ICE SKATING by Leslie D’Allesandro Hawes (c)
Derwent colored pencil on Strathmore Illustration board
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The skating pond was down the end of our dirt road and across the prison cornfield. It was a trek my sister and I would make in our white “figure skates” with the blade guards on, because once we got to the pond, neither of us was capable of making the laces tight enough to skate. Our fingers would be too cold to function by that time anyway.
My mother would bundle us up and lace our skates tight, and send us off, with promises of hot bricks wrapped in towels, for our cold feet, when we were finished.
We looked funny hobbling along, our feet flopping from side to side, trying to balance on the skates. It was practice for navigating in heels when we got older, I suspect. We neither of us broke an ankle. Amazing.
If there was crusty snow on the ground, I could make fine progress.
We would hope that the ice on the pond was thick enough to hold us, and smooth enough to make it worth all the effort. If the pond had frozen while it was windy, the ripples in the pond froze in the surface. It was like gliding across corduroy.
Testing to see if the ice was thick enough to hold us was always the job of the most brave. Sometimes that was me.
One inch…keep off. Two inches…one may. Three inches…small group. Four inches …OK.
That was the pond ice ‘thickness mantra’ we had memorized. I had no idea how we were supposed to know what one inch or two inches looked like. You really couldn’t see down into the ice. I can remember lying on the edge of the pond, peering down into the frozen surface, trying to divine where the ice stopped and the cold water began.
Sometimes we would hurl ‘test rocks’ onto the surface. If the rock gouged a hole, and a bloop of water spurted up, we went home. If the rocks didn’t effect the ice, we inched out onto it. If we didn’t hear anything that sounded like cracking ice, we considered staying. There was something very instinctive about knowing if the ice was safe. Neither my sister or I were gamblers.
This was not a deep pond. It was as much a ’sink hole’ in the woods floor as anything. It sometimes covered a goodly area, depending on the rain. It got bigger, not deeper. If we broke through the ice, we would have stood in waist high water.
We never broke through.
Sometimes the ice would boom or creak, and we would shuffle skate off the pond like chased rabbits, but then we would wait until our hearts stopped pounding, and back onto the ice we would go.
We had been to the pond the day before, and had discovered it to be deep, smooth ice. A still hard freeze had happened, and it was a rare treat. We were going to skate until our noses froze off.
“I’ll go with you,” we heard, announced from my father.
“Why?” I asked.
We had already tested the ice. We had needed a big brave ice tester the day before, but not now.
“To skate”, my father chuckled.
“You??” I asked, incredulous.
“Yes, me,” he said, still chuckling.
I was dumbfounded. It had never occurred to me that the man I called Daddy knew how to ice skate. I had always seen the black hockey skates hanging from the nail in the basement, next to all the pairs of outgrown white figure skates that my sister and I had accumulated over the years. It just never occurred to me that those black skates belonged to anyone but the basement.
I watched with fascination as the black hockey skates came off the nail, and were carried over my fathers shoulder, down the dirt road, across the corn field, and to the log by the pond that served as the place to sit.
He helped us on with our skates, and even took off his gloves to do the laces just right. Then he slid his feet into the dusty skates, over the two pair of wool socks, pulled the laces tight, and stepped off onto the ice.
He glided forward. He skated slowly and beautifully the perimeter of the pond, skates crossing one in front of the other. He made a precise and crisp, almost quiet, cut sound with those black hockey skates each time he pushed off. I stood in the center of the ice, and stared, as I turned in a small circle to see every bit of this wonderment.
He put his hands behind his back, and did his impersonation of Hans Brinker.
He skated backwards in a serpentine pattern. He did figure eights, moving his weight from one skate to another. He began to smile as he noticed me standing there. My mouth was agape. He couldn’t see it through the scarf that covered most of my face, but I think he knew.
“What?” he asked, as he slid by. “You didn’t know I could skate?”
“No!” I said. “Where did you learn how to skate?”
“Same place you did” he replied, as he skated silently away, across the pond.
voodoolinks: hippie…part one…Progress
I LOVE that drawing! The colours are perfect
Have you ever thought about writing stories and trying to get them published?? You have a great way with words.
I loved skating when I was a kid (once I learned that falling didn’t hurt as much as I thought :p). The joy of racing around the rink (we didn’t have a pond close by, we had a highway :/, which would have been a lot of fun to skate down if it wasn’t for the huge trucks hurling by…), going really fast and chasing each other. Reading this makes me want to go skating again, but not sure if I could still skate, probably end up black and blue :p
Comment by Jennifer Rose — December 7, 2007 @ 7:57 am
Yes Leslie, you have the powers and gifts to both write and illustrate!
I was wondering if the post I had showing the iceskating performed to EVOC’s Ave Maria prompted this posting
It is the season to iceskate.
Living where there is winter but no snow and ice made me think we get none of the perks of the season…. but then I remind myself what a chore it must be to shovel snow and get about doing the everyday things.
Having read Angel On Skis as a kid, I always wanted to learn that (and did). And admiring the beautiful skaters whose representations of power and passion and exaltation through their skating performances, I wanted to try those thin blades myself. Which I did. In recent years every winter there is a holiday rink down at our Centennial Olympic Park. There, late in life, I learned to skate and it was a little boy, a hockey skater, that gave me my first and best lesson. After he had escorted me about several laps and was to leave me, I asked him for his best advice— which was ‘don’t look down at your feet’ …. I looked ahead and across the rink and pushed off on my own and alone and found myself happily just gliding along. That was fun!
