TJ was up at the crack of dawn the following morning, anxious to see the new ice on the new rink. He listened to the sportscast on the radio as he threw on his clothes, cheering when he heard that his beloved Moose had finally broken out of their slump with a late goal in overtime. Then he pulled on his boots and parka and raced out into the backyard.

His father was standing by the hockey rink, his shoulders slumped. “Someone vandalized our new rink last night,” the man groaned. “Poured salt all over the ice – ruined it!”

TJ stared at the cratered and pockmarked ice surface, where the salt had melted through it, at the empty twenty-five pound bag of road salt that had blown into a corner of the messed-up rink. The salt was a commonplace brand that people all over Manitoba used on their driveways and walkways and steps in the wintertime to melt ice and improve traction.