As the snow continues to fall across the usual and the unusual places in the US this winter, the pigs around Porkopolis.org remain in good spirits. We see them feeding regularly from their cold trough, even when a trough of cold air moves through.
And, as they already have their get-out-of-the-slaughter-house-free cards, the pigs here are inclined to make the best of the snow. Of course, cold privates and an inability to see their shanks make deep snow activities like building snow pigs difficult for them. But the pigs will always indulge in snow angels, at least until their toes and ears get too cold…
Snow Statuary. The statuary may be of various kinds. It is very seldom that pigs are sculptured in marble or cast in bronze, and it would be well to make some of snow, so as to have statues not likely to be found elsewhere. An oblong mass of snow forms the body; the legs, nose, and ears are made of sticks surrounded by snow, and a bit of rope nicely curled will make a very good tail. The various parts can be shaped and carved according to the skill of the young artist. A number of pigs, of different sizes, will give a lively and social air to the yard of a snow-house.
Daniel Carter Beard, What to Do and How to Do It (1882)
Additional information:
- Here are a few thoughts on snow by Pooh from The House at Pooh Corner (1928) by A. A. Milne:
- The more it
- SNOWS-tiddely-pom,
- The more it
- GOES-tiddley-pom
- The more it
- GOES-tiddley-pom
- On
- Snowing.
- And nobody
- KNOWS-tiddely-pom,
- How cold my
- TOES-tiddely-pom
- How cold my
- TOES-tiddely-pom
- Are
- Growing.
Following Pooh’s spirited recitation, Piglet did feel it necessary to explain, “Pooh, it isn’t the toes so much as the ears.”
- And here is a snow reminder from March 1st, 2010, of what we might have in store for us yet this year.
- The painter, James Wyeth, US (b.1946), gives us a view of a pig in winter. While Thomas Fella, English (fl. 1600), and Simon Bening, Flemish (1483/84-1561), have their own visualizations on winter and pig butchering.
- And don’t skip over Robert Peters’ poem about The Sow’s Head on a frozen lake in the hem of winter.