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Rosslyn Redux – Page 22 – Reawakening a home, a dream and ourselves

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Champy Spotted at Essex Ferry Dock (circa 1980?)

Champy spotted at Essex ferry dock?!?! Once upon a time…

Champy Spotted at Essex Ferry Dock (Photo: Kathryn Reinhardt)

I’m gambling that it was around 1980 for no reliable reasons except the look and condition of the Old Dock Restaurant, the presence of ice shanties on a throughly frozen lake with no ferry canal, and the incredibly well executed snow/ice sculpture just north of the Essex ferry dock. It’s this last one that triggered a cascade of memories and lead me to hope that the photograph was taken by Jan Peden around 1980. More on that in a moment.

I make no effort to disguise my enthusiasm for hyperlocal ephemera and other artifacts, especially yesteryear photographs and other representations of our fair village. So you just might be able to imagine my excitement when I received this message from friend and neighbor, Kathryn “Kathy” Reinhardt.

Sorting papers and I found two Essex postcards you might like. One of the Split Rock lighthouse with a postmark and message from 1910. The other card was not used and shows the snow covered ferry dock with a frozen Champ swimming alongside. Photo is by Jan Peden; card was published by ECHO.” — Kathryn Reinhardt

I’ll get to the historic image of the Split Rock Lighthouse in a moment, but let’s pause a moment to appreciate the legendary Lake Champlain monster (aka “Champ”, “Champy”).

Champy & Nostalgia

I’m hoping that this post might rekindle community memory enough to learn who helped sculpt this superb likeness of our favorite surviving dinosaur. The uninitiated may remember Champy from the Sid Couchey painting/illustration of the friendly monster cavorting off the end of Rosslyn’s boathouse. I shared it waaayyy back on April 27, 2012, so it’s say it’s time for a resurface.

Champy in front of Rosslyn’s boathouse (Art: Sid Couchey)

Ostensibly a cousin to the Lock Ness monster, our Lake Champlain mystery monster is considered a myth by some, a fundamental fact by others. Happy hour sightings along the lake’s waterfront apparently offer particularly plausible viewing opportunities, though I’ll admit having never witnessed the friendly fellow (or is Champy a she?).

I suggested earlier that my instinct to date this postcard photograph sometime near 1980 derives from vivid memories of the years prior to and after the 1980 Winter Olympics which took place in Lake Placid. I was a boy, so my memories are likely ripened with nostalgia, but it seems that there was community-wide embrace of winter in those years. Likely catalyzed by preparations for the Olympics and then the afterglow, it seems that there were abundant winter happenings — toboggan runs, outdoor jogging contests, cross country ski races, skating rinks, fish fries with freshly caught smelt, and snow sculptures — that drew people outside into the out-of-doors from community revelry. I remember competing in a cross-country ski race on the Westport Country Club golf course, and “red nose runs” in Elizabethtown. I remember fish fries at the old Westport beach, and the most horrifyingly thrilling toboggan chute down the hill and out onto the frozen lake. I believe that much of these memories are clumped around an annual midwinter event that was called the Westport Outdoor Weekend (WOW). And one of my favorite parts of this annual festival was the snow sculpture contest. Homes throughout the area competed for the bet snow sculpture. We used to drive around and admire them all. I believe I recall the Valley News even showcasing winners some years. And so this flood of nostalgia underpins my suspicion that this handsome facsimile of Champy might date to those years.

It’s interesting to me that the postcards, produced by ECHO, drew attention to the Essex-Charlotte ferry pier and history of service without a more inclusive mention of the Essex waterfront or the handsome snow sculpture!

Back side of Champy at Essex ferry dock postcard (Photo: Kathryn Reinhardt)

Split Rock Light

Let’s turn now to the second postcard that Kathy sent me. Although I and others usually refer to the historic lighthouse presiding over the dramatic geographic promontory jutting out into Whallons Bay as the Split Rock Lighthouse, I’ve notice this older references, especially the further back into history they fall, refer to it as Split Rock Light. That’s neither here nor there, but I find those little linguistic shifts intriguing.

1910 postcard depicting Split Rock Lighthouse (Photo: Kathryn Reinhardt)

I recently shared an almost identical postcard of the Split Rock Light, likely created from the same source photograph. The coloring, layout, and captioning differs between the two, but I imagine both images were late at the end of the 19th or beginning of the 20th century and then repurposed. It’s a compelling angle, especially because this same view today is less open. Here’s the postcard that I published on November 21, 2022.

