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Rosslyn Redux – Page 17 – Reawakening a home, a dream and ourselves

Blog

  • Saint Patrick’s Day Recipe: Elk Green Chile Stew

    Saint Patrick’s Day Recipe: Elk Green Chile Stew

    With Saint Patrick’s Day upon us it strikes me as the perfect opportunity to update my venison green chile stew recipe with new stick-to-your-ribs dish that I prepared for friends last weekend. Why? Is today’s recipe Irish-influenced? Slow cooked in Guinness Stout? Neither! And the flavor profile is decidedly southwestern, not Irish. But how many opportunities are there to trot out an exceedingly *green* stew? And what better booze-buffer than Elk Green Chile Stew?!

    Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Here’s how I introduced my venison green chili stew (aka “green chili stew”) recipe back February 25, 2014.

    This time of year, green chile stew is an ideal core-warning, vitamin rich comfort food. If you’re only familiar with red chile, it’s time to try something new. The flavor is totally different, and you just might change your chile preferences. (Source: Venison Green Chile Stew)

    My 25+ year connection to Santa Fe underpins a hankering for green chile stew whenever conditions call for comfort food. This St. Patrick’s Day — cold and blustery with intermittent rain and a surplus of snow, slush, ice, and mid — is precisely when I crave a steaming bowl! Fortunately, I had just enough leftover to sate my appetite. The recipe below, like all stars really, gets better each day!

    Hatch Green Chile (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Hatch Green Chile (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Elk Green Chile Stew Recipe

    Consider the following recipe a rough guide, not a set of rules. (Ditto for all recipes, mine or otherwise!)

    Ingredients

    • 4 tbsp. olive oil
    • 3 medium/large onions, diced
    • 6 garlic cloves, minced
    • 3 lbs. elk, ground
    • 16 fl. oz. chicken or beef stock
    • 2-4 bay leaves
    • 4-6 cups green chiles, fire roasted/peeled/chopped
    • 4-5 medium potatoes, chopped
    • salt and pepper

    Preparation

    [I prepared this elk green chile stew recipe in an Instant Pot pressure cooker, but these directions can be adapted to crock and range cooking.]

    Heat olive oil in pressure cooker with lid off on low sauté setting. Add onions and garlic, stirring over low heat until the onions become soft and translucent. Add venison, and break up any large lumps of meat. Continue stirring and heating until ground meat is fully cooked and mixed with onions and garlic. Add remaining ingredients (except salt and pepper) and mix thoroughly. Secure pressure cooker lid, and cook under high pressure for 20 minutes. Allow pressure to release slowly, and change to slow cooker mode. Set temperature and timer for three hours (high) or five hours (low). Stir and check for adequate moisture from time to time. Salt and pepper to taste. Enjoy!

    Beck & Bulow Elk for Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Beck & Bulow Elk for Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Saint Patrick’s Day Stew

    Let’s dedicate this special Saint Patrick’s day twist on traditional, New Mexican green chili stew to the legendary Irish elk (Megaloceros giganteus). Sadly, no longer with us, this handsome specimen seems an appropriate subject of celebration on this holiday. I have relied upon a unique Santa Fe butcher, Beck & Bulow, to source this 100% free range grass fed and grass finished ground elk that was quickly and conveniently shipped to me in Essex.

    I should also mention that the Hatch green chile in the photograph above also originates in New Mexico. Although canned and jarred roasted green chile wouldn’t be our first choice if we were in Santa Fe right now, it certainly is convenient when we’re on the Adirondack Coast.

    Here are some snapshots from my preparation of the ultimate Saint Patrick’s Day feast: elk green chile stew. Bon appétit. Buen provecho. Bain sult as do bhia. (Apparently Irish…)

  • Old Glory & Mud Season

    Rosslyn boathouse during Adirondack mud season (Source: Geo Davis)
    Rosslyn boathouse during Adirondack mud season (Source: Geo Davis)

    I recently returned to Rosslyn after almost two months away. It was my single longest absence since buying the house in July 2006, and the extended hiatus was a bit surreal. I departed Essex in February and returned in April!

    For readers familiar with life in the Adirondacks, you’ll remember that we have the distinction of a fifth season in addition to spring, summer, fall and winter affectionately known as “mud season”. Okay, not so affectionately. Mud season — tied with black flies for least sexy North Country inconveniences — is tolerable for two reasons:

    1. Sugaring: Authentic maple syrup is an Adirondack staple. Remember the smell and flavor of real maple syrup, before corn syrup and artificial flavoring and coloring elbowed their way onto the breakfast table? Sugaring is as much a gourmet delicacy as it is a theme of story lore. Extracting maple sap and concentrating it into syrup or sugar wasn’t just a local sweet source before grocers and box stores. According to Bill Yardley, sugaring provided an occupation for lumberjacks during mud season.
    2. Transformation: Like a rite of passage, the Adirondack mud season is sometimes dreaded, usually messy, often cathartic and almost always revitalizing. Tucked between winter and summer, two of the most glorious North Country seasons (the other two are spring and fall,) mud season is our annual reminder that we aren’t living in paradise, just a near-perfect facsimile of paradise.

    This year I was traveling during mud season (not altogether a coincidence, I admit) which meant that I missed almost the only snowfall that the Champlain Valley experienced this winter. The silver lining? I also missed the slush and mud that followed.

    Maple Syrup (Source: Wikipedia)
    Maple Syrup (Source: Wikipedia)

    But despite my absence, life at Rosslyn sailed on smoothly. By now you may have realized that my bride runs a tight ship, possibly even more so when I’m away from home. And with Doug and Lorri contributing muscle and follow-through to my bride’s decrees, not much slips between the cracks. Except for the tattered flag…

    Upon returning from my travels I discovered that a concerned passerby had stopped to complain about the tattered American flag flapping over Rosslyn boathouse. He spoke with Doug, referenced his years of military service and departed. By all accounts, the passerby was courteous and respectful, and his concern was justified. Old Glory was in a sorry state of neglect.

    Doug promptly replaced the tattered flag and assumed that the case was closed.

    It wasn’t.

    A few days later the same gentleman returned and expressed his gratitude. And then he departed. No name. No way to thank him for his attention. A mysterious stranger with a patriotic soul and a neighborly spirit.

    Good flags make good neighbors.

  • Melancholy Boathouse

    Melancholy Boathouse

    Melancholy Boathouse (Source: Douglas Peden, Essex Studios)
    Melancholy Boathouse (Source: Douglas Peden, Essex Studios)

    Melancholy much? Yesterday I posted this achingly evocative image on the Rosslyn Redux Instagram feed with thanks to our neighbor, Emma, who gifted the vintage photograph postcard to us. It was a gift to her from Michael Peden who, in turn credited his father, Douglas Peden, as the photographer. Here’s an excerpt from my caption.

