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Rosslyn Redux – Page 27 – Reawakening a home, a dream and ourselves

Blog

  • All Zipped Up: ZIP System Installation Complete

    All Zipped Up: ZIP System Installation Complete

    Hroth finishes ZIP System installation on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Hroth finishes ZIP System installation on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    As it turns out, the snow-blizzard-cum-bomb-cyclone that hepped up meteorologists and newscasters, snarled traffic across the country, and added a decidedly wintery twist to the Christmas holiday for many across the country impacted us two totally opposite ways, one good, the other bad. Ever the optimist, I’ll launch with the glorious news: the icehouse rehabilitation is now officially weathered in. The ZIP System installation is complete, ensuring a weatherproof envelop around the months of winter work ahead. Hurrah!

    The icehouse‘s original 2-ply T&G sheathing is now 100% encases in structural insulated panels, and all of the seams are taped. The ZIP System insulated panels appear to have served us well, and just in the nick of time. Although the worst of the weather, fortunately spared us.

    The winter storm became a bomb cyclone on Friday as it tore through some of the country’s major cities… Atlanta, Boston, Chicago and New York are seeing wind gusts higher than 45 to 55 miles an hour, among other hazardous conditions. Buffalo was the hardest hit Friday, with wind gusts of up to 70 mph, said Greg Carbin, a meteorologist with the National Weather Service. Buffalo was ground zero, and “that’s where true blizzard conditions have been seen,” he said. (Source: Bomb Cyclone Strikes Major Cities as Temperatures Plunge

    Although winds and snows fortunately were not a problem at Rosslyn, we did receive a lot of rain, rain, rain. But just barely completed ZIP System installation ensured that the icehouse was spared the damaging effects of driving rain, flooding, etc. Phew.

    The photo essay below offers glimpse behind the scenes — Hroth, Matt, Pam, and Tony hustling to complete the ZIP System installation before the storm and before everyone headed off for Christmas vacation. And this brings me to the not-so-good news…

    Hroth was planning to spend Christmas with his 91 year old father in California. Flights? Check. Packed? Check. All systems go? Check. But after driving 2 hours to the Albany International Airport on Thursday morning, he learned that his flights (and basically all incoming Southwest flights to Pasadena) had been preemptively canceled. After exploring options, Hroth accepted that he would be unable to celebrate Christmas with his family. He climbed back into his car and drove two hours back to Rosslyn.

    Susan and I deeply lament Hroth’s unfortunate luck, especially because we’re well aware that departing earlier and postponing completion of the ZIP System installation would likely have permitted him to fly to California earlier. And so, we realize that prioritizing the weatherproof sheathing over vacation travel positively effected the icehouse rehab and adversely effected Hroth and his family. I am sincerely sorry.

    Hroth begins ZIP System installation on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Hroth begins ZIP System installation on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    ZIP System Installation Photos

    In the photo above Hroth is just starting out with ZIP System installation on the east facade. Note the newly installed flashing and custom copper drip edge that helps weatherproof the building’s cladding with accurate design integration templated from Rosslyn’s other historic buildings.

    Fast forward to progress on the southside.

    ZIP System installation on south elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    ZIP System installation on south elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    The north and south facades were completely installed approximately two weeks (see “Zipping up the Icehouse” for a gallery and overview), so tackling the south and east elevations at once brings the project to completion. In the photo below Tony’s own weatherproofing gives a hint to how cold it was as the team raced the weather toward the finish line.

    Tony and Hroth installing ZIP System insulated panels on east and south elevations of icehouse (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Tony and Hroth installing ZIP System insulated panels on east and south elevations of icehouse (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Panel-by-panel, Hroth and Tony zipped up the south and east elevations, knitting together the corners to ensure that the trim be be perfectly aligned and plumb.

    ZIP System installation on south and east elevations (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    ZIP System installation on south and east elevations (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Below, Hroth (foreground) and Tony (torso-less legs on ladder behind Hroth) finish nailing and taping the south facade Zip panels.

    Hroth and Tony installing ZIP System insulated panels on east and west elevations of icehouse (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Hroth and Tony installing ZIP System insulated panels on east and west elevations of icehouse (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    With the south side complete it was time to load up the nailgun and finish up the east side. In addition to the slightly blurry action shot of Hroth rebooting for the final push, the photo below offers an intriguing look both inside and outside the icehouse, inviting contemplation of how this same perspective might look early this summer.

    Hroth 2/3 complete with ZIP System installation on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Hroth 2/3 complete with ZIP System installation on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Once the panels are fully secured, it’s critical to seal all of the seams with ZIP tape to fully weatherproof the sheathing.

    Tony tapes ZIP System panels on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Tony tapes ZIP System panels on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Tony is ensuring that the sealing tape properly laps upper-over-lower seams to ensure proper water shedding both during the build and into the future once the building is redlaw in clapboard.

