Notice: Function _load_textdomain_just_in_time was called incorrectly. Translation loading for the wp-embed-facebook domain was triggered too early. This is usually an indicator for some code in the plugin or theme running too early. Translations should be loaded at the init action or later. Please see Debugging in WordPress for more information. (This message was added in version 6.7.0.) in /home3/hipvacat/public_html/abdul2-rosslynredux-com/wp-includes/functions.php on line 6121
Notice: Function _load_textdomain_just_in_time was called incorrectly. Translation loading for the wp-last-modified-info domain was triggered too early. This is usually an indicator for some code in the plugin or theme running too early. Translations should be loaded at the init action or later. Please see Debugging in WordPress for more information. (This message was added in version 6.7.0.) in /home3/hipvacat/public_html/abdul2-rosslynredux-com/wp-includes/functions.php on line 6121 Rosslyn Redux – Page 15 – Reawakening a home, a dream and ourselves
Heck of a homecoming my frosty ferry ride into Essex two weeks ago on January 25. Damp-cold. Socked in. Snowing. I was dropping in for team time, scope shuffle, timeline tuneup, perspective pivot, and a revitalizing dose of laughter with friends.
Frosty Ferrying (Source: Geo Davis)
Team Time
As I’ve often touted, teamwork is the first, second, and third priority for us today and every day. When our crew is collaborating and collegial, progress is usually swift and morale is buoyant. But when team dynamics falter, for any reason, it’s usually evident even from afar. Headway stalls and morale suffers. But the cause (often) and the remedy (almost always) demand a closer inspection, an immersion in the daily doings and conversations.
So when forward motion on the icehouse rehab began to slow and spirit suffered, it became clear that I needed some hands-on team time to understand and improve the slide. And frankly, swapping video meetings and phone/text threads for in person, sawdust in the air, boots on the snowy ground, chalk line snapping, and overdue discourse dumping was enticing and necessary.
Scope Shuffle
Personnel particulars won’t be part of this post since who does what, when, where, why, and how is Susan and my concern. Teams coalesce around a common cause, and when necessary, teams adapt. Sometimes the cause shifts; sometimes the team shifts. My time at Rosslyn enabled me to ensure a clear understanding of the needed change(s) not just from my geographically challenged perspective, but from the diverse perspectives of the members of the team. What’s going on? What needs to change? Sometimes these reorganizations are awkward and uncomfortable, clarity elusive. But in this case there was broad consensus about what had been hampering progress and what would restore progress.
Within a week of my arrival we remapped the coming weeks and months, shuffled incremental scopes of work, and made a few adjustments to the plan to better account for the new vision (and to accommodate a few tweaks that became clear to me being onsite that hadn’t been so clear in plans and photo/video updates.)
Frosty Ferrying (Source: Geo Davis)
Timeline Tuneup
Today and yesterday I’ve been massaging the new scopes of work into the calendar. Roughly halfway through our start-to-finish timeline in terms of actual months allotted and permissible (October 2022 through May 2023) but less than halfway through the scope and schedule, the days and weeks ahead will require a significant uptick in productivity. For my part, that demands a thoughtful timeline tuneup that makes sense to Pam (project manager), Peter and Eric (carpentry leads), Ben (plumber), Brandon (electrician), and everyone else on the team. It is imminently doable. But careful coordination, clear communication, and steady productivity will be critical.
There’s still some sourcing and sorting to complete. The map forward is apparent, but the individual journeys and when/how they are sequenced is still firming up. In the mean time, collective confidence and enthusiasm appear to be rebounding.
Perspective Pivot
It’s worth noting that a perspective pivot — mine as well as everyone investing their time, expertise, and passion — is actually a really important part of any project. It’s altogether too easy to settle into a pattern, allowing vision and expectations to narrow, simply bumping forward from one day to the next. We all do it sometimes. And yet we all benefit from voluntary and even involuntary disruption that challenges us to think differently, to dilate our our vision, to alter and amplify our expectations. Team dynamics are never static. They can feel static. For a while. Until something disrupts collegiality or workflow.
I’m feeling reinvigorated by what was an unanticipated and unfortunate disruption in our team dynamics. I know that everyone on the team similarly desired and endeavored to avoid the eventual disruption. But the change catalyzed over the last few weeks is dramatic and profoundly positive. Our individual and collective perspective pivots have reawakened our sense of purpose and our confidence in the ability for the team to accomplish the rehab in a timely manner that will make us all proud.
Laughter with Friends
No sojourn to the Adirondack Coast would be complete without at least a few friends gathering. I’d initially tried to limit social time during my stay because the punch-list was ambitious. But the universe has her own ideas, and we’re wise to pay attention. I was reminded how fortunate we are to be part of a community that is thick with good people — smart, creative, cordial, civic minded, and caring — and despite my speedy sojourn I was able to share some meals, cross-country ski, laugh, and catch up with some of the many who enrich our Adirondack life.
https://www.instagram.com/reel/CoZ1pmDAvi_/
Moody Midwinter Mashup
With all the warm-and-fuzzy updates top loaded, it’s time to acknowledge the moody vibes of the video above (if you can’t see it, try loading the URL in a new browser tab). My midwinter mashup isn’t an artistic feat by any estimate, but the black and white sequence, shot for the ferryboat upon approaching Rosslyn’s boathouse on my way from Charlotte to Essex, really does feel like what I was feeling upon arriving. And the less-than-perfect weather conditions emphasized the mood over the first 36-48 hours. Fortunately the weather improved and talk time with the team (and friends) restored the levity I usually associate with a return to Rosslyn. That said, it feels important to acknowledge that it’s not always rainbows and bluebird skies, neither literally, nor metaphorically. Sometimes life shades into shades of gray, and we have to cope, to come together creatively to restore the technicolor lifestyle we love.