    Sometime in the early days of the millennium, perhaps. The condition of the boathouse suggested it may have been a few years prior to 2005 when we purchased Rosslyn. Such ethereal longing and melancholy in this painterly rendering. Hoping to learn more about this evocative photograph…

    It turns out that my conjecture may have been off by a significant margin. There’s still no definitive date for when this melancholy moment in Rosslyn’s history was captured, but some interesting insights have emerged.

    I’d guess that it is much earlier than 2005 – probably before 1985. If nothing else, the front porch doesn’t have its roof, and I don’t remember it ever being missing. The lack of the dock doesn’t mean anything, because with the water that high you wouldn’t see it, anyway. — Jason McNulty

    I don’t recall the porch roof ever being missing either. Quick check from photos I have shows the roof there in 1969 and again in 2004. — George McNulty

    Jason and George McNulty, two of the previous owner’s sons, have suggested that I’m probably off in my estimate by at least two to four decades. And George McNulty also shared another photograph doubling the subjects of my inquiry: when were these photographs taken?

    Rosslyn Boathouse (Source: George McNulty)​
    Rosslyn Boathouse (Source: George McNulty)​

    Melancholy Boathouse Revisited

    I’m grateful to Emma, Jason, and George for kindling this inquiry. And, as it turns out, the initial photograph gifted to Emma by Michael Peden (and ostensibly photographed by his father, Douglas Peden) which was in turn re-gifted to me has catalyzed even more intriguing feedback and photographs from Jason McNulty.

    Jason McNulty followed up on Douglas Peden’s photograph at the top of this post with some feedback from his father, George McNulty, Sr. from whom we purchased Rosslyn sixteen years ago.

    Sorry, but I really do not remember about the date. A good guess would be about 30 years ago. The photograph was taken by Doug Peden. It shows the dock house after I had rebuilt the cribbing but had not started to replace the roof. — George McNulty

    Jason amended his own thoughts and another truly unique photograph of the boathouse.

    For what it’s worth, if you fudge some numbers a little, this roughly corresponds with a picture that you posted on your site showing the dock house with its roof nearly destroyed by flooding in 1983. Given my parents’ finances at the time, it could easily have taken a few years to replace that roof. I’ve also found a picture in my collection from roughly 1989 showing a clearly new roof. — Jason McNulty

    Boathouse 1989, original un-enhanced photo (via Jason McNulty)
    Boathouse 1989, original un-enhanced photo (via Jason McNulty)

    Spectacular cinematic image! I’ve taken the liberty of tweaking the levels, etc. to improve the detail of the boathouse, pier, etc. Here’s the adjusted and enhanced version.

    Boathouse 1989, adjusted/enhanced for detail (via Jason McNulty)
    Boathouse 1989, adjusted/enhanced for detail (via Jason McNulty)

    I was curious about the photo’s provenance, also wondered about the boats, etc. Jason offered some helpful insights. Although he wasn’t certain who originally took the photograph, he felt confident that the year was 1989 (i.e. seventeen years prior to our purchase of Rosslyn.)

    When I added the file to my collection, I renamed it and added the year 1989 to the name. I wouldn’t have done so if I was uncertain about the year, although I have no idea now why I was so confident then. As for the sailboat, it was my father’s second sailboat during my lifetime. It was fiberglass and this picture must be relatively early in Dad’s ownership of the boat since he didn’t wait too long to replace the outboard rudder with an inboard one. This boat eventually disappeared from its moorings with no explanation, although the aluminum mast was still in the barn for years later. The first sailboat was a wooden boat, possible yellow in color, that sank on the other side of the dock (parts of its frame can still be seen), and its mast is now the flagpole for the dock house itself. The rowboat was one of three or four that Dad designed and built using plywood. Growing up, I rowed it all over the shoreline, going at least as far the marina. Unfortunately, part of the reason that Dad had to make so many was that they kept rotting out. — Jason McNulty

    Although I’ve wandered afield to be sure, my curiosity’s been awakened. I told Jason that I recollected him (or perhaps his father) telling me about the sailboat that sank. As a boater and a sailer, the tragedy etched itself into my memory. But, I told Jason, I didn’t realize that another sailboat had vanished as well. Mysterious. Might it also have sunk?

    It might have, but I doubt that it sank at its moorings. It was tied to a buoy not to far away from the dock itself, and I’m sure that Dad did things like check to see if the rope was still there or whether there was a large white blur underwater. Besides, unlike the wooden sailboat, the fiberglass one didn’t leak. Beyond that, though, I’m not sure. — Jason McNulty

    I’m aware that Rosslyn’s boathouse flagpole is their former sailboat mast. A perfect story instance of repurposing. And I have salvaged a few other pieces from the sunken vessel. But now my wonder wanders to the second sailboat that disappeared. Hhhmmm…

  • Meditative March

    Meditative March

    Mornings offer me moments of introspection, mostly optimistic meditations catalyzed by the dawning of a new day. A fresh start. So much pent up potential swelling. And like morning, springtime fills me with enthusiasm for what is possible. A seasonal morning. And so I’m finding myself lately absorbed in this liminal zone of daily and seasonal reawakening. Yes, it’s been a meditative March…

    Meditative March (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Meditative March (Photo: Geo Davis)

    This morning’s March 16, 2023 sunrise over Lake Champlain — with new snow still covering Rosslyn’s lawns and fields but the lake lapping languidly, never having frozen this winter — conjures exuberance and anticipation, both overlaid with dark silhouettes. There is heightened contrast and a lingering darkness. There is also explosive blooming of color and light. Our winter world is reawakening.

    With the official start of spring only days away, even the calendar acknowledges this liminal moment. Meditative March is not subtle in its instruction. Pause. Consider. Mindful morning meditations happen unbidden, but wonder wants throughout the day. Allow for it. Tea and rumination. A muddy meander. A hunt for green shoots parting the leaf rot, swollen buds bursting along stems and limbs, the Doppler effect of Canada geese migrating high overhead, locating last season’s allium stems hung for drying in a carriage barn horse stall,…

    Meditative March (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Meditative March (Photo: Geo Davis)

    There’s something about the light in that snapshot above — weak, filtered through cobwebs, illuminating edges, painterly, flirting with chiaroscuro — that mesmerizes me. It conveys that meditative March moodiness, as if the carriage barn, as if Rosslyn itself were ruminating, introspective, contemplative, wondering and wandering inward… Can a home brood?!?!

