January 30, 2013
I am looking at my painting of icicles. It was painted for Shakespeare’s poem
from Love’s Labours Lost:
When icicles hang by the wall
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail
And Tom bears logs into the hall
And milk comes frozen home in pail
When blood is nipp’d and ways be foul
When nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit,
Tu-who, a merry note
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot
When all aloud the wind doth blow
And coughing drowns the parson’s saw
And birds sit brooding in the snow
And Marian’s nose is red and raw
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl
When nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit
Tu-who, a merry note
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
The image I painted is of the weeping side of a cliff, which
in winter almost always has some ice on it. That winter there was more than usual. The ice extended right across the
highway. This area is on the road
to Harrison River--somewhere west of the turn off to the Sasquatch Inn. The Sasquatch Inn used to be a very
characterful pub. At the time it
was different from any other pub in the province that I knew of, because there
were no separate entrances or drinking areas for Gentlemen and Ladies with
Escorts. Everyone came in the same
door and sat in the same room while enjoying some draft beer. Nobody ever asked what you’d like
because there was only one beer on tap.
The waiter came over with a tray of small glasses filled with beer and asked
how many you wanted. There were no
pints. The Sasquatch has become
updated today. This probably has a
lot to do with the ski area that opened on Hemlock Mountain. The Sasquatch is at the turn off. When you come down exhaused from a day
of skiing, you have the option of getting pye-eyed before you get back on the
icy road. Ah-h-h, winter. This is why I am in Apache Junction
right now. I can get pie-eyed a
lot cheaper right here at home.
And while doing that, I relax in my hammock.
