![]() Despite six other witnesses I harbor a slight doubt that it was real, for the experience seems like something we must have imagined. To this day, when we’re in the meadow, whether it’s covered with the luxuriant green of summer or the white snow of winter, we remember the wonder of that night. And sure enough, by midmorning the ice was gone, leaving only an expanse of brown grass. “Probably not if the sun shines,” I answered. They had never seen ice so slippery that they didn’t need a hill for coasting on their sleds. “Mom and Dad, you’ve got to come with us down to the pasture tonight,” they said. When they came home to chores and supper, they were so excited. Here they found that their sleds would speed over the ice from fence to fence with only the weight of their bodies to keep them going. They took out at once, but they never reached their destination, for between home and hill lay a gently rolling, treeless meadow. ![]() Our five children, ages five to sixteen, returned from school exclaiming about how good the sledding would be on the steep hill in our pasture. We were accustomed to the white hoarfrost of winter, but this was something else-a hard, clear coating of solid ice. By mid-afternoon the rain had stopped, and we looked on a crystal world. ![]() A slow but steady rain came down all that wintry morning and froze where it fell-on the ground, the trees, the buildings.
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