An icy burgee, and a cold one… (a poem, of course!)
We love the ice, rough or nice, here or way out there!
(see poem below)
A friend just sent this photo to me and it immediately reminded me of our beloved sailing friend Larry Hardman’s ice poetry. Many knew him as the hand-stand-in-a-DN guy. It made me think how much I miss his goofy company and it made me thankful for the new sailor friends I have made in the NEIYA. I sure am looking forward to the ice again. I’m thinking of the cold, thinking of friends, thinking ice!
Just thought I’d share one of Larry’s many poems – only as accurate as I have in memory!
When Old King Cold’s reach is bold,
Down from his frozen lair,
It’s then we sleep in covers deep
and shiver upon the stair.
It’s then some curse in their northern berth
In Earthship’s stinging air,
When some dream of spring, when songbirds sing,
and the land is sweet and fair.
But not us guys with goggled eyes
And helmets on our hair!
We like the ice, rough or nice,
Here, or way out there.
We like wool socks, us iceboat jocks,
We like the land that’s bare.
We like a gale, a straining sail,
No matter when or where.
For us the summer is a bummer.
The spring is just a bore.
And, about all we get from the fall
Is thinking what’s in store!
When the timber’s in the ‘ol wood bin,
And felt is on the door,
It’s a lot funner to sharpen a runner
Than any other chore.
The temperature’s seven? To us, that’s heaven!
We wish for seven below.
We disdain thermometer gain,
And we despise the snow.
Sleek as an otter, that frozen hard water.
In glee we watch it grow.
The pond it skims, the lake it rims
We take a step and Oh!
We hear it crack! We all jump back! and we’ll all wait a day or so.
Then two knuckles deep, and back on we’ll creep,
And RACING we will go!