Frosty Ferry Crossings
I’ll close with an acknowledgment that a frosty ferry crossing may not be the picture perfect memory that we conjure when relating the joys of community by ferryboat, but I’ve experienced so many meaningful moments just like this. Rainy, snowy, stormy,… The imperfect moments shape us as much as the sunny ones.
Special thanks to Rob Fountain whose February 27, 2015 photograph in the Press Republican deftly captures these sorts of experiences.
With temperatures below zero and a brisk wind, a Lake Champlain Transportation Co. ferry pushes through icy waters heading for Grand Isle, Vt., Tuesday from Cumberland Head. For many cities in the Northeast, it was the coldest February on record, and some places recorded the most days of zero or below temperatures. (Source: Press Republican)
Welcome to spring! It’s currently 43° at Rosslyn, on target to hit 46° shortly. Sun is out. Snow is melting. Bulbs are bursting. So many remarkable signs and suggestions that the vernal equinox may indeed have marked the transition from winter to spring (daffodils and daylilies perking up, an auspicious sunset cloud formation, a handsome Barred Owl encounter,…)
Let’s start out with our just-passed solar equinox and then work our way toward the Barred Owl (Strix varia) and some celestial special effects from Susan’s end-of-day walk with Denise.
Vernal Equinox: Rosslyn Sundown (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Vernal Equinox-ish
In 2023, the official first day of spring is Monday, March 20. This date marks the “spring equinox” in the Northern Hemisphere… at 5:24 P.M. EDT. This… is the astronomical beginning of the spring season in the Northern Hemisphere… (Source: The Old Farmer’s Almanac)
That was yesterday. In fact, this post was intended to be published yesterday. On time. Relevant. But, sometimes searching for poetry preempts timely updates. Sorry.
Despite the fact that today’s post is slightly out of sync with the astronomical calendar, I couldn’t resist the chance to subtly revise yesterday’s draft and share it anyway. There was simply too much resonance. Yes, I’m biased. But after yesterday’s candid peak into Rosslyn’s artifact-packed carriage barn (and into my mental morass where architectural salvage, historic rehabilitation, poetic introspection, and memoiresque storytelling commingle) it felt, well, almost logical. Bear with me? I find that spring’s arrival rarely follows a predictable schedule. Each year unique. And, in spite of the heathen thrill that comes with romancing celestial and meteorological rituals, it would appear that the vernal equinox is merely a symbolic approximation of springtime.
An equinox occurs twice a year, around 20 March and 22 September. The word itself has several related definitions. The oldest meaning is the day when daytime and night are of approximately equal duration. (Wikipedia)
I excerpted the tidy part, eliminating the inevitable diatribe about day and night not really being the same length. A debate for another blogger. I love rituals, even when they’re easily scoffed. Here’s a flip riff by Phil Plait (@BadAstronomer) if you’d like a quick scoff before we romance the vernal equinox.
Today is the vernal equinox, what a lot of folks think of as the first day of spring (though given the forecast, people on the U.S. East Coast can be forgiven if they’re rolling their eyes at that thought, assuming their eyeballs aren’t frozen to their eyelids). (Slate)
The omnipresent smell of mud hints at spring’s earth entrance, and that’s good enough for me. No. More. Snow. Please!
Tony and I were returning from the forest beyond Library Brook where we’d been blazing the next meander in Rosslyn’s ongoing trail building initiative. The brook was swollen and running wild. The trees were a-chatter with avian neighbors and squirrels riffing raucous against the riparian chorus. It felt like a page out of Dylan Thomas. And then Tony spied the owl.
“Do you see it?” he hoarse-whispered, pointing up into the trees.
I didn’t. He guided my gaze. But I couldn’t identify the big blob on a branch. Wrong sunglasses.
“It’s an owl,” he said
We walked closer. I fumbled with my phone, launch the camera app, zoomed in as far as I could, snapped a couple of images. We kept walking. The owl swooped away, an immense span of plumage, arcing through trees and branches powerfully, gracefully without brushing a twig.
Disinclined by temperament to observe overt omens and symbolism in the world around me, I’m nonetheless receptive to the “singing underneath”. Sometimes life rhymes. I try to exercise humility and wonder in these moments. I endeavor to hear and observe and sometimes to record the poetry that presents itself. I’ll leave conclusions to others. For me, for now, questions are plenty.
Vernal Equinox: Day Lilies Reawakening (Photo: Geo Davis)
Daylilies
With snow, still covering much of the ground, bulbs are bursting up, unwilling or unable to wait. The earthy array above are day lilies, among the thousands of green shoots reaching skyward below the stonewall that divides our lower lawn from upper lawn.
Perhaps overly precocious sprouts. I’d venture a guess that some more freezing nights, possibly even some more snow might challenge these daylilies. And yet, as in all previous years, they will flourish, foliage thickening, stout stems reaching somewhere between knee and waist by Independence Day when they’ll explode in joyful orange blooms. They will. And yet I can’t help wondering if they’re premature?
Vernal Equinox: Cloud Theatre I (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Sundown Skies
As if conjuring orange blooms is contagious, the day’s spring preview weather concluded with a dash of colorful drama and cloud theatre extraordinaire.
Taken by Susan while winding down the day with Denise and Carley, ambling Blockhouse Road, likely lost in conversation. Phone photography sure has come a long way!
Vernal Equinox: Cloud Theatre II (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
So beguiling and mysterious is that second cloud theatre image that I’m sharing a tighter, second perspective.
Vernal Equinox: Cloud Theatre III (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Welcome back, springtime. What wonders do you have in store?
“Rather than trying to coerce the house to do something new, we tried to reawaken it.” (New England Home)
In “Taking the Long View” Paula M. Bodah refers to the renovation of a Victorian house near Boston, Massachusetts in unusually anthropomorphic terms. Reawaken? Since when do houses sleep?
