But even nature's handiwork needs a little fine-tuning from time to time, and so today the zamboniless lake crew was out with the water hose, filling in the chips and cracks that have accumulated in the more heavily trafficked patches of ice.
Growing up in Minnesota with a pond in the back yard, my friend Matt and I became somewhat self-proclaimed ice-aficionados. This method of hosing down the ice to smooth it off was nothing new to us.
Unfortunately for us, the garden hose couldn't stretch as far as the pond, so we had to find other methods to building the perfect ice rink. (Thinking back, that short hose probably saved my dad thousands in busted pipes and repair bills.)
It wasn't unusual at all for Matt or me to carry a bucket of water from the kitchen all the way down to the pond, where - very deliberately - we would move from crack to crack, filling in the uneven spaces and hoping for a quick freeze.
Of course taking off the skates, walking all the way up to the house and back down again with a bucket of instant-ice (just add cold) wasn't always the most convenient thing, so in a pinch saliva would do just fine.
And if carefully pouring water onto a frozen pond wasn't "unusual," just imagine two grade-schoolers crawling on their hands and knees, spitting at the ice and moving on to the next location, only to wind up and hock another loogie.
Perfectly normal.
Incidentally, this candid picture was taken from the driver's seat of my car, with my telephoto zoom lens, window rolled down, engine running.
I have never felt creepier.
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