Split Rock Light, Essex, NY (Vintage Postcard)

It’s fun to flip back and forth between the two images to see what’s similar and what differs. Back in November I was struck then as well by how thinly forested the Split Rock Light grounds were at the 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. (Source: This is Not a Metaphor)

That notable difference with the same location a century or so later vies for my attention, but so too does the message on the reverse of the postcard that Kathy sent.

In many respects this is the most formulaic, most universal postcard missive. We’ve all read (and possibly written) versions of this, right? But there’s a personal pleasure in the final two lines:

Having a delightful sail on this. — B.H.

As a boater in general, and a sailor in particular, this subtle sign-off hooks me. So often Susan and I spy this beautiful, historically significant spot by boat, and often by sailboat. So even though B.H. mostly went through the motions in the message area of the card, the fading memory of a sail on Lake Champlain, indeed on the enchanting broad-lake-to-narrows transition, appeals to my romantic imagination.

Back side of 1910 postcard depicting Split Rock Lighthouse (Photo: Kathryn Reinhardt)

I’d best conclude this post (definitively in need of an editor!) before I wander too much further afield. And yet I can’t resist acknowledging that one of the great satisfactions of these artifacts is not just the bridge across time, but the invitation to meander. To wonder and wander. And this post is proof that meandering is a favorite pastime for yours truly.

Thank You, Kathy!

This Rosslyn blog and the Essex community blog have been meaningful projects in large part because they have catalyzed a sort of community crowdsourcing, gathering all sorts of curious anecdotes, memories, stories, renderings, and relics from current and past members of Essex and environs. Any time I receive a message like the one that Kathy sent, my heart skips a beat. My anticipation builds and builds until the meeting or the phone call or the email or the letter completes the excitement provoked by the initial “teaser”. And so I close off this post with a holiday hug (stretched by distance but invested with bountiful gratitude) for Kathryn “Kathy” Reinhardt.

Kathryn Reinhardt preparing to “polar plunge” on May 1, 2016 (Photo: Geo Davis)

I hope she’ll chuckle good-naturedly at this fun photo that I took a half dozen years ago. It perfectly captures her perennial joy, her contagious laughter, and her warmth. I couldn’t resist mentioning this last 100% accurate description of Kathy’s character because she’s about to take an early springtime plunge into Lake Champlain in the photograph. Brrr…

December 15, 2022
Industrial Essex Waterfront

Industrial Essex Waterfront

In Essex we live connected with our history. There are daily reminders — architectural, cultural, anecdotal, etc. — of the yesterdays that endure or linger on today. It’s not so much that time has stood still (although there are plenty who will suggest as much), but rather Essex allows a concurrence of times. Past and present coexist in some respect, as layers or textures of our day-to-day.

And yet there are occasional reminders of our long gone past. The industrial Essex waterfront documented fuzzily in the postcard above, for example, stands in stark contrast to the same waterfront today. The industry and innovation alive and well in Essex today is very different from 100 or 200 years ago.

I’m especially smitten with Essex waterfront images, fueled no doubt by a lifelong yen for things nautical.

I appreciate lakeside time capsules that pop up unexpectedly like this historic postcard that I tried unsuccessfully to purchase on eBay. It turns out that another collector with deeper pockets (and more persistent auction monitoring!) was able to win this nostalgic view of Essex’s northern waterfront, but I’ve made an effort to render the low definition photograph slightly more legible for you so that you can decipher the stories suggested by yesteryear’s industrial Essex waterfront.

In my estimation the photographer appears to have been looking south across Blood’s Bay toward the cape or peninsula now known as Begg’s Park. This Essex “skyline” adorns a circa 1924 postcard, but the photograph was likely made years or even decades earlier.

August 19, 2021
Waterfront Winterization

Waterfront Winterization: Pulling out the boat lift on September 22, 2016.

There comes a time each autumn when summer has faded and winter is whispering over the waves. Or when work, travel, something eclipses the languid stretch of fall boating and watersports. Sometimes earlier, sometimes later, and as inevitable and bittersweet as fall foliage, waterfront winterization is an annual ritual that braces us practically and emotionally for the North Country’s frosty November through February.

The photo above chronicles the slow process of dragging the boat lift ashore. We use an electric winch and plenty of manpower. The aluminum dock is next. Rolling it in is the easy part. Lifting it up the stone terracing to higher ground is our version of crossfit.

Special thanks to Doug Decker, Erick Decker, Matt Smith, Alex Shepard, and Jeff Bigelow for making today’s waterfront winterization the smoothest and most efficient to date.

