“Dashing through the snow” is not as comfortable as it sounds. It was on my bucket list, so we decided to try it out. We called a local place that took people on sleigh rides, and the price was right. The ground, however, did not contain “a drifted bank.” It was white, but that’s about it.
In the old sleigh, my husband and I sat down on a bench seat. We had a wool blanket over our laps to keep us warm. The sun was setting over the field, and it looked magical.
Then the horse started pulling away from the barn. Our driver chose paths over a wide field, but there were rocks under the snow we couldn’t see. We felt every single stone as the runners were dragged over the melting snow. With each bump, we tried sliding around the bench to find a spot that wasn’t as painful. That proved impossible.
We could see our breath in front of us with the moon overhead. Mittens and knitted caps kept us warm because open sleighs are cold as they move through the winter air. The horse snorted as he trotted, and one time provided us a malodorous gift. Each time we hit a bump, my husband and I looked at each other, and we started giggling. Sure, we could hear the jingling of the bells, but the song never mentioned horse poop or butt bruises. We still had fun, laughing all the way back to the barn.