Snow, hot chocolate and apologies to Billy Graham
January-February 2026
by Margo Oxendine, Contributing Columnist
If there’s one thing to be said about winter, it’s this: It can be fun. As they say, fun is where you find it.
As a kid, I think most of us found our fun atop a sled flying down a hill — and maybe even falling off and being pitched into a pile of beautiful white snow.
While my father was no kid, he was always up for sledding. Once, he and a bunch of his buddies from the Lions Club decided to have a sledding party on the newly built ski slopes at The Homestead. The slopes weren’t officially operating yet, but there was surely a wonderful, long expanse of hilly snow to enjoy. Even Daddy enjoyed it, despite coming home with two broken ribs.
Whenever there was a big, deep snow, he would organize a sledding party for us and the kids who lived up the hill.
Mom, who never sledded in her life, would fill a big percolator with hot chocolate. She set that on the bonfire Daddy built at the end of the driveway, and the gang of us had a delightful time sledding down our steep, hilly rural road, then hauling our sleds back up so we could have a glug of cocoa and then hop aboard our Flexible Flyer sleds for another run.
All of that happened at least 50 years ago, but just the other day, one of those now-grown-and-gray “kids” reminisced with me and we talked about all the fun we had.
I don’t know why I’ve always loved to shovel snow, but I do. For a while, I had a very long, steep driveway with a sharp curve. I’d tromp out there in the morning and commence my happy chore. I’d always pride myself with the number of calories I was burning.
Nowadays, I don’t have a driveway that’s “shovel-able,” and no sidewalk, so I must be content with sweeping off my deck and creating a narrow path to the car.
I think the only thing I never liked about the snow was the “snowsuit” that my parents insisted on encasing me in when I was small. It was very thick, scratchy wool. There were leggings, as well as a coat, and a hood that required a zipper to close. I’d squirm and sigh and cry, especially when Daddy would accidentally catch my bare neck with that dang zipper.
Time quickly marched on from those snowsuit days and, finally, the ski area opened. Since The Homestead is a resort area, visitors flock there for their winter fun. They come to ski, snowboard and rocket down the slopes in big rubber tubes. I will be doing none of those things.
When the ski area opened, I was a teenager and, like most teens, thought myself invincible. The first time I went to ski, I got to the top, gazed down and thought, “I am certainly not ready to tackle this!” I bent over to remove my skis and walk down, but a “friend” gave me a big push. Off I flew. I plowed down a competent skier — who turned out to be Billy Graham. He uttered something that was definitely not a prayer. I came home on crutches that day, and I haven’t been to the ski area since, except to drink delicious hot chocolate in the lodge. Just like old times! Here’s hoping you can find some sort of fun activities to enjoy this winter.
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