Notice: Function _load_textdomain_just_in_time was called incorrectly. Translation loading for the wp-embed-facebook domain was triggered too early. This is usually an indicator for some code in the plugin or theme running too early. Translations should be loaded at the init action or later. Please see Debugging in WordPress for more information. (This message was added in version 6.7.0.) in /home3/hipvacat/public_html/abdul2-rosslynredux-com/wp-includes/functions.php on line 6121

Notice: Function _load_textdomain_just_in_time was called incorrectly. Translation loading for the wp-last-modified-info domain was triggered too early. This is usually an indicator for some code in the plugin or theme running too early. Translations should be loaded at the init action or later. Please see Debugging in WordPress for more information. (This message was added in version 6.7.0.) in /home3/hipvacat/public_html/abdul2-rosslynredux-com/wp-includes/functions.php on line 6121
Rosslyn Redux – Page 26 – Reawakening a home, a dream and ourselves

Blog

Snow Fleas: Soggy Snowmelt and Springtails

Snow fleas? That’s a thing?!?! Yes, you read that correctly. Yesterday my bride, my beast (a perennially curious and wanderlusty Labrador Retriever) and I explored some soggy-but-still-snowy woodlands along the western shore of Lake Champlain with John Davis (The Rewilding Institute) and Jon Leibowitz (Northeast Wilderness Trust). It would be difficult to find a more interesting duo with whom to muck about on a balmy late December day, celebrating oak and shag bark hickory trees and pondering wild critter tracks.

In this melting eden we stumbled upon the snow fleas…

Lots and lots of springtails in December 2017 (Source: Geo Davis)

Does it look like someone sneezed pepper on the snow? Is the pepper bouncing around? You’re probably looking at springtails, also known as snow fleas. Don’t worry, they aren’t real fleas — they just bounce around in a similar way. (Source: WIRED)

That description, pepper sneezed on snow, is pretty much spot on. Bouncing pepper.

Lots and lots of springtails in December 2017 (Source: Geo Davis)

Springtails are incredibly abundant — there can be 250,000,000 individuals per square acre. They are active year round, but usually are hidden away under leaves or your favorite flowerpot. It’s a good thing to see springtails in and around your garden and woods. They are found where there is rich organic soil, and they help make more soil by snarfing up fungal spores, insect poop, and other debris. They rarely cause plant damage. (Source: WIRED)

Did you get that? Despite the assurance to the contrary by pest control companies, springtails are not bad guys. In fact, they’re good guys!

Springtails are not parasites; they feed on decaying organic matter in the soil (such as leaf litter) and, therefore, play an important part in natural decomposition. (Source: EcoTone)

Lots and lots of springtails in December 2017 (Source: Geo Davis)

Snow fleas are wingless insects, incapable of flying. They move by walking, and also by jumping. But unlike other famous jumping arthropods (like grasshoppers or jumping spiders), snow fleas don’t use their legs to jump… [They] catapult themselves into the air by releasing a spring-like mechanism called a furcula, a sort of tail that’s folded underneath its body, ready for action.

(Thus the name springtail.) When the furcula releases, the… [insect] is launched several inches, a considerable distance for such a tiny bug. It’s an effective way to flee potential predators quickly, although they have no way to steer.(Source: What Are Snow Fleas? All About Winter Springtails)

Lots and lots of springtails in December 2017 (Source: Geo Davis)

Lots and lots of springtails in December 2017 (Source: Geo Davis)

[Springtails] are able to withstand the bitter temperatures of winter thanks to a “glycine-rich antifreeze protein,” as reported in a study published in Biophysical Journal. The protein… binds to ice crystals as they start to form, preventing the crystals from growing larger. (Source: EcoTone)

And this intimate look at springtails courtesy of Mark Fraser (www.naturewalkswithmark.org) offers up the perfect wrap up to this first-and-probably-last post about snowy flea-like cousins to the other jumper pepper grounds…

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VjLKzogOj8Q&w=550]

Thanks, John Davis, Jon Leibowitz, and Mark Fraser!

December 21, 2017
Spring Meditation 2018
Welcome to springtime in the Champlain Valley, a glorious but slightly schizophrenic transition — sun, rain, wind, hot, snow, sleet, etc. — when springtails make way for dandelions.

This visual meditation captures the haltingly springlike transformation of a small corner of Rosslyn’s back acreage over the last three months. A meadow’s margin. A fallen tree. A setting sun…

The video was made by compositing photographs from a trail cam captured between March and May 2018. Unlike most of my previous trail cam galleries and videos, this series is thin on wildlife. For some mysterious (and a bit unsettling) reason, wild critters appear to have been less abundant than usual. Or more savvy to the presence of my camera? Nevertheless the seasonal transformation offers a soothing, meditative perspective on the end of winter and the arrival of spring. I hope that you enjoy it.