Boats on the Hard

Waterfront Winterization: Pulling the ski boat on September 21, 2016.

Usually in October, we haul Errant, our 31′ sailboat and Racy Rosslyn, our ski boat. This year we had to advance our haul dates to accommodate a busy fall schedule. In the photo above Racy Rosslyn is being towed away for winterization and storage.

Waterfront Winterization 2016: Errant is on the hard at a nearby shipyard.

Errant was hauled on Monday and now rests comfortably on the hard, winterized, and covered for a long North Country fall-winter-spring.

Thanks to everyone who’s helped with Rosslyn’s waterfront winterization 2016. Just think, in eight months we’ll reverse everything we just did!

September 22, 2016
Essex, NY’s Industrial Waterfront c. 1910

Industrial Waterfront, Essex on Lake Champlain, circa 1910

This morning I’d like to share a fresh (at least to me) look at Essex, New York’s industrial past. This vintage postcard titled, “A Lake View, Essex, N.Y.” (and allegedly published between 1907 and 1915 was recently available for auction on eBay. Sadly, I was overbid in the final seconds of the auction, but I’ll continue hunting for another copy of this revealing document.

Although I’ve shared other Essex Horse Nail Company images and artifacts before (i.e. Essex Horse Nail Company in Essex, New York and Essex Horse Nail Company and Wadhams Mills), this perspective was previously unfamiliar to me. And it’s fascinating!

I’m surprised by how incredibly immense the Essex Horse Nail Company’s building complex appears, especially in proportion to the other buildings in the historic photograph. I was unaware that such a large structure stood where Alan Wardle’s Nail Collector’s House, a singular, brass clad cottage, nestles today. (I admit this oversight despite the fact that I’ve often witnessed the old stone foundations that define the tree-shrouded promontory that inspired Steven Holl’s bold architectural.)

The treeless shoreline north of Rosslyn (perhaps looking south from the Wilder House lawn?) intrigues me. I’ve collected other historic photos demonstrating that most of the land north and west of Rosslyn were treeless fields (and orchards, so not exactly treeless, I guess), but I find the opportunity to witness views — now altered with trees and construction — enticing. Lastly, I’m reminded that there was a small dock house on/near the waterfront now home to Cabins by the Lake. I have other historic images that indicate that this dock house was part of a boat and automobile refueling station, though it’s not 100% clear whether or not that’s the case when this photograph was made.

And I’m reminded that I still haven’t definitively determined whether or not this northern Essex harbor (where Rosslyn’s boathouse is located but ubstructed by the shoreline trees on the right side of this vintage photograph) was once referred to as Blood’s Bay. Any credible historians able to weigh in?

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September 7, 2017
Sherwood Inn Waterfront

This morning I revisit a familiar and particularly popular perspective of Rosslyn’s lakefront or, to be more historically accurate, the Sherwood Inn waterfront in the early/mid 20th century.

Sherwood Inn waterfront with boathouse (Source: vintage postcard)

Sherwood Inn waterfront with boats (Source: vintage postcard)

Taken together this pair of vintage postcards forms a veritable diptych of the Sherwood Inn (aka Rosslyn) lakefront, “dock house” (aka boathouse), and a veritable flotilla of classic watercraft bobbing in Blood’s Bay.

Deciphering the Sherwood Inn Waterfront

This north-looking vantage was most likely photographed from the environs of the present day ferry dock that shuttles cars and passengers back-and-forth between Essex, New York and Charlotte, Vermont. As with most images captured almost a century ago, some details are blurry, lacking clarity and precision, but inviting the viewer’s imagination to fill in the gaps.

Looking at the second postcard (titled “Yachting on Lake Champlain, Essex, NY”) I zoom into the point where my vision — and the time sepia’ed rendering — become suggestive but unreliable. I’m studying an area on the water’s surface between the two most prominent motor cruisers, a spot slightly east of the dock house pier (visible in the first postcard).

Perhaps several small dinghies or rowboats at anchor explain what I’m seeing, but I can’t resist wondering if it isn’t a vestigial section of the northernmost pier that still exists on our waterfront today. Given the field conditions and all of the historic photographs that I’ve come across, the ruins appear to predate the dockhouse and the “coal bunker” pier that extended beyond it, originally for the Kestrel enduring into the last years of the 20th century.

