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There is an old British nursery rhyme called “This is the House that Jack Built,” written in the whimsical format English professors call a cumulative tale (along the lines of, for example, the 12 Days of Christmas). You say it over and over again, each time adding a new part. What therefore starts as “This is the house that Jack built” becomes “This is the malt that lay in the house that Jack built,” after which it goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on until, thankfully, you arrive at:

This is the horse and the hound and the horn

That belonged to the farmer sowing his corn

That kept the rooster that crowed in the morn

That woke the priest all shaven and shorn

That married the man all tattered and torn

That kissed the maiden all forlorn

That milked the cow with the crumpled horn

That tossed the dog 

That worried the cat

That killed the rat 

That ate the malt

That lay in the house that Jack built.

None of which has the first darn thing to do with Jack's actual house, not to mention prompting the conclusion that British people are just flat out weird. But you might also appreciate how a child fed a literary diet of this and similar blather can in fact grow up to become a Beatle or member of Monty Python. Since my childhood included many intervals giddily chanting I am Sam – Sam I am – I do not like Green Eggs and Ham, pardon me a moment while I remove all cobble-like objects within a stone's throw of my North American glass house. 

None of which, in turn, has the second darn thing to do with THIS painting. This painting is called The House that Jack Built because (surprise!) it depicts a house that my brother-in-law Jack built. Jack has built many houses for his family over the years; everything from a sort of Hobbit hole buried beneath the earth to Wisconsin’s most spectacular log home to one constructed using insulating concrete forms. This house, between Waukon and Decorah, Iowa, is notable for having a glorious view out of its sunroom and possibly more examples of taxidermy inside than in all of the Museum of Natural History. I painted the view from the sunroom in “Five Deer, Dusting of Snow” (see blog dated February 24, 2018). I probably won’t paint the taxidermy.

This house is special. It just sits there in its perfect setting and prompts a smile. Go visit. Take a fishing pole. Your cell phone will stop working on the way and will only work intermittently enough to infuriate you once you’re there. Maybe that’s the point. You won’t mind because you’ll be happily watching the big open sky and the deer and the (ghosts of ) antelope playing.  

All from the vantage point of the house that Jack built.