    Tony tapes ZIP System panels on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Tony tapes ZIP System panels on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Getting close, Tony!

    Hroth fitting final ZIP System panels on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Hroth fitting final ZIP System panels on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Hroth is scribing and installing the final triangular panels at the gable end on the east elevation. So close…

    Hroth finishes ZIP System installation on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Hroth finishes ZIP System installation on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    You can almost hear the Paslode nailer sinking those final nails through the paneling and into the icehouse’s street timbers.

    Hroth puts the finishing touches on the ZIP System installation. All four elevations of icehouse are now weathered in! (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Hroth puts the finishing touches on the ZIP System installation. All four elevations of icehouse are now weathered in! (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    I’ll wrap up this bittersweet installment with heartfelt thanks to the team for seeing this critical project through to completion to ensure that increasingly inclement weather (we are after winter solstice, after all) spares the icehouse AND similarly heartfelt regrets that Hroth has been stranded at Rosslyn, unable to join his family for the holiday.

    That last photo above offers a fun glimpse from my future loft study, capturing Hroth as he concludes the ZIP System installation.

    Zip-up Mashup

    And, for good measure, a quick video commemorating this chapter.

    https://www.instagram.com/reel/CmjmDZbhETV/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

  • Christmas Spirit

    Christmas Spirit

    Merry Christmas from the three of us — Susan, Carley, and yours truly — to you and yours. Today’s a time for family and friends and maybe a few memories. So, instead of waxing wordy, let’s celebrate the Christmas spirit with a few memories of Rosslyn past.

    Christmas 2012 (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Christmas Spirit 2012 (Photo: Geo Davis)

    These first two snapshots are from 2012, a decade ago according to the calendar, but yesterday in every other way. I enjoy the quirky sense of balance, symmetry even, in that photograph above. Three stockings beneath the three charcoal figure drawn it’s by Susan’s cousin, Rafael. A coincidence, if you believe me, but a decidedly agreeable one.

    Christmas 2012 (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Griffin’s Christmas Spirit 2012 (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Griffin embodied the Christmas spirit, eager to unwrap gifts, shred wrapping paper, sit confidently by as Christmas treats were enjoyed (all his DNA-driven retriever skills focused on falling crumbs), wearing goofy elf caps or antlers to please Susan, or just sitting by the tree at night watching the lights twinkling. Although two years since we lost him, Griffin is still very much with us this time of year.

    Christmas 2013 (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Susan decorating, Christmas 2013 (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Christmas is enriched and savored as much in preparation and anticipation as the actual day of celebration. And there’s nothing finer way to cultivate the Christmas spirit than finding and decorating a Christmas tree, listening to Christmas carols, and reminiscing and pipe dreaming together.

    Christmas 2014 (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Christmas 2014 (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Camouflaged in that evergreen darkness above is a silver silhouette with Susan’s name inscribed, a reminder of the first Christmas we celebrated together in Santa Fe, a looong way from Rosslyn in so many ways.

    Christmas 2015 (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Christmas 2015 (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Back in Essex in 2015! So much of the Christmas spirit is tangled up in our childhood associations, nostalgia, maybe even sentimental souvenirs like timeworn ornaments that have passed from generation to generation. In our family, two of those slightly unusual Christmas traditions are Christmas crackers during the big meal and corn cakes and Turkey gravy as a follow-up to the big meal. But more on those later…

    Upcountry Christmas Spirit

    I can’t resist wrapping up today’s holiday post with Heather and Lee Maxey’s “Christmas in Essex” mashup. As Mr. and Mrs. Clause they infused our annual town wide festivities with their own unique enthusiasm and Christmas spirit. And that quirky green “sleigh” is a perfectly delightful afterward to the John Deere “truckling” story.

    Clauses Celebrate Christmas in Essex (Credit: Heather & Lee Maxey)

    Thank you, Lee and Heather. And to all, a merry Christmas!

  • Icehouse Insulation Installation Complete

    Icehouse Insulation Installation Complete

    Phew. With Rosslyn’s icehouse insulation installation complete we can collectively exhale, confident and warm. Today I’d like to offer huge holiday shoutout to Kevin and Joe from Adirondack Spray Foam for wrapping up 2022 with the winter-proof armor we need to keep the icehouse project going fullbore over the coming months. Bravo!

    Installing Spray Foam in Icehouse Ceiling (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Installing Spray Foam in Icehouse Ceiling (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Some progress is pretty. Framing new window aprtures, for example. And some progress is practical. Installing helical piers, for example. Insulation installation is *indisputably* in this second category. And yet, aaahhh… What a relief to have the first phase of insulation complete! (Source: 1st Floor Insulation Installation and Subfloor)

    Those were my thoughts a couple of weeks ago when we started installing spray foam insulation. If phase one was a relief, completion is resoundingly reassuring, like a bear hug from the universe. Things are going to be alright. Winter will huff and puff, maybe even blast us with blizzards and deep freezes. But we’re cocooned snuggly inside a protective force field.