    I invite you to enjoy Mischa Maisky’s cello performance of Saint-Saëns’ Carnival of the Animals: The Swan coupled with the same photo below.

    https://www.instagram.com/reel/Cp2Y8r5AE2_/?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y=
  • Field Notes & Punch Lists

    Field Notes & Punch Lists

    So many photos and field notes and punch lists, marked up plans, pruned and grafted scopes of work. This is the ephemera of construction and the detritus of rehabilitation. A midden of sketches and diagrams, souvenirs of collaborative problem solving, artifacts of alterations and adjustments,… this is the tangled and layered chorus we seek to distill and remix into an oasis. Some days the process almost approaches autopilot. Others it approach mes a multi vehicle pileup.

    Field Notes (Credit: Geo Davis)
    Field Notes (Credit: Geo Davis)

    Although I’m as goal oriented as the next guy, as eager to complete the project as I was the day I started, I’m inordinately fascinated with the in-between. I romance the journey. I thrill in the process. The interstices lure me as much as the origin and destination.

    And so it is with this icehouse rehab. The journey. The myriad micro narratives tucked into each chapter.

    Punch List (Photo: R.P. Murphy; List: R.P. Murphy; Remix: R.P. Murphy)
    Punch List (Photo: R.P. Murphy; List: R.P. Murphy; Remix: R.P. Murphy)

    Currently we’re wobbling a little as we adapt to two members of our team succumbing to COVID, as we ramp up testing and masking (and wondering if anyone else is destined to become sick.) The icehouse is such a small, enclosed work environment, so it’s easy to worry that the contagion may have embraced others still testing negative. But angst breeds angst, not relief or good fortune. So I try, we all try to focus on matters we *can* control. Tony finishes beech flooring in the loft — sanding and cleaning and sealing and repeating — investing his energy and passion in perfecting the small but sensational perch where soon I will be able to install myself at my black walnut desk to write and revise and read. Supi and Justin began trimming in the coving, working the poplar lumber that was grown, harvested, milled, seasoned, dimensioned, and finished at Rosslyn. Hyperlocal carpentry. Leaning into tangible tasks, transforming sketches, plans, field notes, and punch lists into results is an analgesic of sorts.

    Tomorrow we will all test again. If fortune spares us, we will all be able to stay on task, charting a path forward, advancing through timelines and upon objectives. The wind will subside, the temperature will rise, the snow will melt, and the mud will gradually replace the ice. Perhaps the opossum will return to eat the cracked corn intended for the mallards, the daffodils will recover from the blizzard and begin to push their green fuses higher, and the high tunnel will warm to 103° again (almost tripling the temperature outside). If time permits, Susan and I may cross country ski through Rosslyn’s fields and forests after finalizing the order for new deck furniture. My brave bride might even take a polar plunge into 35° Lake Champlain. By choice. For pleasure. I will almost definitely not take a polar plunge into Lake Champlain.

    Field notes will accrue, punch lists will get checked off, and another chapter will be sculpted out of bits of wood, stories, laughter, memories made, and incremental headway. I am anticipating a good day!

  • Windy Winter Storm

    Windy Winter Storm

    This was not supposed to be today’s post. There were several others in the works. A timely update on progress inside the icehouse. And a meandering meditation on *reinvention*, specifically how it pertains to us — Susan, Rosslyn, and me — and why reinventing has become an enduring pillar for this project. But nature had other plans, so I offer you a compact photo essay about today’s windy winter storm instead.

    Winter Storm, March 14, 2023 (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Winter Storm, March 14, 2023 (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Let’s start with a cinematic snapshot that Pam took this afternoon. Lots. Of. Snow. Incredibly heavy, wet snow. When she took this photo, the wind was still not such a big concern. But, as you’ll see by the end of this post, that changed in the late afternoon and early evening.

    Winter Storm, March 14, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Winter Storm, March 14, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Although it snowed all day, it wasn’t until mid day that the snow really began to accumulate. Not sure how many inches we’ve gotten so far, but I would imagine it’s pretty close to 24 inches of the wettest, densest snow I’ve experienced in quite some time. I can only imagine how deep it would’ve been if the conditions were drier.

    Winter Storm, March 14, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Winter Storm, March 14, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Heavy snowfalls transform even the most familiar landscapes and lawn ornaments. In the snapshot above our tractor is dwarfed by the snow.

    Winter Storm Damage, March 14, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Winter Storm Damage, March 14, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)

    While I was in the icehouse, inspecting the days work, I heard a monumental thud. It was far too loud and reverberating to be snow sliding off the standing seam roof, a soundtrack we’ve become accustomed to over the course of the day.

    Winter Storm Damage, March 14, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Winter Storm Damage, March 14, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)

    When I came out to inspect, I discovered a massive ash tree split in half by the combined weight of snow and the pressure of wind building out of the north-northwest.

    Boom!

    Winter Storm Damage, March 14, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Winter Storm Damage, March 14, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Looking up the trunk from the base of the tree, it’s almost uncanny how precisely the falling tree targeted the icehouse. Fortunately, it wasn’t quite long enough to hit the building. But the proximity explains the reverberation I felt when the tree hit the ground.

    Winter Storm Damage, March 14, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Winter Storm Damage, March 14, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)

    As you can see, years, even decades of rot had formed in the crotch of the two tree trunks. This week spot inevitably succumbed to the wind and snow load. I suspect we will need to fell the rest of the tree as well, but I’ve decided to postpone that melancholy consideration and decision for another day.

    Windy Winter Storm, March 14, 2023 (Credit: Apple Weather)
    Windy Winter Storm, March 14, 2023 (Credit: Apple Weather)

    Instead, I’ll push positive vibes out to the weather gods this evening. In the screen grab above you can see that the winds are still mounting (with gusts up to 45 mph overnight.) So there’s still cause for concern. That said, I suspect that worrying is unlikely to alter the forces of nature. Instead I think I’ll join my wife and nephew for a glass of wine and a delicious dinner to celebrate the cross-country ski outing from which we have just returned.

    https://www.instagram.com/reel/Cpz4XyOAHtB/?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y=
  • Clearing Out Historic Icehouse

    Clearing Out Historic Icehouse

    Clearing Out Historic Icehouse (Source: R.P. Murphy)
    Clearing Out Historic Icehouse (Source: R.P. Murphy)

    Sixteen years after plunging into renovating Rosslyn we are… finally tackling the looong postponed icehouse rehabilitation. Sweet sixteen. (Source: Redacting Rosslyn v2.0 – Rosslyn Redux)

    In the image above you can see a notable improvement from previous images of the interior of Rosslyn’s historic icehouse. This underutilized outbuilding had become a storage space in the 15-16 years since it was saved from inelegant rot and collapse. Over the last few days the icehouse is being purged by Pam and Tony so that we may at last begin rehabilitation and repurposing.