Absent sharp focus and definition, this water surface anomaly distracts me, kindles my curiosity. I wonder. My mind wanders. I try to imagine the challenges of helming a boat through such a busy waterfront congested with other vessels and multiple semi-submerged hazards. We still contend with this navigational challenge to this day, and we’ve sacrificed at least two bronze propellors to the underwater ruins.

Do you see what I’m identifying as remnants of a crib dock extending west-to-east between two lengthiest cruisers? Any amateur sleuths out there? Let me know what you think…

Artifacts and Auctions

As I’ve mentioned in several previous posts, I offer these photo-postcards with a bittersweet postscript.

Recently I’ve been getting outbid in auctions of historic images of our home, boathouse, and waterfront. Did I mention that it’s the same bidder who keeps besting me? And did I mention that the prices are consistently soaring above the $200 to $300 range?

Fascinating.

I have no idea who is bidding against me, but s/he is keen to win these visual time capsules. I’d love to discover why. I’d love to discover whom. Perhaps a neighbor? Or a passerby smitten with Historic Essex?

Fortunately, my collection of Rosslyn artifacts is extensive. I often bid on photographs and postcards already in my collection. But I can’t resist adding duplicates, especially when combined with compelling missives. (Fortunately the first of the two postcards is blank on the back, and the second — the capricious capture of boats afloat —include a private but uncompelling note.)

But back to the unfolding mystery. The plot thickens. An unknown bidder consistently outcompeting yours truly after a decade or more with fairly few big dollar auctions. At the very least it’s clear that demand for historic Essex images in general (and Rosslyn images in particular) continues to increase. And to date no hint of another collector… Who. Are. You?!?! If you happen to be reading these words, please reach out. I’d love to learn what draws you to this somewhat esoteric subject. And I’d like to propose sharing images. Thanks.

Sherwood Inn Landing on Lake Champlain (Source: Rosslyn Redux)

Doubling Down

The good news is that I already own one of these two postcards. The image above of the Sherwood Inn waterfront photograph (with boathouse) has been in my collection for quite a few years. If you look closely you may notice a few subtle differences with the image at the top of this post.

I published this postcard (postmarked July 24, 1959) on May 21, 2015 in a post titled, “Sherwood Inn Landing on Lake Champlain” which includes the sender’s note. Yes, sometimes it’s worth sharing.

By way of conclusion, I’m embedding the Instagram post of these postcards which elicited some interesting comments/feedback that you may enjoy reading.

https://www.instagram.com/p/CWOQbhFrz8f/

November 14, 2021
Friend or Foe: Eastern Coyote
Eastern Coyote (Source: Rosslyn Redux)

The Eastern Coyote (Canis latrans var) is an omnipresent wild neighbor at Rosslyn. The tracks, the songs, and the holistic balance that the Eastern Coyote brings to our +/-70 acres are an everyday reminder that the wildway is healthy and that wild flora and fauna are thriving in our small slice of the Adirondack Coast.

Although I won’t pretend to present the most current science about a topic that is enjoying diverse debate among scholars and researchers far more learned than I, my understanding is that the eastern coyote which frequents our fields and forests is a relatively new hybrid (aka crossbreed) between coyotes, wolves, and domestic dogs.

“Eastern Coyotes are the largest wild canid in the Adirondack Park. They look something like a small German Shepherd Dog, with thick fur, bushy tails tipped with black, and large erect ears. Our Adirondack coyotes tend to be orange-gray or grayish brown above with paler underparts. The front surfaces of the lower legs are black, while the outsides of the legs are tan or rufous. The eyes are yellowish, with round pupils.” (Source: Wild Adirondacks)

In my firsthand anecdotal experience, the Eastern Coyotes we witness on our property are consistently larger than the coyotes we see on our property in Santa Fe, New Mexico. They are robust, confident, and healthy. While they’ve never threatened or even remotely intimidated us (or our dogs), I have more than once witnessed their curiosity. On the rare occasion when I’ve startled one on foot, it has fades into the forest almost immediately. But a couple of times I’ve come across a solitary Eastern Coyote while brush hogging, and it has lingered close enough to keep an eye on me, not so much following the tractor as keeping a wary distance but studying me. The experience has each time felt like a gift, a rare opportunity to observe this handsome canid up close without its immediate instinct to retreat.

This post, the latest installment in my friend or foe series, will endeavor to demystify Canis latrans var.

Eastern Coyote Family & Territory

A similar gift has been received on multiple occasions when we listen to coyotes yipping, calling, and howling. Often the voices merge from multiple directions, eventually gathering into a vast chorus. It can sound as if dozens of coyotes are fêting (and feasting) just beyond the veil of darkness, though I’m aware that the numbers are likely much fewer.