    Installing Spray Foam in Icehouse Ceiling (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Installing Spray Foam in Icehouse Ceiling (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    And combine the insurance of a thoroughly spray foamed building with the just completed ZIP System insulated sheathing swaddling is from the outside in? Aaahhh… It’s warming to just think about it. Ongoing rehab can continue afoot despite the taunts of our Adirondack Coast winter.

    Installing Spray Foam in Icehouse Ceiling (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Installing Spray Foam in Icehouse Ceiling (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    As I’ve explained previously, we installed 1-1/2” structural insulated panels on the exterior which provides R-6. The 3” of spray foam inside the walls adds another R-21, and there’s a bonus between the two synthetic insulation barriers. When the size house was built in the late 1800s, they filled the interior 2 x 6 walls with wood shavings for insulation. Although we removed all of that in 2006 while remediating rot, the exterior of the framing was sheathed in two laters of T&G separated by about an inch baffled with shredded newsprint enveloped in tarpaper. So these walls should now do a remarkable job of keeping winter cold out, and summer cool in.

    What about the roof?

    Adirondack Spray Foam installed 7” on insulation between the rafters which will amount to an R-49 thermal barrier sandwiched between the ceiling and the roof.

    Installing Spray Foam in Icehouse Ceiling (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Installing Spray Foam in Icehouse Ceiling (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    A decade and a half ago we wrestled with the best way to balance insulate Rosslyn. Ultimately, we concluded that our historic rehabilitation needed to balance heritage and environmental responsibility. Although we also use recycled denim insulation and mineral wool when appropriate, we’ve come to trust the energy efficiency of spray foam.

    Insulation Installation Complete in Time for Winter

    And then it was done. With our insulation installation complete, we can rest a little easier. January will inevitably plunge us into all manner of meteorological challenges, but we’re now in a much better position to power forward.

    Insulation Installation Completed by Adirondack Spray Foam (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Insulation Installation Completed by Adirondack Spray Foam (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Although blue green doesn’t exactly *look* warm, the icehouse now can be warmed with a space heater. We’ll see if reality meets expectation this week.

    Insulation Installation Completed by Adirondack Spray Foam (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Insulation Installation Completed by Adirondack Spray Foam (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    In addition to wall-to-wall insulation these last two photos capture the post cleanup tidiness. It’s the perfect tabula rasa to start framing this week.

    Spray Foam Insulation Mashup

    Let’s curtain call this post with an almost meditative mashup of the last lap of spray foam installation.

    https://www.instagram.com/reel/Cmp97yYB_hi/?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y=

    Thanks, Kevin and Joe.

  • Leftovers as Ingredients

    Leftovers as Ingredients

    Ingredients for Christmas Turkey Dressing (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Ingredients for Christmas Turkey Dressing (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Last night, I enjoyed Christmas dinner, the sequel. No, not the movie. The leftovers. Leftover turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, roasted, butternut squash, all smothered under her blanket of gravy. And for dessert, pumpkin pie, and pecan pie.

    And, as you may have predicted, it was delicious. Perhaps even more delicious than the first go round. Have you ever noticed that some meals just taste better the second time around? Hold that thought…

    And note that I didn’t mention leftover turkey dressing / stuffing. There’s still plenty of that, but I’m one-and-done with stuffing. I enjoy making it, but after an initial scoop (and a small scoop at that) on Thanksgiving and Christmas, I’m on the the tastier dishes. It’s too filling. Too heavy. Too, well, just less appealing to me, even when drowning in gravy.

    Ingredients for Christmas Turkey Dressing (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Ingredients for Christmas Turkey Dressing (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Leftovers

    This post is brought to you by leftovers. Yes, the ones crammed into your refrigerator right now. But not just those. Let’s expand our thinking beyond food. I imagine you have all sorts of remainders and vestigial scraps tucked into the nooks and crannies of your home. Junk drawers, closets, garage,… I’m thinking about all of those items (I’ll stick with “items” for now, but fair warning that I’ll soon ask you to consider them “ingredients”) that you could have thrown away but didn’t because you suspected that you’d be able to use them again in the future.

    You with me?

    Don’t worry, I’m not going to show you photographs of the two ingredients above as they after becoming turning dressing, after being served on Christmas, after getting scooped into a glass container, and after spending some time in the refrigerator. Sure, the turkey dressing is still edible, but it’s decidedly less photogenic at this stage.