    We entirely gutted the building in 2006 in order to structurally salvage the building. The northern and sorter facades had bowed at as the roof collapsed. The term used by the contractors at the time was “corn cribbing”. Once gutted, the north and south walls were gradually pulled back together over many months a little bit at a time, gradually restoring the structural integrity of the building so that new roof rafters could be milled and installed. That is what you see again today. But over the years the icehouse had become a lumber, architectural salvage, and woodworking space, gradually filling up so full that it was scarcely possibly to move around inside. That was still the case when the engineers from Engineering Ventures made a recent site visit.

    I’d guess that there’s still about a day of decluttering and organizing before the historic icehouse is once again stripped bare and ready for the next phase of rehabilitation. All of the materials that were removed have been inventoried and relocated to the carriage barn and the new storage container we’ve rented for the duration of the project. Hhhmmm… I forgot to document that. Not fascinating, nor savory eye candy, but I’ll account for the extra storage area we decided to add into the mix to facilitate job site organization, especially when gentle autumn yields to blustery winter. Now, with many of our existing building materials inventoried we can begin to organize a repurposing strategy. That’s right, baked into our recipe for transforming this historic icehouse into a flex workspace, studio, and outdoor entertaining annex is an ambitious vision of creatively reusing and repurposing a decade and a half of leftover building materials, architectural salvage, and lumber grown, felled, milled, and cured on site. I’ll articulate my admittedly romantic vision for how all of this stuff will be reimagined into a charming addition to Rosslyn’s menagerie of old buildings.

    For now, I’d like to celebrate the small victory of restoring Rosslyn’s historic outhouse to its metaphorical bones so that we can begin to prepare the interior for footings and crawlspace slab. Cheers to Tony and Pam for tackling the essential but unenviable task of cleaning [ice]house! Thank you.

    It’s going to be an inspiring few months of creative reimaginination, collegial collaboration, and transformation as this handsome historic icehouse gets the loving attention of our rehabilitation dream team. I’ll be introducing the entire cast of characters in the weeks and months ahead, and you’ll have an opportunity to witness up close and personal an historic rehab effectively reinventing a 19th century utility building into a 21st century utility building. This unique collaboration aims not only to repurpose a no longer relevant purpose-built structure into a contemporaneously relevant, utilitarian addition to this remarkable property, but also to reimagine the discarded detritus, the sometimes-elegant-sometimes-eccentric artifacts, and homegrown lumber, the byproduct of reopening the long neglected meadows west of Rosslyn’s buildings. We’ll include you in the rehab to the extent viable, and we’ll enthusiastically consider all recommendations, advice, and ideas. Thanks in advance.

  • Timeless Historic

    Timeless Historic

    “Once upon a time,” begins the story, the fairytale, the adventure,… It opens a door into the past, gentling the listener or reader into a moment long enough ago to seem harmless but present enough to feel relevant right now. A timeless historic canvas upon which to experience (or compose) a compelling narrative.

    Timeless Historic (Source: Geo Davis)
    Timeless Historic (Source: Geo Davis)

    This opening sequence invites the audience to suspend disbelief. Old and new, past and present, actual and possible, historic and confabulatory.

    Living History & Timeless Historic

    I’m drawn to the juxtaposition of old and new. In many respects rehabilitating Rosslyn and making our life here has blurred past, present, and future. History is alive. And similarly much of our quotidian existence is timeless. There’s a whimsical simultaneity of lives and times that infiltrates our lakeside lifestyle. (Source: Boathouse Illustration Revisited)

    Rosslyn invites reinvention. Re-imagination. Rehabilitation and playful, capricious, adaptation.

    I’ve come to playfully experiment, sometimes renovating that which is vintage or antique. Others times I accelerate aging. Or agelessness. And sometimes these shifts in perspective yield surprising, often refreshing new experiences. (Source: Boathouse Illustration Revisited)

    Within an historic home, design and lifestyle needn’t be frozen in antiquity. Both benefit from compatibility with the building’s historic architectural and aesthetic pedigree. But, I believe, an historic home likewise benefits when vitality and relevance today — contemporary livability, if you will — ensure that the home transcends the status of relic or museum.

    At best, an historic home is ageless, not in so far as the authentic historic architecture and design are erased, diminished, or compromised, but the functionality and usability endure. Rosslyn is in so many respects a timeless historic residence because two centuries after construction she remains an optimal platform for our lifestyle.

    How and why this is the case remain priority topics for me to explore in greater depth. And I suspect that my formative years at Deerfield Academy in Deerfield Historic Deerfield Massachusetts might underpin some of my instincts in this respect. But I’m meandering afield, so I’ll make a point of revisiting in a separate post.

  • This is Not a Metaphor

    This is Not a Metaphor

    Split Rock Light, Essex, NY (Vintage Postcard)
    Split Rock Light, Essex, NY (Vintage Postcard)

    In the vintage postcard above — faded, blurred, and stained with touch and time — the historic lighthouse located at Split Rock in Essex, NY reigns over a promontory bearing a curious resemblance to an arboretum, more landscaped and less wild than today. A copse of diverse specimen trees here, a granite outcrop there, a grassy bluff here,… I can’t help but see a sort of Split Rock botanical garden. But it wasn’t. I imagine the photographer and postcard publisher were likely thinking of the flora and topography as mere garlands for the centerpiece, the focus of the postcard: Split Rock Lighthouse.

    There’s something comely about an old lighthouse, a spire of stone stacked skyward to secure a lofty perch for a sweeping beam of light. Bold, dependable, comforting. Or is it? Perhaps it’s just a tall tower like a barn with a silo? Is tall bold? Is a fortress-like column comforting? We ascribe much meaning to lighthouses because of their function. They are predictable and dependable because predictable, dependable lighthouse keepers ensured that they were. Today, I suppose, that’s mostly the work of technology. Bold and comforting likewise derive from function. Stormy night, navigating challenging seas, unreliable visibility, a valuable cargo, and the wellbeing, heck maybe even the lives of the boat’s captain and crew,… And then a navigational beam cutting through the blindness, showing the way to safe port. Or at least around a potentially dangerous obstacle that might otherwise have scattered ship and crew, reducing their industrious mission to memory and flotsam and jetsam.