“The Eastern coyote does not form a true ‘pack’ with multiple adults living together like their relative the wolf. Instead they are organized as a ‘family unit’. Each family unit is made up of the adult pair and their pups from the current year. A family unit will defend a territory of 2 to 15 square miles against other coyotes. It is the territorial behavior of coyotes that limits their numbers in any one area.” (Source: NYS Dept. of Environmental Conservation)

In other words, the Eastern Coyote is an effective community organizer, dispersing its population according to the sustainability of the region within which it resides. And a healthy Eastern Coyote population significantly benefits the trophic dynamics within our broader community. Nevertheless, these charismatic canids are often misunderstood and persecuted. Efforts to extirpate coyotes are not only inhumane, they are also ineffective due to compensatory reproduction.

“Research suggests that when aggressively controlled, coyotes can increase their reproductive rate by breeding at an earlier age and having larger litters, with a higher survival rate among the young. This allows coyote populations to quickly bounce back, even when as much as 70 percent of their numbers are removed.” (Source: The Humane Society of the United States)

Eastern Coyote Concerns

Conversation about coyotes, coywolves, and most other apex predators inevitably incites worry among pet owners, farmers, and outdoor enthusiasts. Popular mythology has long touted the ferocity of our charismatic, carnivorous neighbors. While we are wise to respect their feral nature, wise to minimize risk to our domesticated animals, and wise to ensure that we not take undue risks or provoke wild animals of any sort, it’s also important to balance our concerns with a scientifically sound understanding. It’s even more important to adapt and embrace cohabitation; our ecosystem will pay dividends and our own health and pleasure will benefit immeasurably.

Frequent readers are aware that friend and Essex neighbor John Davis (Executive Director, The Rewilding Institute; Rewilding Advocate, Adirondack Council) serves as Rosslyn’s wildlife steward. He monitors the health of our land and the increasingly abundant flora and fauna that thrive in our small wildway along the Adirondack Coast. I reference here some of John’s advice on why it is wrong to kill Eastern Coyotes.

Killing these apex predators is wrong for several reasons:

1. It doesn’t work. If people are concerned about Coyotes or CoyWolves killing livestock or house pets, it is better to let the big dogs attain stable, self-regulating populations. Conflicts with domestic animals are most common in predator populations that are being persecuted, such that the young do not have mature role models to teach them to hunt and keep clear of people.

2. Apex predators, particularly top carnivores, are essential members of healthy ecosystems. They help hold herbivores in check and prevent them from over-browsing plant communities…

Hunting by humans does not mimic hunting by native carnivores, for human hunters usually target the big strong “trophy” animals, whereas natural predators select out the weak. Plus, the mere presence of top predators keeps herbivores more alert and healthy and less prone to congregating in and over-browsing sensitive habitats. (Source: John Davis, Wrong to Kill Coyotes, Wolves and CoyWolves | Essex on Lake Champlain)

John’s full article warrants a read. Just use the link in the citation above. And I will sit down with him soon (soonish?) for a one-on-one “Coyote Q&A” in the hopes of fleshing out his perspective and following up on your feedback. Please reach out with questions, etc. in the comments below or via social media.

By way of ellipsis until I post the “Coyote Q&A”, my personal experience is one of wonder and gratitude for our resident coyotes. They keep the deer population healthy and balance the rodent and rabbit populations (effectively reducing Lyme disease risks). And their song is the Adirondack anthem I savor when I’m in Essex and miss when I’m away.

Coyote Haikus

Frequent photographs from our trail cams document the healthy population of wild canines calling our fields and forests home. Although abundant, the familiar faces greeting us in photos win us over again and again. And sometimes inspiration strikes in the form of a coyote haiku. Or two.

Coyote Haiku I

Lone inquisitor –
scissoring, scanning, coursing –
stealthy swashbuckler.

Coyote Haiku II

Handsome hybrids hunt,
decipher scent streams, patrol
coyote crossroads.

I admit to feeling a certain romance for these wild distant cousins to the Labrador retrievers we have owned. I’m not blind to the challenges they pose for farmers, but there is an increasingly robust and reliable body of scientific research that can help guide sustainable agriculture in concert with coyotes and other apex predators. It’s high time that we learn to live together with our wild neighbors.

Coyote Photos

The following photographs of Eastern Coyote were recorded with our trail cameras and have been shared over social media.

https://www.instagram.com/p/CVWGHvgP29I/

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by (@rosslynredux)

https://www.instagram.com/p/CLh1XilglN1/

Here are some more coyote photographs captured on our Rosslyn trail cams.

