Chapter 3

On the last weekend in the first month the myth of the Ice Boats came true. Descending down onto the shores of the Hudson, just outside the hamlet, word spread quickly as time was limited. It was mid-day and the sun was warm for January. The ice was beginning to melt. In the narrows of Middle Flats, the villagers walked onto the ice to greet the Captains with their hulls and masts, rudders and blades, ropes and canvas unfurling. A fire burned on the ice.

Prior to the combustion engine, the ice boat was the fastest moving vehicle (aside from the horse on land). With a subtle push from their pilots, the boats swiftly began their races, the wind lifting their sails, skating over ice only 6 inches thick. It was the first time I had been on natural ice since childhood. I walked across the scarred sheet to the Flats, carefully skirting the boats with a friend. Our last steps cracked long lines outward in webs as we neared the shore.

A new archetype ensued and this year's Architecture embodies the storied wonder of that day.