There's a pond down by the barns that I love. There was a pair of ducks who visited it frequently during the summer and fall, and more than once scared the living daylights out of me as I walked down to the chickens. Bright blue dragonflies dart across the surface catching their meals on lazy summer days, and the reflection of the trees and sky in it are splendid. This winter, we've been waiting and waiting (there appears to be an underground spring that keeps it thawed much longer than seems reasonable) - and it finally froze solid and smooth and perfect for skating.
I remember in late August, the week that we moved in, standing upstairs looking down at the pond, surrounded by boxes and thinking "I can't wait to see the boys skating down there." Adam had them out on a snow day earlier in the week while I was at work, and he captured these beautiful pictures of them having a great time. T (in red) was exhausted (he's had a cold and was really tired that day) but refused to stop and rest. P (in blue) practiced and practiced and was pleased as punch with his progress.
I remember many, many happy hours of skating with my sister on our pond when I was a kid (and making up routines to "I Just Called to Say I Love You"). When they're adults, I wonder what they'll tell us that they remember.