Eastern Coyote, Trail Cam 2021 (Source: Rosslyn Redux)

Eastern Coyote, Trail Cam 2021 (Source: Rosslyn Redux)

Eastern Coyote, Trail Cam 2021 (Source: Rosslyn Redux)

Eastern Coyote, Trail Cam 2021 (Source: Rosslyn Redux)

Previous Coyote Posts

If you’re interested, here are some additional posts where I’ve featured coyotes photographed at Rosslyn:
- Coyotes Captured on Camera
- Coyotes and White Tail Deer
January 6, 2022
Don’t Forget to Live

A little reminder, because, some days, we all need just a little reminder. A gentle, timely nudge. A whisper in the ear. An arm around the shoulders. A compassionate eye-to-eye pause. Work. But don’t forget to live.

Daily Reminder (Photo: Geo Davis)

Inside my medicine cabinet, open in the photograph above, printed on a small piece of paper, secured to the back of the mirror with an aging, and possibly-soon-failing piece of tape, a simple but timely reality check. Each morning. Each evening.

Don’t Circled Reminder (Photo: Geo Davis)

Lest you missed it in the first photograph, I’ve singled it out with green marker. It’s actually a tiny “fortune“ from a teabag.

Don’t Forget to Live (Photo: Geo Davis)

Maybe you too need this is quick reminder. Work, but don’t forget to live.

February 11, 2023
Cedar-Apple Rust on Pixie Crunch Apple Trees

Over the last two weeks I’ve observed two young Pixie Crunch apple trees in our orchard succumbing to cedar-apple rust. Or so I suspect.

I’m no plant pathology expert. And I’m an eager but admittedly amateur pomologist. So my hypothesis that dread cedar-apple rust has infiltrated Rosslyn’s orchard may be premature and far off target. (Do you detect my optimism?) Perhaps one of my astute readers will be able to help sort this one out.

Is this cedar-apple rust on Rosslyn’s apple trees?

July delivered the heaviest pressure from Japanese beetles that we have experienced since arriving in Essex, and some of the fruit trees have been largely defoliated by the hungry visitors. (The iridescent buggers are especially fond of stone fruit.) But they don’t seem to be the culprits in the case of the colorfully mottled apple trees.

It’s worth noting that the Pixie Crunch are the only apple trees affected. I plant a diverse mix of fruit trees with usually no more than a couple of each individual variety. This seems to be a blessing because none of the other orchard trees appear to be affected. So far.

It’s also worth noting that the affliction doesn’t seem to kill the trees. It damages the lower leaves but allows new growth higher on the trees. While it is possible that the blight is slowly advancing upward, it does not appear to have spread further up the trees, only to have become more pronounced on the lower portions.

I’m hoping that the condition is not terminal, that it will not spread to other trees in the orchard, and – this is my my most ambitious pipe dream – that I’ve misdiagnosed the affliction as cedar-apple rust. After all, it is actually quite a beautiful coloring. Multicolored polka-dots, yellows and oranges against summer green. A new fashion trend?

But Pollyanna fancies aside, I’d like to identify it as soon as possible so that I can attempt to treat it so that the apple trees can recover and focus their energy on new growth instead of combating the disease. Or, worst case scenario, if it turns out to be something that is slowly killing the trees (and may infect other apple trees,) I’m inclined to remove the Pixie Crunch trees now and replace them this fall.

I welcome your feedback, and I will do my best to keep you posted as I learn more and try to resolve the problem.

So what do you think? Cedar-apple rust? Something else? Although I dread admitting it, I’m fairly convinced that we’re battling a light invasion of cedar-apple rust which has undoubtedly evolved quite happily, unimpeded in the old meadows, volleying back and forth between the native cedars and old abandoned apple trees.

To brace myself, I’m digging into the nitty-gritty details. Anticipate a more in-depth look at cedar-apple rust soon as it appears the most likely suspect, especially since we have several Eastern Red Cedars (Juniperus virginiana) nearby upon which I’ve frequently witnessed (and photographed) the telltale galls…

August 1, 2013
Veggie Patch Lullaby

It’s that time of year again when we put the vegetable garden to sleep.

I’ve been asked if it isn’t bittersweet ripping out limp, frosted tomato plants and tilling under the rotting stems of zucchini and cantaloupe.

The leaves are gone and frost is frequent, but Rosslyn’s veggie patch is no crying matter. Far from it!

