Rosslyn Redux

Category: Redacting Rosslyn

Early in our Rosslyn adventure I struggled with how to share the story of our home and lifestyle reboot. As I mucked around, collecting and creating and curating content, I needed a temporary container until I could formulate a better plan. Rosslyn Redux was born. But it sprawled and grew unwieldy, so I met with book editors and agents to pick their brains. Dissatisfied with their advice (more marriage memoir than house/life rehab), I performed a live, one-man show instead. Because, why not?!?! I’d like to try that again. In the meantime I’m still exploring a project that eludes tidy explanation; still experimenting with unconventional, genre-bending storytelling; and still nurturing the sometimes flickering, sometimes flaring confidence that something meaningful and worthwhile will come of all this.

Although Redacting Rosslyn has evolved into a fourth theme, it’s really more of a meta look at our early choice to DIY this home rehab project, my subsequent choice to DIY this storytelling project, and all of the other bizarre developments that have fallen into place since I became as obsessed with how and why to tell a story in this digital age. It’s worth noting that the flavor profile for Redacting Rosslyn differs notably from Wanderlust to Houselust, Archeology of Home, Rehab Ad Infinitum, and Houselust to Wonderlust. It leans more toward indie authors and artists, makers, and the sort of independent (and inevitably stubborn) DIYers who’d rather figure things out for themselves. Think of it as an afterward that so far has evaded completion…

  • Rosslyn in Essex on Lake Champlain

    Rosslyn in Essex on Lake Champlain

    Note: The following Rosslyn excerpts originally appeared in “Rosslyn“ (Essex on Lake Champlain, February 26, 2013) and “Rosslyn Boathouse“ (Essex on Lake Champlain, February 27, 2013).

    Rosslyn (aka the W.D. Ross Mansion, Hyde Gate, and The Sherwood Inn) in Essex, NY.
    Rosslyn (aka the W.D. Ross Mansion, Hyde Gate, and Sherwood Inn) in Essex, NY.

    Rosslyn, the second oldest home on Essex, New York’s Merchant Row, is located just south of The Dower House. This historic home (also known as the W.D. Ross Mansion, Hyde Gate, and The Sherwood Inn) was built by William D. Ross for his bride Mary Ann Gould (c. 1826-8) (“Essex: An Architectural Guide.” 30).

    Primarily Georgian in style, Rosslyn also exhibits elements of Federal and Greek Revival architecture. The central entryway of the five-bay facade is flanked by sidelight windows placed symmetrically on both sides of the doorway and an elegant fanlight above the doorway.

    “The structure is noteworthy for its exceptional Doric cornice following a design from a pattern book by Boston architect Asher Benjamin, The American Builder’s Companion (1826).” (“Essex: An Architectural Guide.” 30)

    Rosslyn faces Lake Champlain and Vermont’s Green Mountains beyond. Expansive lawns, locally quarried stone walls, an early 19th century inspired fence, and the alignment (and spacing) of Rosslyn’s outbuildings contribute to the classical proportions of this stately property. Rosslyn’s whimsical boathouse, still visible wharves, and a painstakingly restored waterfront recollect the Ross family’s shipping merchant heritage and The Sherwood Inn’s decades as a popular vacation destination.

    Renovating Rosslyn

    Like many of the homes in Historic Essex, NY, Rosslyn has experienced many cycles of renovation, neglect, alteration and restoration. As the second oldest home on Merchant Row (and one of the oldest residences in Essex village) it is difficult to ascertain the property’s precise historic lineage. While construction of the original brick and stone structure most likely began in 1820, there are indications that it either replaced (or augmented) and already constructed wood frame house…

    A significant rear wing was added to Rosslyn in the early 19th century for domestic services (kitchen, pantry, etc.) and servants quarters. It was once common for wealthy families to hire and house live-in servants (cleaning staff, cooks, gardeners, nannies, etc.), however shifting social norms and economics diminished the practice in the United States making servant quarters increasingly rare.

    Early in the 20th century Rosslyn was converted into The Sherwood Inn, and the service wing was renovated to accommodate guest lodging, restaurant and tavern. When the Sherwood Inn ceased operation in the late 1950s or early 1960s the rear wing was mostly removed and the remaining addition was adapted to residential use.

    “It’s worth noting that the house was constructed out of brick (with stone foundations) and not wood. But this detail — like the soft math when recollecting the number and function of servants — matters little and reveals the patina-ing power of time’s passage. The other notable difference between Hyde Gate as Lesh describes it and Rosslyn as she stands today is that the veranda has been removed, revealing an older — and most likely original — stone stairway and entrance. The owner from whom we purchased the property undertook this alteration in a nod to historic authenticity. He too felt obliged to leave his imprint on the front facade of the house and erected a Greek Revival columned entrance roof which incorporates subtle Georgian detailing…” (Rosslyn Redux)

    The Rosslyn property once consisted of many outbuildings including an ice house, a carriage house, several barns, a granary, and a privy (Images of America: Essex on Lake Champlain. 119). The ice house was the best way to store and preserve food in the past before electricity and refrigeration. The house’s location next to the lake would have been advantageous because in the winter ice could be cut from the frozen lake and brought to the ice house to store for summer.

    A note discovered at Rosslyn identifies June 13, 1908 as the date that the home was first hooked up to electricity by Guy H. Mason (Images of America: Essex on Lake Champlain. 87). With the increasing ease of indoor plumbing, electricity, and other conveniences many of Rosslyn’s outbuildings became obsolete and were eventually removed. Today the ice house, carriage house and a boathouse (dock house) which was likely constructed in the late 1800s remain and have been renovated.

