The earlier post on icing a hockey rink reminded me of a couple ice-related thoughts/experiences I’ve had recently — thought I’d share:
-This past weekend, I went on a long walk out on the beach at Park Point with the current poet laureate of Duluth, Sheila Packa. We had plenty of conversation (more on that soon) and as we were walking back to the car, we finally decided to break the ice:
Sheila, a willing volunteer, was the cruncher. That sound, and even more so the feeling, is so satisfying. Crunching light patches of ice with your boots is like bubble wrap popping for the hinterlands.
-It’s getting cold, but for the outdoorspeople and skiers of Duluth, the ground is still depressingly barren. At the Chester Bowl youth ski race last weekend, I talked to a gaggle of aspiring skiers about every part of the experience I could think of, including what they’re hearing when they’re flying down the hill:
That sound would likely fit Family 4 in the families of noise found at the bottom of this old Italian Futurist manifesto. I think a lot of folks around these parts have had enough of Family 4 for this winter.