Between 2001 and 2006 an initially subtle and eventually transformative shift altered the course of my life. Rosslyn was the centerpiece of this “Wanderlust to Houselust” evolution, and she has been likewise the catalyst for a subsequent change still germinal, still incomplete. This ongoing metamorphosis is at the heart of “Houselust to Wonderlust.” Much as my itinerant years were eclipsed by home-making on steroids, my Rosslyn-centric chapter has eventually yielded to a fresh wave of wayward wondering and peripatetic impulses. Perhaps the “Archeology of Home” and “Rehab Ad Infinitum” catalyzed this change. Or simply growing older. Or maybe Rosslyn’s cozy community on the Adirondack Coast mysteriously rekindled my curiosity and my roving soul. My “Houselust to Wonderlust” posts assiduously if imperfectly chronicle the push-pull between hyper localism and wayward adventure.
Several Rosy Maple Moth (Dryocampa rubicunda) specimens have visited Rosslyn in recent days, all gathering on the exterior of the mudroom door.
Some years we see none; others we see many. Because the pre-metamorphosis Rosy Maple Moth larvae (aka greenstriped mapleworms) feed on maple and oak foliage, I suspect their population expansion and contraction corresponds to the health of our local trees. But, to complicate the equation, adult Rosy Maple Moth moths actually don’t eat (apparently they don’t even have mouths). Hhhmmm…
Rosy Maple Moth, July 7, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Rosy Maple Moth
As the photographs in this post clearly indicate, this is one moth that you won’t likely mistake for an imposter.
Rosy maple moths are distinguishable by their incredible bright pink and yellow color and wooly body.
In addition to the stand-out coloration, that foppish mop of furry fluorescent hair makes it difficult to miss these flashy friends. And yet, this curious camouflage may, in fact, serve to preserve the Rosy Maple Moth from predators. It is suspected that the bright coloration May actually deter hungry birds shopping for fast food.
The predators of the rosy maple moth and larvae mostly consist of birds including blue jays, black-capped chickadees, and tufted titmice. The bright coloration of the wings may serve as a defense mechanism to trick predators into thinking they are poisonous and not edible. The colouration of this moth rather surprisingly acts as a form of camouflage, blending it in with maple seed cases.
And given the greenstriped mapleworm’s (Rosy Maple Moth larva) culinary cohabitation with maples, perhaps resembling maple seed cases is a handy way to evade hungry blue jays, etc.
Caterpillar Hosts: Maple trees including red maple (Acer rubrum), sugar maple (A. saccharum), and silver maple (A. saccharinum); and oak trees including turkey oak (Quercus laevis).
We certainly have plenty of sugar maples at Rosslyn, and perhaps our fortunate uptick in brilliant pink and yellow moths bodes well for the health of our maples? Hope so!
This morning we spotted another nonvenomous Eastern Milksnake (Lampropeltis triangulum triangulum). While gathering limestone for the small stone walls that will delineate sloped flowerbeds behind Rosslyn’s icehouse, Tony discovered this youngster under a pile of rocks. Startled but gentle, this colorfully mottled snake seemed as perplexed by the two of us — and the tractor idling next to us — as we were intrigued with him/her.
Tony with Eastern Milksnake (Photo: Geo Davis)
After a quick look, Tony tucked the snake into a cozy pile of wood chips to ensure its safety while we were operating the tractor nearby.
Judging by color and markings, the Y-pattern on its head, as well as the head and tail shapes, I’m pretty confident that this… [is an Eastern Milksnake.] (Source: Milksnake?)
Tony with Eastern Milksnake (Photo: Geo Davis)
Almost fifteen years after that first rhubarb patch encounter with an unfamiliar snake, it’s exciting to be encountering and recognizing Eastern Milksnakes thriving on Rosslyn’s grounds. And it’s further evidence that our rewilding efforts in Rosslyn’s evolving wildlife sanctuary are enlivening a small stretch of the Adirondack Coast with wild neighbors.