    Rosslyn Boathouse

    Kestrel docked at Rosslyn boathouse
    Kestrel docked at Rosslyn boathouse

    Built on a pier jutting into Lake Champlain in Essex, NY, stands a charming dock house constructed in 1898 (“Essex: An Architectural Guide.” 30). Rosslyn boathouse is modeled on a late 19th century Eastlake Design, considered part of the Queen Anne style of Victorian architecture (Images of America: Essex on Lake Champlain. 118).

    Popular boat races and regattas took place on the Essex waterfront drawing competitors and spectators to the Rosslyn boathouse and shoreline from near and far. While boating regattas have dwindled in the last half century, Rosslyn boathouse remains a spectacular spot for viewing the Essex fireworks on the Fourth of July.

    Kestrel

    Although Rosslyn boathouse is part of the original W.D. Ross family property, it was not constructed by or for the Ross family. The turn-of-the century building was most likely designed and built for the Keyser family to accommodate their 62 ft. long, steam-powered yacht, Kestrel. Constructed entirely of mahogany, the yacht plied Lake Champlain’s water the 1890’s through the 1930’s, becoming as much an iconic vessel in Essex history as the boathouse has become in the century since it first adorned Merchant Row.

    Although the Keysers may have initially kept their yacht on their own waterfront north of Essex, their dock and/or boathouse was rendered unusable by ice or flood damage. Kestrel required local dockage for convenient access and an ample supply of coal to power the steam engine, so the Keyser family purchased a small piece of land on the lake from the Ross family and proceeded to build a dock, boathouse, and coal storage bin for the yacht. The Keyser boathouse has persevered through many floods and ice flows, and today it is once again part of the Rosslyn property. (The Kestrel: An Essex Icon by Morris F. Glen)

    Reawakening a home, a dream and ourselves

    Rosslyn Redux is a vicarious plunge into the idiosyncrasies (and absurdities) of renovating a circa 1822 historic home and boathouse in Essex, NY. The memoir by flâneur and storyteller, virtualDavis, is available at abdul2.rosslynredux.com.

  • Timber Rattlesnake? Massasauga Rattlesnake?

    Massasauga rattlesnake (Sistrurus catenatus)
    Massasauga rattlesnake (Sistrurus catenatus) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

    Have you ever ever heard of an Eastern massasauga rattlesnake? Or a Sistrurus catenatus?

    Me either.

    Until recently.

    I’ve just come across notes that I scribbled almost three years ago on May 15, 2009 after seeing a large, unfamiliar snake behind the carriage barn. I tried to identify the exotic serpent but never solved the mystery.

    My sleuthing was reinvigorated this afternoon, leading me to a new possibility. As unlikely as it may seem, I now suspect that I may have spotted a massasauga rattlesnake with markings totally unlike our local Adirondack timber rattlesnakes.

    But I’m getting ahead of myself. First let’s take a look at my old notes:

    After gardening, while watering transplanted tomatoes I saw a large snake with unfamiliar coloring/markings. I described it to naturalist John Davis (@trekeast), conservationist Chris Maron and Essex Farm guru, Mark Kimball. No consensus. Perhaps a copper head, a northern water snake or an adder. I poked around the web looking at photos and reading descriptions. It was not a Northern Water Snake. The Northern Copperhead photo could be a match, and the description fits quite accurately. And this photo of a copperhead looks similar. Actually, most photos I find online of Northern Copperheads look similar:

    Some other possibilities include Eastern Fox Snake, Northern Water Snake and Corn Snake. In fact, it looked an awful lot like a, Anerythristic Corn Snake (Elaphe guttata), but we’re definitely not in their natural range. Here’s a photo of a baby corn snake that is much smaller than the stealthy serpent I spied, though otherwise very similar. And here’s another corn snake. This photo of an Anerythristic Corn Snake is a dead ringer for the rhubarb runaway.

    That was my thinking three years ago. But I’ve changed my mind. If only I had a photograph…

    At the time I called my bride on my mobile phone and asked her to bring my camera so I could take a picture. “Come quick. I don’t want the snake to get away!”

    Massasauga rattlesnake (Sistrurus catenatus)
    Massasauga rattlesnake (Sistrurus catenatus) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

    “Don’t get near it. It’s probably a rattlesnake.Come inside. Now.”

    A brief, anxious verbal volley later the snake had vanished into the deep grass around the rhubarb patch. No photograph. Though the image of the snake — pale yellowish tan background with brown and black foreground markings — lingered in my mind, the length of the snake grew longer with each passing minute.

    The timber rattlesnakes that live in the Adirondacks are dark, almost black with only a faint pattern visible in certain lighting situations. This snake was not a timber rattlesnake. And I never saw a rattle. Nor did I hear a rattle.

    And yet when I stumbled upon the photographs of the yellow rattlesnake above, I instantly recognized the snake that vanished in the rhubarb patch. We had a Sistrurus catenatus, yellow massasauga rattler in Rosslyn’s rhubarb patch!

    Or did we?

    What if the assumption that all Adirondack timber rattlesnakes living in the Split Rock Mountain Forest area are brown-black is erroneous? What if some of our local rattlers look like the yellowish tan snakes in this video which was ostensibly filmed in New York Sate?