    But last night while feasting on our Christmas dinner sequel I got to wondering why the leftovers tasted better during their debut. It’s different than stew and soup and even some pasta dishes, all of which seem to hit their stride only after they’ve had some time to rest a while. And maybe it has something to do with the fact that my first experience with this meal followed a morning-until-late-afternoon cooking frenzy. Whereas last night I simply sat down and devoured the goodness.

    Leftovers as Ingredients (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Leftovers as Ingredients (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Ingredients

    This post is *also* brought to you by ingredients. Yes, like the fresh celery and onions above, we joyfully imagine crisp, colorful ingredients bursting with flavor. But poking through the fridge, pushing aside containered leftovers, wondering what in the world to eat, we get a different feeling. Less joyful. More resigned. But sometimes, last night’s dinner for example, we are surprised when we embrace the sequel.

    Sometimes we get creative and reimagine the leftovers, decide to experiment with different combinations, different preparations. We cease to think of the leftovers as unfinished extras from the first meal, and we repurpose them as the ingredients for a brand new creation. Remember corn cakes and turkey gravy? Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t.

    While overeating Christmas dinner for the second time it struck me how similar edible leftovers and building materials can be. Think of surplus lumber and architectural salvage. They get pushed to the back of the proverbial fridge (in our case, usually one of the outbuildings) in the hopes of one day becoming the ingredients for something relevant and exciting and new.

    Leftovers as Ingredients (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Leftovers as Ingredients (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Leftovers as Ingredients

    You see where I’m going with this?

    I’ve repeatedly mentioned that the icehouse rehabilitation is an adaptive reuse project. Transform an obsolete utility building into a useful, relevant multi-use space that adds value to our life at Rosslyn. And, in addition to repurposing this handsome historic building, we have endeavored to repurpose as many surplus building materials and architectural salvage artifacts as reasonable (i.e. functionally and aesthetically viable) in the design and rehabilitation process.

    I’ve talked about the repurposed columns and the loft flooring experiment, and I recently celebrated the upcycled coatrack and the antique ice hook (which will be displayed prominently as decor once rehab is complete). I’ve post a couple of updates on our “research” into upcycling garapa decking and re-milling our homegrown lumber into flooring (and other interior millwork). In the weeks and months ahead much of Hroth and Pam’s focus will shift indoors, and I’ll be relating additional opportunities that we’re exploring for repurposing our building leftovers as the raw ingredients for a brand new working and relaxing space that will fuse more than a century’s ingenuity and artifacts into an integrated, cohesive (and hopefully beautiful+charming) space.

    As we journey through the icehouse rehabilitation, endeavoring to create relevance and value for leftovers while ensuring that the final result achieves these lofty aspirations of functional and aesthetic integration, cohesion, and attractiveness, brainstorming and collaboration become more and more important. And more and more enjoyable! With such a diverse cast of contributors, I’m hoping that we’ll cross pollinate and evolve ideas that none of us individually would have come up with. Co-creation is sure to conjure out-of-the-box ideas and original solutions that draw upon the diversity of experiences and passions and perspectives. So, please consider this an open invitation to share your suggestions!

  • New Year’s Eve

    New Year’s Eve

    It’s New Year’s Eve 2022. I’ve just returned from a provocative exhibition by Shirin Neshat, with whom I originally became acquainted by way of Essex friend and photographer, Larry Barns, a dozen years or more ago.

    New Year’s Eve: ephemeral folly (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
    New Year’s Eve: ephemeral folly (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)

    Land of Dreams is a solo exhibition by Shirin Neshat, an Iranian-born artist and filmmaker based in New York Comprising photography, film, and video, the exhibition brings together two bodies of work, Land of Dreams (2019), and Dreamers (2013-16), a trilogy of video installations.

    Source: SITE Santa Fe

    While there’s much to say about Neshat’s work, that will wait for another time as this day’s, this year’s minutes are too quickly sifting through my fingers and falling into a new year. It’s New Year’s Eve. An ending. And a fresh start.

    Instead of responding to Neshat’s portraits and films, I’ll allow this post to follow the footfalls of my afternoon, out of Neshat’s Land of Dreams and into Max Cole’s Endless Journey. This New Mexico-based painter’s meticulous meditations slowed my senses and my sensibility. Cole’s “Thoughts on Art” leapt from the wall and into my dream-addled skull, tickling the tattered leaves of my inquiry these last five months.

    And “knowing how way leads on to way”, one fragment falling upon another, and another, and another,… I’ve decided to resist looking back — for now at least — for answers and assurance that this afternoon’s wisps and tatters and excerpts are what they appear to be. I’ll trust the “singing underneath” and trace my index finger aling this newfound map, starting with a few snippets from Max Cole’s “Thoughts on Art”.