This morning came early. Really, *REALLY* early. Yesterday was one of those days when damn near everything that could go wrong did go wrong. It was so hyperbolic that if it were a movie, nobody would have believed it. So by 5:38 o’clock this morning I’d been awake for a couple of hours. And I was rewarded with this disturbing (because of the Canadian wildfires) but spectacular smoky sunrise over Lake Champlain.
Smoky Sunrise Over Lake Champlain (Photo: Geo Davis)
That photograph above captures most of the drama, but the burning orb ascending from Vermont’s Green Mountains was actually an even crazier color of fluorescent orangey pink. Surreal. And big. And super bright. The entire Champlain Valley was thick with mustard grey-brown haze. Yes, these smoky skies are courtesy of the hundreds of Canadian wildfires burning out of control. And, no, the uncanny twist of fate — we fled Santa Fe a year ago to escape the sooty pollution of out-of-control wildfires only yo be inunda with the same now in Essex, New York — isn’t lost on us. Crazy times.
And yet, the upside of our Adirondack Coast choking on alarming high particulate counts for our typically pristine air is the sunrises and sunsets. They’ve been otherworldly.
Smoky Sunrise Over Lake Champlain (Photo: Geo Davis)
As this morning’s smoky sunrise yielded to the smoke, our environs looked as if a huge storm were overtaking us. But no, in the second photo above, you can see no storm. Just the long lingering aftermath of burning forests.
Today quickly shifted into unseasonably humid and scorching conditions which was challenging for everyone working on the icehouse rehab, but the smoke lifted, and this afternoon’s air quality is considerably improved.
I’ve been keeping a little secret. And I’m not quite ready to spill the beans, not 100% at least. That will happen soon enough in a post chronicling the concept-through-construction of a mixed species (ash and elm) “bistro table” built by Ron Bauer this spring. Anticipation is half the pleasure! Until then, today’s post is a sneak peek into the process of tung oiling the ash and elm centerpiece of the main room.
Given the diminutive scale of Rosslyn’s icehouse, each ingredient, design detail, furnishing, and decoration is important and demands intention. A single, small table designed in collaboration with Ron — with whom we’ve teamed up on multiple past projects, from hand turned bowls and custom cutting boards to tables, desks, and builtins — and impeccably crafted by Ron is now receiving 8 to 12 hand applied coats of tung oil, courtesy of Tony Foster.
Tony Sanding Underside of Ash & Elm Table (Photo: Geo Davis)
In the photo above Tony is sanding the table’s underside, skirt, joinery, and legs with ultra fine (1500 grit) sand paper to remove any hour joint irregularities, etc. And in the phot below he’s begun to hand rub (maybe massage is more accurate) the tung oil deep into the ash and elm grain, ensuring total coverage without over-applying, and working strictly with the grain direction.
Tony Tung Oiling Ash & Elm Table (Photo: Geo Davis)
Comparing the middle underside and and breadboards to the legs, skirt, and near underside offers an accurate contrast between pre-oil and post-oil.
Prior to diving in I double checked with my brother, Charlie. He’s a seasoned woodworker, and he’s never once lead me astray when it comes to appropriate joinery, finishing, etc. In this case I asked if my instinct to eschew linseed for tung oiling made sense to him.
For the ash, definitely tung oil, I would think. Could even richen the color hues a little. Tung oil is pretty straightforward: the more coats, the better the finish. Wipe it on, wait until just tacky, and rub it off. Use plenty of cloths. And throw them in water when you’re done to avoid fire.
[Linseed]… is less luminescent, by itself. Though if you cut it with mineral spirits and add a polyurethane, you get an oil-like finish with waterproof properties of poly… Linseed oil can discolor paler woods (like ash) making them yellow. — Charlie Davis
It’s always reassuring to have his weigh-in, and the focus and determination that Tony’s bringing to this project inspire plenty of confidence.
Tony Tung Oiling Ash & Elm Table (Photo: Geo Davis)
“Today,” as the cool kids say, “I did a thing.” I’ve been lusting after an Adirondack Guideboat, well, probably since the late 1970’s when I enjoyed my first rowed ride in this quintessentially ADK conveyance at the Ausable Club. During the early days of the pandemic my mind returned this timeless watercraft, as elegant today as it was in the 1800s, and somehow inviting wistfuldaydreams of calmer, simpler times. I connected with the good folks at Adirondack Guideboat, and began to educate myself. They tried to convince me that a 14′ Vermont Dory, their most popular boat, was better suited to my location. Three summers later, after a 2022 return visit to revisit consideration with brother owners, Justin and Ian Martin, I decided it was time to commit.