If you missed previous posts with photographs from the wildlife/trail cam, check these out:
Now that I’ve downloaded the most recent image I’m pondering where to place the camera this summer. Watch the garden grow? Document the orchard’s fruity bandits? Spy on the waterfront for minks, ducklings, and my water-loving Labrador Retriever?
May 30, 2018
Midwinter Gator Service

I mentioned the other day that frosty, persistent midwinter is the perfect time to get Rosslyn’s lawn and field equipment serviced so that it’s ready for prime time once the snow retreats and the dandelions bloom.

A few days before the tractor was picked up, the folks at Mountain View Equipment (formerly Giroux Brothers) retrieved the John Deere “truckling” for a top-to-bottom Gator service. The machine is a couple of years old, and this is the first time we’ve sent it in for a checkup. The battery has been running down between uses; the left rear side panel is cracked from an encounter with the backhoe teeth; and fluids, filters, etc. were due for a change.

Gator Service & Home Again, Jiggety-Jig

As it turns out, the battery hasn’t been charging since the day we took ownership of the Gator. The in-line fuse that enables the battery to get charged was never installed at the John Deere factory. Hmmm… Quality control?

The v-belt was ready for replacement ($60, ouch!) and the fuel sender was giving inaccurate readings. Not mission critical, but it would be a pain in the posterior to be working in the back meadows and find out that the Gator was out of gas despite a full gauge reading. And the replacement panel was installed. All of the routine maintenance (filters, spark plugs, fluids, etc.) was undertaken including a pressure wash and spit shine. Well, minus the spit, I hope.

Gator service complete.

Gator Service Done, We’re Ready for Spring

With a freshly spruced up Gator, all we need is for the snow to melt and the temperatures to double. And – as if on cue – a blast of warm weather spoiled us on Tuesday (when the Gator was dropped off) despite a blizzard forecast.

March 15, 2014
Alert: Winter Storm Warning

Essex, NY weather December 10, 2014

In this age of mobile connectivity we’re never far from up-to-the-moment weather advisories and alerts. This winter storm warning interrupted me this morning.

Alert: Winter Storm Warning Winter storm warning now in effect until 11 pm EST this evening. The national weather service in Burlington has extended the winter storm warning for heavy snow and mixed precipitation until 11 pm EST this evening.

Locations The northern Adirondacks of New York as well as central and southern portions of Vermont.

Hazard Types Heavy wet snow and mixed wintry precipitation.

Accumulations Total storm snow accumulation of 8 to 16 inches of heavy dense snow along with around a trace of ice. Locally higher accumulations possible across the higher elevations.

Maximum Snowfall Rate Up to 1 inch per hour mainly this afternoon through evening.

Timing Light snows and occasional light mixed precipitation this morning will become steadier and heavier by this afternoon into this evening.

Impacts Travel conditions will remain difficult to hazardous due to snow covered roads and visibilities occasionally dropping below one half mile. In addition the weight of the snow and light ice accumulations may lead to additional scattered power outages. Snow amounts will vary by elevation with temperatures near freezing and road conditions will be highly variable.

Winds North 5 to 15 mph with gusts up to 30 mph.

Temperatures Steady from the upper 20s to the mid 30s.

The winter storm warning is abbreviated here to avoid the doomsday implications regarding “Precautionary/Preparedness Actions”. An early season heavy snow can be exciting. It might even offer us an opportunity to x-country ski before heading off to Santa Fe in a couple of days. (I’m feeling excitement tempered with the hope that this winter storm warning doesn’t delay our departure… Fingers crossed for the good without the bad!)

December 10, 2014
Aftermath: Winter Storm Damage

Winter storm damage throughout Rosslyn’s woods and meadows.

My enthusiasm for an early season blizzard was rewarded (punished?) severalfold. Be careful what you wish for! Remember the section about potential winter storm damage in my last post?

Impacts Travel conditions will remain difficult to hazardous due to snow covered roads and visibilities occasionally dropping below one half mile. In addition the weight of the snow and light ice accumulations may lead to additional scattered power outages… (via National Weather Service, Alert: Winter Storm Warning)

The weight of the snow was significant not only because of how much snow fell, but also because of how unbelievably wet and dense the snow was. It reminded me of spring snow. Heavy!

The good news is that it looks beautiful. Postcard perfect. Except when you notice the destruction wrought by the weight of the wet snow. That’s the bad news. So many trees were overwhelmed by the snow load. Massive limbs snapped off of numerous white pines. The majority of the birch trees are doubled over. Some will recover. Others will remain bowed forever. And, sadly, a few will snap.

Swinger of Birches

I can’t help but draw upon one of my favorite poems, “Birches” by Robert Frost, albeit with a shadow of sadness. Here are a couple of the most relevant lines. First, this chummy setup.

When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy’s been swinging them.
But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay
As ice-storms do… (The Poetry Foundation)

And then Frost’s melancholic realization that the trees will never reach for the stars again.