    The photographer/videographer who shared that dramatic footage was prudent not to disclose the location of the snakes, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they were right here in the Champlain Valley. Those pale snakes, especially the rattlesnake with the pale yellow head are extremely similar to my rhubarb patch mystery serpent!

    If you’re a wise herpetologist with a knowledge of the Adirondacks’ Champlain Valley maybe you can help solve my snake mystery…

    Updates

    June 27, 2012: Perhaps Bill Brown (and many others) are relying upon empirical evidence about the Split Rock rattlesnakes that is changing?

    Bill Brown, an expert on timber rattlers… said the Split Rock population is unusual in that all the specimens are black. Except for a tiny population in New Hampshire, other populations in the North are made up of black snakes and yellow snakes (with crossbands)… A biologist who has studied timber rattlers for more than three decades, Brown attributes the uniformity of the Split Rock population to the “founder effect.” It is supposed that all the founders of the population were black, and no yellow snakes contributed to the gene pool. (Adirondack Explorer)

    July 17, 2012: Seems that we need help identifying another mystery snake in the Adirondacks.

    https://twitter.com/Davecfm/status/223131416618209280

    Dave Cummings' mystery snake(s)
    Dave Cummings’ mystery snake(s)

    Or, if my eyes serve me, two Adirondack mystery snakes.

    Thanks, Dave Cummings (@Davecfm), for adding more serpentine curiosity to the mix!

    If you’re interested in building a timber frame home, you need to check this guy out. Cummings shares photographic documentation of his quest to build an off-the-grid, timber frame and straw bale house just south of us, near Bolton Landing.

    I missed Cummings’ first Twitter post about the snake(s), but this Northern Water Snake follow-up tweet by Jake (@darkeyes924) got my attention. Better late than never!

    https://twitter.com/TrekEast/status/224966236382044161

     

    Timber Rattlesnake seen by John Davis
    Timber Rattlesnake seen by John Davis

    https://twitter.com/TrekEast/status/224973177439260673

    https://twitter.com/TrekEast/status/224978430666612736

    https://twitter.com/TrekEast/status/225174561753284609

    October 9, 2014: 

    Recently I was contacted by a herpetologist here in NY studying the Massasauga who was interested in my observation. In our discussion he mentioned this:

    It is common for Milksnakes to be identified as Massasaugas. The belief is that Milk snakes have evolved to mimic venomous species in their area, and in eastern states are known to be EMR mimics. Is it possible what you saw was a Milk Snake? ~Alexander Robillard of SUNY College of Environmental Science and Forestry

    So, it’s quite likely that I saw an enormous, beautiful milk snake. I’ve seen no similar snakes recently or ever. And given the fact that our local population of rattlesnakes (Split Rock Wilderness) are apparently all blackish, this suggestion seems the most likely.

  • Adirondack Birding and Squirreling

    Indigo Bunting (Passerina cyanea)
    Was it an indigo bunting (Passerina cyanea) I spied at our bird feeder?

    Rather than whining through another verse of the Bali Blues on my harmonica, I awoke on my first morning back at Rosslyn in a fever to jump-start autumn/winter rituals. Top of the list was setting up the bird feeders in anticipation of Adirondack birding. A recent radio report on Vermont Public Radio had mentioned that October through April is the recommended bird feeding season. Sorry birds!

    I hasten to add (for the sake of Ellen Pober Rittberg (@ellen_rittberg) and any other seasoned birders who I may have inadvertently mislead) that I’m not 100% certain I saw an indigo bunting. The size and general description in our bird books were spot-on, but the coloration was considerably darker than the flashy blue in the illustrations. And I realize that the beginning of November is late in the migration calendar for an indigo bunting to be spotted this far north. Perhaps this helps?

    “It displays sexual dimorphism in its coloration; the male is a vibrant blue in the summer and a brown color during the winter months, while the female is brown year-round.” (Wikipedia)

    Either the late date explains the closer-to-blue-black coloration of the bird I spied at the feeders hanging in our ginkgo or else I’ve misrepresented the fancy fellow. (All other suggestions are welcome in the comments below!)

    In any case, kamikaze chickadees began dive bombing me while I was installing the bird feeders despite the fact that all four feeders were empty. At first. Until they weren’t. I stuffed them with black oil sunflower seeds. And waited. But the birds were gone! So much for Adirondack birding…

    The squirrels were considerably less bashful, especially this coal black fellow who was totally focused on sunflower seed nirvana all day.

    Adirondack Squirreling
    Forget Adirondack birding…
    Time for Adirondack squirreling!

    Of course, this warmed up the ongoing debate with my bride about the merit of feeding squirrels. Remember our fox and squirrel adventures last year?

    I’ve accepted that I’m not making any headway toward convincing my haven-for-wildlife-unless-they’re-predators bride that we should feed songbirds, not squirrels. Perhaps its time to swap Adirondack birding for Adirondack  squirreling aspirations? Although, the latter conjures up the image of my bearded, red and black check wool coated, Daniel Boone hat wearing, shotgun toting alter ego  trudging through the snow.

    I suppose it doesn’t much matter if we feed the birds or the squirrels, especially since the latter inevitably results in considerably wilder window safaris. And yet I still have some misgivings.

    The idea started logically enough. Sprinkle excess food on the stone walls, etc. so the squirrels will not try to “rob” food from the bird feeders.