Despite the unfamiliar reference, Bodah’s terminology is precise, accurate and familiar. In the case of Rosslyn, reawakening is precisely how I too describe our renovation process, though I didn’t understand this at the outset.
One of the joys of homeownership lies in expressing ourselves through our surroundings… Most of us can hardly wait to put our personal stamp on our living spaces. It is, after all, part of the process of turning a house into a home. (New England Home)
While “turning a house into a home” is a topic for a future post, and although I’ve frequently joked that no detail of Rosslyn’s rehabilitation escaped our fingerprints, much attention was paid throughout to preserving the buildings’ unique heritage. My bride and I were far less preoccupied with our own personal stamp than we were with finding Rosslyn’s personal stamp, her DNA, and reawakening it to guide our renovation.
In fact, I wanted to move into Rosslyn after six months — after the most critical infrastructure had been upgraded — so that I could discover the house by living in it. I wanted to understand Rosslyn from the inside out. Remember my coffee-in-the-morning pipe dream? My bride thought I was crazy at the time, willfully opting living in a full-scale renovation project. No doubt here judgment was sound, but it turns out my instinct wasn’t so unusual after all.
The couple who bought this Boston-area Victorian [described above]… lived in their house for a full year, noting how they used the space and how the light flowed (or didn’t), thinking, planning and discussing before undertaking any serious renovating or redecorating. (New England Home)
There’s a certain intimacy, a depth of familiarity and knowledge, that is only possible when you live in a house. When you fall asleep listening to its sighs and creeks mingling with the soft breathing of your bride and dog. When you wake up and navigate your way to the bathroom in the dark in the middle of the night. When an avalanche of snow slides off the roof, startling you early in the morning. When you wake up but stay in bed with your still sleeping bride because the room’s so cold, the comforter is so warm, and you can’t imagine feeling this cozy ever again. When Griffin, your Labrador Retriever, licks your cheek and stares at you pleadingly so that you slide into your robe and slippers and shuffle down the staircase to take him outside for a crack-o-dawn potty break. When you crack a pair of eggs into a sizzling skillet next to the popping bacon and wait for the house to smell like Sunday morning. When the ferry boat landing at the nearby ferry dock vibrates the house. When you step out of the shower onto the worn floorboards. When you inhale a nostril-full of moist brick after a summer rain. When you gather family together for a celebratory meal in the dining room with the smell of crackling fire mingling with the the aroma of roast turkey and pumpkin soup…
These are the caresses and whispers that you miss when you renovate a house from without, when diagrams and computer-assisted drawings and conversations are the only firsthand contact you’ve experienced with the environment that will nurture and protect and inspire you for many years to come.
Several years of interior design school underpinned my bride’s confidence that living in a home to understand it was unnecessary, that carefully calibrated (and much debated) drawings were more than adequate to understand the best orientations for bathrooms and kitchens and beds and desks. She was comfortable forging ahead.
I was not. I wanted to touch and smell and hear Rosslyn in order to understand her. I agreed with my bride that it was critical to renovate our home according to the needs of our own lifestyle, but I wanted to ensure that we weren’t imposing our own will haphazardly onto those of the house.
Perhaps this sounds contrived? Perhaps it hints of New Age-y pseudo philosophical blather? I don’t fully disagree. But it’s an honest accounting of our differences as we plunged into Rosslyn’s renovation.
For a long time I struggled to admit to myself, much less to my bride, that I considered it arrogant to impose our dreams upon Rosslyn without first trying to understand her dreams. I was obsessed with reawakening and listening to the old house, trying to hear what she was trying to tell us.
At first we strained to hear, and then it became easier. Her stories, her dreams flowed, and before long we lost the ability to mute Rosslyn. We were inundated with her past and her hopes for the future. Before long it grew virtually impossible to distinguish between Rosslyn’s will and our own.
And so the scope of our project mushroom and the timeline extended. And mushroomed. And extended. We joked that we had been kidnapped by Rosslyn, and in a sense we had.
Did Punxsutawney Phil see his shadow? Is spring around the corner? Are we headed into six more weeks of winter?
In this high tech era of satellites forecasting weather from beyond the beyond, intricate algorithms gobbling gargantuan data sets, and media channels dedicated to analyzing and communicating meteorological mysteries in real time, we still get excited on February 2 to see how a groundhog will react to brisk midwinter conditions. It’s folksy fun, I suppose. Maybe a result of cabin fever…
Today the furry fellow decided it was wiser to double down on hibernation. Spring’s still a long way off, at least in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania.
To be sure, Essex isn’t exactly tropical compared to Punxsutawney, so a belated de-wintering would seem inevitable based upon this morning’s proceedings. But, I’m pro-spring, even if that puts me in disagreement with Phil.
Unlike the groundhog,
fur ruffed against shadowed chill,
I suspect springtime.
I love springtime almost as much as I love morning, and for similar reasons. So much possibility in both reawakenings!
And who’s to say that haikupoetry is any less indicative of spring’s arrival than a groundhog coddled by top hatted members of the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club gathering at Gobbler’s Knob? Not I. (Which begs the question, what *else* do marmots and micropoems have in common?)
What to make of an annual tradition centering around a groundhog venturing out of hibernation to prognosticate on the coming season? Let’s dig into the legend of Punxsutawney Phil.
Each February 2, on Groundhog Day, the members of the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club make the pilgrimage to Gobbler’s Knob, Phil’s official home.
The group waits for Phil to leave his burrow and, legend has it, if he sees his shadow we’re in for six more weeks of winter. If he doesn’t, we get to bask in an early spring.
Scientifically speaking, winter will officially come to an end on the equinox on March 20, regardless of what Phil predicts. But Mother Nature doesn’t always follow the timetable, and neither does Phil.
Though Phil has no meteorology degree, every year the United States tunes in for his prediction.