They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun. (The Poetry Foundation)

Surveying the Winter Storm Damage

My wish for a x-country ski outing before departing for the holidays was granted, though I might have thought it through more thoroughly before hurling my pipe dream into the falling flakes.

[pullquote]But as we glided into the first wooded area we realized how many trees were broken.[/pullquote]

Susan and I enjoyed the first leg of our ski, from house past the barns and through the orchard. Proceeding through the gates in across the first meadow we were still excited about the fresh snow which so completely blanketed everything.

But as we glided into the first wooded area we realized how many trees were broken. We skied all around the perimeter, and I even attempted a few inner loops. Everywhere devastation. At one point I even had to remove my skies to climb through twisted limbs completely obstructing the trail. Susan waged a valiant war against the limbs still laden but not yet snapped, poking and prodding with her pole to release the snow so the branches could spring up. But there were so many trees and there was so much snow. As darkness fell we glided back to the house with spirits sagging.

I’ll revisit this in a couple of days, perhaps in more detail. Or perhaps just with additional photos. For now I must hustle to get packed…

December 11, 2014
Winter Wonderland 2019
Sometimes meteorologists get it right. And Rosslyn’s winter wonderland 2019 just might become Exhibit A in the Meteo Defense column. Thank you, snow gods!

Winter Wonderland 2019: Rosslyn buried in 20-24″ of fresh snow. (Credit: P.M.)

Winter storm warnings wander across our radar often enough this time of year that we become a little meteorology skeptical. Not cynical. Just suspicious that promised snowstorms won’t quite measure up to the hype. Sort of a wait-and-see approach to meteorological forecasting…

But this winter storm was different!

With 20″-24″ of magnificent white stuff blanketing Rosslyn, it’s proof positive that sometimes their predictions are spot on.
- Winter Wonderland 2019: Rosslyn’s front entrance buried in 20-24″ of fresh snow. (Credit: R. P. Murphy)
- Winter Wonderland 2019: Rosslyn’s carriage barn and ice house buried in 20-24″ of fresh snow. (Credit: R. P. Murphy)
- Winter Wonderland 2019: Rosslyn’s “backside” buried in 20-24″ of fresh snow. (Credit: R. P. Murphy)
- Winter Wonderland 2019: Rosslyn’s boathouse buried in 20-24″ of fresh snow. (Credit: R. P. Murphy)
- Winter Wonderland 2019: Essex ferry approaching Rosslyn’s boathouse. (Credit: R. P. Murphy)
- Winter Wonderland 2019: Rosslyn’s stone walls buried in 20-24″ of fresh snow. (Credit: R. P. Murphy)
Spectacular, right? This snowfall reminds me of the snowfalls I remember from my Adirondack childhood in the 1970s and 1980s. Such massive mounds of powdery bliss! I sometimes wonder if my memory has been kidnapped by my imagination, but this winter wonderland is proof that epic snowfalls are real. And magnificent. Time to go outside and play.
January 21, 2019
Midwinter Mending
Midwinter Mending: repairing boathouse railing, December 22, 2021 (Photo: Cheri Phillips)

Sometimes it seems words can get in the way of our will and our wants. Often even. Sometimes words blur or over-focus or misrepresent… But they’re what we’ve got. And so it is that my morning words today, “Midwinter Mending”, endeavor to broadcast my will and want without blurring or over-focusing or misrepresenting. Allow, if you will, that these words are optimistic and matter-of-fact. An apt title for a tiny clutch of poetry that, like a seed perhaps, might germinate and flourish.

Midwinter Mending Haiku

A tiny building on Rosslyn’s waterfront. A tiny poem on a tiny moment like a threshold — midwinter, mid-repair — captured in a snapshot from a close friend. Probably a phone photo. A delicately distorted photo, watercolor-like in it’s impressionist abstraction, not altogether unlike stained glass that offers a fresh perspective on the familiar.
```
Friend’s ferry photo:
midwinter maintenance, mending
our boathouse gangway.
— Geo Davis
```
I hope that this haiku will fertilize the Rosslyn boathouse rehab, accelerating its already delayed completion before Lake Champlain’s winds and rising waters and, possibly soon, her ice begin to battle with the dock house. I hope…
December 22, 2021
Midwinter Amaryllis

Midwinter Amaryllis (Photo: Geo Davis)

I associate amaryllis with the winter holidays. An exotic flower for us, gifted when we’re fortunate, and occupying a central and highly visible perch, usually in the kitchen. Not sure why the kitchen except that there’s water handy, and life revolves around the kitchen this time of year, so the progress — from voluminous bulb to strappy leaves and robust stems to extravagant blooms — is omnipresent. We comment on the the rising and the unfolding, each time surprised by how much grandeur can explode out of that bursting bulb.

And like so many blooms that we cultivate, that we await and monitor and celebrate, the amaryllis is part of the elusive collection-cum-constellation I’ve been attempting to corral, the ingredients for a home. My home. For homeness. My homeness. What makes a house a home? Well, somewhere high on the list are plants. And this time of year there may be no more regal reminder of how beholden I am to these exuberant houseguests.