    Unfortunately, the squirrel population mushroomed last winter and the songbird population shrank. Are the wee feathered critters intimidated by the squirrels? I suspect the equation is a bit more complicated.

    You see in addition to squirrels, my bride’s robust feeding regimen also attracted a healthy host of doves and pigeons. And crows. It seems that the density of big critters discourages the little songbirds, but I’m venturing into the land of brazen hypothesis here. With plenty of plump squirrels and pigeons waddling around, it was only a matter of time before savvy foxes and hawks got wind of the Rosslyn buffet. I suspect that it doesn’t take too many fox attacks and hawk attacks before the songbirds wise up and search for friendlier dining.

    Stay tuned for further developments.

    In the mean time, I’ll enjoy the abundance of songbirds that have been flocking to our feeders over the past couple of days. And the endless Canada Geese migrating south, many of which stop on Rosslyn’s waterfront to spend the night. There must have been three hundred geese standing along the shoreline and bobbing in the morning waves when I looked out my office window today!

  • Hawk Attacks Dove

    Hawk and Dove: the spoils of generous bird feeding.

    Last Sunday my bride and I settled in for a post-lunch-tea-and-snooze in the parlor. The previous week’s unseasonably temperate spring-going-on-summer weather had yielded to cold and rain, so we weren’t feeling too guilty about playing hooky. No gardening or tidying up the waterfront for spring boating. No orchard pruning or apple tree grafting for us. Just a lazy afternoon on the dry side of our rain pelted windows…

    Whaplumf!

    That’s the noise of a dove crashing into a window pane.

    Hawk Attacks Dove

    We headed into the breakfast room where we discovered a fierce looking hawk pinning a dove to the ground on the lawn near the bird feeders, ripping beak-fulls of feather and flesh from the stunned dove’s back.

    Did I mention that the dove was still alive? Despite the predator’s fierce talons and efficient beak, the dove periodically struggled and lifted its head to look around. The efforts were futile and only increased the hawk’s aggression.

    It was a fascinating if deeply disturbing sight. A real world immersion in the sort of wild spectacle usually limited to the Discovery Channel. A Rosslyn safari sequel to the the Fox & Squirrel episodes.

    Cooper's Hawk on feeder
    Cooper’s Hawk on bird feeder (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

    A dusty impression of the dove was still visible on the glass, and I surmised that the dove had crashed into the window while attempting to flee the hawk. I had seen a similar image about a week before on the kitchen window, as if a dove had been rolled in flour and then pressed against the glass, wings outstretched and head turned to the side revealing an eye and and the beak. Had this same drama played out then?

    My bride was horrified. She raced outside flapping a pair of bright pink dishwashing gloves and shouting at the hawk. “Stop that! Get out of here. Go away!” The hawk looked at Susan flapping the pink gloves menacingly less than 10 feet away, then looked down at the dove, then up at me standing in the window, then back at Susan. The dove lifted it’s head, eyes wild with fright.

    A standoff? A detente?

    Suddenly the hawk flapped its wings lifting the still struggling dove from the ground. My fearless bride leaped toward the hawk, flailing her gloves and shouting angrily. The hawk settled briefly in front of the kitchen window and then flew away, abandoning the injured dove.

    My bride pulled on her gloves and lifted the injured dove from the grass. It gazed up at her, struggling to breath. She carried the dying bird to the edge of our front lawn where placed it gently into a comfortable nest of leaves and twigs.

    In recent weeks we’ve seen three of four piles of feathers near the bird feeder on different occasions, but I assumed the fox had switched from squirrels to doves. It turns out that we have two efficient predators who’ve discovered the benefits of dining on critters drawn to our birdfeeders.

    Hawk Attack Dove “Research”

    Never having witnessed this before I turned to the interwebs for assistance in deciphering what we witnessed. I found forums and blog posts documenting the exact same experience, in many cases even including the dove or pigeon smashing into a window before being nabbed by the hawk. And there’s a veritable glut of video footage online if your stomach is strong and your emotions are steely. (Note: If you are remotely squeamish, these videos are not for you.)

    Are we contributing to the predation by overfeeding wildlife. I’m increasingly concerned that we are. Is there a better balance between feeding songbirds during the winter and over-concentrating/over-fattening the squirrel and dove populations? Certainly. But we haven’t quite figured out how to proceed.

    I’ve recommended limiting bird feeding to the cold winter months, and my bride has reluctantly agreed. Verbally. When the food runs out. Which means that Rosslyn remains a fast food restaurant for foxes and hawks. And while my bride had repeatedly decreed our yard a safe haven for wildlife, we haven’t figure out how to communicate this to the predators. All advice welcome!

    Hawk Attacks Dove Update

    Hawk attacks hare (Image: Ahsan @ahsan)

    Half a year later I flash back to this experience.

    It’s autumn, and we’ve just placed the bird feeders out for the winter. I’ve seen a fox slinking among the cedar hedge, spying on the squirrels, planning his next meal. The first pigeons arrive to peck the overspill sunflowers from the ground beneath the feeders.

    Still no hawks.

    And then, one crashes through the interwebs, plunges into my day, startles me, horrifies me, fascinates me. A hawk. A hare. An attack so familiar it seems as if I had watched the hawk attack the dove only yesterday.

  • Catherine Seidenberg: Artist

    Rosslyn by Catherine Seidenberg
    Rosslyn by Catherine Seidenberg

    I wrap my digital arms around friend, neighbor, artist, and gardener extraordinaire Catherine Seidenberg for this memorable birthday gift. Thank you!