    There is nothing to say without first knowing yourself.

    Choices have to be made and parameters established. All that remains should be only essential means. This process of definition occurs over years.

    Art is something that must be lived. It is long and there are no shortcuts.

    As in life, in art nothing exists removed from the past or separated from the present.

    Most of reality is not visible. Art makes perceptible the indefinable quality of presence. It is content which is the soul of art.

    […]

    The motivation for making art is art and its insights into that which transcends the material. Nothing else. There can be no compromise.

    […]

    All creativity draws from the same source regardless of discipline and eventually merges at a common point which is philosophical.

    Max Cole, “Thoughts on Art” (SITE Santa Fe)

    It’s New Year’s Eve. An ending. A fresh start. An interstitial moment, part conclusion and part beginning. The common point where deconstruction couples with construction, the philosophical rebirth. Death. Birth. Phoenix from ashes.

    And that photograph above, a folly fabricated by Hroth, temporarily framing my future desk view, is in fact a fleeting and false perspective. Delightful. Whimsical. An old window and frame repurposed from the historic icehouse’s former life, propped in an incongruous aperture in the icehouse’s future life. A meeting of of past and future in the present. Ephemeral. Art rendering for a moment the invisible visible. “Art makes perceptible the indefinable quality of presence.”

  • Camp Cherokee for Boys in Willsboro, New York

    Camp Cherokee for Boys in Willsboro, New York

    Have you ever heard of Camp Cherokee for Boys in Willsboro? If so, I’d love to learn more. So far the details are pretty thin…

    Campfire, Camp Cherokee, Willsboro, NY (postcard, front)
    Campfire, Camp Cherokee for Boys, Willsboro, NY (postcard, front)

    As we roll into the final days of 2022, I’ve been attempting to streamline my end-of-year projects. And while the prospect of simply deleting lingering items on the perennial punch list is tempting, I’m instead shuffling priorities against the incoming year’s timeline. Yes, some oldies have sat long enough that they’ve moldered into irrelevance. Delete! Others, like today’s artifact (an antique postcard for an extinct summer camp), were probably somewhat superfluous since day one (this draftling — an especially brief stub awaiting development — originated on May 18, 2017!), but they continue to intrigue me. Not ready to delete yet. And so I bring to you an unabashedly abbreviated post showcasing a postcard from Camp Cherokee for Boys. Once upon a time this small summer camp existed on Willsboro Point, possibly not too far from Camp-of-the-Pines. Today neither lakeside retreat endures, but I’m hoping that sharing this vintage postcard just might gin up a little more information.

    Crowdsource Kindling

    With an eye to kindling this fledgling crowdsource initiative into existence, I’ll share what little I’ve been able to ascertain thus far.

    According the A Handbook of Summer Camps: An Annual Survey, Volume 3 which was published in 1926 by Porter Sargent, Camp Cherokee for Boys was located “at Willsborough Point” which may simply mean somewhere on Willsboro Point, but also might suggest that it was actually located a the tip of the peninsula?

    This introductory blurb vaguely locates three summer camps located within the vicinity.

    Willsborough is north of Essex. Camp Pok-O-Moonshine is on Long Pond near the foot of Peak Pok-O-Moonshine. Camp Pocahontas is on the shore of Lake Champlain, two miles east of the village. At Willsborough Point is Camp Cherokee. (p. 388, A Handbook of Summer Camps: An Annual Survey, Volume 3)

    Scrolling down a little further to the bottom of page 388 and the top of 389 we can read the following blurb about Camp Cherokee for Boys.

    Here’s a more legible swipe at the blurry image above.

    CAMP CHEROKEE, P. O. Willsborough, N. Y. Alt 110 ft. Harold K. Van Buren, 508 National Bldg., Cleveland, Ohio. For boys 8-14 Enr. 30 Staff 10 Est. Fee $300.
    Cherokee limits its enrollment to thirty boys. Mr. Van Buren is director of Educational Research, National School Club, Cleveland, Ohio, and with him is associated the Rev. Henry S. Whitehead. Ph.D., an Episcopal clergyman who is also a short story writer. Although the camp is conducted under Episcopal auspices, the enrollment is not limited to boys of that faith. A varied program of athletics, aquatics, woodcraft and dramatics is provided. Much attention is paid to trips to the well known Adirondack peaks, as well as a sight seeing trip to Montreal. Tutoring may also be provided without extra charge. (p. 388-9, A Handbook of Summer Camps: An Annual Survey, Volume 3)

    The affiliation between Van Buren and the Cleveland based educational research institution is curiosity inspiring. Hoping to learn a bit more about that, and, of course, about the Messieurs Van Buren and Whitehead. The latter appears in a 1926 publication from the Alumni Council of Columbia University, although the relevant clipping is too small and to be readily legible.

