What I learned about West Philly from sledding in Clark Park

A few weeks ago, I awoke to the kind of quiet that could only mean one thing: After more than 700 days, Philadelphia’s snowless streak was over.

That first snowy morning, I found myself in a group text of mostly unknown numbers. “Snow day!” the first text proclaimed. “Anybody want to go to Clark Park and play?”

A few hours later, I set out with a 5-foot-long purple toboggan that’s at least 25 years old, a relic of my childhood snow days in Bucks County. We called it “the bus,” maybe because we used to pack on as many friends as possible and ride down the hill behind Walter Miller Elementary School — or maybe because of the times my brother and I got out of school to find our mom waiting in a red stocking cap, purple sled beside her, ready to tow us the half-mile home.

The sled spent years in my parents’ garage, but when I moved to West Philly in late 2019, I reclaimed it. And it’s found a perfect home here, where it brings out what I love most about this neighborhood: our fun, creative, resourceful, and beautifully weird community.

When a group of us from the neighborhood descended on Clark Park, it was a scene of glorious chaos. Shrieks cut across the park as kids bundled in bright clothes careened down the hill on sleds, trash can lids, or anything else that would slide. People had repurposed laundry baskets, baking sheets, cardboard boxes, and a kitty litter box as sleds. I heard later of one group riding a car bumper down the hill like a canoe.

Kids in saucers launched themselves off a makeshift jump. Meanwhile, a dog named Gracie was chasing as many sleds as possible, sometimes hopping on for a ride herself. At the bottom of the hill, a large, muddy snowman with a head full of leaves and sticks seemed to celebrate each successful descent.

I dragged my purple sled to the edge of the hill and held it in place with my boot. The snow was thin, some grass and dirt still showing through, but a spell of freezing rain had sealed everything in a slick layer of ice.

“Who’s coming with me?” I asked.

One of my neighbors climbed in back. I hopped in front, picked up his legs, and we raced down the icy hill, laughing as the cold stung our faces and Gracie sprinted behind us.

That afternoon, the purple sled made the rounds, traveling from friend to stranger to kid to parent.

My neighbors and I eventually ceded the hill to the swarm of children who had just gotten out of school, but around 9 p.m., some of us went back.

The after-hours crowd was mostly adults, aside from one big group of teens who were sliding down the hill en masse on a flotilla of waxed cardboard. One of them looked at the purple sled and said, “I bet that could make it up the other side.”

Soon, four teenage boys surrounded us and, with a “one-two-three,” sent us flying. Moments later, we heard their cheers across the park as our sled crested the hill on the opposite side of the park and crunched to a stop.

Later that night, a couple walked by carrying a sled just as we were climbing into ours. I looked up at them. “Wanna race?”

The guy didn’t miss a beat. He dropped his sled and jumped in. “Let’s go!”

Nearby, a dad who was sledding with his toddler said, “Can we get in on y’all’s race?” He climbed into a saucer with his son in his lap, and we took off.

The ground stayed frozen for a few days, and on the last night of subfreezing temperatures, I dragged the purple sled to Clark Park one last time. I saw some familiar neighbors and met others for the first time.

By 11 p.m., five of us were left. We were all walking slowly up the hill.

“I’m tired,” I admitted.

“Same,” someone echoed.

“One last ride?” another suggested.

“Five on the purple sled!” a fourth person cried.

And with that, all five adults, most of us having just met, squished onto the sled, hanging on to each other’s legs, racing down the hill, our cheers and screams slicing the quiet night.

I loved what the purple sled brought out in us. Anyone who’s been to West Philly for Porchfest or Halloween or a summer block party knows there’s something special about this neighborhood. I moved here just months before the pandemic during a tumultuous time in my life. I had no real expectations. But sledding in West Philly exemplifies what made me fall in love with this neighborhood.

In the spring of 2020, my neighbors came together for socially distanced sidewalk barbecues to help stave off the loneliness. In the summer, front porches were always busy with impromptu gatherings. In warmer months, I often came to this same park to make music with friends and strangers, to have late-night dance parties, or to watch dogs run freely in the bowl of Clark Park.

And now, in a time that has tested us all in so many ways, I love that we can reach out to each other, create a little bit of magic, and literally hold on to each other as we sail down an icy hill.

Samia Bouzid is a freelance audio storyteller, writer, and science communicator based in Philadelphia.