    Catherine’s whimsical black and white watercolor of Rosslyn’s front facade offers a chance to reflect on the past decade Susan and I have spent reinvigorating this quirky property and an invitation to daydream about its future. The matched tree hydrangeas are a nod to a pair of similar (though far older varieties) hydrangeas that flaked the entrance columns before we excavated the front of the house. The older plants were transplanted with an excavator and now thrive astride a gate in the garden behind the carriage barn. The view to the right of the house, beyond the stone wall, reminds me of photographs of Rosslyn in the 1800s when the rolling hills beyond the carriage barn and ice house were far more open than today, a sea of apple orchards and green pastures dotted with grazing sheep.

    [Sometimes a post is born, neglected, orphaned, left unpublished in blog purgatory. Sadly this is one such case, despite the fact that I’ve enjoyed this painting daily from its perch above the fireplace in my study. The following update reminded me that Catherine’s painting was never properly celebrated, so I conjoin the two newsworthy items here to showcase the multidisciplinary creativity of artist Catherine Seidenberg.]

    Craigardan Artist-in-Residence, Catherine Seidenberg

    After two years assisting with Rosslyn’s vegetable and flower gardens Catherine moved on to new challenges. She notified us this past spring that she was returning to ceramics, and would be spending much of this year in Keene, NY as the Craigardan artist-in-residence.

    Craigardan Harvest Plate Resident, Catherine Seidenberg (Source: craigardan.org)
    Craigardan Harvest Plate Resident, Catherine Seidenberg (Source: craigardan.org)

    HARVEST PLATE RESIDENCY For ceramic artists who wish to participate in Craigardan’s delicious celebration of the farm, the food, and the plate.  9-month Winter residency. The 2017 Harvest Plate Resident: Catherine Seidenberg (Source: Craigardan)

    Craigardan Harvest Plate Resident, Catherine Seidenberg (Source: craigardan.org)
    Craigardan Harvest Plate Resident, Catherine Seidenberg (Source: craigardan.org)

    If you’re in the Adirondacks (or near enough to swing through Keene, NY) I encourage you to meet Catherine in mid-September.

    Slide Talk: a conversation with harvest plate resident, Catherine Seidenberg (Friday, September 15, 2017, 5:30 PM to 6:30 PM) Meet artist-in-residence Catherine Seidenberg, view her ceramic work and learn about her beautiful processes.  Catherine is our summer Harvest Plate Resident, crafting all of the tableware for the fall benefit event, Dinner in the Field. (Source: Craigardan)

    Susan and I are looking forward to the fall benefit!

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  • Poppy Poems

    Poppy Poems

    Poppy, the haiku of flowers (Source: @virtualdavis)
    Poppy, the haiku of flowers (Source: @virtualdavis)

    Poppy poems! At last I’m bundling a batch of verse celebrating my favorite blooms. Poppies. Papaveraceae. Coquelicots… Most of these poppy poems started out as Instagram posts inspired, at least in part, by daily snapshots of poppies blooming in Rosslyn’s gardens. For this reason I’ll include links at the end of the poem if you’re interested in seeing the original posts. Just click the link and a new window will open with the poem as it originally appeared with accompanying image(s).

    Haiku Poppy Poems

    Almost ephemeral brevity, stark minimalism, and — at best — a tingly eureka moment overlap haiku’s distinctive hallmark. Delicate. Vigorous. As unlikely a juxtaposition as poppies. Exuding a fragility and sparseness, but remarkably robust and resilient, the poppy is the haiku of flowers. And so I initiate this slowly evolving post with a collection of haiku poppy poems.

    ·•·

    Pink-Tinged Poppy
    Pink-Tinged Poppy (Source: @virtualdavis)

    From velvety spokes
    a supernova outburst,
    ivory crushed silk. (@rosslynredux)

    ·•·

    Unfettered, unfazed
    by cloudburst or thunderclap,
    sensuous stalwart. (@rosslynredux)

    ·•·

    Papaver flashbacks
    bloom in frosted flowerbeds,
    daydream confections. (@rosslynredux)

    ·•·

    Come coquelicot,
    come crinkly crepe paper kin,
    come and laugh and lift. (@rosslynredux)

    ·•·

    Poppy blossoms pop
    into crepe paper fireworks
    and flamenco skirts. (@rosslynredux)

    Longer Poppy Poems

    While poppies and haikus strike me as cousins (or perhaps even as one and the same being at different stages of transmogrification), there are times when a poppy poem’s florescence exceeds the restraint of micropoetry. There are instances in which a poppy poem’s petals bloom into a lyrical sketch or rhapsody.

    ·•·

    Papaver rhoeas (Source: @virtualdavis)
    Papaver rhoeas (Source: @virtualdavis)

    Amongst vegetables,
    fruits, herbs, and spices
    pop, pop, populate
    floral fireworks,
    flamenco skirts, and
    crepe’s crinkly kin,
    the coquelicots.

    So sensuous, so
    beyond beguiling,
    so delicate yet
    robust, resilient,
    as exotic and
    mysterious as
    the whispering wind. (@rosslynredux)

    Poppy Portraits (Visual Poetry!)