Today, I’ll defer to these blooms, a gift from our friend, Jennifer Isaacson, and the words of three poets who’ve grappled with the mysterious amaryllis. I’ll start with the two middle stanzas from Connie Wanek’s “Amaryllis”.

Months ago the gigantic onion of a bulb
half above the soil
stuck out its green tongue
and slowly, day by day,
the flower itself entered our world,

closed, like hands that captured a moth,
then open, as eyes open,
and the amaryllis, seeing us,
was somehow undiscouraged.
It stands before us now…
— Connie Wanek, “Amaryllis” (Source: Poetry Foundation)

Superb! This is the procession of anticipated joys, first small, then larger, then bigger than life. From this literal, accessible, potently visual poem of Wanek’s I turn to two separate section in Henri Cole’s “My Amaryllis” that speak to this current journey in ways I can only cite and not explain. Not yet at least. Hopefully soon.

Like my amaryllis, I need a stone in my pot
as a ballast.
— Henri Cole, “My Amaryllis” (Source: The Atlantic)

The enigmatic push-pull I’ve been grappling with lately, this relationship with Rosslyn that has outlived our original expectations fourfold and yet that nurtures us and revitalizes us, the recognition that this ballast rights us in heavy seas, buoys us in a storm, this conundrum cloaked in an evening gown simultaneously whisks me off my feet and holds me steady. Where from here?

Midwinter Amaryllis (Photo: Geo Davis)

At present, the where resolves itself by slipping down a few lines to this.

Vain as Picasso,
mechanical as a beetle, I want to make
a thing I haven’t made that says,
Look how he’s evolved.
— Henri Cole, “My Amaryllis” (Source: The Atlantic)

I’ll step aside and let this stand on its own. Well done, Henri Cole!

Midwinter Amaryllis (Photo: Geo Davis)

And for my last point of reference, my final poetic meditation on the enchanting amaryllis, I refer you to “Amaryllis” by Glen Mott. Of the three, this poem is at once the most complex and the most intoxicating. I’ll spare Mott my clumsy scalpel, resist the temptation to cull lines that resonate, and instead crib the writer’s observation about the poem.

“Desert nightfall in a border town, an evening of estranged emotions at the edge of articulation, harder to name than pliant happiness. Something in the form of an epitaph for lapsed solemnity. A mendicant’s bouquet.” – Glenn Mott (Source: Academy of American Poets)

It’s not often that a footnote to a poem carries the same muscle, music, and mystery as the poetry it seeks to clarify, but there it is. Plaudits, poet.

Midwinter Amaryllis (Photo: Geo Davis)

I imagine that the work of a mosaic artist might not always involve compelling fragments to coalesce around the artist’s vision. I imagine that sometimes it is enough to gather the ingredients, to push them into proximity with one another, and then to retreat. This evening I will test out this theory. Either I will succeed. Or I will fail.

In either case a new blossom is opening, and the midwinter amaryllis will be even more exhilarating tomorrow.

December 27, 2022
Winter Solstice: Longer Days Ahead

Griffin Considers Winter Solstice: December 22, 2013 (Photo: Geo Davis)

Welcome to day one of the Adirondack Coast‘s coldest season. Today is the winter solstice, the first official day of winter, and — more importantly for the likes of my mother and others who favor longer days and shorter nights — the threshold between the briefest day and the most prolonged night and imperceptibly-but-steadily lengthening daylight. If you live in the North Country it seems peculiar that winter should only have just begun given several weeks of wintery weather. Seasonality, in these parts, might suggest a slightly earlier autumn-to-winter transition, closer to Thanksgiving than to Christmas.

But the choice is ours to remark and not to make, so we soberly observe this hibernal milestone with tempered optimism that sunnier days await us on the other side. And, for the astronomically exuberant, it’s time to celebrate. Cheers!

If you’re longing for more sunlight, Wednesday is a day to celebrate: Dec. 21 is the winter solstice, the shortest day and longest night of the year — and first day of astronomical winter — in the Northern Hemisphere. It’s a sign that longer, brighter days are upon us. (Source: Justin Grieser, “First day of winter: Shortest day, longest night on December 21 solstice“, The Washington Post, December 21, 2022)

But, as with most tidy transitions, this threshold isn’t actually so tidy. Winter solstice may mark the shortest day and the longest night of the year, but the sunrise and sunset equation is slightly more muddled.

The bottom line: mornings will get a bit darker until early January, but we’ve already gained a few minutes of evening light. On balance, daylight will start to increase after Dec. 21, even as winter’s coldest days still lie ahead. (Source: Justin Grieser, “First day of winter: Shortest day, longest night on December 21 solstice“, The Washington Post, December 21, 2022)

So let’s focus on the lengthening days. And, if those increasingly cold days ahead bring snow, then let’s focus on that as well. After all, winter — proper, snowy winter — is one of our four favorite seasons of the year at Rosslyn! It’s a time for dog adventures, cross-country skiing, snowshoeing, alpine and telemark skiing, bird feeders flush with avian wildlife, and that unique flavor or crystal clarity that only a subzero morning can catalyze.