And you know, it really isn’t bittersweet. It’s a celebration of another bountiful summer, eating delicious, fresh produce harvested from a small plot of dirt a short walk from my kitchen. And it’s a celebration of the bounty yet to come. I know that sounds sort of “woo-woo” Pollyanna-ish, but I genuinely mean it. Putting this summer’s garden to bed is actually a way of starting on next summer’s vegetable garden.

I love composting almost as much as gardening!

Besides, there’s still so much happening in the garden. Shortly we’ll begin harvesting leeks and that’ll continue through Thanksgiving, maybe even Christmas if the ground doesn’t freeze.

I’ve stripped the Brussels sprouts in the hopes of fattening their frost-sweetened treats.

And I’ve just finished knocking most of the foliage off of our Brussels sprouts so they can continue to fill out. I’m about a month late, so it may not have as much effect as it would’ve otherwise. Under the best of circumstances this practice helps fatten up the sprouts.

The artichokes provide the only bittersweet harmony in my veggie patch lullaby. Out of a dozen plants, only six survived the swampy May and June early season. Plants that thrive in the sandy, dry, relatively temperate Monterey Peninsula struggle in clay soil flooded by rain after rain after rain. And of the six plants that survived, they developed slowly and bore no chokes. Three of the plants are at prime July first condition today! I’ve accepted that we won’t be eating any homegrown artichokes this year, but I’m not giving up hope for next year.

The Imperial Star artichokes remain healthy, but they failed to produce even a single choke this summer.

Given the decent artichoke crop me managed two summers ago and the outstanding bumper crop last year, I’m going to continue growing artichokes at Rosslyn. In fact, I’m going to undertake a bold experiment.

Ever since discovering that Imperial Star Artichokes can be grown successfully in our abbreviated norther season, I’ve been tempted to defy conventional wisdom.

Although artichokes in more forgiving climes can be grown as perennials, severe North Country winters and a short season require transplanting healthy, established juvenile artichokes and accepting that the crop will not endure from season to season.

It’s time to start harvesting the leeks, perfect timing for outside grilling and soup.

Annual artichokes are certainly better than no artichokes, but given our fruitless season I’ve decided to see if I can’t successfully overwinter our plants.

I plan to cut them back almost to their base once they’ve actually stopped growing and become dormant. And then, before we get any deep frosts or snow, I’ll bury the plants in straw, leaves and organic mulch to try and insulate them over the winter.

Nothing lost in trying!

November greens (and purples) that continue to nourish us.

And I’ve overlooked the still productive raised bed, still flush with greens. Although some of the spinach has browned off, and most of the kale is gone (some pest really did a number on it late this fall), the beets, beet “purples”, Swiss chard and lettuce continue to feed us.

So you see, the veggie patch lullaby is a happy, hopeful tune!

How do you feel when it’s time to put your veggie patch to bed for the winter?

November 2, 2013
La Vie en Rose

La Vie en Rose: Rosslyn boathouse during a late February sunset. (Credit: Kristen Eden)

Je vois la vie en rose
I see life through rose-colored glasses — Édith Piaf

Édith Piaf’s “La Vie En Rose” – usually translated as “Life Through Rose-Colored Glasses” – inevitably, joyfully came to mind when this sexy photograph was shared with me on Facebook by an Essex friend and neighbor, Janice Koenig. It turns out the photographer, Kristen Eden, is also an Essex neighbor and, if Facebook counts, a new friend.

Kristen’s photographs (see gallery below for a few more) capture warmth and tenderness, unusual characteristics for mid-winter images of icy Lake Champlain. Even on sunny days our North Country light in February tends to by harsh and severe, so these unlikely photos were a welcome sight. They lit up Facebook prompting “likes” and comments from many local and distant fans. My downsized, watermarked versions of her photos don’t fairly do the originals justice, but you can enjoy the image above, “Ducks swimmin’ in pink lemonade” (in larger, better format) on Kristen Eden Fine Art and Photography.

Sensuous & Harsh: La Vie En Rose

Piaf, France’s “Little Sparrow”, similarly blends the sensuous and the harsh. Perhaps it’s the scratchy old recordings. Or her crushed velvet sound. Or her swooping transitions and confident refrains. Who knows? A siren’s mystery. Listen and decide for yourself.

Piaf’s song wove itself inextricably into my already Pollyanna-prone psyche during my college years, and despite the lyrics’s unlikely resonance, they remain evocative and hypnotic half a lifetime later. Piaf’s sensuous sound makes me nostalgic for the years I lived in Paris even now as I type these words about photographs that remind me how much I am enchanted with Essex, a world away from The City of Light.