Phil’s track record is not perfect. “On average, Phil has gotten it right 40% of the time over the past 10 years,” according to the National Centers for Environmental Information, a division of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration… (Source: CNN)
So, the meteorological marmot’s not the best indicator of whether or not winter will yield early/late to spring.
This year marks the third straight year the groundhog spotted his shadow, something that he has often done since making his first prediction in 1887. Of the 127 recorded times Phil has predicted the weather, he has now seen his shadow 107 (84%) times. His longest streak of seeing his shadow remains at 31, when he saw it every year from 1903-33.
It’ll take some time to figure out if Phil’s prediction will be right, but given his history, he’s likely wrong. (Source: USA Today)
But math be damned! There’s a whimsical charm surrounding the event. Seasonality keeps us in sync with our environment, wondering and wandering about nature, so the meter-marmot’s sub 50/50 track record isn’t really the point.
To better understand the popularity of Groundhog Day, Troy Harman (Penn State University history professor and Gettysburg National Military Park ranger) talks left brain, right brain and the science-to-tradition spectrum.
“Throughout history, whenever there has been a real strong emphasis on science, its counterpart of intuition, instinct, emotion, imagination — the right side of our brain — pushes back a little bit,” Harman says, explaining that Groundhog Day took off right around the time of the industrial revolution.
He says those massive societal and technological changes spurred a desire to return to what people imagined were simpler times, in the form of things like literary romanticism and gothic revival architecture…
“I strongly suspect that the people that go to Gobbler’s Knob are fully aware of the power of science, but at the same time want to hold on to traditions and a deeper vibe,” he says. “There’s the instincts and the intuition and the imagination that every human being has that has to come into balance with logic and reason.” (Source: NPR)
It seems there’s plenty more to be said on this logic, reason, and science versus intuition, emotion, and imagination comparison, but this isn’t the time or place. And I think that Harman’s probably right. Trusting in science and logic, many/most of us still allow room for romantic traditions and intuition. It’s quite likely a part of what humanizes us.
So whether today’s shadow viewing gets chalked up on the wins side or the losses side of Punxsutawney Phil’s tally, we’re likely to see another six weeks on winter weather in Essex. Sure, there will be some balmy days when the mud oozes, but it’s a rare year that February and even much or March aren’t snowy or at least inclement. But we’re hoping this year to take advantage of the high tunnel to fast-track spring in the vegetable garden, so we just might stand a chance of realizing the optimism in my haiku!
In closing, you may be wondering what the difference is between a groundhog and a woodchuck. And what about a marmot?!?! Although the three names are often used interchangeably, the “marmot” is exactly the same as the other two. While a groundhog and a woodchuck are one and the same wildlife (taxonomically Marmota monax), the term “marmot” generally refers to the entire genus Marmota and/or the subgenus Marmota which includes the groundhog (aka woodchuck, whistlepig, monax, moonack, whistler, groundpig, etc.) Armed with that tidy tidbit of trivia you’re armed and dangerous for happy hour this evening. Cheers to Phil. Cheers to spring!
After purchasing Rosslyn, George McNulty, presented us with a bronze sculpture born of his own hands and imagination. Standing with arms outstretched, extended skyward, the figure’s celebratory posture exudes joy and pride. In my view, McNulty’s miniature man appears to be celebrating or perhaps praising, arms reaching upward toward the heavens. Rosslyn Rapture, I’ve titled it (albeit only in my mind.) With no permission from the artist to name/rename his work, you’ll note no plaque adorning the base, no engraved nametag competing for attention. In fact, until now I’ve kept mostly mum about my personal title for McNulty’s sculpture. It felt presumptuous to impose my narrative, my interpretation onto another’s creation.
Rosslyn Rapture: Bronze Sculpture by George McNulty
And while we didn’t have Rosslyn Rapture plaqued, we did have it mounted on a small marble base for display. When we received the sculpture a couple of bolts protruded from the bottom of the feet for mounting. Since, at first, the figure could not be exhibited without a base, we held it in our hands. We felt the weighty bronze, ran our fingertips over the textured surface shaped by the fingers of a man who invested almost four decades into studying and documenting and slowly restoring the buildings which we now call home. We traced the figure’s lanky limbs and placed our fingertips into the sculpture’s tiny palms. There was an intimacy. A connection. Or so I chose to believe.
In time I came to see the sculpture as McNulty’s exaltation for a home and a heritage that he loved. A man exalted with reverence. It was a hypothesis that fit the man I’d briefly come to know. It was a hypothesis consistent with the anecdotes and memories shared by his Essex friends and neighbors. It was a hypothesis that justified his commitment—spanning almost four decades—to preserving this historic property. But mostly, as I’ve come to learn in the years since, it was a hypothesis that helped me explain my own love affair with Rosslyn. I realize now that I was ascribing my own passion for this property onto the previous owner. I was enraptured with Rosslyn, with our new life at Rosslyn, and with the prospect of restoring this stately home and grounds to the restrained elegance still evident but fading. I had reimagined this art as an artifact of the previous owner’s passion and devotion for Rosslyn when in fact my hypothesis was first and foremost self referential.
Rosslyn Rapture: Bronze Sculpture by George McNulty
A Bronze Sculpture
In short, I realize now that Rosslyn Rapture was my creation. McNulty’s was a bronze sculpture of a man with outreached arms and open hands lifted high. I saw a man grasping for something or praising a higher being. Or perhaps the man’s adulation was for a woman with whom he was impassioned? But fancy clouds my vision. The man’s arms are outreached. That is clear. Whether in praise or celebration or something altogether different, only the sculptor knows.
For many years the figure has presided over our living room from his perch on the mantle above the northern fireplace. When I gave George McNulty’s son, Jason, a house tour a few year after completing our renovation, he immediately spotted the sculpture.
