"Now, to 'walk' board fences requires more skill and steadiness of head and heel than one might suppose who has never tried it."
~L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables
In addition to my collection of tightwire autobiographies, news articles and manuals, I have a small but growing collection of children’s books. I mentioned Mirette on the High Wire in my very first post—it was this book that first sparked my passion for rope walking. The book The Man who Walked Between the Towers about Philippe Petit’s walk between the Twin Towers of New York City is another high quality high wire classic.
A more recent addition to my collection is Tightrope Poppy, Circus Pig by Sudipta Bardhan-Quallen. With rhyme and rhythm, the book tells the adorably preposterous tale of a piglet who wants to become a tightwire star. Preposterous because, “A circus dog, / now that is fine. / But have you heard / of circus swine?”
I knew I had to own the book, as soon as Amazon showed me a preview of this page:
I had to own the book…because I was that child.
The compulsion to balance, to train my balance, has been with me for as long as I can remember. Certain vivid memories have taken on new significance: When I was three and four going to the local library, I absolutely had to hop up and walk all the way around the stone edge of the circular raised flowerbed in front before I would consent to go in the front door. When I was nine or ten, I wasn’t content to walk on the two-by-four support board near the top of the fence, but rather attempted to walk on the half-inch top of the upright wooden slats. In high school when a friend was having boy problems and I had no decent advice or comfort to offer, I got her up on a log fence—one very similar to the fence in the picture above—to walk it off. Much to my delight, she told me that it had indeed helped: the focus had a calming effect. My parents still to this day ask me if I’m feeling unwell if I don’t hop up on a fallen log when we are out hiking.
Yes, my heart has a strong affinity for a fellow fence walker, even if it is a fictitious piglet. My connection to this little piglet's story goes beyond affection for a fellow fence-walker. First, let me tell you her story—I love children’s literature, so I can't resist telling you (in abbreviated form) the rest of this bedtime story:
So, back in the farmyard, veteran fence-walker and aspiring highwire artist, Poppy Pig sees an advertisement for a circus in need of tightrope walkers. Of course she's thrilled and promptly squeals, “I’ll be a star in no time!” and rushes off to join the show. Certain she knows her craft and ignoring the cautions of the ringmaster, she climbs straight up the highwire and, with the hubris of a porcine Icarus, saunters out onto the wire. She falls promptly, dramatically, and painfully, though her hubris actually takes more of a battering than her hams and hooves. Quite discouraged, she contemplates quitting, but Poppy listens to the encouraging (emailed) words of a wise mother pig; she goes back to the ring this time ready not to do a starlet-strut but to learn. Many falls and a few ego bruisings later, the learning and practice pay off and Poppy Pig does in deed conquer the highwire.
For me, the first time I ever stepped on a tightwire was just over a year ago at Seattle’s School of Acrobatics and New Circus Arts (SANCA). While I did not have any dramatic tumbles off the 18 inch high wire, I was dismayed to discover that my training on slacklines wasn’t as good of preparation as I’d hoped. I definitely had a good foundation for my first official attempt at tightwire, but the bounding of the wire and the discomfort of the much smaller diameter base on my stocking feet weren’t things I was prepared for. (I also discovered that tightwires are by far the least comfortable to sit on. The bruises made the drive back home across hundreds of miles and several states none too comfortable.) Still, it was a significant milestone. I discovered I too had a lot of learning still to do.
Though I aspire higher than fences, they were and still are good training ground and playground. Passing up a beautiful stretch of fence still seems like a travesty to me. Through my research and networking, I’m discovering that I’m in good company—plenty of tightrope walkers have felt drawn to the challenge of fences and rails: Bird Millman, Philippe Petit, Matthew Whitmer, and Bello Nock to name a few.
Each time I discover or meet a fellow fence or rail-walker, my heart just glows.