Thanks for your Rose-colored Glasses

Thanks, Kristen, for your stunning photographs. And thanks, Janice, for bringing them to my attention.

Pink Green Mountain sunset (Credit: Kristen Eden)

Lake Champlain sunset in February (Credit: Kristen Eden)

Essex-Charlotte ferry dock during late February sunset (Credit: Kristen Eden)

February 27, 2014
Garden Hose Haiku

Verdigris patinated copper pot holding a coiled garden hose near carriage barn entrance.

A coiled garden hose,
a verdigris copper pot,
sunset puddling…
— Geo Davis

Some moments are captured best with wordy reflection, others with a watercolor. Sometimes a it takes a photograph or a lyric ode. But best of all is an instant, a glance, a gasp… The briefest of moments. The ellipses suggesting an interstitial moment.

This verdigris patinated copper pot concealing a coiled garden hose, warmed by a splash of setting sun offered itself up as a haiku. It was not my place to question or resist.

August 7, 2022
Morning Light, Front Hallway

Morning Light, Front Hallway, August 20, 2022 (Source: Geo Davis)

Ah, that morning light… Long before we purchased Rosslyn, before we’d even had any realistic discussions about purchasing Rosslyn, and before I personally had wrapped my mind around the possibility of Rosslyn becoming our future home, before all of this, I began experiencing a recurring daydream.

If you imagine a daydream to be a bit like a film, the sequence started in Rosslyn’s front hallway. Actually, the sequence started upon entering the hallway, as if from the kitchen door. It’s early in the morning, dawn illuminating the interior, chasing shadows into corners. Tasha, our labrador retriever, accompanies me as I step into the hallway, carrying a cup of coffee, steam rising to my nose. I linger on the way toward the dining room, pause a second, two seconds in the buttery warmth, to witness a whole new day arriving at this exact moment.

The photograph above, taken one week ago, last Saturday at 6:23am, is for all practical purposes that opening moment in the daydream. There are some notable differences like the actual art, carpet, light fixtures, and other furnishings. But these are incidental. The mood and energy of this photograph perfectly conveys the opening moments of the daydream that I relived countless times in the extended prologue to our acquisition of this home. Although the interior of Rosslyn’s front hallway was in decidedly rougher shape during our early visits to the house (photos in an upcoming post), I imagined it looking — and even more importantly — feeling just like this.

A little over three years ago I shared the following image and an earlier incarnation of the haiku below on Instagram, but the daydream dates to late 2004 through early 2006, the period when we were visiting Rosslyn while considering real estate.

Morning Light, Front Hallway, July 8, 2019 (Source: Geo Davis)

Morning Light Haiku

Mellow morning lites.
Merry mantequilla lights.
Durable daydream.
— Geo Davis

Early Morning Vibe

I’ve been a “morning person” for, well, forever. I rise early. I do my best thinking early in the day. My wellspring of motivation and energy is most notably in the first few hours after I awaken. And, all things considered, morning just make me optimistic.

So it’s not particularly strange to me that one of my earliest points of connection with Rosslyn was a morning memory of an experience that had never actually taken place. Frankly, Susan and I did visit Rosslyn for almost two years before deciding to make an offer, but we never visited early in the morning prior to purchasing. So the material for this daydream was conjured out of desire and various tidbits gathered during non-morning visits. Apparently my unconscious curiosity and desire was pining for early morning, alone with my dog and a hot cup of coffee (another anomaly which I’ll touch upon elsewhere), to witness the intimate arrival of morning in the home’s entrance hallway (and dining room, another return-to-later detail).

When Susan and I decided on paint colors, I pushed for yellow. She wasn’t particularly keen. I no longer recollect what color she desired, but my yen for yellow was quite simply a yielding to this daydream. My imagination had confected a morning vibe that needed to be experienced in reality. Not a particularly compelling argument when horse trading with Susan over design decisions, but I ultimately prevailed. Trim we agreed on early throughout the house. Beach hardwood flooring, the period chandelier and wall mounted lighting, the rug, the art,… all of these were joint decisions. But the yellow walls remain a point of disagreement even now. In fact, we’re considering a change, and given her willingness to accommodate me for the better part of a decade and a half with faint yellow walls in both halls, I’m inclined to yield at last. (Psssttt… But I haven’t admitted it to her yet, so please don’t through me under the bus!)

August 27, 2022