“What happened to the baby?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” I responded, confused.
“The man was originally holding a baby up in the air,” he explained.
It had never even occurred to me that there might have been another part of the sculpture, a part now missing. A baby. That’s what he’s lifting up and celebrating.
I explained to Jason that we had not removed the baby. We had never even seen the baby. Aside from the addition of a marble base, this is exactly how the sculpture looked when it was gifted to us by Jason’s father.
Probably his father had made two versions, Jason suggested, one with a baby, and one without. Or perhaps the baby was cast separately and conjoined afterward.
Both possibilities seem possible, probable even. Imagination flushes out the narrative. George McNulty sculpts the man out of clay, creates a mold from the original, and—using the lost wax process—casts several bronze replicas. Separately and by the same process, he casts bronze babies which he then welds to the man’s hands. One of the figures, for some mysterious reason, remains empty handed. No baby.
I found myself, wondering if his son, now standing in the living room of the house where he had grown up, might perhaps have been the inspiration for the sculpture, maybe even the model. The man did, after all, resemble his father. And the baby? Anybody’s guess.
It occurs to me later that there’s another possibility. Perhaps each of the figures originally held a baby high in the air. But one broke. Or the sculptor removed it. Maybe that’s why he gave it to me, because it was an incomplete piece. This seems like a reasonable hypothesis, and maybe it’s correct. But I prefer the possibility that he gifted us this version because it leaves open the hands, open the possibility that Rosslyn is the subject of the man’s ecstasy.
Rosslyn Rapture: Bronze Sculpture by George McNulty
Rosslyn Rapture: Bronze Sculpture by George McNulty
Searching for Poetry Amidst Architectural Salvage (Photo: Geo Davis)
Searching for poetry, questing for questions that need no answers to matter and guide and enrich.
This might be my epitaph. Some day. But not yet. I hope.
Today, the vernal equinox, I awoke at 4:00 AM, eager to start cooking a wild boar roast I had thawed. Actually it wasn’t the roast that caffeinated me prior to my first cuppa MUD\WTR, that zero-to-sixtied my green gray matter within seconds.
If the human brain were a computer, it would be the greenest computer on Earth.
You with me? Caveat emptor: it’s going to be that kind of post!
It wasn’t anticipation of the pulled wild boar that I enjoyed for lunch (and soon will enjoy for dinner) that prevented me from falling back asleep. (I love variety, but if it ain’t broke… And if you’ve cooked 5.4lbs of wild boar shoulder, then share, eat, share, eat, share,…)
It was one of those light-switch-on awakenings. Sound asleep one moment, wide awake the next. 100% alert, cylinders thumping away, and focus dialed in. Monday morning’s are often like that for me. And with an ambitious punch list for the icehouse rehab, I needed to hit the ground running. Or jumpstart the week by roasting a wild boar shoulder?
Both.
But, after talking through exterior trim and clapboard siding with two contractors, explaining how to prune watersprouts (aka “growth shoots) out of our mature American Linden to another contractor, and various other midmorning miscellanea, I headed into the carriage barn for some, ahem, research.
I’m still sorting through architectural salvage and surplus building materials, endeavoring to make final decisions for the icehouse. Woulda-coulda-shoulda tackled this many months ago, and I tried, but the process continues to evolve. In some cases, it’s continues to elude me. So my endeavor continues.
Today I ruled out a couple of ideas I’ve been developing, visions for upcycling deconstructed cabinetry from Sherwood Inn days. The visions have faded, but all is not lost. In the shadowy space they’ve left behind, I stumbled upon something else.
A poem.
Searching for Poetry Amidst Architectural Salvage (Photo: Geo Davis)
Searching for Poetry
Wabi-sabi wandering,
wabi-sabi wondering —
reimagining relics,
architectural salvage,
weather worn detritus,
offcuts, rusty remainders,
time textured tatters,
pre-mosaic fragments,
and dust mote mirages —
so much pulling apart,
so much pushing aside,
searching for poetry.
Today I concluded that the vision I’d been pursuing — a vision of upcycling deconstructed cabinetry and paneling from the Sherwood Inn’s colonial taproom — had been little more than mirage. However as this mirage vanished, I happened upon a glimmer of clarity, fleeting but encouraging, around an even bigger mystery that I’ve been chasing. Also mirage-like, also elusive, also a problem that persistence might hopefully tame, also a quest for questions that illuminate and instruct even when their answers evanesce.
This glimmer of clarity (try to imagine a spark that just might benefit from attention, a flickering flame that invites kindling with promises of a roaring bonfire) materialized briefly where moments before a mirage had danced and vanished. And what did I see? Companionship. Kinship. Similarity. Affinity. Between poetry and architectural rehabilitation and adaptive reuse. A glimmer and gone. I exaggerate, but the picture is at once protean, subtle, and elusive.
Nevertheless, I will continue to strive, risk, and experiment. I will continue essaying to illustrate the intimate overlap between poetry and construction — especially between composing lyric essay and adaptive reuse of existing buildings and building materials — until my wandering and wondering renders an oasis. Or admits a mirage.
Today’s post is a tribute to our Rosslyn forebear, George McNulty, from whom we inherited a whimsical double sunburst motif on the west façade of Rosslyn’s ell, and Peter Vaiciulis who fabricated a slightly downscaled sister embellishment for the east façade of the icehouse.
Double Sunburst, Rosslyn’s Icehouse, March 2023 (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
This twist on a familiar Essex architectural theme, the sunburst motif that is most prominent on the old firehouse turned art gallery turned tavern (in the middle of town), is perhaps best described as a double sunburst. Or, in the view of Peter, the carpenter who reinterpreted George McNulty’s original with a slightly more diminutive iteration, this is not a sunburst at all, but rather two “sun fans”.
And a haiku is born.