    In short, we think of lighthouses, so often portrayed in photographs and other artwork, as visually equivalent to the function they fulfill. We conflate the building with service it enables. We deploy references to lighthouses with confidence that our audience will understand what we mean. We think in metaphor. We speak in metaphor. And, by and large, the viewer, listener, or reader understands what we wish to imply.

    This Is Not a Metaphor

    Seven years ago, I was hit by a truck. This is not a metaphor. I was crossing the street two blocks from home when the driver, blinded by the sun, rammed into me. During my nine-month recovery, I began to reflect upon my life… I realized that for years, I had been stuck on an endless hamster wheel… I remembered the joke about the airline pilot who addressed his passengers over the intercom: “Attention: I have bad news and good news: Radar is down. We’re totally lost! But you’ll be glad to know we’re making very good time.” I knew I needed to make a change. — Susan Fassberg (Source: The Art of Looking – Reinventing Home)

    The tragic accident, Fassberg assures us, is not a metaphor. Real truck, real sun, real collision, and real injuries. But the hamster wheel and the airplane trip? Metaphors. A pair of accessible and effective metaphors help Fassberg tidily convey her truth. She was stuck and needed to make a life change.

    When Susan and I opted into the adventure of reawakening Rosslyn as our home, we knew that we needed to make a change. We were navigating disorienting liminal changes (personal, professional, financial, and even philosophical/ethical). In the midst of these tempestuous transitions, we latched onto a hope that Rosslyn would help us reboot. Rehab. Maybe reawakening a needy property would reawaken our own hopes, optimism, confidence. We were in need of a full system reboot. Unplug. Count to ten. Replug. And, in our infinite wisdom (read irony, ergo… our infinite folly?) we chose to believe that Rosslyn, in need of TLC (and possibly life support) herself, would be able to minister to us. Made perfect sense at the time!

    We had not been hit by a truck. Not a literal truck at least. Perhaps a metaphorical truck. Or several metaphorical trucks. And the joke about the airline pilot? Really, really familiar. Only, purchasing Rosslyn didn’t exactly precipitate a safe landing. Not for a few years, at least. And, yes, we were lost before throwing ourselves at the feet of Rosslyn, and we were often quite lost during those first few years.

    Sure, we needed change. But we basically leaped into the tumbling kaleidoscope of constant, unpredictable change, each juggle and bump triggering a dazzling aurora borealis of tumbling technicolor mystery. Mysteries. It was spectacular and intoxicating. And it was often disorienting. Sometimes it was debilitating.

    Are you with me? Maybe 50-100% clear on what I’m trying to say?

    No?

    Me either.

    Not a metaphor, I promised. And then, I dove into metaphor. Metaphors.

    Sorry.

    Sometimes what I want to say and what I think I want to say are like the nearly marooned boat captain and the fog-lancing lighthouse. Each reaching through the turmoil toward one another, but only occasionally, fleetingly connecting.

    When in danger of becoming marooned, I tell myself, narrow the focus. Tack 90° or so in a different direction. Decrease distance to desired destination by abbreviating the current journey….

    Projecting Passion & Lovestruck Infatuation

    I’ve often used the words “smitten”, “seduced”, beguiled, enchanted… when referring to Rosslyn. I ought to be more specific. I used these fuzzy euphemisms when describing my personal relationship with Rosslyn. And, in an effort to be as candid as comfortable — hopefully catalyzing some sort of catharsis, some sort of eureka moment clarifying this sixteen year affair with a home — I insisted, especially early on after purchasing Rosslyn from Elizabeth and George McNulty, that he, George McNulty, seemed to have had an almost four decade long love affair with Rosslyn. I even once asked his son, Jason McNulty, what he thought of that observation. I don’t recollect him making too much of my peculiar characterization, but perhaps I’ll find the opportunity to revisit this over-the-top and totally unjustified hypothesis. I bring it up now because it strikes me as peculiar that I initially felt so certain, perhaps I even needed to understand the previous owner’s relationship with this property as being a sort of love affair, an enduring passion that ran parallel to his marriages. And peculiar that Susan and I adopted this anthropomorphic oddity in explaining our own relationship with Rosslyn.

    I relied on this fuzzy explanation for our outsized investment of energy, resources, and life into an old house because it was a way of avoiding the complexity of our true relationship. I figured that my love entanglement language would simply be heard as metaphorical exaggeration. And I hastened to contextualize my own infatuation with the previous owner’s alleged love affair as if to suggest that this property had a certain charm that could only be approximated with the language of love and passion. We all tend to speak in hyperbole, especially when asked to justify odd, uncharacteristic, or extreme behavior. Certainly our family and friends would have been justified in describing our all-in obsession with Rosslyn as reckless, foolhardy  infatuation.

    But I suspect that most who’ve heard me claim that we were beguiled or smitten, never really took me literally. Perhaps I didn’t take myself literally. I’ve come to wonder if this is not a metaphor at all. Or if we’re unable to navigate, to grapple with loss and hurt and confusion and hope and optimism without the medicine of metaphor.

    Looking South from Split Rock Light (Vintage Postcard)
    Looking South from Split Rock Light (Vintage Postcard)

    Why did I illustrate this post with Split Rock Lighthouse? Why did I borrow Susan Fassberg’s brave truth and then trip repeatedly over metaphor despite an sincere effort to come clean, to carve our some crystal clear truth? And why is it so comforting to include this second postcard above as I wander toward my conclusion-less conclusion to this post?

    The vantage from the lighthouse, looking south, the postcard states (although its actually sort of southeast), across the northern end of the Split Rock Wildway, across Lake Champlain at the beginning of The Narrows, and then across Vermont toward the trailing end of the Green Mountain, this vantage is familiar. It is our metaphorical front yard. It is a significant reminder that our attraction to Rosslyn was, yes, a handsome old home and boathouse, but it was also this realm, this wild and overgrown invitation to let go… of so much. And to allow ourselves to gradually reawaken, to reinvigorate our hopes and dreams and to rediscover a future that had become stormy and confusing.

    [I’ve just attempted to reread this post without hitting delete. What in the world am I wrestling with? And why is it so elusive? Damned if I know. Yet. But if you’ve made it this far, I apologize. Sometimes the captain navigates the ship. Other times the tempest itself seizes the helm!]

