Outward Bound

2002

18" X 24"

Oil on Panel

Commission

I can’t imagine a Pennsylvania winter without snow.
The howling winds of a Nor’easter. Ice freezing a path across the lake.
Fields covered in white with their stubble of corn stalks stitching their way over the hills
to the horizon. Wood smoke from chimneys on distant farms. Animal tracks crisply outlined in blue white frosty morning crystal.
And a shockingly peaceful quiet in the air.

But here we are. The warmest February to date.
Not enough snow so far this fickle season to take a broom to.
In my studio, leaning against a bookshelf, are the snowshoes that Walt’s father was given
in exchange for a country healing. The wooden skies and boots that Lin and the boys have worn thin,
and a leather strap of sleigh bells which now ring their history proudly each time I open the blue door.

So it was that the other morning, when I finally opened my eyes and the good dog Gulliver
nuzzled my arm awake and I managed to put on the layers of clothing in the same order in which they
had been discarded the night before, and, we two, the pup and myself, came to the cabin door…
and the wind actually blew a stinging swirl of snow in our faces…

that I began again to believe.

It only lasted a few hours.
Long enough for the snow to build up on the intricate laces of the snow shoes.
For the winter light to reflect its solemn rainbow across the skies…

and for just a touch of warmer light
to remind me that this collection of objects
represents the folding in of two branches
of a great family tree
in testimony to their respect
for nature and heritage.