Though I was drawn to Tightrope Poppy for that single picture of fence walking, the purchase was a good one for the moral of the story as well: “You can’t lose heart / on one bad start / some dreams take lots of trying.” I love children’s literature, so I’m not ashamed to admit that to achieve my balance ambitions, I’m taking as my role model an utterly fictional, but incredibly plucky pig.
A more recent addition to my collection is Tightrope Poppy, Circus Pig by Sudipta Bardhan-Quallen. With rhyme and rhythm, the book tells the adorably preposterous tale of a piglet who wants to become a tightwire star. Preposterous because, “A circus dog, / now that is fine. / But have you heard / of circus swine?”
I knew I had to own the book, as soon as Amazon showed me a preview of this page:
I had to own the book…because I was that child.
The compulsion to balance, to train my balance, has been with me for as long as I can remember. Certain vivid memories have taken on new significance: When I was three and four going to the local library, I absolutely had to hop up and walk all the way around the stone edge of the circular raised flowerbed in front before I would consent to go in the front door. When I was nine or ten, I wasn’t content to walk on the two-by-four support board near the top of the fence, but rather attempted to walk on the half-inch top of the upright wooden slats. In high school when a friend was having boy problems and I had no decent advice or comfort to offer, I got her up on a log fence—one very similar to the fence in the picture above—to walk it off. Much to my delight, she told me that it had indeed helped: the focus had a calming effect. My parents still to this day ask me if I’m feeling unwell if I don’t hop up on a fallen log when we are out hiking.
Yes, my heart has a strong affinity for a fellow fence walker, even if it is a fictitious piglet. My connection to this little piglet's story goes beyond affection for a fellow fence-walker. First, let me tell you her story—I love children’s literature, so I can't resist telling you (in abbreviated form) the rest of this bedtime story:
So, back in the farmyard, veteran fence-walker and aspiring highwire artist, Poppy Pig sees an advertisement for a circus in need of tightrope walkers. Of course she's thrilled and promptly squeals, “I’ll be a star in no time!” and rushes off to join the show. Certain she knows her craft and ignoring the cautions of the ringmaster, she climbs straight up the highwire and, with the hubris of a porcine Icarus, saunters out onto the wire. She falls promptly, dramatically, and painfully, though her hubris actually takes more of a battering than her hams and hooves. Quite discouraged, she contemplates quitting, but Poppy listens to the encouraging (emailed) words of a wise mother pig; she goes back to the ring this time ready not to do a starlet-strut but to learn. Many falls and a few ego bruisings later, the learning and practice pay off and Poppy Pig does in deed conquer the highwire.
For me, the first time I ever stepped on a tightwire was just over a year ago at Seattle’s School of Acrobatics and New Circus Arts (SANCA). While I did not have any dramatic tumbles off the 18 inch high wire, I was dismayed to discover that my training on slacklines wasn’t as good of preparation as I’d hoped. I definitely had a good foundation for my first official attempt at tightwire, but the bounding of the wire and the discomfort of the much smaller diameter base on my stocking feet weren’t things I was prepared for. (I also discovered that tightwires are by far the least comfortable to sit on. The bruises made the drive back home across hundreds of miles and several states none too comfortable.) Still, it was a significant milestone. I discovered I too had a lot of learning still to do.
Though I aspire higher than fences, they were and still are good training ground and playground. Passing up a beautiful stretch of fence still seems like a travesty to me. Through my research and networking, I’m discovering that I’m in good company—plenty of tightrope walkers have felt drawn to the challenge of fences and rails: Bird Millman, Philippe Petit, Matthew Whitmer, and Bello Nock to name a few.
 |
| Bello Nock, London |
Though I was drawn to Tightrope Poppy for that single picture of fence walking, the purchase was a good one for the moral of the story as well: “You can’t lose heart / on one bad start / some dreams take lots of trying.” I love children’s literature, so I’m not ashamed to admit that to achieve my balance ambitions, I’m taking as my role model an utterly fictional, but incredibly plucky pig.
