would find me in the company of my neighbor Roddy. He had comic books by the box full in his attic-like bed room. He was always coming up with all kinds of ideas from the comic books for us to try. Rod was a year older than me; however, he was a much smaller build. With what he lacked in size, he compensated with his ornery behavior. I had to constantly be on the alert and occasionally deliver a punch to his back to keep him in line. His dad had another method to keeping him in line. It was called a three inch wide mining belt. On many occasions I could hear Rod's delirious screams as he pleaded to his dad for mercy.
Although Rod got into plenty mischief, his dad and mother treated him with very fine toys. I remember different Christmas presents: Lincoln Log Set, Lionel Train Set, Tinker Toy Set, Erector Set and a pair of skis. Rod was always ready to play and we had many afternoons to have great times together.
This brings me to the subject of our story. One Christmas, Rod had his dream come true. I remember I went to his house to watch him open his presents. He kept pointing to the long package leaning against the corner behind the Christmas tree. Leaning over to whisper in my ear, he said, "Big jumpers." I kind of straightened up and wondered what was a big jumper. Soon we were to find out his dad had gotten him his long wished for SKIS.
That afternoon, we went behind his house and walked up John Ices Hill. Rod made a few runs and did pretty good for not ever having skied. After skiing a while, he got the bright idea to pile snow on an old dead stump. After several minutes, we had a five foot, compacted snow pile ready for a jump. As we climbed the hill, Rod kept talking about going higher. I asked him to give me a turn; he paid little attention to me and told me not to touch them. This was not normally like Rod who always shared his toys with me. I didn't realize it at the time, but this was a blessing in disguise.
The remainder of the day, he practiced making little jumps which appeared to be pretty good. That evening as we sat around talking about the skiing venture, he told me he wanted to go to the top of the hill tomorrow and make the big jump. I told him he needed to practice more but he insisted he was going to start at the top. Rod had never learned how to weave back and forth to make a controlled descent. His method was a straight ‘as a bullet' line.
Early the next morning, we started climbing the hill through ten inches of fresh snow. I noticed in Rod's rear pocket he had a pair of wire cutters and I ask him what he intended to do with them. He just smiled and said, "You'll see". As we arrived at the halfway point, we came to the barbed wire fence which kept Mr.. Ice's cattle from straying away. Rod just took his clippers out and cut the fence in four places. He said, "Just pull the wire back and after I go through, put it back together."
Rod reached the top of the hill and yelled, "Line me up!" You have to understand the second part of the climb was nearly straight up and if you fell, you would roll down to the fence, approximately three hundred feet. I remember we used to have contests rolling rocks to see whose would go the furthest. They would not stop for the fence and continue to roll until they reached Rod's house some eight hundred feet away. It never occurred to me until Rod yelled line me up, the possibility existed of missing the opening. If he hit the fence, it would surely cut him into five equal pieces.
Rod gave a yell and I held my hand in the air for him to see. When I lowered my hand, down the hill he came with his ski poles tucked under his arms. He really looked good as he gained speed. I don't think any of us knew just how fast he was going. He passed me at break-neck speed giving a loud war hoop sounding like, "Yahoo!!!!" I was so excited I never thought to connect the fence, but went running after him. As I checked his direction, he appeared to be in a direct line to hit the snow jump.
Running in the tracks of his skies, I could see Rod preparing for his jump. He appeared to be having a balancing problem or was trying to avoid the jump. I never did really find out the truth of the matter. Rod hit the jump dead on and with a scream loud enough to be heard completely across town. Rod did a Daffy, two Somersaults and a half cartwheel. I could see his skis flying in two different directions with his arms and legs flapping in the hair like he was trying to climb something that wasn't there. When he landed, I thought that he had made the best jump in the history of the world.
As I ran down the hill I was yelling and saluting him for making the great jump. When Rod hit the ground, he must have slid 40 feet or more. In fact, he was only a few feet away from the fence just behind his house where we had climbed through to enter the field.
Running and sliding into Rod, I started slapping him on the back and telling about his great jump. Rod's body parts were kind of mixed up, and every time I slapped him, he moaned and groaned. It wasn't until I had settled down, I could see one of his legs was twisted under him and the other was kind of locked behind his head. He looked like a Guru trying to perform a form of yoga meditation.
In fact he was rolled up into a tight little ball with skis sticking out sort of willy nilly. As Rod moaned, I asked him if he was OK....he could only moan and whimper under his breath. As I listened to him, he whispered, "Get my dad. Get dad." As I stood up to get his dad, his dad was already climbing through the fence. Apparently Miss Ice, owner of the farm, had already called him about the fence being cut and the bad fall that Rod had taken. Ralph gently straighten Rod out and carried him to his house.
I gathered Rod's skis and poles and followed Ralph to his house. As his dad shut the door in my face, he said, "You're in deep trouble, too." That's all it took and I ran for the house like there would be safety there. As I opened the door, my dad just turned me around and told me to go back up the hill and fix the fence.
John Ice was waiting for me beside the cut fence. When he talked to me, you would have thought he was talking to a bad puppy. I told him I was sorry the fence was cut and it was a very bad Idea. He went on to tell me, Rod could have killed himself and it would have been my fault for not stopping him. He explained I would have to live with that the rest of my life and went on to tell me how disappointed he was in me. He said being sorry was not good enough, and I was to clean his barn for the whole winter.
Clean the barn the whole winter, not bad, not very bad at all. It was like throwing a rabbit into a briar patch for punishment. I put my head down and said, "OK. I'll do it". Gee, I thought, I will have free run of the barn for the whole winter. I could feed the cows, horses, pigs, chickens, cats, pump water into the watering trough, play with the baby calves, play in the hay and clean manure. It would put me in good with the animals and when it came summer, it meant no foot races across the fields fleeing from the animals that always chased me and all of the milk I could drink. Milking cows had become one of my talents when John's sister, Margaret, was not around. For only a flash, I thought maybe we should have had cut the fence earlier.
Rod and I never saw the skis again. Rod was put in a large cast for six weeks. To this day, I have never touched snow skis and envy the great jumps. I am now retired, and have given some thought to cross country skiing. Inside of me remains the little boy who likes to work, sweat, play and still wants to make the great jump. In all of those years the little boy inside me has never left. Who knows, the rails to trail looks like the perfect playground for a retired country boy like me. 
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