    Sometimes a poem is crafted out of words, letters and spaces coalescing around a moment, an experience, a sentiment. Other times poetry is so visual that an image better conveys the poem. Please think of my “poppy portraits” as visual poems. Maybe you’ll agree that visual poems can sometimes eclipse the letter-tethered lot!

    https://www.instagram.com/reel/CgSOV5-g-WL/  

    She short video in the post above essays to distill the grace of a poppy in motion, buffeted by the breeze, petals fluttering, stem swaying. I’m not 100% pleased with this series of moving images, but it’s a start. I’m still learning the nuances of video, especially phone video. I’ll get better. Hopefully soon!

    https://www.instagram.com/p/B0a6ufKgWpj/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

    I’m as smitten with the poppy pods as the blooms. Once the papery petals yield to the wind or gravity, a handsome hull plump with poppy seeds remains. Ample. Memorial. Geometric. 

    https://www.instagram.com/p/B0GlMkNAh-1/ 

    There’s something profoundly compelling in that image, don’t you think? A mystery unraveling. Or re-raveling. Wonder is summoned, and it answers eagerly.

  • Peaches This Year

    Peaches This Year

    Peaches This Year, August 2022 (Source: Geo Davis)
    Peaches This Year, August 2022 (Source: Geo Davis)

    Glorious indeed it is to report that our peaches this year are the tastiest I’ve ever grown. Also the biggest, juiciest, sweetest, and IMHO the prettiest.

    O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! — Lewis Carroll

    I’m chortling in my joy. Imagine, if you dare, the decadence of lifting a sun warmed peach, freshly plucked from the branch, up to your mouth, lips parting against the fuzzy flesh, teeth sinking effortlessly into the sweet meat, juice dribbling down your chin,…

    It’s truly sensational! Peach perfection. Almost.

    Sadly our perfect peaches this year belie a bittersweet backstory. But let’s micropoetry-pause a moment before sharing the slightly sadder side of this decadent moment. 

    Peaches This Year, August 2022 (Source: Geo Davis)
    Peaches This Year, August 2022 (Source: Geo Davis)

    Peaches This Year: A Haiku

    Few peaches this year
    but plump, nectar swollen with
    best flavor ever.

    — Geo Davis

    Bittersweet Backstory

    That haiku actually tells the whole story, backstory and all. Our peaches this year are startlingly few after the bumper crops we’ve enjoyed over the last few years. It’s fair to say that 2020 and 2021 provided enough peaches to satisfy our most gluttonous appetites and to share with all who desired, from friends to wildlife. But 2022 has been a been a poignant recalibration.

    We lost our two Reliance Peach trees this season. All of four peach trees budded on time this spring, and all four began to push out tiny little leaves. But then the two Reliance trees stalled. No apparent weather shock or fungus or predation. Just withering. And then suddenly the Reliance trees were dead. The other two trees, both Contender Peach variety, struggled as well. But they gradually overcame whatever was afflicting them (despite never really recovering 100%). Both Contender Peach trees experienced some die-back, and both set an unusually light load of fruit.

    We will be replacing the dead Reliance trees and likely adding in a third new peach tree as well. Any suggestions? (Reliance vs. Contender Peach) I’m definitely open to recommendations for hardy, tasty peach tree recommendations that respond well to holistic orcharding (i.e. don’t rely on pesticide.) I’ll enjoy researching replacements, so that’s a silver lining, I suppose. But the best upside to the paucity of peaches this year has been is that the few we’ve enjoyed are quite miraculously the tastiest we’ve ever grown!

  • Crocus & Dwarf Iris

    It must be spring! Sometimes affectionately cooed (by nobody ever) and sometimes disparagingly grumbled (almost always), “mud season” has rounded the proverbial corner. Dun and drab are giving way to brilliant white and violet and — as soon as the daffodils and dandelions bloom — vibrant yellow.

    ¡Hasta la vista, winter! Spring has sprung.

    Crocus (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Crocus (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Crocus & Dwarf Iris, Haiku

    Crocus, dwarf iris
    dabbed from pigmented palette,
    early blooms unearthed.

    Nature is the original artist, liberating all manner of magical blooms from the earth where only weeks ago it seemed unlikely that this theatre would open on time. But it does, year after year. And this is and a small part why I consider gardening to be the very fountain of optimism.

    Dwarf Iris (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Dwarf Iris (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Bulbs Now, Buds Soon?

    Once bulbs begin to push their green shoots up out of the damp earth, it’s easy to let optimism run away with us. The daffodils and the daylilies are pushing up as well, although we’ll need to wait for a while longer before the day lilies bloom.

    This exciting succession of blooms inevitably primes my Pollyanna pump for other blooms, especially bud burst in Rosslyn’s orchard. Talk about theatre!

  • Horse Stall Haiku

    Horse Stall Haiku

    Carriage house horse stall door (Source: Geo Davis)
    Carriage house horse stall door (Source: Geo Davis)

    Horse Stall Haiku

    Carriage house stall door,
    pockmarked, patinated, but hale,
    relates tenants past.

    — Geo Davis

    Wabi-sabi Horse Stall

    Patina. Rust. Wear-and-tear. The horse stall door in the photograph above abounds in visible reminders of imperfection and impermanence. And yet beauty brims. The image, indeed the horse stall and the horse stall door themselves, exude warmth and comfort and reassurance. No frisky filly within. No stately stallion. Yet life has invested this space with memories and, as Donna Baribeau pointed out, “Authentic Beauty”. The bumps and bruises of horses and those who tend them are part of this carriage barn story. But for much of the last 200+ years that Rosslyn has presided over Merchant Row there were no carriages and no horses in this barn. The stables were repurposed for storing firewood, bicycles, lawn mowers, lumber, tools, children’s forts, and possibly briefly even as a bedroom (if firsthand accounts are accurate.) All of this, and more, has left marks and stories. All of this contributes to the wabi-sabi allure of this space (and this photograph of the space.)