Winter Solstice & Onward: December 21, 2022 (Image: Dark Sky)

And speaking of colder days ahead, this screenshot from Dark Sky appears to corroborate the generalization, albeit with a curious exception on Friday. Winter is here, and it looks probably that we’ll be able to enjoy a white Christmas (unless Friday’s warm weather melts the existing snow and delivers rain instead.)

In closing, note that the handsome Labrador retriever atop this post is not Carley, our current dog, but Griffin, a prior pal-o-mine. We lost him just over two years ago, and the ache hasn’t subsided. Maybe with longer, colder days ahead…

December 21, 2022
Persimmons & Seasonality
Fuyu Persimmon (Photo: Geo Davis)

I’ve waxed whimsical on autumn before, and I’ve celebrated wonder-filled winter aplenty, but what of the blurry overlap between the two? Well, today I’d like to pause a moment betwixt both current seasons. Or astride the two, one foot in autumn and the other in winter. To borrow a morning metaphor from my breakfast, let’s pause for persimmons (as a way to grok — and hopefully embrace — our present seasonality.)

What?!?!

For the time being let’s sidestep the vexing fact that almost a dozen years into cultivating three persimmon trees in Rosslyn’s orchard we’ve never produced a single edible persimmon. Instead let’s look at persimmoning in terms of this morning’s sweet and sour, ripe and rotten persimmon episode.

Fuyu Persimmon, Sliced (Photo: Geo Davis)

I’ve been monitoring two pretty persimmons in the fruit bowl. I’ve been checking them daily for ripeness. Firm, firm, firm, less firm, slightly supple, soft, ready! Or so I thought this morning. I lifted the first much anticipated fruit in the lightless shadows of 5:00am. If felt perfect. I gathered the second and grabbed a small cutting board. I prefer to allow my mornings to illuminate naturally, calibrating by circadian rhythms holistically, so I generally avoid turning on the lights, even this time of year when 5:00am is still shoe polish dark. As I prepared to plunge a knife into the first persimmon, I detected something unsettling. The slick surface of the persimmon had a fuzzy spot about the size of a quarter. I turned on the light, low, but enough to show that I’d missed my moment with the persimmon. It was rotten. Moldy. Both. I’d literally been checking daily, often lifting both fruit from the bowl to examine them, but somehow this previously perfect fruit had suddenly become rotten. The second fruit showed not fuzzy rot spot. I carefully cut out the leafy stem, and sniffed the inside of the persimmon. Perfection. Somewhere between the consistency of gelatinous custard and viscous liquid, the persimmon was divine.

Fuyu Persimmon, Sliced (Photo: Geo Davis)

At this point seasoned persimmon aficionados are aware that I’ve been recounting an experience with hachiya persimmons (rather than fuyu persimmons), and the photos portray the latter. You are correct astute reader/persimmon connoisseur. And as my prologue likely betrays this morning’s experience was not well suited to photography. But it did remind me of a previous persimmon apropos of the actual topic I’d expected to explore in this post (but have so far mostly skirted.) And that memory, of a similar morning anticipating and then partially enjoying a persimmon is what lead me to these photographs. Why partially, I can hear you think. I partially enjoyed that persimmon, a fuyu persimmon, because the first few slices were ripe and delicious. But partway though the small fruit the sweet turned to astringent. And this puckering experience is a sure sign that the fruit is not yet fully ripe. Now, lest I’m misleading you again, I’m sorry to say, the photographs in this post are not of that persimmon either, though they are, in fact a fuyu persimmon. And, as a discerning eye might note, this photographed persimmon was delicious throughout.

So why all the persimmoning? The memories of this morning’s fruit and the part ripe, part unripe fruit a year or two ago, offer me a glimpse into the sort of autumn-into-winter transition we’re in right now. Almost ready, almost ready, over ready! And sometimes ripe and unripe at the same time. And, as I understand it, persimmons are often culturally associated with joy, good fortune, and longevity. I am hopeful that our present season change, still in limbo, but creeping closer and closer to that transition from autumning to wintering, from autumn vibes to winter vibes, might — like persimmons in the best of circumstances — may portent joy, goof fortune, and longevity for the rehabilitation projects underway in the icehouse, the boathouse, and our home.

1-1/2” ZIP System insulated panels reading for installation (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)

Willing Winter Away a Little Longer

There’s something meditative about this time of year, a marginal meditation on interstices, on the span between autumn and winter, harvesting and larder hunting, biking and skiing, Thanksgiving and Christmas,… This liminal space is tied with winter-to-spring for most dramatic transitions in the circle of seasonality. And yet some years, this year, the switch is far from binary. There are moments when we appear to be on the crux, the hinging moment between the most abundant season and the leanest season. And other moments we’re currently in both concurrently. Ripe and rotten. Well, not rotten, really, but in terms of exterior carpentry, the going gets exponentially more challenging once snow arrives and temperatures plunge.