    If your eyes are as strained as mine by attempting to decipher that blurry blob of timeworn text, here’s a more legible transcription.

    Whitehead spends his summers at Lake Champlain. There he is associated with Mr. H. K. Van Buren who is director and proprietor of Camp Cherokee for Boys at Willsboro and together they have worked out constructive new theories on boys’ camps with satisfactory results. (p. 398, Columbia Alumni News, Alumni Council of Columbia University, 1926)

    There’s a bit of curiosity bait in there as well. For example, why would two contemporaneous publications refer to the same town but spell the name differently. One is tempted to assume that the older spelling, Willsborough, was at some point replaced by the newer spelling, Willsboro. Perhaps this was the period of transition? I wonder. And then there’s the rather clinical reference to the two men developing “constructive new theories on boys’ camps with satisfactory results.” I suppose that better-than-satisfactory results might have better assured the longevity of this no longer extant summer camp. Of course, administering an enterprise of this sort with fewer than three dozen clients seems like another ill conceived component. It would be challenging to mathematically ensure viability for this business model for long. But maybe this too is a question of age/time and transition. It’s clear that once upon a time small camps and schools managed to thrive with far smaller populations than they do today. At least for a while…

    In closing, I’m soliciting any/all knowledge of the former Willsboro Point summer camp known as Camp Cherokee for Boys. Thanks in advance!

    Campfire, Camp Cherokee, Willsboro, NY (postcard, back)
    Campfire, Camp Cherokee for Boys, Willsboro, NY (postcard, back)

  • Bygone Barns

    Bygone Barns

    Swapping December for January signals that we’re four months into Rosslyn’s icehouse rehabilitation which, in turn, means that I’m four months overdue for a look at (or perhaps the first of several looks at) my love of barns. Truth be told, I’m a bit of a barnophile. And, given my weakness for wabi-sabi, I’m especially keen on bygone barns.

    Backcountry Bygone Barns (Source: Geo Davis)
    Backcountry Bygone Barns (Source: Geo Davis)

    By “bygone barns” I’m conjuring an entire class of rural farm and utility buildings belonging to an earlier time. Think of a barn vernacular with classic lines, practical design, form following function, wearing age and even obsolescence with pride,… I’m even smitten with buildings so dilapidated that they’ve been reduced to their skeletal essence by the forces of nature. Sunlight, moonlight, weather, wildlife, and vegetation permeate these carcasses. The sparse assembly of materials — beaten by the elements for more years than anyone alive can definitively claim to know — endure erect, monumental, lavishly adorned with forgotten functions and the patina of passing time.

    My romantic heart and my wabi-sabi aesthetic cling conspiratorially to the possibility of resuscitating, reimagining, and repurposing. Meanwhile the rights of rewilding attempt to discipline my disposition; I ache for the victory of natural forces over human will, the return of these materials to the earth. This tension between between revitalizing and rewilding winds my wonder and perpetuates my desire.

    Backcountry Barns Haiku
    Time torn, weatherworn
    byways by backcountry barns.
    Watercolor skies.
    (Source: Backcountry Barns)

    It’s not uncommon for me to interrupt a bike ride in sight of a bygone barn, ostensibly to make a photograph (which I do), but often I’m still standing ten minutes, fifteen minutes later, still observing, often lost in a sort of contemplative gaze.

    [Bygone] barn architecture, especially minimalist barns, patinated with weather and time, speaks to something practically primordial in me. My earliest hope when looking for North Country properties was to convert an old barn into a home. I looked at lots of backcountry barns, but I never made a match. (Source: Backcountry Barns)

    Inevitably this lead us to farms, mostly no longer actively being farmed, vestiges of an early time, and earlier lifestyle.

    I began looking at forgotten farms, bygone barns, meandering stone walls hemming in overgrown fields… (Source: Leaping & Untethering)

    Sagging Bygone Barn (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Sagging Bygone Barn (Photo: Geo Davis)

    It was a romantic errand that exposed Susan and me to many fascinating properties.

    Susan… shared my dream of an old farmhouse surrounded by open meadows with views and sunlight. She liked barns and was even receptive to my occasional flights of fancy about converting an old barn into a home. (Source: The Hunt for a Perfect House)

    But the bygone barns in my mind and those we visited were failing to align.

    Although a farm on the lake (especially an old barn that could be reimagined as a home) was proving an impossible ambition, our imaginations were piqued on several occasions…

    A handsome slate roofed barn, still square after a century or more standing at the crest of an immense field just south of Westport, beguiled me for a while. I imagined a lofty open plan; exposed, rough hewn beams; magnificent views in all directions. But the seller was unable or unwilling to subdivide the field and barn from a much larger farm which included additional fields, an immense dairy barn, various other building for hay and equipment storage, a “pond” for storing cow manure and a large square farmhouse with cupola. And in the end it was a relief to Susan, because, after all, this magnificent barn did not stand on the shores of Lake Champlain. (Source: The Hunt for a Perfect House)

    Gradually our search evolved. And shifted.