    In traditional Japanese aesthetics, wabi-sabi (侘寂) is a world view centered on the acceptance of transience and imperfection. The aesthetic is sometimes described as one of appreciating beauty that is “imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete” in nature… Characteristics of wabi-sabi aesthetics and principles include asymmetry, roughness, simplicity, economy, austerity, modesty, intimacy, and the appreciation of both natural objects and the forces of nature. (Source: Wikipedia)

    Wabi-sabi is at the root of my attraction to time-worn buildings and artifacts. I consider aging utility buildings — barns, boathouses, ice houses, sugarshacks, etc. — to be at least as intriguing as old houses. More sometimes. So many relics, unselfconscious, candid. Less penchant for concealing, fewer makeovers, more concurrently present years and lives. Sometimes it’s the old, banged up subjects and objects that look the best. Thank goodness for that!

  • Poetry of Earth

    Poetry of Earth

    I missed my mark — Earth Day, April 22, 2023 — with this post extolling the poetry of earth. It was germinal then, and it remains germinal today (albeit marginally more mature?)

    Sometimes a seed germinates with exuberance, practically exploding into existence as if overcome with the glory of imminent bloom and fruit. Other times a seed lingers dormant — cautious or reticent or simply, inexplicably vigorless — for so long that its potential is overlooked, obscured by the foliage and flowers and harvest of its neighbors.

    And through it all nature’s song endures. Just when we are lulled into torpid tranquility it swells in symphonic crescendo.

    “The poetry of earth is never dead.” — John Keats, “On the Grasshopper and Cricket” (Source: Poetry Foundation)

    Poetry of Earth, May 2, 2010 (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Poetry of Earth, May 2, 2010 (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Often a blog post is sketched out with a few simple strokes that distill the essence for what I expect to write about. A mini map yo I de ate my route. As I develop the post, filling in the voids, perhaps adding texture and color and context, I approach the anticipated narrative scope. Upon arriving at my destination I publish and share. But exploring a preliminary sketch or fleshing out a rough outline sometimes occasionally renders surprises. Wayward adventures lurk in the most unlikely places. I plan to take journey A, but I end up taking journey B.

    And then there are the posts that linger dormant. A seed is planted, but it doesn’t leap to life. Perhaps the ground is still too cold, the earth isn’t sufficiently fertile, or the rain and sun remain elusive. A sketch, an outline, a map. Perhaps even a journey — or several journeys — but they are abbreviated and fruitless. False starts.

    It is wise on these occasions to move on. Maybe circle back in the future. Try again. Or compost the effort that it might fertilize another seed. For this is the wisdom of nature and the gardener. This is the poetry of earth.

    My mind meanders from Pollyanna printemps — nature reaching and bursting, reinvigorating all that withered and laid dormant these frosty days and nights of winter — to autumn’s harvest. Symphonic crescendo and resounding applause. Such success and such succession. Sweet reward and bitter decline. Decadence and decay.

    This seasonal swan song’s poignance is the marriage of expiry and infinity, waning and immortality. 

    As when winter succumbs
    to spring’s tender caresses,
    thawing and refreezing,
    thawing and refreezing,
    melting into muddy mess,
    then gathering composure,
    turning etiolated
    tendril toward the sun
    begins to warm, to green,
    toward foliage and
    flower and fruit and… fall.

    The poetry of earth is a consoling refrain. It is a reminder that beginnings end and endings seed new beginnings. Out of the mud, a sprout. From the sprout a life full of wonder and another generation of seeds.

    “The poetry of earth is ceasing never…” — John Keats, “On the Grasshopper and Cricket” (Source: Poetry Foundation)

    Keats’ poem delivers where I have come up short. Perhaps grasshoppers and crickets and birds lend themselves more willingly to the poetry of nature. Perhaps not. Perhaps this still muddled effort is destined for the compost where it’s decomposition will enrich a subsequent effort to compose this song of seasonality that so far eludes me. To convey the tragic beauty, and the profoundly consoling inspiration of the poetry of nature…

  • Ric Feeney’s Watercolor Painting of Rosslyn Boathouse

    Rosslyn Boathouse, circa 2019 (watercolor painting by Ric Feeney)
    Rosslyn Boathouse, circa 2019 (watercolor painting by Ric Feeney)

    Watercolor artist Ric Feeney shared this beautiful painting on Facebook recently, and of course it caught my eye as it featured Rosslyn’s whimsical boathouse/dock house.

    Feeney captioned the post: “Finished this 17 x 26 watercolor of early spring with the Champlain Ferry approaching the Essex dock.”

    There’s something almost cinematographic about the Essex-Charlotte ferry approaching the Essex ferry dock from the north-northeast. Our boathouse, centered in the foreground, appears jollier (color saturated and slightly vignetted with a hint of sunlight) than the ferry boat, the Old Dock Restaurant (red roof near right hand side of the image) and Begg’s Point, both visible behind the ferry dock.