And so, for a while longer, we’re willing winter away. Tomorrow we’ll be installing the first round of spray foam insulation inside the icehouse, and we’ll *hopefully* begin installing the ZIP System paneling outside the icehouse. In other words, we’re getting really close to having the icehouse ready for winterier weather. The boathouse isn’t really winterizable, however, and temperate conditions are a huge boon as we forge ahead. At the risk of temping fate I’ll admit that it’s almost as if nature is holding her breath, stalling between autumn and winter. With luck, we’ll be able to take advantage of a little more borrowed time. But she can’t hold her breath forever, and we’re all aware of that…

Autumning: haiku
```
Contented, hearthside,
contemplating afternoon,
crackles mesmerize.
```
This non-harvest, autumning haiku was born of Carley‘s lethargic mid-morning siesta by the fireplace. Contentment, canine style. It’s a tough life.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CljJSOFgoFV/

Wintering: unhaiku
```
Between blushing vegetation
and gingerbread outbuildings,
what name for this season?

Hustling pre-hibernation and 
melting flurries with breath,
what post apple appellation?
What pre skating designation?

I echo my own refrain again
into the autumn interstices
ringing with wintering song.
```
Willing Autumn Linger Longer

Like ripening persimmons, the transition from unripe to overripe happens whether we’re watching for it or not. Likewise fall vibes have been exiting gradually, and winter’s stark contrasts have been insinuating themselves into the autumnless voids. It’s inevitable that winter will arrive, and it will be glorious in its own right when it does. But here’s hoping fortune smiles upon us a little longer, that we can dwell in this construction-centric liminality for another week or three. Or right up until Christmas!
December 4, 2022
Bobcat Blurring

I spy a bobcat blurring brookside, loping contentedly across a path padded with pine needles. Do you see what I see? S/he’s pretty well camouflaged in the range of rusty hues filling the majority of this image. But look for the lean, well muscled legs, the bobbed tail, and the pointy ears with a spray of white fur behind and below each tuft. Now do you see the bobcat blurring up the trail from left to right, ascending just swiftly enough to challenge the wildlife camera’s focus.

Bobcat Blurring (Note: date should be 2022) (Source: Rosslyn Wildlife Camera)

It’s been a while since we’ve observed a bobcat blurring or otherwise, so this hind quarter, fleeting glance will have to do for now. From what I can see, she’s (yes, I’m committing, perhaps erroneously, but she strikes me a lithe and feminine!) a slender but healthy wild cat patrolling her territory, wayfaring the wildway, perhaps pursuing a mate, or perhaps just hunting for lunch. Perhaps all of the above…

We’re fortunate to share Rosslyn’s fields and forests with so many wild neighbors, and this is due in no small part to the conscientious efforts of our close friend and Rosslyn’s wildlife steward, John Davis (@wildwaystrekker), who patrols these acres year round monitoring the health and wellbeing of the the flora and fauna. I share this post today in part as a retrospective on recent bobcat sightings, but foremost to reiterate our gratitude to John for his gentle vigilance and guidance. His collaboration has catalyzed our hopes of rewilding much of Rosslyn’s land, ensuring a welcoming and safe wildlife sanctuary not only for bobcats, but for all of the wild neighbors that enrich our North Country life.

And, with respect to the bobcat blurring image above, we thank you, John, for checking the wildlife cameras on your final day of freedom before entering hip replacement surgery. Certainly you have more pressing priorities, but you took the time and made the labored effort (given the condition of your hip) to hike deep in to Rosslyn’s backland to check cameras. Thank you! May your recovery be swift and 100% successful.

Backward Review of Bobcats Past

Given the recent laps in bobcat (Lynx rufus) images, I’d like to gather some previous fortunate captures into a quick retrospective.

On January 13, 2016 I shared a bobcat sighting in Rosslyn’s forested backland, and then a week later shared a Chimney Point bobcat sighting on the Essex on Lake Champlain community blog. Roughly a year later, in the winter of 2017, I shared more bobcat images from one of our trail cameras.

About that time I shared another post on the Essex blog that has mysterious vanished, a bit like our wild feline neighbors who allow us but a fleeting glimpse — and then only if we’re exceptionally fortunately — before dissolving into their immediate surroundings. What does remain from that blog post is a poetic pull that I excerpted elsewhere.

Crepuscular is a cool (but decidedly un-onomatopoetic) word for the gloaming. Twilight. Cocktail hour… And this, neighbors, might have something to do with the bobcat’s invisibility. Although cocktail hour also seems to be the most oft reported Champy sightings, so maybe my logic is off! Maybe the peripatetic… behavior of Lynx rufus is a more likely explanation for infrequent sightings. Always on the move. Sly. Stealthy. (Source: Lynx rufus (Bobcat) Sighting in Essex)

Perhaps it’s the bobcat’s wandering ways that accounts for the fine reward when we’re actually able to set eyes upon this miniature housing of the mountain lion.