  • Mixed Species Flooring Experiment

    Mixed Species Flooring Experiment

    Mixed Species Flooring Experiment: character beech and jatoba, a.k.a. Brazilian cherry (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Mixed Species Flooring Experiment: character beech and jatoba, a.k.a. Brazilian cherry (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Repurposing Rosslyn’s icehouse is an ambitious project within a diminutive space. On the one hand, it’s an historic rehabilitation of an obsolescent utility building into a home office/studio with lifestyle perks like a hot tub and firepit. It’s also an experiment in adaptive reuse: reinventing this no-longer functionally relevant building with materials cherry picked from 17+ years of architectural salvage, surplus building materials from several renovations, and a a carriage barn full of lumber harvested, milled, and cured on site from a decade and a half of restoration work in Rosslyn’s fields and forests. There are even a couple of personal objectives woven into the present project, but I’ll hem them in for now do that I can reflect on the mixed species flooring photographed above and below.

    You’re looking at two different hardwood species in these flooring samples: beech (this batch has been selected for its “character”, patterned grain) and jatoba (a.k.a. Brazilian cherry). Both of these are surplus remaining from our 2006-9 rehab of the house, and either/both of them *might* find their way into the icehouse. I’ll explain more in due course, but today I’d like to narrow our focus to our preliminary “research”, experimentation with enough whimsy and creative license that it almost feels like playing around.

    I’m referring to a sort of exploratory brainstorming, decidedly unscientific experimentation but curiosity-fueled artistic experimentation. The question we’ve begun to explore is what might be possible if we combined dissimilar wood species in the same floor? Could the beechwood and the jatoba hardwood flooring merge into an appealing design element? Would this experiment in combinatorial creativity contribute meaningfully to a unique, cohesive design?

    Wondering and wandering into this experiment was made possible by Pam and Tony who pulled stock from storage, arranged patterns playfully, and sent me the photographs to ponder. And while there’s still plenty of experimentation ahead in this little mixed species flooring experiment, the creative cogs have begun to spin…

    Flooring Experiment: jatoba, a.k.a. Brazilian cherry (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Flooring Experiment: jatoba, a.k.a. Brazilian cherry (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Why Experiment with Mixed Species Flooring?

    Sometimes the singing underneath surfaces in a timely manner. Good fortune allows the insights of Kathleen Kralowec to help answer this question. All of the following excerpts are drawn from her article, a wise wander that opens as if I’d written it myself.

    This article, I warn you, is itself an experiment: a conscious act of wandering.

    Kathleen Kralowec, “Why Artists Must Experiment” (Source: Medium)

    Let’s wander a bit with Kralowec.

    Recognizing an act as an experiment releases it from a lot of… demands of perfection. The outcome of experimentation is knowledge, and failure is just as valuable as success, because one has expanded one’s awareness of one’s own abilities, one’s deeper ideas, the potential of a media, a process, a genre, an art-form.

    And so we play with beech and jatoba, experimenting and exploring, yielding to our curiosity, risking failure, but also possibly failing our way toward success.

    Flooring Experiment: character beech (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Flooring Experiment: character beech (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Artists must experiment in order to find their way… because there is no other road-map, no other way to discover how best to navigate…

    As creatives we must grow comfortable with the prospect of forging our own way, navigating by trial-and-error. Kralowec goes on to propose the notion of a creative/artistic studio as a laboratory. Experimentation — and this encompasses failures as well as success — is fundamental to the creative process. And so Pam and Tony and I plunge headfirst into our laboratory, experimenting, mapping the unknown.

    Practice, or rehearsal, is meant to increase precision on an existing pattern of action. Experimentation takes us outside those repetitions, to unexplored territory, untried actions… Experiment is an open door, an invitation to do things that might not work, and its necessary for what we may as well call innovation in the arts.

    Jettisoning the familiar patterns, the customary solutions, and the “right way” is liberating, and sometimes a little unnerving. Welcome to the wilderness!

    Experimentation allows one to explore the wilderness of one’s own talent and the wilderness of one’s own mind… Sometimes one must let go, enter into the experimental space, give oneself that permission to stumble, in order to advance to the next stage.

    Mixed Species Flooring Experiment: character beech and jatoba, a.k.a. Brazilian cherry (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Mixed Species Flooring Experiment: character beech and jatoba, a.k.a. Brazilian cherry (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    And stumble, we will. Stumble, I do. Often. But every once in a while, wandering in this metaphorical wilderness of experimentation, we discover something singular, something remarkable.

    Extending Kralowec’s notion of art studio as experimental laboratory to our creative practice(s) in general, then it’s incumbent upon us to untether from the familiar, the tried and true, the already discovered, in order to wonder and wander uninhibited, in order to explore and experiment without prejudice and confining assumptions. Not always, of course. And we must be willing to fail. Often. It is this vulnerability combined with curiosity, and with the courage to challenge our constraints and catalyze that curiosity through experimentation into the possibility of discovery.

    At this stage we’re still early in our experimentation. Discovery is still eluding us. But our curiosity and our carefree experimentation are raring to go!

    https://www.instagram.com/p/CmFsG48OEa4/

    Now that we’ve experimented with the beech and jatoba flooring in their raw, unaltered state I have a couple of follow-on experiments I’m hoping to run. Stay tuned!

  • Upcycled Christmas Gifts

    Upcycled Christmas Gifts

    What wintery wonders shall I share with you today? How about a celebration (and showcase) of upcycled Christmas gifts dreamed into existence by three allstar members of our icehouse rehab team?

    Upcycled Christmas Gifts from Pam, Hroth, and Tony (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Upcycled Christmas Gifts from Pam, Hroth, and Tony (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Pam, Hroth, and Tony stopped Susan and me in our just-barely-post-winter-solstice tracks with an early Christmas gift (or three) that exemplify the apex of upcycling and adaptive reuse that I’ve been blathering on about for, well, for a looong time.

    [pullquote]These upcycled Christmas gifts are a product and symbol of renewal.[/pullquote]

    I talk and I type, but these three creative characters have reimagined and reinvented deconstruction debris into functional art and decor. They transformed a piece of old garapa decking and a handful of icehouse artifacts (uncovered during laborious hand excavation for the new foundation) into a handsome coatrack, and they transformed a gnarled piece of rusty steel back into a museum-worthy ice hook that turns the clock back 100+ years.

    Let’s start with the photograph at the top of this post which Pam accompanied with the following note of explanation.

