Roses On His High-Heeled Shoes

We left our hero standing, keg on shoulder, beneath a pool of potent stares thrown his direction by group of odd little men.

Rip Van Winkle was filled with fear and apprehension, but he could not help but to gape back at them. "Their visages, too, were peculiar: one had a large head, broad face, and small piggish eyes: the face of another was surmounted by a white sugar-loaf hat, set off with a little red cock's tail. They all had beards of various shapes and colors."

A stout old gentleman with a weather beaten countenance, wearing high-heeled shoes festooned with roses, seemed to be their leader.



The leader motioned Rip Van Winkle to lower the keg of liquor he bore. His companion then emptied the contents of the keg into several large stone flagons which occupied a nearby oaken table. Then he made signs to Rip Van Winkle to wait upon the motley company. He, though frightened beyond belief, obeyed with fear and trembling. The old men quaffed the liquor in profound silence, then returned to their game of nine-pins.

As Rip Van Winkle watched, he noticed their faces were grave. The sombre stillness in which they played seemed mysterious. And he noted that, as they continued in their game, the little men were "were, withal, the most melancholy part of pleasure," that Rip Van Winkle had ever witnessed.

"Only the noise of the balls, when they were rolled, echoed against the mountains like rumbling peals of thunder."
As he watched them a certain peace seemed to steal over his soul. By degrees his fear, awe and profound apprehension subsided. He even, when the old men were thus occupied, ventured to taste the beverage, which he then determined was much to his liking.

Being a thirsty soul, Rip Van Winkle was soon tempted to take another drought. "One taste provoked another; and he reiterated his visits to the flagon so often, that at length his senses were overpowered, his eyes swam in his head, his head gradually declined and he fell into a deep sleep."

And there I shall leave you, dear readers, until next time!

The Appearance of a Peculiar Stranger

These paintings just fill my eyes with their richness of color, composition and movement. And the story is fascinating!
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In the last installment we left our Hero, Rip Van Winkle and his dog Wolf at the spine of a mountain top--when someone called out his name.

Wolf growled and his hair stood up straight upon his back. Rip Van Winkle felt a vague apprehension--after all, who up here would know his name? He turned to see a strange figure toiling up the rocks, bent beneath a heavy burden. Rip Van Winkle was surprised to see another human being in that isolated area--and believing it to be one of his neighbors, he hastened to see if he could give some assistance.

But the man was like no one he'd seen before. "He was a short, square-built old fellow, with thick bushy hair and a grizzled beard. His dress was of the antique dutch fashion--a cloth jerkin strapped around the waist--several pairs of breeches, the outer one of ample volume, decorated with rows of buttons down the sides and bunches at the knees."

What the little man carried over his shoulder with such difficulty, was a keg filled with some kind of liquor. (grin) Then the small man gestured for Rip Van Winkle to approach and assist him. Being a helpful individual, he did not refuse.

As the two traversed a dry rocky stream bed, long rolling peals, like distant thunder seemed to burst forth from between the high rocks which seemed to be their destination. Passing through a cleft in the cliffs, they came upon an amphitheatre where a company of odd-looking old men played at nine pins. As Rip Van Winkle and his silent companion drew closer, they suddenly desisted from their play, and stared at him with such "fixed statue-like gaze, and such strange, uncouth, lack-lustre countenances, that his heart turned within him, and his knees smote together."

And there I shall leave you. (grin) Egad! Wonder what will happen next???

The Town Pub

Times grew worse for poor Rip Van Winkle. For a long while he consoled himself by frequenting the town Pub, which was populated by a group of grizzled old men--wise in their own eyes. A frothy pint of brew, and an old newspaper brought about profound discussion. In those days, there were no daily newspapers. Often such news would arrive days after certain events. This did not keep the old sages from commenting profusely.

But this blissful stronghold was often breached when Rip Van Winkle's termagant wife would suddenly break in upon the tranquillity of that group of philosophers, to punish them all with her tongue.

Poor Rip Van Winkle was reduced to despair. To escape from his wife and duties on the farm, he would take gun in hand and stroll into the woods. Here he and his dog Wolf found peace.

On one such long ramble, Rip Van Winkle inadvertently wandered into the highest parts of the Catskill mountains. He was hunting squirrel that day. At the top of a mountainous ridge, he rested, looking across the vast sea of tree-clad mountains. As he sat savoring the quiet air, leaning comfortably against a great pine tree, the night gradually advanced.

He thought about going home, but "heaved a sigh when he thought of encountering the terrors of Dame Van Winkle." He reluctantly stood and was about to descend the mountain, when he thought he heard a voice calling his name. It seemed to come from some distance away. Rather than face his wife's turgid tongue, Rip Van Winkle turned toward the voice...

The rest of the story will continue with the next entry! (grin) Isn't this a GREAT story?

A Village in the Catskills

The fascinating story of Rip Van Winkle was written by Washington Irving. My copy of this wonderful book was printed by David McKay Company in 1921.

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The illustration above was done by a wonderful artist by the name of N. C. Wyeth. I am enamored of his artwork. His work is lovely. The rhythm and composition of each piece, along with the artist's striking use of composition colors, create a sense of mystery and magic.

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Rip Van Winkle is indeed a magical tale, filled with humor and suspense. The forward page of this fascinating story is entitled, "A Posthumous Writing of Diedrich Knickerbocker."

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The tale is set in the United States in the Catskill Mountains. Rip Van Winkle is described as a simple good-natured man, a good neighbor, and an "obedient henpecked husband." (Grin) Rip Van Winkle would often disappear for hours with his fishing pole, or "fowling piece" hunting squirrels and wild pigeons.

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He was a helpful neighbor who often did odd jobs for his neighbors. However, in doing so, he neglected his own farm. Hence his wife was not a happy camper. "Morning, noon and night her tongue was incessantly going and everything he said or did was sure to produce a torrent of household eloquence."

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Rip Van Winkle's only response was to shrug. (Grin) And as the years rolled by, our hero discovered "a tart temper never mellows with age, and a sharp tongue is the only edged tool that grows keener with constant use."

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As I post each of N. C. Wyeth's extraordinary illustrations, I'll describe that part of the story, until it is done. This is the first installment! Enjoy!

Rip Van Winkle

I have always loved the story of Rip Van Winkle. About eight years ago I wandered into an antique shop to look around. I found this illustrated copy of Rip Van Winkle. Because it was water damaged I bought it for practically nothing. Last week I was looking through my collection of fairytale books and re-discovered this old treasure. Though the book is water damaged, the pictures were mostly spared and are breathtaking.

N. C. Wyeth, the artist, used rich complimentary colors which just fill my eyes. When I opened the book I could not stop looking at them. The artist's style and use of color is inspiring. I will be sharing more of these drawings in the days ahead.