’TIS THE SEASON
It’s 11 p.m., bitterly cold outside, and the snow has stopped after three or four hours of accumulation. A sensible person would be heading to bed at this point, but I am not a sensible person. I put on my coat and boots, grab my shovel, and head outside to clear my backyard rink.
If I don’t get the snow off immediately, it could stick to the ice and ruin the skating surface when the temperature rises tomorrow. I’d have to flood two or three times to smooth things out, and if there’s a breeze while I’m doing this, I may end up making things worse. My fingers will be numb after 20 minutes or so, and I know I’ll be tired at work tomorrow. Why do I do this to myself?
My reasons for rink building are complicated and go back almost 30 years. For one magical winter in my childhood, two of the neighbourhood dads came to an arrangement
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