Snowy Speculations

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If I could paint, I would have tried to replicate the landscape very early this morning. Illuminated by the faintest hints of light and hours before sunrise, the cold, stark landscape lay completely still in its snowy blanket. Naked trees stood proudly and quietly against this backdrop, this palate of pure white an unforgiving place for any creature, big or small, to attempt to cross without drawing attention to its existence at this time. Even our ancient tire swing looked sleepy and droopy, suspended precariously close to the ground, as if the effort of hanging from a tree limb was too much for it. To the east, the only rays of light visible were the ones coming from the across the river, and even those seem hushed and muffled, like a child tired and murmuring not to wake them up just yet.  The young families down the road have gone all out with Christmas lights this year. Bright colours adorn the night skies and my neighbours even have a Christmas Cat and a Christmas Dinosaur that i
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The Broken Lady

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The Broken Lady 

Before we purchased our home, it had belonged to a raku potter and water-colour artist. From what I heard from people in the area, she hosted artist's retreats and held seminars in the studio that we converted back to a garage. In the first few years after moving here, I continued to discover eclectic pieces in the flower beds after digging out overgrown plants and bushes. Items like broken pottery, several containers of gorgeous seashells, large fossils, a little Buddhist temple garden ornament, bones that looked like they may have been a donkey's jawbone and an angel with fragmented edges held in place by wire. Some items I kept, others I discarded. 

But one item always pulled me in on some unknown level. It was a broken statue about three feet high. We found her on her side in the forest. Her head had been broken off and hung dejectedly by just one thin rusty rod. She was made of cement  and was obviously quite old. I couldn't find another statue like her online which made me wonder if she had been commissioned for a previous owner. And she weighed a ton! I couldn't lift her or move her on my own.

And so she continued to lie on her side, backside exposed, almost like something from a movie where the heroine succumbs to an untimely demise, only to be discovered decades later. One night when the kids were younger, our babysitter, who was also quite young, took the kids outside and they ended up playing around our femme fatale and decided to have some fun strategically placing rotting pumpkin seeds on her bum. They laughed about it for days. 

Years passed and I decided to bring our lady back to life. My husband hauled her to the driveway and I bought cement glue to reattach what was left of her head. It was so broken and battered that I had to position it just so and prop it in place, even though chunks were missing. I remember seeing the look on the Purolator man's face as he passed by her, staring and probably wondering why her head was hung up in a sling and attached to a nearby branch. I still chuckle remembering that moment!

Last year we put her in the front flower bed by some lilacs and rose bushes. But I felt like that placement was beneath her. She looked odd among shabby chic decor and ornaments. And so this year we found the perfect resting place for her. She is tucked in one of the back flower beds, upright and regal. Right now she is surrounded by the branches of a flowering bush, heavy with tiny, white blossoms hanging over her and showering her continuously with delicate, baby's breath petals. If she had human form, I think she would bend out of her awkward position and give me a giant thumbs-up!

I'm a sucker for wanting to give old things a purpose and make them beautiful again. Even though antiques aren't necessarily in, we have quite a few along with a sideboard and hutch from 1918 that we had stripped down to its original finish last year. The result was quite astonishing! The pieces were made from several types of wood that had all aged and changed differently over the years. My husband hates them. I think they are interesting to look at and great conversation pieces. 

I would love to know the story of our broken lady and how she came to her demise in the forest. If she could speak, I know her tale would be a sad one. But in the present time, I think her beauty rivals that of the gorgeous spring blossoms and greenery she is surrounded by. I hope she can hear the admiring remarks of those passing by her and smile...

Lolita Schimann Hale

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