    Hroth, Tony and I wanted to wish you both a very Merry Christmas. We came up with the idea to make a coat rack out of repurposed items. The wood is old garapa. I found the spikes in the icehouse during inventory and the hook was also discovered in the icehouse during excavation for the concrete floor/footers. Hroth custom made a handle for the ice hook. We also wanted to add a new hummingbird feeder to the garden outside of the breakfast area. Merry Christmas! — Pamuela Murphy

    Perfection! Garapa upcycled from Rosslyn’s 2008-9 deck build and miscellaneous ice hauling artifacts reconciled and reborn as a new coat rack that will greet icehouse visitors upon entering the miniature foyer, and a restored antique ice hook that will be displayed prominently in the main room. Bravo, team.

    Upcycled Christmas Gifts from Pam, Hroth, and Tony (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Upcycled Christmas Gifts from Pam, Hroth, and Tony (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    I was curious how Hroth had fabricated the garapa handle for the ice hook out of old decking boards. It’s so round/cylindrical that it looks as if he’d used a lathe.

    Two pieces of garapa laminated together. Started out about a 16 inch because it was easier to run through the table saw. I made an octagon out of it on the table saw, then used the big belt sander… I roughed it up a little bit. Didn’t want it to look too perfect. Then Pam suggested that we take a propane torch to it. Made it look older.

    It was a fun project. I still need to seal the wood and the metal. Penetrating sealer works well on metal. It’s sharp… We were thinking you might want to put some corks on the ends… or garapa balls. That was the first thing I thought of. We can certainly do that. — Ottosen Hroth

    Carving tiny garapa orbs to install on the spikes strikes me as the perfect way to complete the coat rack so that jackets can be hung without getting spikes. It’ll be a difficult-but-intriguing challenge! There must be some technique for creating a small wooden sphere out of a block of wood. Hhhmmm…

    I can’t imagine more perfect Christmas gifts. Their collaboration has rendered layers of Rosslyn history — from the late 1800s and early 1900s when the icehouse was in use, through 2008 when we built the deck that yielded this garapa, to 2022 when the old deck was deconstructed and the icehouse rehabilitation was initiated — into timeless beauty that will adorn the icehouse when it is introduced/revealed next summer. These upcycled Christmas gifts are a product and symbol of renewal. Our gratitude is exceeded only by Hroth’s, Pam’s, and Tony’s collaborative accomplishment.

    The flip-through gallery above offers a few more details, and all three (as the two featured photographs above) are documented inside the icehouse with mid-construction backdrops: old studs with new spray foam insulation and new subfloor ready for interior framing and hardwood flooring. It’s tempting to offer tidier or even fancier backdrops, but authenticity prevails. Future decor created from old materials, documented midstream the icehouse’s transformation. Future, past, and present. Concurrent history and hope, a timeless present, an artistic representation of this liminal moment.

    Backstory to Upcycled Christmas Gifts

    Susan and my gratitude to Pam, Hroth, and Tony is (and obviously should be) the focus of today’s Rosslyn Redux installment, but I can’t conclude without first considering a slightly more amplified retrospective, the backstory, if you will, to the new coat rack and restored ice hook.

    Let’s start by rewinding the timeline to 2008-9. Building the new deck and installing garapa decking was the proverbial caboose in a virtually endless train of construction that started in the summer of 2006. (Source: Garapa Decking 2008-2009)

    In the photograph below, taken exactly fourteen years ago today, Warren Cross is putting the finishing touches on our first deck build. Although the perspective may be misleading given the still unbuilt garbage and recycling “shed” which today stands directly behind Warren, this is the northernmost extension of Rosslyn’s deck. The stone step (actually a repurposed hitching post chiseled from Chazy and Trenton limestone (aka “Essex stone”) and the rhododendron shrubs are not yet in place either.

    But it you imagine the perspective as if you were standing just north of the morning room, looking back toward the carriage barn and icehouse, you’ll be oriented in no time. Oriented, yes, but nevertheless a bit disoriented too, I imagine, as you look upon a carpenter laboring in the snow to scribe and affix the garapa deck skirting / apron that will complete the installation that had began in the autumn with far more hospitable conditions.

    Warren Cross completing garapa decking installation on December 22, 2008 (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Warren Cross completing garapa decking installation on December 22, 2008 (Photo: Geo Davis)

    It’s worth noting that Warren, already in his mature years when he worked on Rosslyn with us, not only threw himself into difficult endeavors like the one above, he contributed decades’ of experience and an unsurpassed work ethic that inspired everyone with whom he worked in 2008 and 2009. But there’s an even more notable memory that describes Warren. He was a gentleman. And he was a gentle man. It was a privilege to witness Warren’s collegiality, and Rosslyn profited enduringly from his expertise. But it was his disposition, his consideration, and his kindness that make me nostalgic when I hear him mentioned or when I catch sight of him in photographs.

    These handsome upcycled Christmas gifts are enriched by memories of Warren Cross and others (Kevin Boyle, Doug Decker, Don Gould, Andy Cross, Jonathan Schier, Jacob Sawitski, and Mike Manzer) who labored from autumn-to-winter, past the winter solstice, and almost until Christmas, in order to see this project through. And that’s only the first chapter of Rosslyn’s garapa decking. This past summer, when we deconstructed and rebuilt Rosslyn’s deck, was the second chapter.

    In preparation for our summer 2022 deck rebuild we carefully salvaged all of this original garapa decking, and current experiments are underway to determine the most appealing adaptive reuse in the new icehouse project(Source: Garapa Decking 2008-2009)

    I’ve recounted our summer adventure in recent months, so I’ll simply say now that all of these new memories are infused into the coat rack and ice hook. In addition to Pam and Hroth and Tony, this new chapter in Rosslyn’s garapa decking journey summon fond recollections of David McCabe, Ed Conlin, Eric Crowningshield, Matt Sayward, Justin Buck, Jarrett Cruikshank, Brandon Dumas, Andrew Roberts, and Jason Lautenschuet.

    In terms of memories conjured by this repurposed garapa decking, I should include Hroth’s “research” this past autumn into how best we might reuse the lumber. There was such anticipation and excitement in the hours he experimented and explored. The image below perfectly illustrates the hidden gold just waiting to reemerge from the deconstructed decking material.

    Glorious Garapa: Upcycling Decking Debris (Source: R.P. Murphy)
    Glorious Garapa: Upcycling Decking Debris (Source: R.P. Murphy)

    I wrote this at the time.

    Hroth is continuing to experiment with the garapa decking we salvaged from our summer 2022 deck rebuild. I’m hoping to repurpose this honey toned Brazilian hardwood as paneling in the icehouse bathroom. (Source: Upcycling Decking Debris)

    Hroth’s discoveries underpin our plan to panel the interior of the new icehouse bathroom with what for a decade and a half withstood the Adirondack Coast elements season after season, and a rambunctious parade of footfalls, barbecues, dog paws, wetsuits, etc. It’s as if the new coat rack exudes the anticipation and optimism that many of us brought to the journey of upcycling the old decking into the new paneling.