    Over the years we’ve collected many artists’ interpretations of the boathouse, each a fresh perspective, a new chapter in the timeless tale we call Rosslyn Redux. Much as I have attempted to narrate the property’s story, an inspiring retinue of painters, photographers, and artists drawn to other media (i.e. Mary Wade’s wood and stone creations) have curated and showcased their own experiences with Rosslyn, especially Rosslyn’s boathouse.

    You can enjoy more of Ric Feeney’s watercolors at ricfeeney.com.

  • The Past Lives On

    The Past Lives On

    The past lives on in art and memory, but it is not static: it shifts and changes as the present throws its shadow backwards. — Margaret Drabble

    I return today to a recurring theme, a preoccupation perhaps, that wends its way through my Rosslyn ruminations and my collections of photographs and artifacts. While the past lives on, the present riffs, repurposes, and reimagines the past. Adaptive reuse. Upcycling. Reinvention. Art.

    Buckle up. Or pour yourself a cocktail…

    The Past Lives On: NW Corner of Icehouse and Carriage Barn, September 21, 2021 (Photo: Geo Davis)

    NW Corner of Icehouse

    Before tripping too far into the wilds of my imagination, let’s root the present inquiry in something a little less abstract, a little more concrete. Like, for example, the northwest corner of the icehouse about a year and a half ago, September 21, 2021. That’s what you see in the photo above as well as those below.

    I’ve titled this post, “The Past Lives On”, and if you’ve been with me for any time at all you’re well aware that Rosslyn, the property around which this multimodal inquiry circumnavigates like a drunken sailor, is rooted in the past. And the present. Starting out in the early 1800’s and spanning almost exactly two centuries. 

    I’ve pilfered the title from the quotation above, ostensibly the perspective of Virginia Woolf filtered through the mind of Margaret Drabble. The broader context for Drabble’s perspective is landscape. Let’s look a little further.

    The past lives on in art and memory, but it is not static: it shifts and changes as the present throws its shadow backwards. The landscape also changes, but far more slowly; it is a living link between what we were and what we have become. This is one of the reasons why we feel such a profound and apparently disproportionate anguish when a loved landscape is altered out of recognition; we lose not only a place, but ourselves, a continuity between the shifting phases of our life. — Margaret Drabble, A Writer’s Britain: Landscape in Literature, Thames & Hudson, 1987 (Source: Ken Taylor, “Landscape: Memory and Identity”)

    In the photo above I’ve recorded the exterior of the icehouse and adjoining lawn as it has looked since approximately the 1950s which is when we understand that a clay tennis court was built behind the icehouse and carriage barn for the pleasure of Sherwood Inn guests.

    Actually, I’m slightly oversimplifying the contours of history. Given what I understand, the clay court was installed for Sherwood Inn patrons, but at some point in the decades since, the court was abandoned. Or at least *mostly* abandoned. The +/-10′ tall wooden posts for an enclosure along the northern end of the court remained until we removed them early in our rehabilitation. And one of the two steel tennis net posts will at long last be removed in about a week when Bob Kaleita returns to tune up the site for hardscaping and landscaping. But a long time ago the clay surface was abandoned and a perfectly flat lawn replaced it. We’ve enjoyed using it as a croquet, bocce, and volleyball court for years.

    If you look at the bottom right of the photograph at the top of this post you can see that there’s a topographical bulge in the lawn, sort of a grassy hummock that is crowding the building(s). In the photo below you can again see how the ground is higher than the framing on both buildings.

    The Past Lives On: NW Corner of Icehouse and Carriage Barn, September 21, 2021 (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Not an ideal situation when organics (lawn, landscaping, etc.) crowd wooden buildings. Unfortunately the tennis court was built above the sills of both buildings, and inauspiciously close. Moisture, snow, and ice buid-up over the decades compromised the structures of both buildings because of this miscalculation. 

    Today, both buildings have had their framing rehabilitated, and their structural integrity is better than ever. In addition, significant site work last autumn (remember “The art of Dirt Work“?) and again next week is restoring the ground level adjacent to the icehouse and carriage barn to more closely resemble what it likely looked like in the 1800s when both buildings were originally sited and constructed.

    A landscape altered. A landscape restored.

    A memory recreated with the art of landscaping. The past made present. And yet, not. The new grade has been reimagined as an outdoor recreation and entertaining area not likely resembling the environs a couple hundred years ago. And so it is that the past “shifts and changes as the present throws its shadow backwards”…

    The Past Lives On: NW Corner of Icehouse, September 21, 2021 (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Present Shadowed Past

    What if innocence,
    in a sense, is less
    unbiased naïveté
    than wonder-wander, curiosity,
    and experiment? Or kneading gray clay dug behind the barn, behind the garden, before the forest
    (but barely before)
    after summer rain
    forty years ago. Stiff and cold at first, loosening with touch,
    oozing through cupped palms
    and playful fingers,
    shapes suggest themselves. Contours and textures
    echo yesterdays
    unrecorded and
    likely forgotten
    but re-emergent,
    confections conjured
    of sodded clay, and
    curiosity.

    The Past Lives On

    Indeed, something endures, but rarely should we be confident that we are knowing the past as it was. As it once was. We are informed and perhaps sometimes misinformed by our perspective sometime subsequent to the archival echo we fixate upon. And yet, perhaps allowing for reimagination, adaptive reuse, and even ahistoric reinvention, drawing upon the artifacts and memories we inherit but investing them with whimsy and wonder is one of the best ways of rehabilitating the past. Art from artifacts…