14′ Vermont Dory (Photo: Geo Davis)
That green beauty above is my new skiff, a cherry trimmed Kevlar Vermont dory perfectly suited to ply the early morning and early evening waters of Lake Champlain.
14′ Vermont Dory (Photo: Adirondack Guideboat)
14′ Vermont Dory
This swift ship (of decidedly diminutive but handsomely conceived proportions) appears to be well built, user friendly, and applauded by the vast majority of their clientele. Or so Justin and Ian assure me.
As the current owners of Adirondack Guideboat, brothers Justin and Ian Martin have over 40 years of combined experience building boats. Before buying the company in 2012, the Martin brothers worked for Adirondack Guideboat company founder, Steve Kaulback, and president, David Rosen and Mad River Canoe. While they remain committed to the tradition of building wooden guideboats, Justin and Ian also use contemporary materials and tooling to create composite guideboats. (Source: Meet the crew of Adirondack Guideboat, Custom Row Boat Craftspeople)
I liked the brothers from our first encounter. Understated. Confident. Enthusiastic and confident.
And soon they’ll be arriving to deliver my new Vermont Dory to Rosslyn’s waterfront. I’m looking forward to an early morning outing with Carley to enjoy sunrise, a cup of tea, and a content canine companion.
And, there’s an additional perk. When they deliver my new green skiff, they’ll pick up our old hand-me-down canoe for midwinter replacement of the rotten wood gunnels. Win, win!
Summer solstice is upon us, and it seems all too poetic that our return to Rosslyn after far flung vagabonding coincided with the end is spring and beginning of summer.
Summer Solstice, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Summer Solstice?!?!
The official start of summer, the longest day, the shortest shadow… What exactly is the summer solstice?
The June solstice marks the exact moment when the noon sun appears directly over the Tropic of Cancer, a line of latitude 23.5 degrees north of Earth’s equator. It’s the northernmost point where the sun can be seen straight overhead (90 degrees above the horizon) all year.
In the Northern Hemisphere we see the sun take its longest and highest path across the southern sky. The high sun angle means you will cast your shortest midday shadow of the year on the summer solstice.
Solstice means “sun standing still” in Latin. On the summer solstice, the sun’s daily northward movement in the sky appears to pause… (Source: Washington Post)
Sun standing still. Yes, an illusion, but an engrossing illusion. And such lovely language! Found poetry pollinating the day.
Shortest Shadow
And what about casting our shortest shadow? Neat. But a little bit challenging to witness convincingly.
In India, cities like Ujjain and Gandhi Nagar witness a zero shadows moment when shadows disappear at noon. (Source: The Weather Channel )
I’m pretty certain that casting no shadow at all would make an impression. But such luck isn’t ours at Rosslyn. Our summer solstice is the shortest shadow day. Midday, mini shadow.
Solsticing… Again
Today’s celestial inception prompted a fleeting reverie, winter solstice, half a year ago. Seems like yesterday. And looong ago. A peculiar trick of time.
Welcome to day one of the Adirondack Coast‘s coldest season. Today is the winter solstice, the first official day of winter, and — more importantly for the likes of my mother and others who favor longer days and shorter nights — the threshold between the briefest day and the most prolonged night and imperceptibly-but-steadily lengthening daylight. (Source: Winter Solstice: Longer Days Ahead)
And tonight we’re on the flip side of imperceptibly-but-steadily lengthening daylight. Tomorrow the nights begin to lengthen and the days shorten. Imperceptibly. But inevitably…
Although my original post explored the possibility of Eastern massasauga rattlesnake (Sistrurus catenatus) an update to the post concluded that a considerably more likely possibility was that I’d seen a milksnake, aka milk snake (Lampropeltis triangulum), a species of kingsnake.
While I feign no herpetology pretenses, my October 9, 2014 re-identification hinged upon communication from a more learned authority.
