Losing the Frozen Indy

How One City Girl Braved the Snow and Conquered Fear

Photo by Europeana on Unsplash

I am not a naturally adventuresome person.

Though my family moved to a small country homestead when I was eight years old, my formative years were spent in the city, in a small brick house in Lincoln Park, Michigan. I liked having training wheels on my bike, preferred to sit with the grownups rather than run around with the “wild kids,” and cherished what I considered the privilege of being mom’s helper. So, when we moved to the country, I was very excited to explore the great outdoors, but at the same time I was also very cautious and timid.

While my friends and younger siblings climbed tall trees, waded into swamps, scaled the inside walls of barns, rolled down hills inside metal barrels, and fearlessly explored¹ neighboring properties, I often held back. Trying something new, especially something that could potentially be harmful, was scary. Though I loved the country, being a country girl didn’t come easily to me. Often, in the name of being prudent, my fear had the upper hand.

Before my family raised pigs of our own, I distinctly recall the first time a neighboring farmer thrust a baby piglet into my arms. He assumed I’d be delighted, but I was petrified. Up to that point, my experience with animals was essentially limited to various goldfish and a fat rabbit named Cinnamon, who was safely sequestered in his hutch or pen. Holding a real live pig (of all animals) was quite the shock. But I survived, and little did I know of the countless other animals I would come to care for, eventually swaddling newborn lambs in my coat, syringing medicine to angry goats, castrating calves, and burying many a deceased chicken.

It should then come as no surprise that the thought of tying a rope to the back of a pickup truck, grabbing hold of a section of the rope, and getting dragged through a field of snow did not excite me very much. However, that was exactly the predicament I found myself in one snowy winter day as a child. My friends and family were excitedly filming an episode of “Farm Fun Fear Factor,” our own version of “Fear Factor,” which included catching chickens in record time, eating “green eggs” (scrambled eggs with green food coloring), running through cow fields blindfolded, and the aforementioned Frozen Indy.

The Frozen Indy was by far the most exciting competition, involving an old farm truck, long thick ropes, and a hilly field, full of thick snow. To compete, each contestant had to grab onto the rope and then got dragged behind the truck as it drove around the snowy field. Whoever held on longest would end up with a face full of snow, sore arms, and first place in the competition. Not exactly my cup of tea.

But since this escapade was part of our home movie, I couldn’t just refuse to compete. My refusal wouldn’t just ruin the movie—it would also expose me as being well, fearful (something I couldn’t let on during Farm Fun Fear Factor!). I couldn’t fail the competition before it even started!

Instead, I grabbed on to the rope and let the snow pile against my body as the truck rushed forward. Though I was one of the first to let go, I actually had a blast!

Flying through the snowy field, aware that this competition was both silly and reckless was actually pretty fun! I may not have won the competition, but that didn’t matter. As I walked back across the snowy field, watching my siblings and friends eventually let go, one by one, I wasn’t disappointed that I hadn’t held on last. Everyone else had been competing for first place, but I was fighting to conquer my fears and—at least this time—I had won.

1. Because “fearlessly explored,” sounds better than “trespassed.”