    Some day I still hope to explore the barn vernacular, perhaps in a modern and somewhat interpretive way. (Source: Backcountry Barns)

    I wrote that last sentence about a year and a half ago. And, while it’s still 100% accurate, I’m also allowing this curious quest to inspire the icehouse rehab which is, after all, a bygone barn, albeit a diminutive one, purpose built for storing ice. Watching the building get stripped back to its oldest and boldest elements, honoring the legacy of a functionally perfect building that has outlived its functional utility, searching for the simplest and purest path forward, restraining the instinct to disguise the building’s age, and summoning the bygone barn’s story from the dusty darkness. It would not be absurd to compare this last four month’s endeavor to a protracted meditation.

    In reworking my notes for this post — notes is too vague; perhaps field notes is closer, or travelogue — I come across a hastily jotted note.

    Renovation or Story?!? (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Renovation or Story?!? (Photo: Geo Davis)

    I’d written the question to myself as if posed by another, perhaps one of the many capable collaborators on this project. I don’t recall when or why I wrote this, nor am I certain why this seemingly frustrated inquiry was posed in this way. It’s as if I imagined Pam or Hroth or someone else, exasperated, almost pleading to simplify the journey, our journey, to focus fully (and exclusively) on rehabilitation of this bygone barn.

    What’s more important, the renovation or your damned story?!?

    I’m only about halfway through these notes, but this feels like the right place to pause. I’ll continue this reflection tomorrow, but for now I’ll prime the contemplative pump with an intriguing short film by Matt McFarling called “Bygone Barns” that the inimitable Katie Shepard discovered while helping me sort my jumbled thoughts.

     

    Thanks, Katie!

  • A Barnophile of Bygone Barns

    A Barnophile of Bygone Barns

    Yesterday I meditated a minute on bygone barns. Ancient farm buildings. Tempered by time, tempted by gravity, and sowbacked beneath the burdens of generations, these rugged utility structures retain (and sometimes gain) a minimalist elegance long after design and construction and use fade into history. My meditation was meandering and inconclusive. In part this was due to the wandering wonder these timeworn buildings inspire in me. And in part it was because my observations are still evolving and inconclusive. I’m not a barn expert, an agricultural architecture preservationist, or even a particularly astute student of barns and farms. But I am a barnophile.

    Barn·o·phile /bärnəˌfīl/ noun (from Greek philos ‘loving’)

      1. a connoisseur of farm buildings
      2. a person with a fondness for structures used to house livestock, grain, etc.
      3. an admirer and/or collector of agricultural outbuildings

    Aside from the hubris I’ve just exercised in birthing this barnophile definition, I’m generally inclined to a humbler and less presumptuous relationship with the mostly agrarian artifacts we categorize as barns.

    [As an unabashed barnophile with a] weakness for wabi-sabi, I’m especially keen on bygone barns.

    By “bygone barns” I’m conjuring an entire class of rural farm and utility buildings belonging to an earlier time. Classic lines, practical design, form following function, wearing age and even obsolescence with pride,… I’m even smitten with buildings so dilapidated that they’ve been reduced to their skeletal essence by the forces of nature. Sunlight, moonlight, weather, wildlife, and vegetation permeate these carcasses. The sparse assembly of materials — beaten by the elements for more years than anyone alive can definitively claim to know — endure erect, monumental, lavishly adorned with forgotten functions and the patina of passing time. (Source: Bygone Barns)

    Barn Vernacular (Source: Geo Davis)
    Barn Vernacular (Source: Geo Davis)

    But why do forgotten farm buildings enchant me? What reason lurks beneath the tidy text, what foundation for my unusual fascination with these vestiges of a simpler, more local, perhaps even a slower time? Katie Shepard, so very rarely off target, suggests this childhood reminiscence might play into my barn-centric attraction.

    My parents, living and working in New York City, had purchased an 1840s farmhouse on 85 acres in Greenwich, New York five months after getting married. I was born less than two years later.