Double Sunburst Haiku
What sunburst motif? Better two suns than one, and a pair of sun fans.
Or Sunup, Sundown?
As an unabashed heliocentrist I’m drawn to another possibility. Possibly Peter’s “sun fans” are actually an architectural paean to the rising sun and the setting sun. Sunup. Sundown. Conjoined. Sunup-sundown.
While it’s tempting to conceive of Essex, New York (and maybe even the entire Adirondack Coast) as the point of perennial sunrise, more fitting (and yet similarly flattering) is the more reality based celebration of sunup AND sundown. For both are glorious in this realm.
Afterward
The Essex sunburst has ostensibly been ornamenting our community since the late 18th or early 19th century. Perhaps this 1882 Harper’s Weekly illustration was inspired by a visit to our fair hamlet?
A day after my bride’s “polar plunge” in still frigid Lake Champlain, I’m swimming and drifting in the warm waters of Antigua, enjoying a free ranging conversation with one of my nephews, allowing salt and surf and steel band sounds (drifting intermittently from further up the shore) to exercise the sort of deep relinquishing that comes from knowing a vacation has only just begun.
Before departing Rosslyn I handed off germinating spring starts (broccoli and cucumbers) to Pam along with various vegetable and flower seeds that will be sown before long. Among the latter, thousands of poppy seeds. Always plenty of Red Corn Poppy (Papaver rhoeas aka Flanders Poppy) seeds as well as Shirley Poppy seeds, a cultivar of Papaver rhoeas that reminds me of my mother-in-law, Shirley Bacot Shamel. As my affection for poppies has long since escaped the restraint of manly propriety, I’ll concede that one of my spring fever symptoms is an infatuation with poppy plants, poppy blooms, poppy seed pods. And, in the case of the Shirley Poppy blooms, there’s always the added excitement since variations allow for intriguing surprises.
So a sunset soak with Christoph, gazing back at the oasis that we’ve been fortunate to enjoy as a family for eight years, curiously preoccupied with poppies, and looking forward to wandering the grounds in the days ahead to inspect the vast array of tropical orchids cultivated at Curtain Bluff, it struck me that I needed to explore these connections in a poem. Perhaps a Shirley Poppy poem?
Perhaps, but not today, as it turns out. The words that wanted to be written were driven in large part by a connection to place. This section seems to be headed in an interesting direction, for example.
Upon arriving,
a warm Wadadli welcome,
a breeze mellowed sun,
familiar phrases,
cadence, laughter
lilting,
lulling,
returning us
to the leeward lap
of ease and comfort,
a simple sanctuary
bursting with blooms
and recollections.
A bit decadent and overwrought still probably, but I am pleased to read it aloud.
But where am I hoping to go with this?!?! I can’t seem to see my way from tropical orchids to Shirley Poppy blooms. Nor am I certain that allowing my perennial passion for place, indeed for the poetry of place, to kidnap this still evolving verse is advisable.
Instead I’m curious how place, right now this perfect place nestled unassumingly into the hilly shore of Old Road, as well as the memories conjured by returning here, especially memories of my late mother-in-law, somehow a little more present when we’re here, connect. And why are they bleeding into my anticipation of a bumper crop of poppies back at Rosslyn?
Hhhmmm… Sometimes it’s wiser to admit defeat. For now. But stay tuned; I’ll try again.
Among many curious characteristics that distinguish the dazzling Amazon who stole my heart 22 years ago, Susan actually enjoys cold water. Swimming in cold water! She claims that it is Scandinavian heritage (on her maternal side). And so it should come as no surprise that a 35° polar plunge in Lake Champlain is my bride’s idea of a good way to start the day.
35° Morning Dip in Lake Champlain (Photo: Geo Davis)
Needless to say, we don’t always see eye-to-eye. But… happy wife, happy life! (And when it comes to polar, plunging in almost frozen water, Carley is as enthusiastic as Susan.)
35° Morning Dip in Lake Champlain (Photo: Geo Davis)
If you’d like to relive the peculiar pleasure that is intentionally plunging your corporal self into lake water just barely higher than the freezing point, then this next little mashup is for you. Enjoy.
Installation of clapboard is complete! All four façades of Rosslyn’s icehouse are now handsomely clad in cedar, primed and painted before installation, ready for nailhead touchup as temperature rises in the weeks ahead.
Clapboard Complete, March 23, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Especial accolades are due Supi and Peter who stayed late last night to finish all but the last four boards at the apex of the gable end. And Calvin showed up at the crack-of-dawn this morning to finish up the elevation that he had started about a week ago. Justin has been a big help on this east elevation, and I’m probably overlooking someone. Better dig back through my photos!
To everyone who helped wrap this historic icehouse and clapboard and trim, so that we’re ready when the windows arrive in a month and a half… Thank you, all. Working on clapboard siding off-and-on during these winter months whenever conditions permitted made for an unpredictable workflow. But you persisted, and now we can all appreciate the rewards. Congratulations!
Clapboard Complete, March 23, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Peter is prepping the clapboard sunburst motif elements that will infill the two triangles flanking the gable end window. The entrance door will be delivered shortly, and the garapa decking material will be ordered next week. Little by little this building is starting to resemble the plan…
Rendering for Icehouse Rehabilitation, East Elevation (Source: Tiho Dimitrov)
An ancient and neglected apple tree. Actually some sort of crab apple tree with fruit the size of golf balls. Large golf balls that were tart but delicious. Griffin loved to scarf them up when they carpeted the lawn in autumn.
Doug Decker cleans up ancient crab apple tree after hail storm hits Rosslyn on May, 16, 2012.
For six years I pruned and nourished the crab apple tree back to health. Aside from a largely rotten trunk. Nevertheless, each spring the fruit tree filled with blooms which by summer’s end had become much fruit.
More pruning. Another spring; even more apple blossoms. The hope of fruit.