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
Possible indeed! Even likely. I’ve concluded that, then as now, Rosslyn’s resplendent snake was a milksnake. What do you think?
After months of icehouse rehabilitation, this door is no longer needed. But it still has plenty of life left in it. Given Tony’s commitment to this project since day one, it feels especially appropriate that he’ll be able to re-home this ready-to-hang door. Architectural salvage with an individualized backstory!
Re-Homing & Reusing
Baked into the icehouse rehab (and sooo much of our +/-17 year love affair with Rosslyn) is the inclination to salvage and rehabilitate, to recycle and upcycle, to repurpose and reuse. Whether the old piano we discovered in the carriage barn or the stone cistern/cesspool that was disinterred during replanting of an evergreen hedge last summer, we’ve been keen to reimagine obsolete and abandoned artifacts in new, useful ways.
Do you remember this?
We’re hoping to “re-home” our AMT 626 John Deere “truckling”… While… a reliable workhorse since, well, since forever (1990-ish, maybe?!?!) it’s old enough that we’re not feeling like a sale is the right option. We’re less interested in trading it for your hard earned loot and more interested in finding the best next chapter for this handsome beast of burden. Who can offer the most idyllic retirement (gentle work, lots of love, and maybe a nice nickname?) for this decades’ old John Deere? (Source: Re-Homing John Deere AMT 626)
Here’s a quick attempt to explain one of the many inclinations for our reuse commitment.
So much of our good fortune as Rosslyn’s stewards has been inherited from generations before us. Responsible ownership, conscientious preservation, and magnanimous spirits account for the life we’ve enjoyed on this property. We endeavor to follow in that tradition… (Source: Re-Homing John Deere AMT 626)
In other words, Rosslyn has tutored us in the merits of conservation and preservation, rehabilitation and reinvention, generosity and sharing. That this temporary means to secure and insulate access during our icehouse rehab will now be re-employed year round at Tony’s home is an apt destiny for this door.
More Re-Homing Soon…
Please note that I will be announcing additional re-homing opportunities in the weeks and months ahead. Are you interested?
While my poppy passion is no secret to Rosslyn Redux readers, I’m less vocal about my partiality to wild flora like trillium and Jack-in-the-Pulpit. One learns to protect these treasures!
But today I pause for an overt gawk at this exotic Jack-in-the-Pulpit, a sylvan surprise with almost impossibly green and purple stripes.
Jack-in-the-Pulpit (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Jack-in-the-Pulpit (Arisaema triphyllum sensu stricto or Arisaema triphyllum s.s.) is one of the most extravagant spring flourishes our woodlands offer. Coming across this beauty recalibrates, we’ll, just about everything. The day, the week, one’s mood, one’s wonder, one’s optimism. A gift of nature. A gift of springtime.
Beyond the beauty, there is mystery. A wondrous, semi sibylline wild neighbor. Let’s take look…
Jack-in-the-Pulpit (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Jack-or-Jill-in-the-Pulpit
Let’s take a look at the reproductive realm.
The inflorescence can be male (with male flowers only), bisexual (with both male and female flowers), or female (with female flowers only). In a small plant, most if not all of the flowers are male. As the plant matures and grows larger, the spadix produces female flowers as well as male flowers. The transition from male to female continues until eventually the plant produces female flowers only. This is an example of dichogamy, a rare phenomenon in flowering plants. Due to this sex-change lifecycle, this species is sometimes called colloquialy as Jack or Jill in the pulpit or Jill-in-the-pulpit. (Source: Wikipedia, June 23, 2023)
Fascinating, right? Let’s look into “dichogamy” a little further.
Sequential hermaphroditism (called dichogamy in botany) is one of the two types of hermaphroditism, the other type being simultaneous hermaphroditism. It occurs when the organism’s sex changes at some point in its life. In particular, a sequential hermaphrodite produces eggs (female gametes) and sperm (male gametes) at different stages in life. Sequential hermaphroditism occurs in many fish, gastropods, and plants. Species that can undergo these changes do so as a normal event within their reproductive cycle, usually cued by either social structure or the achievement of a certain age or size. (Source: Wikipedia, June 23, 2023)
And you thought I was just showcasing an extravagant bloom! Sometimes nature amplifies our perspective, offering a fresh twist on ideas we consider in other aspects of life…
This morning I spied a Colorado Potato Beetle (Leptinotarsa decemlineata) or three in the vegetable garden. Here’s a fuzzy snapshot of one Colorado Potato Beetle contentedly munching away on young eggplant leaves.
