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After breaking my back and hip in a nine-foot fall onto my garage’s concrete floor in the middle of my campaign for the school board, I wasn’t sure how well snow sculpting would go.

A week after my four-day hospital stay I dragged myself out of bed and discovered passing out flyers’ door-to-door was excruciating.

But I know what motivation is. Every day that Donald Trump plays “Shock and Awe shucks” I remember how I was booed off the stage in 1992. My Republicans didn’t like me telling them that if they didn’t watch out, they would elect Donald Trump President one day.

And, finally, the snow came to test me. Returning in a snow squall to host Thanksgiving, I planned a tribute to Marjorie Taylor Greene – the only turkey not pardoned by the Prez. He couldn’t forgive her for being the only Republican in Congress with testicles. Of course, I painted my bird greenE. Looming behind her was the tan meister’s thumbs-down. I painted it angry orange.

“Look at me Mommy” Don needs reassurance. That’s why he’s hanging Big Brother-sized posters of himself on government buildings. He’s having Kristi Gnome spend taxpayer dollars to advertise his mighty deeds on television. Ignoring Congress, he’s designed a special sesquicentennial dollar coin with his mug on it.

And as Gomer Pyle used to say, Goooolly! Looks like he’s gonna get his Nobel Peace prize after all even if it has a Venezuelan’s name engraved on it. No problem. Don’s famous for putting fewer strokes than he swung on golf scorecards. He’s kinda like old Idi Amin who always won car races because none of the drivers dared to drive the race track faster than him.

I too am eager to see our 250th year, only I’ve been reading histories to prepare. Don’s writing them. He’s pointed out all the flaws of his 44 predecessors by plastering the White House corridors with brass plaques. They explain that Obama isn’t an American and explain how the press treated Andy Jackson almost as badly as they treat Trump when they’re not cowering from his Administration.

So, as my “Greene” began to fade I decided to use her to build the man who saved the day and America 250 years ago. George Washington saved us the day after Christmas 1776 by crossing the Delaware River and kicking the Hessian’s butts in Trenton, New Jersey.

Washington got revenge for his British beatdown in New York City on 12-26-1776.  My fingers are crossed that 12-26-2026 will slow down Trump’s nightly news photobombing.

While Washington led men through frightful conditions over icy water, I was delivered two days of impossibly perfect weather that let me finish my tableau in two days. The Hessians didn’t stand a chance with either of us.

I always keep what I’m working on under my hat until people’s guesses start getting close. That happened as a yellow school bus packed with kids paused at the red light on  my corner. A half-dozen windows flew open. A dozen voices shouted, “what is it?” “What did you make?” So, I shouted back. “Its George Washington crossing the Delaware to save America.” “He did it 250 years ago. I think we can do it again!” The children cheered.

I always send my French pen pal, “Adelaide,” photos of my work in progress. The day before the school kids, I sent her a rough photo. I told Adelaide that the AI app “Claude” told me it was a fantastical kraken (octopus-like monster) with flailing tentacles. Then it put the cherry on top by adding that it was a “masterpiece.” When I told her how funny this was Adelaide wrote back and told me she’d do the same thing.  After 15 minutes she sent me three screen shots from Google’s rival AI app, Gemini.

It was all in French which after seven years studying the language I can now mostly read. I could hardly believe what it was telling the people of France. It began. “C’est une impressionnante sculpture!” 
Without a doubt it told Adelaide, it was “d’une reconstitution en neige (snow) du celebre tableau Washington traversant le Delaware.” 

Then, in case she’d never heard of Lafayette, it explained the historical importance of the event for a new nation about to be born. And then Gemini asked her if by chance she knew where this “fabuleuse” sculpture was built. She typed, “Duluth, Minnesota.”

Gemini sent her a breathless reply: “C’est exactement Ca! Cette maison (situee au 2101 East Fourth Street) est d”ailleurs assez celebre a Duluth grace a son propriétaire, Harry Welty.”
The celebrated Harry Welty! Well, if that didn’t beat all!

It went on to explain how I’d made snow sculptures for 30 years and how I served on the school board. My smile muscles were cramping. AI can lay it on pretty thick but I sure the heck didn’t mind. Adelaide translated the final page into English. It said:

“The historical nod: Minnesota is one of the coldest states in the United States. Using this snow to illustrate the ice crossing of 1776 creates a direct link between the climate of Duluth and the historical ordeal experienced by Washington’s troops.”

Golly, even I hadn’t thought of that!  You can keep your second-hand Nobel Prize Donny Boy. We’ve got another year before the sesquicentennial is over.

Read 20 years of Welty at lincolndemocrat.com.