Another American Adventure: Snow Globe Style

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Snow Globe Style

The snow is now coming down, snow globe style. It's about time. I was beginning to think that I really should have left here yesterday. I've been waiting for this winter storm to pass through. It looks like it's finally here. Now I just have to wait to get to the other side of it so that Jubilee and I can leave.

4 comments:

BarbaraJanuary 11, 2011 at 4:08 PM
The painting behind the Giacometti sculpture in the top photo looks familiar to me. I believe it was done by a French Canadian artist whose name escapes me at the moment. Riopelle?
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BarbaraJanuary 11, 2011 at 7:13 PM
Put the comment after the wrong posting! OOPS. And I think the artist is Paul-Emile Borduas.
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BarbaraJanuary 11, 2011 at 9:15 PM
I mean the paiting that is sort of black and white that the figure appears to be walking away from.
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beth cioffolettiJanuary 12, 2011 at 5:18 AM
Now, I'm going to have to go back and look at the painting again! I didn't note the artist.
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"In those first days, people said, a squirrel could run the long length of Pennsylvania without ever touching the ground. In those first days, the woods were white oak and chestnut, hickory, maple, sycamore, walnut, wild ash, wild plum, and white pine. The pine grew on the ridgetops where the mountains' lumpy spines stuck up and their skin was thinnest.

"The wilderness was uncanny, unknown. Benjamin Franklin had already invented his stove in Philadelphia by 1753, and Thomas Jefferson was a schoolboy in Virginia; French soldiers had been living in forts along Lake Erie for two generations. But west of the Alleghenies in western Pennsylvania, there was not even a settlement, not even a cabin. No Indians lived there, or even near there.

"Wild grapevines tangled the treetops and shut out the sun. Few songbirds lived in the deep woods. Bright Carolina parakeets - red, green, and yellow - nested in the dark forest. There were ravens then, too. Woodpeckers rattled the big trees' trunks, ruffed grouse whirred their tail feathers in the fall, and every long once in a while a nervous gang of empty-headed turkeys came hustling and kicking through the leaves - but no one heard any of this, no one at all."

Annie Dillard, An American Childhood.