    And there is an aside that I’m unable to resist mentioning. Pam’s late husband, Bob Murphy, who worked as our property caretaker and became an admired and dearly respected friend, several times removed and reinstalled Rosslyn’s garapa decking over the years — monitoring, triaging, and compensating for the failing TimberSIL substructure. He knew that we would need to rebuild the entire deck soon, and yet he waged a relentless campaign to extend the useful life of the deck as long as possible. I think he’d be proud of the work accomplished by the team this summer, and he sure would have loved being part of that team! And the icehouse rehab would have thrilled him. Needless to say, these upcycled Christmas gifts from Pam and Hroth and Tony also exude Bob’s smile, familiar chuckle, and that mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

    And what about that antique ice hook?

    I mentioned above an antique ice hook, and the photograph below illustrates exactly what I was referring to. Disinterred by Tony while cleaning out and grading the dirt floor of the icehouse, this badly corroded artifact bears an uncanny resemblsnce to a common tool of yesteryear: the handheld hook. This implement was most often used for 1) grabbing and hauling ice blocks and/or 2) carrying hay bales. The location where this relic was discovered (as well as plenty of examples uncovered by quick research online) strongly suggest that this is an antique ice hook. (Source: Icehouse Rehab 01: The Ice Hook)

    Isn’t a beauty? Well, rusty and corroded, but a beauty nonetheless, I think.

    Antique Ice Hook, artifact unearthed during the icehouse rehabilitation, 2022 (Source: R.P. Murphy)
    Antique Ice Hook, artifact unearthed during the icehouse rehabilitation, 2022 (Source: R.P. Murphy)

    The prospect of restoring that ice hook crossed my mind at the time. But it struck me as a challenging proposition given the advanced state of decay. What a surreal transformation from rust-crusted phantom to display-ready relic! It too is marinated in memories, some recent and personal, others vague and distant. In the near rearview mirror are the painstaking efforts made by our team to secure the historic stone foundation beneath the icehouse while ensuring the structural integrity demanded by modern building codes. A labor of loves on the parts of so many. And today we can look back from the proud side of accomplishment. As for the more distant rearview, the antique mirror has succumbed to the influence of time, the glass crazed and hazy, the metallic silver chipped and flaking. And yet we can detect traces of laughter and gossip as blocks of ice were cut from the lake, hooked and hauled up to the icehouse, and stacked in tidy tiers for cooling and consumption during temperate times ahead.

    A Glimmer of Springtime

    In closing this runaway post, I would like to express my warmest gratitude for the upcycled Christmas gifts above, and for a new hummingbird feeder to welcome our exuberant avian friends back in the springtime. Taken together this medley of gifts excite in Susan and me the enthusiasm and optimism for the coming months of rehabilitation and mere months from now the opportunity to celebrate a project too long deferred and so often anticipated. With luck we’ll be rejoicing together in the newly completed icehouse by the time the hummingbirds return to Rosslyn.

    Hummingbird Feeder 2022 Christmas Gift from Pam, Tony, and Hroth (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Hummingbird Feeder 2022 Christmas Gift from Pam, Tony, and Hroth (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Thank you, Pam, Hroth, and Tony for these perfect presents. And thank you to everyone else I’ve mentioned above for enriching this home and our lives. I look forward to rekindling these memories when I hang my coat or my cap up each time I enter the icehouse. Merry Christmas to all!

  • Stair Framing to the Loft is Complete!

    Stair Framing to the Loft is Complete!

    Stair Framing to the Loft Complete! (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
    Stair framing to the loft is complete! (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)

    First phase of interior framing (walls for bathroom, mechanical room, coffee bar, and loft floor) was an invigorating milestone in Rosslyn’s icehouse rehabilitation project. And then, installing the loft subfloor helped complete the transformation, visually defining the new spaces. But the most notable triumph during the interior framing phase is the stairway which has dramatically transformed—both visually and functionally—the construction site into a prototypical preview of Rosslyn’s icehouse reinvention.

    Stringers level for stair framing to the icehouse loft. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
    Stringers level for stair framing to the icehouse loft. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)

    An avalanche of accolades on Hroth and Matt for successfully completing the stair framing to the icehouse loft. Bravo!

    Stringers level for stair framing to the icehouse loft. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
    Stringers level for stair framing to the icehouse loft. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)

    Of course, skilled carpentry is the foundational ingredient for framing a staircase, but there’s a fair bit of mathematics and geometry as well. And then there’s the question of codes compliance. Lots of precise and inflexible dimensions enduring the safety of stairs!

    Stringers cut for stair framing to the icehouse loft. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
    Stringers cut for stair framing to the icehouse loft. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)

    And all of these ingredients need to be carefully coordinated to ensure successful staircase framing.

    Stringers cut for stair framing to the icehouse loft. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
    Stringers cut for stair framing to the icehouse loft. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)

    In the days prior to framing the loft stairs, confirmations were ironed out with the inspector; three-way meetings between Hroth, Pam, and yours truly reviewed plans, verified field conditions against the plans, checked and double checked everything to ensure that we were all on the same page; and then Pam and I stepped aside to let the carpenters perform their alchemy.

    Stringers cut for stair framing to the icehouse loft. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
    Stringers cut for stair framing to the icehouse loft. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)

    I’ve juggled my photo sequence a bit in this post to keep things interesting, but it’s worth noting that the first photo at the top of the post actually shows the staircase. And then the next for photographs document the process of installing the stringers.

    Mid-story landing 100% level for new stair framing. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
    Mid-story landing 100% level for new stair framing. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)

    In addition to the stringers, Hroth reconfirmed that the landing is 100% level, eliminating problems down the road.

    Stair Framing to the Loft Complete! (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
    Stair Framing to the Loft (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)

    Throughout stair framing verifying everything for level and plumb is critical so that micro adjustments can be made as needed.

    Stair Framing to the Loft Complete! (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
    Stair Framing to the Loft Complete! (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)

    Once stringers are secured and sun-treads installed, stair framing is ready for for further structural integration.

    Stair Framing to the Loft Complete! (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
    Stair Framing to the Loft Complete! (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)

    And then, Hroth moved on to framing the tops of the stringers where railing balusters will land. And he’s even begun framing in the built-in shelves.

    New bookshelves integrated into stair framing. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
    New bookshelves integrated into stair framing. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)