Hello Readers! I am thrilled to have The Kitchen Witch in my space. She’s witty, clever, and her culinary skills are regal. Her posts are well-crafted and her comments are equally thoughtful and charming. She is talented and you know that as soon as you read one of her pieces. Give her a warm welcome and thanks to Amy at The Never True Tales for connecting us all together.
Once upon a time, in a hard and snowy landscape, there was a girl who owned an audacious green hat. Her mother and father had tried to talk her out of the hat; it was brazen, impractical. But the girl needed the hat, and had a habit of being so stubborn and so mean that, in the end, her parents were no match for her.
Every afternoon, after the lunch boxes were shut and the tables wiped down, a little war waged on a North Dakota playground. Theodore Roosevelt Elementary School, red brick and mortar, sported a fabulous hill just right of the playground. And every day after lunch, that hill was the grammar-school version of Braveheart, I kid you not.
I think a lot of kids played King of the Hill when they were young. But, truly, King of the Hill in North Dakota was not far from Survivor:Antarctica. Good Luck trying to fight your way to the top of a snowy peak against strapping Swedes, Norwegians, Danes. Those Angelic looking cretins, with their white-blond-hair and sky-blue eyes and chapped lips and stocky, impenetrable bodies…well, let’s just say that some scrawny-legged European hybrid was no match for them.
Every day, the little girl in the green hat would stumble and claw her way up the hill and every day, she got knocked to the ground, mouth bitter with dirt and snow. Hill: 246. Little Girl: 0.
She’d trudge home, slumped with defeat, sulk over her snack and complain to her mother about how unfair it was, how cruel. How much would it cost the twerps, just once, to let her stand at the top of that hill?
“Not everyone gets to be the winner,” her mother said.
One day, on a frigid winter afternoon, a man decided to surprise his wife and come home for lunch. He put on his heavy coat and scarf, cringing as he opened the door. He hurried to his car, feet already halfway frozen, cursing the wind and the ice that slowed his progress.
He drove home slowly, wary of ice patches, and as he passed Theodore Roosevelt Elementary School, he noticed the playground was empty. It was too miserable a day for even seasoned North Dakota Scandinavians.
But as he drove, a flash of color caught his eye. There, on top of a lonely hill, stood a small figure. Standing tall, right there at the top, frozen half to death. But smiling all the same. Green pom-pommed hat waving in the wind.
This is not my story. I’ve always wished that it was.
This story belongs to someone far more ferocious than I. Thinking of you, sis.
Good to see you here Kitch!
Oh, lady. You know the sister stories get me every time. My little sister was the fighter in our family and I could totally see her climbing that hill. Actually, she probably would’ve beaten up all the kids in her path, but to each her own. Lovely memory!
Hey Rudri—thanks for hosting one of my faves here… and as for the brave sis on the hill, KW, I like to think she made her way up there for all of who lean, in our own ways, into the unfairness. Namaste
I’m with Kelly, your sister stories sit in my gut. My little sister was/is the fighter. And though she and I have a love/hate relationship, when I read your tales I’m reminded that blood runs thicker than water.
Rudri, thank you so much for having me here today! xo
Of course Kitch! Anytime.
Love this tale!
Love this. I have a fighter of a sister, too, who so far hasn’t met many hills too high for her. My parents swear that she willed herself to be taller than the rest of us.
‘Not everyone gets to be a winner’…this made me laugh outloud for it nontraditional parental ring to it! So true. And I’m so glad she triumphed!
Awesome, simply awesome! Thanks for introducing me to the KitchenWitch, Rudri, love this idea.
As someone who grew up with three older sisters, my childhood was not without its share of histrionics and theatrics caused by sisterly drama. But stories like this warm my heart so. Cheers to all the imperfect but nonetheless much beloved sisters out there!
Love this story my friend. Thanks
King of the hill, southern Minnesota. I never made it to the top of that big ass hill. Lots of facial abrasions from the rough ride down… My friend Michael always promised I’d make it to the top… He lied! Glad your sister got to the top!
Coming from the south, I had no idea that these battles occurred! I thought I had it rough, but this sounded epic! The image of the green hatted girl prancing on top of the hill brought a huge smile to my face. Here’s to overcoming the odds and never giving up!