Yesterday, May 16, 2012 the skies blackened too early for night and then the clouds erupted in a short but angry tantrum of driving rain, mothball-sized hail and driving wind. When the hail and rain stopped and the fog cleared, the crooked fruit tree had fallen, snapped off at her stem.
Warming temperatures, rainy-sunny-rainy days, lush green grass, spring dandelions, daffodils, hyacinths, and tulips…
What’s next?
Mosquitos.
[pullquote]We’re incredibly fortunate in Essex to have very few mosquitos… But from time-to-time the noisome bloodsuckers nevertheless find us.[/pullquote]
We’re incredibly fortunate in Essex to have very few mosquitos. Perhaps it’s the omnipresent breeze wafting across Lake Champlain. But from time-to-time the noisome bloodsuckers nevertheless find us. And when they do, it’s pretty tempting to pull out the mosquito repellent and spray, spray, spray. Noxious chemicals replace obnoxious pests.
Did you know that some plants naturally repel mosquitos? Today’s gardening tip offers a clever, attractive, and—in many cases—tasty way to eliminate (or at least reduce) dangerous poisons.
One of the best ways to stave off the whiny insects is to eliminate stagnant water. Mosquitoes can lay their eggs in even the shallowest puddles, so prevent water from collecting and you’ll dramatically curb your mosquito population.
Now it’s time to add the following naturally mosquito repellent plants to your garden and landscaping.
Citronella Grass
Citronella Grass
Known for its distinct smell, citronella grass is the most commonly used natural ingredient in mosquito repellants. (Source: Garden Design)
Perhaps the most popular naturally mosquito repellent plant, citronella grass might not be what you’re looking for.
First of all, it is the oil present in this lemony plant that deters mosquitos. Once extracted it is added to natural “bug dope” and patio candles to organically deter the pesky blood-letters. But, unless you intend to actually crush up citronella grass leaves and rub them on your skin, you’re not likely to see any notable improvement in your mosquito conditions simply by growing a citronella grass.
Second, citronella grass is native to zones 10, 11, and 12. So, northern readers, unless you’re happy to plant citronella grass as an annual, you’re probably better to choose alternative naturally mosquito repellent plants for your garden.
In addition to its mosquito repelling properties, the plant is also used to treat lice and other parasites, like intestinal worms. (Source: Gardening Know How)
Basil
Basil
Basil is another pungent plant that can serve you well as a natural mosquito repellent.
Basil emits its aroma without crushing the leaves, so you can grow basil in pots and put them in your backyard to control mosquitoes. To keep the mosquitoes away from your body, rub a handful of crushed basil leaves on your skin. (Source: NatureHacks)
What kitchen garden isn’t improved with a couple of basil varieties? It’s the perfect summer addition to your salads, gazpacho, and cold pasta dishes.
Any variety of basil can repel mosquitoes but it is advisable to use lemon basil, cinnamon basil, and Peruvian basil since they have the strongest fragrances. (Source: NatureHacks)
Garlic
Garlic
And while I’m thinking of summer salads, gazpacho, and pasta dishes, there’s another obvious mosquito repellent plant to mention, garlic.
Garlic actually repels mosquitoes, but not from garlic breath. If you have a high allicin (garlic’s active anti-microbial ingredient) blood count, mosquitoes will refuse to engage with your blood… In order to release garlic’s healing properties, it should be crushed and then eaten. (Source: NaturalNews.com)
Sounds interesting. According to conventional wisdom, the garlic bulb—once crushed and ingested—makes our blood toxic (or at least unpalatable) to mosquitos. Perfect! Except, the supporting science is pretty thin.
Garlic, perhaps because of its strong odor, has long been said to be that magic food. But studies so far have found that claim to be little more than wishful thinking. Eating it may repel other humans, but apparently not mosquitoes.
One study illustrating this was published in 2005 by a group of researchers at the University of Connecticut Health Center. The scientists asked groups of subjects to consume large amounts of garlic on some days and a placebo on others and exposed them to mosquitoes on each day. The number of mosquitoes that fed on them and the number of bites they suffered did not seem to differ under the two conditions.
[…]
Eating garlic has not been shown to either attract or ward off mosquitoes. (Source:The New York Times)
So, should you plant garlic? Of course. It’s delicious, and it all sorts of additional healthy benefits. And perhaps one day we’ll learn that it is the ultimate mozzy buster too.
Peppermint
Peppermint
Another oft touted organic mosquito repellent is peppermint. This delightful smelling (and tasting) garden regular is apparently repugnant to mosquitos.
Oil of Mentha piperita L. (Peppermint oil), a widely used essential oil, was evaluated for larvicidal activity against different mosquito species… The oil showed strong repellent action against adult mosquitoes when applied on human skin. (Source: Bioresource Technology)
It’s worth noting that simply growing peppermint in your garden won’t eliminate your mosquitos. Similar to the citronella grass and, well, just about everything else in this list, peppermint leaves must be crushed and rubbed on the skin.
And while you’re at it, you might consider muddling a few peppermint leaves in your drink!
Additionally, if you do get a bug bite you will find that peppermint oil is effective at relieving itches. (Source: Mosquito Magnet)
Lavender
Lavender
Growing lavender is fun and has many uses including as a mosquito repellent and it’s a lot more pleasant to smell than some of the other options. If you don’t want to grow it you can purchase lavender soaps, essential oils, and lotions to use as mosquito repellent.
Have you ever noticed that insects or even rabbits and other animals have never decimated your lavender plant? It is because of their lovely fragrance, which comes from its essential oils that are found on the leaves of the plant. It is even argued that lavender oil hinders a mosquito’s ability to smell! This plant is very tough and drought-resistant once established, and only needs full sun and good drainage. And while it can endure many climates, it thrives in warmer areas. (Source: Garden Design)
If you do want to make your own simple lavender concoction to repel mosquitoes for use on your skin get some tips below.
