Alright, so this “Hockey Christmas” thing. It wasn’t some grand, meticulously planned event, you know? More like one of those ideas that pops into your head when you’re trying to think of something, anything, to make the holidays a bit different from the usual sit-around-and-eat-too-much routine. We’d been cooped up, and I just thought, “We need some action.”
My first thought was, “Hey, maybe there’s a local pond frozen enough, or an outdoor rink we can hit.” But then you remember, Christmas Day? Or even Christmas Eve? Packed. Or closed. Or the ice is all chewed up by then. So, that brilliant idea died pretty quick. Then the lightbulb, a very dim one at the time, went off: my own backyard. How hard could it be, right? Famous last words. I’ve uttered those a few times in my life, let me tell you.
So, the practice began. My “practice” for creating a backyard winter wonderland. Step one was just dragging the hose out. I figured, spray enough water when it’s cold, boom, ice. Nope. Our yard, which I always thought was pretty flat, apparently slopes more than a ski jump when you’re trying to contain water. It just ran off towards the neighbor’s fence. Good thing old Mr. Henderson is a patient man. I saw him peeking through the blinds. Probably thought I’d finally lost it.
Okay, attempt number two. I remembered seeing some folks online building frames. I’m not exactly a carpenter, but I figured I could cobble something together. Found some old bits of lumber in the garage, the kind you keep “just in case.” This was the case, apparently. Then I got one of those cheap blue tarps. The plan was: frame, tarp, flood. Simple. What a joke.
Here’s what really went down:
- The lumber was warped. My “frame” looked like a drunken spider.
- The tarp, bless its cheap plastic heart, decided to spring a tiny leak. Then another. Then one I definitely made myself by stepping on a sharp rock I missed.
- The weather decided to play games. Freezing cold, perfect! Then a bit of a thaw. Then a flash freeze. What I got wasn’t smooth ice. It was more like a frozen moonscape. Lumps, bumps, and a few embedded leaves for character.
The wife, she just watched from the kitchen window, shaking her head and sipping her coffee. I think she was taking bets on when I’d give up. But I’m stubborn. Or stupid. Maybe both. I just kept patching, re-flooding tiny sections, muttering to myself. It became a bit of an obsession, this “Hockey Christmas” rink.
Finally, on Christmas morning, we had… well, we had an area of the backyard that was undeniably icy. About the size of a large tablecloth, and about as smooth as a gravel road. But you know what? The kids didn’t care. They bundled up, grabbed their little street hockey sticks – no way were real skates touching that surface – and a soft puck. They mostly slipped and fell. There was more giggling and sliding on their rears than actual hockey. The dog tried to “help” by chasing the puck and skidding into them. Pure chaos.
We were out there for maybe an hour before everyone was cold and wet. We trooped back inside, red-cheeked, and had a mountain of hot chocolate. And you know, looking back, that disaster of a rink? It was perfect. It wasn’t about making a professional-grade sheet of ice. It was about the ridiculous effort, the trying something, the shared laughs at how badly it was going but doing it anyway. That was our Hockey Christmas. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t smart, but it was ours. Sometimes the things that go completely sideways are the ones you end up remembering the most, aren’t they?