In March of 2016 I encouraged John to amplify our understanding of Lynx rufus, and he obliged with a pair of posts on the Essex blog that are well worth a read. Here’s a compelling introduction to the first post.

Imagine your housecat at her finest, add fifteen pounds of muscle and brain, make her even more symmetrical and athletic, shorten her tail, enhance her beauty, and you have the basic image of a Bobcat. — John Davis (Source: Lynx rufus: Our Resilient Bobcat)

John offered a more concerned perspective and context in his second post.

Many of the once great wildcats of North America have been persecuted to extinction or have had their numbers dramatically decreased. In my previous post, “Lynx rufus: Our Resilient Bobcat,” I explained how the Bobcat has persevered in our region; however, some are pushing to begin or extend killing seasons on this predator who plays an important role in the wild. — John Davis (Source: Why Bobcats Should Be Protected)

Now’s a perfect point to abbreviate this post, but to balance the bobcat blurring above, I’ll remind you of a few other recent wildlife photos that I’ve shared on Instagram over the last couple of years. Enjoy these majestic cats, starting with this March 3, 2021 post.

https://www.instagram.com/p/CL9gCnNA0wg/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

It’s hard not to see a big of a tiger in that robust cat. Here’s another image that I shared on March 14, 2021.

https://www.instagram.com/p/CMa9lzTAE-K/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

Earlier this year, on February 19, 2022, this sturdy bobcat made a few appearances.

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

And the next set of images that I posted on February 23, 2022 appears to show a different bobcat.

https://www.instagram.com/p/CaV6-GquRSo/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

One small takeaway from this series of bobcat images captured in Rosslyn’s fields and forests is that the best bobcat images are captured when the environment is snowy. Perhaps the cameras trigger better? Certainly the cats’ coats stand out better when photographed against a snowy backdrop. And this, of course, is good news as we head into snowier and snowier months along the Adirondack Coast. I will hope to have some new images to share with you soon.

December 23, 2022
Are Icehouse Rehab Updates Achieving Objectives?
Are Icehouse Rehab Updates Achieving Objectives? (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

On October 18 I laid out some goals for my series of icehouse rehab updates. I’d already been posting for about two and a half months at that point, looking in depth at the summer’s deck rebuild. I intended to continue posting for the duration of our adaptive reuse project, transforming a late 19th century icehouse into a 21st century studio+studio+flex entertaining space. Today, about another two and a half months into the journey, I’d like to evaluate whether or not I’m on target. Are my icehouse rehab updates achieving objectives?

Before revisiting the goals, I should note that I’ve neglected the serializing protocol—titling updates with sequential numbers—that I established at the outset. (I think this is only a temporary commission that I will/may update anon to help organize the posts chronologically.) This started when my updates fell out of sync with the calendar weeks which I’d initially used as an organizing principle. And subsequently I began emphasizing the discreet projects and people instead of the chronological sequence. Concurrently chronicling the boathouse gangway added to the confusion and incentivized focusing more narrowly on each notable project and progress milestone. Sorry if this has been confusing. Consider it an act of omission rather than an act of commission.

So, let’s start with my original list of goals.
The idea behind these weekly updates, chronicling our progress on the icehouse rehabilitation project is multifaceted (ie. muddled and evolving.) As I recap the second week, here are few of the underlying objectives:
- recognize/celebrate our distributed team (Trello to coordinate, @rosslynredux to showcase, rosslynredux.com to chronicle, etc),
- transparently map our rehabilitation process, accounting for the ups and the downs without “airbrushing” the journey (rehab inside out)
- document our fourth and final historic rehabilitation project at Rosslyn,
- inspire others to undertake similarly ambitious and rewarding rehab adventures, ideally with an eye to adaptive reuse of existing structures,
- and leverage this current experience as a way to revisit and reevaluate our previous sixteen years of Rosslyn rehab ad infinitum.
(Source: Icehouse Rehab 02: Adaptive Reuse)
That first bullet point was as much a personal planning memo as anything. Our use of Trello within the team isn’t really particularly relevant to readers, so I’m not sure why I included that. But I did, and we depend heavily on this application for keeping everything in sync; coordinating materials, subcontractors, and deadlines; tracking progress; etc. I’ve been using Trello for years, and it’s difficult to imagine life without it.