Colorado Potato Beetle on Eggplant Leaf (Source: Geo Davis)
Do you see the yellow striped beetle? It’s approximately center frame.
Here’s a closeup of another Colorado Potato Beetle once I flicked him/her onto the ground.
Colorado Potato Beetle (Source: Geo Davis)
Despite the fact that these pests are aren’t questionably distractive to the vegetable garden, I find it difficult to kill such a beautiful creature. Somehow it’s easier to squish a slug that it is to crush this handsomely striped beetle.
Despite my aesthetic misgivings, I dispatched each Colorado Potato Beetle and made a mental note to doodle or perhaps watercolor one. Or two. (See above.)
This post, the latest installment in my friend or foe series, will endeavor to demystify Colorado Potato Beetle (Leptinotarsa decemlineata).
Description: The mature beetles are around 1/3″ long and their hard, rounded shell (think modern VW bug) is yellow with black stripes (body) and orange with black spots (head). Although I haven’t seen any yet, the Colorado Potato Beetle larvae “are plump orange grubs with two rows of black dots on each side of the body.” (Source: Great Garden Companions: A Companion Planting System for a Beautiful, Chemical-Free Vegetable Garden, Sally Jean Cunningham)
Damage: They defoliate potatoes, eggplant, tomatoes, peppers, etc.
Prevention: Straw mulch and row covers. Remove and crush larvae and adults.
Enemies: According to Cunningham, the Colorado Potato Beetle appeals to lots of predators including: “ground beetles, spined soldier bugs, and two-spotted stinkbugs, as well as birds and toads.” She offers plenty of additional options for gardeners interested in introducing/encouraging predators.
Companions: Bush beans ostensibly discourage Colorado Potato Beetle infestations, as do garlic, horseradish, “tansy, yarrow, and other Aster Family plants…”
I’ll start by hunting, doodling, and crushing. And then I’ll hustle up on installing our straw mulch (we’re WAY behind!) and adding some companion plants. Fingers crossed.
Ever wonder how cucumbers would taste for breakfast? One of the joys of vegetable (and fruit) gardening is the opportunity to try new things, dip into the abundance in unusual ways, and experiment with combinations of ingredients and unusual pairings. As it turns out, a handsome woodchuck — a North American marmot (Marmota monax), if I’m not mistaken — and I agree on the appeal of cucumbers for breakfast!
Don’t get me wrong, I’m a cucumbers-for-breakfast newbie, but I can confidently vouch for the refreshing crunch of peeled, sliced cucumber with your first mug of coffee, tea, or MUD|WTR. Especially when you lather it with honey roasted peanut butter. It’s practically a full, balanced meal.
From garden to table with anticipation.
A healthy dab or two of peanut butter.
Delicious! Turns out cakes (w/peanut butter) are a perfect breakfast food!
You convinced? Try it!
Woodchuck Chuck
Our hungry Rosslyn marmot, let’s call him Woodchuck Chuck (more of a nod to my juvenile enthusiasm than a gift for gabbing with varmints), turns out to love cucumbers for breakfast too. And his palette doesn’t even depend on peanut butter to tempt.
After a couple nights of excessive buffet-ing his way through the veggies, we decided it was time for relocation. He’d burrowed himself a cozy accommodation beneath a temporary rock pile adjacent to the garden, so that’s where we placed the live trap. A broken up cucumber proved irresistible, and we were able to assist with his relocation to a less populated area with plenty to eat and no pesky gardeners vying for harvest priority.
Woodchuck Chuck, sated on cukes
Will Woodchuck Chuck return? Perhaps. But if he’s anticipating a never ending smorgasbord, well, hhhmmm… Maybe peanut butter?