Comment by StayAtHomeKat — December 7, 2007 @ 8:39 am
You put me in mind of Twain’s recollection, “When I was fifteen I knew no stupider man than my father. When I was twenty I was amazed at how much he’d learned.” This was a delightful story, thanks.
Comment by teepeegee — December 7, 2007 @ 10:04 am
Love the story, Leslie! This is one to print out and read to the kids! And it’s even got an illustration to go with it!
Comment by burbanmom — December 7, 2007 @ 12:18 pm
Great story makes me want to learn how to ice skate.
Thanks!!
S.
Comment by PSE27SRC — December 7, 2007 @ 12:32 pm
Jennifer,
That picture was published as a Christmas card by a fantasy art card company a number of years ago.
That company had published my Fairy book, http://www.lesliehawes.com/wordpress/?p=91 and then encouraged me to do a Dragon book. I did, and it never got published.
I tried shopping the Dragon book around to some publishers, but they said it was too niche. I would consider self publishing, but it would be a matter of $$$. Lots to reproduce that art. Haven’t given up the idea yet. The blog has helped soothe my need to “publish”.
My sister aspired to be Sonja Henie, with the beautiful white skates and graceful twirling. http://www.sonjahenie.net/index.html I aspired to stay upright.
I would always be so padded with layers of woolen sweaters and jackets that a fall was more inconvenient than painful
Comment by leslie — December 7, 2007 @ 12:55 pm
Kat,
I will skate on over and take a look.
No, I hadn’t seen your post! But, ‘Tis the season
I laughed a good one at the advice, “Don’t look down at your feet.” VERY funny.
It’s like advice on how to carry a tray of drinks… “Look where you’re going, not at the tray.” Right?
Comment by leslie — December 7, 2007 @ 12:59 pm
Oh, TPG,
)
I used to have that Twain quote hanging in my room! One of my all time faves, that Mark Twain guy.
I’m thrilled that my little story put you in mind of that. (not the writing, the story
Comment by leslie — December 7, 2007 @ 1:01 pm
Erin,
He was really quite good. I was all arms flailing and a lot of whoa whoa whoa thump.
Watching Daddy skate left a big old impression on me
Comment by leslie — December 7, 2007 @ 1:04 pm
Howdy S.,
If you can roller skate, I bet you’d find ice skating is easy.
I would hate to see me try ice skating now. I performed a passable ice shuffle on the pond, but nothing that really resembled ’skating’.
I do not roller skate. Not enough padding…
Comment by leslie — December 7, 2007 @ 1:07 pm
Great drawing and story. I cannot imagine skating on a pond .. of any depth. Yikes. We skated a couple of times. Once in Colorado Springs on our senior trip and a couple of times in Albuquerque. I found it easier than roller skates for turning, etc., but not enough times to even count as real skating, I am sure. Now I can’t even stand on roller skates. Fear of breaking something .. I am a senior citizen, you know. Ha.
Jo
Comment by JoCastillo — December 7, 2007 @ 9:15 pm
Jo,
I get the willies thinking about people building fires on lakes and drilling holes to go ice fishing…and driving their trucks out to the spot to do it!
Give me a waist deep pond any day. If I can wade to shore, I’m good to go
Comment by leslie — December 8, 2007 @ 12:23 pm
Wonderful illustration, leslie. Do you ever illustrate children’s stories? (I should have poked around on your website more to find out for myself.)
I would have been petrified of falling in, but it seems as though you guys were, which served you well. Made you into properly cautious skaters.
My dad was a skater, too. I guess ice skating was one sport that poor kids could do. The ice was free, and they used makeshift blades tied with rope onto their boots. Can you imagine??
Comment by ybonesy — December 8, 2007 @ 7:18 pm
Hi ybonesy,
I have illustrated some. I linked to my Fairy Book post in comment #6, above.
If the ice was not good to skate on (too many ripples, snow on the surface) we would just slide around on the ice like silly people. We were always so padded with coats and pants, we could pretty much do whatever, and not get hurt. Isn’t it amazing how creative kids are? We had lots of fun with a piece of cardboard if a sled wasn’t available. I don’t think we give kids credit for being resourceful anymore.
It never occurred to me to be frightened of the pond. Just cautious. Like swimming in the ocean.
Comment by leslie — December 9, 2007 @ 7:45 am
Dad goes ice fishing all the time. They drill holes and sit in a cold shack. I don’t get the appeal lol
People where dad lives do drive their trucks on the ice and take their skidoos back and forth on the ice. The ice gets so think in the lake it is actually pretty safe. I will go see if I can find the pictures of the huge ice mountain that had to get blown up for safety reasons and pictures of dad and John walking on the lake. I know I have video somewhere too, but I don’t think that anyone would want to see that. (sorry for such long rambling comments 
)
Comment by Jennifer Rose — December 11, 2007 @ 7:52 am
Not at all rambling, Jennifer. I LOVE the back and forth!
I have a bit of a time understanding the appeal of ice fishing, too. Maybe it’s the whiskey
There has been a TV series on lately about ice truckers with 18 wheelers driving stuff through Canada..
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ice_Road_Truckers
I’m all for just skating on a dangerous ol’ pond…
There was a factory parking lot next to my house growing up that they would bulldoze clean of snow, and the ‘mountain’ that would result was great to play on. It would last until May!
Comment by leslie — December 11, 2007 @ 1:14 pm