Are Icehouse Rehab Updates Achieving Objectives? (Photo: Geo Davis)

As of now I’m pretty pleased with the accomplishment on rosslynredux.com which I’ve succeeded in updating daily (162 days today!) with episodic, voyeuristic glimpses into the day-to-day. Although this chronicle, isn’t an unfiltered tell-all (in part because it would take too much time to record and relate in real time), it’s an attempt to live this project inside out. In other words, it’s an open door and an invitation. So far, so good. And challenge of documenting the progress on several concurrent projects happening at Rosslyn has re-immersed me in the quest—a protracted contemplation on reawakening and revival (domestic/residential and individual/personal) while exploring the role that home plays in this renewal—that I’d allowed the languish in recent years. And so it is that my daily updates are interspersed with reflections on the broader arc of our relationship with Rosslyn, wayward wonderings about the poetics of place, peripheral inquiries into homeness and nesting (and their alternatives), and even a fair share of introspection around how we perceive and remember and recount since I’m made daily aware how differing our experiences of the selfsame events and happening and conversations can be.

And then there is @rosslynredux in Instagram, a whimsical world of eye candy and creative chronicles and inquiring innovators and curious companions all around the world. Although there is much overlap with the website, I often discover a refreshing creative energy on the platform. Many inspiring connections have come out of this vast digital agora, and the encouragement and feedback have been deeply stimulating.

My second bullet above, “transparently map our rehabilitation process, accounting for the ups and the downs without ‘airbrushing’ the journey” has been mostly successful. Over the last five plus months I’ve welcomed a more collaborative creative energy to the project, encouraging others participating directly or indirectly to share their perspective(s). This has largely come with photographs and videos, sometimes words via phone calls, text messages, and emails. I am finding this level of narrative collaboration invigorating, and I’m hoping to encourage more in the weeks ahead. Diversifying the creative ingredients will likely improve transparency. That said, there are inevitable ups and downs on these sorts of projects, these sorts of timelines, and I’ve exercised restraint on several occasions when less filter might have made compelling storytelling but might also have compromised the collegial energy underpinning the many successes to date.

As such the metaphorical “fly on the wall” is more aspirational goal than reality, and the voyeuristic glimpses captured in these blog posts do not pretend to be much more than editorialized field notes. Shoot for objectivity; settle for subjectivity. (Source: Voyeuristic Glimpses & Mosaic Mirages)

In short, I’ve remained an active mediator, determining how much/little of the ups and downs benefit from 100% transparency. That said, this has been the “rehab inside out” that I envisioned at the outset, and it has added a fascinating component to the scope of our current projects.

Are Icehouse Rehab Updates Achieving Objectives? (Photo: Geo Davis)

Proceeding to the third bullet, I’m pleased with the fact that we’re documenting this final historic rehabilitation project at Rosslyn far better than any of the other three buildings. Fortunately I have years of photographs, notes, field notes, audio recordings, etc. that I’m now drawing upon to help fill in some of the “white spaces” in this nearly seventeen year adventure. There’s far too much discourse and brainstorming and troubleshooting to record it all, but I’m collecting plenty of material that I’ll post if/when time allows. I’m eager to show others what this process looks like, what a 16+ year rolling renovation project feels like, and I’m hoping that sharing this experience will also help amplify the idea of home renovation and construction and landscape design and gardening and nesting as creative arts, learning opportunities, and immensely rewarding adventures.

I’ve gotten ahead of myself, rolling right into my fourth bullet. I’ve waxed on elsewhere about the importance of embracing creative risk (especially Carpe Midlife), so I’ll abbreviate for now as the verdict—whether or not I’ve yet inspired anyone—is still out. But I’m endeavoring to immerse readers in the totality of a project like this, capturing some of the million and one small decisions that ultimately define the way everything gradually coalesces into a finished work. I’m genuinely hoping that the cost of creativity will seem paltry in comparison to the mountain of reward. If not, I’ll try harder! And the emphasis on rehabilitation, and repurposing, and upcycling, and adaptive reuse,… these are not intended to be preachy moralizing. Sure, they’re vital in this day and age, but they’re also immensely satisfying. Don’t trust me. Try it out!

My last bullet point is a goal that I’ve already drifted into. Throwing myself into the current rehab and maintenance projects, even as an ideas and oversight participant rather than a hands-on participant has reinvigorated my enthusiasm for Rosslyn Redux manyfold. I’m swimming in documents and artifacts and photographs and notes—sooo many notes—from the last sixteen years of Rosslyn’s rehab ad infinitum (and the life / lifestyle we’ve enjoyed as a result of Rosslyn’s benevolence). I’m attempting to curate the ones worth curating and attempting to dispose of the rest, distilling from a decade and a half journey the parts worth assembling into an exhibit of sorts. It’s a work in progress, and it’s still a daunting distance from any sort of unveiling. But I’m alive with purpose and enthusiasm. And the vision is clearer each day. So, I’m guardedly optimistic that a few more months on this same trajectory and I’ll be ready to articulate clearly and definitely what I’m creating. And why. If only I can maintain the level of acute attention, if I can sustain this peculiar appetite for sifting and collaging and jettisoning the sentimental that too often pervades the true and beautiful bits, then I will have accomplished my biggest goal of all. Let the journey continue to unfold…
January 9, 2023