After sharing pics on our Instagram (@rosslynredux) and Facebook (@rosslynredux) feeds it seems that peanut butter *might* be the secret sauce.
Sara Star: Looks like you trapped the varmint. Did you use peanut butter? It’s great bait for critters. We have live trapped a few skunks with it, and relocated. That woodchuck looks big!
Geo Davis: Huge! We didn’t even need to resort to peanut butter, just chopped up cucumber bits. Next time we re-relocate him it might require peanut butter though…
Sara: Such are the challenges of growing good food. Everyone wants to eat your veggies.
Geo: Heheh. True enough. Cheers to good food (and enough to share!)
And another similar experience.
Lorraine Townsend Faherty: we re-homed one (very chubby fellow) a few years ago using PB as bait for the trap. He knew how to get pb out of trap without getting himself trapped. but we persevered and he was taken away.
You see? Peanut butter.
Marmots & Abundance
Whether or not I’ve inspired you to try cucumbers for breakfast — with or without peanut butter, with or without woodchucks — it’s worth concluding this post with some context. Gardens invite eaters. Human eaters. But also insects, mollusks (yes, slugs are actually gastropods), birds, animals, and all manner of hungry opportunists. So what’s an organic gardener to to?
I post often about our various creative solutions for gardening holistically, but I’ve never talked about marmots. And the reason is, until now, we’ve never felt with garden pressure from marmots. Deer, yes. Raccoon, yes. And plenty of others. But no marmots until Woodchuck Chuck. So this is a first foray but not likely a final foray. I’ll update if/when useful developments.
Until then, it’s worth reiterating my underlying assumption that garden–to–table lifestyle need not focus on scarcity. I’ve likely explained that my gardening philosophy (upon rereading this sounds decidedly stodgier than intended) is an abundance mindset. What?!?!
An abundance mindset refers to the paradigm that there is plenty out there for everybody. (Source: Forbes)
Wait… what? Gardening enough for everybody? Everybody?!?!
Actually, pretty much yes.
We overgrow in the hopes that there will be plenty for us to enjoy even when our wild neighbors help themselves. Within reason. But when a wild neighbor, Woodchuck Chuck for example, gorges to excess, then we try to get creative. If our first relocation attempt is unsuccessful, then we’ll brainstorm how to leverage the magic of peanut butter!
We’re grateful to our Amish community for assistance nurturing Rosslyn’s organic vegetable, fruit, and flower gardens; our holistic orchard and vineyard; and sixty acres of landscape. While there’s much to admire about the dedicated women who have planted and weeded, pruned and suckered, nurtured and harvested for us, I’m especially grateful for their petroleum-free, exhaust free locomotion!
You suspect I jest? I do. Often. But not in this case. I’m actually quite fascinated with their efficiency of 21st century horse-and-buggy travelers.
And not only when our dedicated Amish gardeners arrive and depart, but on most every morning’s bike ride between the Adirondack foothills and Lake Champlain. I often share quiet, winding backroads with these courteous drivers. And last night, returning from Westport at an advanced hour, we witnessed three buggies moving along at a startlingly quick clip despite having no headlights. Only a single, diminutive lantern bounced within each buggy scarcely illuminating the driver, so certainly offering no navigational assistance.
Amish Assistance Arrives (Source: Rosslyn Redux)
As muscly pickup trucks and stealthy EVs wind through our rural communities, the Amish manage admirably to accomplish whatever locomotion they need without combustion engines or power grid tethers. There’s plenty to be learned from them, and not only for their dedicated industry.
This is a new opportunity for us. One nearby Amish family has been trafficking between our properties, learning quickly what each garden, each plant, each property needs. Since early spring the two to three sisters will arrive in the morning via ultra quiet conveyance. Although it took Carley a little while to become accustomed to the horse-drawn buggy, she’s no longer startled when the staccato sound of horse hooves and the curious crunching noise of carriage wheels on crushed stone awaken her from her postprandial snooze. She perks up, saunters into the screen porch, and observes. The bonneted young women wave, and I return their greeting. Carley watches until the horse and buggy disappear from view.
I’ll close with a short video I shot early in the morning last summer as another Amish buggy for a moment rolled in front of the rising sun.