To make a chemical-free mosquito solution, just mix lavender essential oil in water and apply directly on your skin. To control mosquitoes, keep the lavender plant pots around seating areas on your patio, backyard and garden. You can ensure yourself of blissful evenings. (Source: NatureHacks)
Rosemary
Rosemary
You can boil a cup of dried rosemary in a quart of filtered water for 20 minutes, and then strain into another quart of filtered water. Pour into individual spray bottles, to use when going outside where mosquitoes might be. Be sure to store unused portion in the fridge.
Another great mosquito repellent is rosemary. Both the New York Botanical Garden and PlantShed recommended this plant. Rosemary is an herb that many of us are very familiar with and their woody scent is exactly what keeps mosquitoes as well as cabbage moths and carrot flies away. They do best in hot and dry climates and thrive in containers, which may be ideal for areas with winters. They can also be pruned into all sorts of shapes and sizes and make great borders or decorations. While the pests stay away you can enjoy the herb’s scent and also use it to season your cooking. (Source: Garden Design)
Speaking of cooking, when barbecuing add some sprigs of rosemary to the grill and the wafting scent will keep mosquitoes out of the yard while you cook!
In addition, rosemary is another plant that can also be used as the main ingredient in a repellent you can create to use on your skin.
To control mosquitoes in warmer months, place rosemary plant pots in the yard. To make a skin-friendly rosemary mosquito repellant, mix 4 drops of rosemary essential oil and ¼ cup of olive oil and store it in a cool & dry place. Apply as needed on your skin. (Source: NatureHacks)
Lemon Balm
Lemon Balm
This also smells a lot better than citronella or garlic and works well too. All you have to do is take the leaves and crush them and rub them on your body where skin will be exposed.
Lemon balm also keeps the mosquitoes at bay as its leaves contain citronella compounds in large amounts. The citronella plant is popularly used in commercial mosquito repellants and there is up to 38% citronella content in some varieties of lemon balm. You can grow lemon balm in your garden and allow them to proliferate, leaving less room for mosquitoes to thrive. To keep mosquitoes at bay, you can also rub crushed lemon balm leaves on your skin. (Source: NatureHacks)
Although the scent of this plant is pleasant and helps keep those irritating mosquitoes away it can take over your garden.
Lemon balm happily thrives in sun or partial shade, and should be kept in moist, well-drained soil. Keep in mind though that, like other mints, lemon balm is invasive, and it will spread and take over your garden like a weed if you let it. For that reason, it’s best to keep it contained in a pot. (Source: The Gerson Institute)
Catnip
Catnip
There are some studies that show that catnip oil is better at repelling mosquitoes than harsh chemical insect repellents. If this is true, you should try it. You can buy it already made catnip oil repellent or make your own catnip mosquito repellent. It works on other types of pests too.
Catnip (catmint) can be found thriving almost anywhere. It is from the mint family and grows abundantly both as a commercial plant and as a weed. It is very easy to take care of and may even start to invade other areas of your garden. However, if you are willing to forgo this plant’s insidious nature, they are amazing mosquito repellants and another recommendation from the BBG. In a study at Iowa State University, catmint was found to be ten times more effective than DEET, the chemical used in most insect repellants. (Source: Garden Design)
You may also attract some cats who will enjoy the catnip treat and release the natural aroma of the catnip for you if you grow the plant near your home in area you would like to repel mosquitoes.
Besides being an eccentric choice for cat lovers due to its ability to put our feline pets in a euphoric state, catnip has the ability to repel mosquitoes as a member of the mint family. Simply grow catnip near the backyard or patio of your house. Cats love the aroma of catnip put catnip leaves around your household for them to crush and eat, thereby releasing its fragrance to ward off mosquitoes. You can also crush fresh leaves then rub it all around your skin. (Source: NatureHacks)
Marigolds
Marigolds
Most people who grow vegetables tend to plant marigolds within, and for good reason. These magical flowers help banish many types of insects including mosquitoes. Of course, the smell is usually not that pleasant to humans either, but they’re not hard to look at or grow.
Marigolds, an easy-to-grow annual flower, emit a smell that deters mosquitoes. Grow them in pots and place them near your patio or entrance to your home to keep bugs out. Marigolds are also a popular addition to borders and vegetable gardens. According to NYBG, not only can they keep away mosquitoes, but they also dissuade aphids, thrips, whiteflies, Mexican bean beetles, squash bugs, and tomato hornworms. (Source: Garden Design)
How do marigolds deter insects? They actually have a compound used in many commercial repellents.
Marigolds contain Pyrethrum, a compound used in many insect repellents. A “screened cage method” study examined the repellent action of essential oils derived from Marigolds and Myrtle compared to DEET and found that it demonstrated the protection time of 50% essential oils of marigold and myrtle were respectively 2.15 and 4.36 hours, compared to 6.23 hours for DEET 25%.(Source: Natural Living Ideas)
Geranium
Geranium (Credit: Mokkie)
Plant scented citronella geraniums to help control mosquitoes in pots to put around your patio and in areas that you and your guests might want to sit without being bothered by mosquitoes. You can also crush the leaves and add to lotions to help the repellent work even better.
Scented geraniums seem to be a popular mosquito repelling plant. Recommended by PlantShed, BBG, and NYBG, the favored scent seems to be lemon scented, which is reminiscent of citronella grass. They are beautiful blooms with a strong fragrance that keep several types of pests away. These fast growing plants like warm, sunny, and dry climates, but if you are in a cold climate area, they can be grown in planters with constant pruning. (Source: Garden Design)
Other sources claim the scented geraniums are ineffective as a repellent or only effective when crushed to release their scent.
What do you think of any of the plants listed here? Do you already grow any? What are your experiences with their mosquito-repellent properties?