    Although The Farm served primarily as a weekend getaway for the next five years, it dominates the geography of my earliest childhood. A stream of nostalgia gilded memories flow from this pastoral source: exploring the time-worn barns, absent livestock except for those conjured up by my energetic imagination and the swallows which darted in and out, building nests in the rafters, gliding like darts through dusty sunbeams; vegetable gardening with my mother; tending apple, pear and quince trees with my father; eating fresh rhubarb, strawberries and blackberries; discovering deer and raccoons and snakes and even a snapping turtle. (Source: The Farm)

    As usual, Katie is right. Woven into the earliest tapestries of my childhood are fond associations with barns. This was undoubtedly further reinforced during our years at Homeport given the inordinate amount of time that my brother, sister and I occupied ourselves in the mysterious old barn complete with ballroom and servant’s quarters long since adapted to other uses. And in my grade school years my siblings and I memorized Dylan Thomas’s “Fern Hill” to recite as a birthday gift for my father. I wish I could take credit for this creative gift giving tradition, but it was my mother, Melissa Davis, who gently guided the three of us each winter to select a poem that would appeal to my father, and then to memorize it during our daily 45-60 minute commute to school each morning and and each evening. Three days after Christmas, on my father’s birthday, we would recite the poem together, and (with one notable exception that’s better reserved for another day) my father enjoyed the gift, leaning back, sometimes closing his eyes, and listening attentively. I think “Fern Hill” may have been the best received, and it became a go-to for family recitation over the years, hypnotically weaving itself into the ethos of our childhood the way a prayer might.

    Boundaries of a Barnophile

    There comes a time to focus the “philos”, or at least to try and narrow or delineate the subject of interest.

    I’ve talked around my fascination with barns, barn architecture, barn construction, and barn aesthetics… But I haven’t outlined the tenets for my enduring intrigue, nor have I articulated exactly what I mean when I refer to a barn vernacular. It’s time to draft at least a preliminary look at my love of barns. […]

    In the vernacular vocabulary of quintessentially North American architecture, the barn endures as a practical yet proud icon of rural living. […]

    Although my fascination with barn vernacular isn’t limited to Yankee barns, it is my most consistent and encompassing vision.(Source: Toward a Barn Vernacular)

    In other words, I’m inclined toward classic geometry, roofs steep enough to shed water and snow (with a particular fondness for 9:12 pitch), and unembellished details. And I will always favor bygone barns to new construction. The quality of workmanship and materials stands out, but so too does the story stretching across decades, even centuries.

    I consider aging utility buildings — barns, boathouses, icehouses, sugarshacks, etc. — to be at least as intriguing as old houses. More sometimes. So many relics, unselfconscious, candid. Less penchant for concealing, fewer makeovers, more concurrently present years and lives. Sometimes it’s the old, banged up subjects and objects that look the best. Thank goodness for that! (Source: Horse Stall Haiku)

    And what of other barn-like buildings, rural utility buildings designed and constructed after the same manner?

    School Bus Stop Ahead (Photo: virtualDavis)
    School Bus Stop Ahead (Photo: virtualDavis)

    They appeal to me as well. In fact, the agricultural DNA isn’t essential to me at all. I suppose I’m somewhat “barn androgynous”, equally smitten with similarly origined buildings even if they’ve never seen a horse, cow, chicken, pig, or hay bale.

    That said, it’s worth acknowledging that the architecture of New England barns, Yankee barns, and even — drifting a little further southeast — tobacco barns are especially appealing to me. And if it’s fair to assume that my affinity is at least partly nostalgia-driven, then it’s probably worth adding another influence the those sited above. Four year of boarding school in Old Deerfield, Massachusetts definitely instilled in me an appreciation for early colonial building, and there were a couple of barns that still loom proud in my memory.

    Beyond Boundaries

    Although I wish I could gather these strings and call it caput, I must further complicate the boundaries I’ve endeavored to delineate above.

    While there’s something alluring about the volume and the efficiency of barns, the unpretentious posture with no attempt to conceal functions or mechanism, scale isn’t essential. The small corn crib above, for example, intoxicates my imagination nearly as much as the grand barn at the top of this post.

    Baked into my identity as a barnophile, into this somewhat esoteric aesthetic and philosophical appetite, is a tendency to stretch my definition of barns to include other similar outbuildings.

    While Rosslyn didn’t fit squarely into the vision of an old farm or a collection of dilapidated barns that I originally was hunting for, this stately home does have three remarkable outbuildings, all three of which lured me as much as the house. In fact, well before we completed our top-to-bottom rehabilitation of the home, we tackled the icehouse, boathouse, and carriage barn. All of them were on the brink. Actually much of the house was as well. But just as we committed to salvaging the home, returning it to its former grandeur, we likewise undertook laborious, challenging efforts to salve the icehouse, boathouse, and carriage barn. All buildings were dilapidated, but the icehouse and boathouse were both succumbing to the omnipresent challenges of weather and neglect.

    I’ve posted plenty in the past about Rosslyn’s boathouse, the lakeside folly that beckoned to us from the beginning. For a whimsical mind like my own, smitten with boating adventures — real and imagined — becoming irreversibly enchanted with our small dock house protruding out into Lake Champlain was pretty much inevitable. Although its mission has always been tied to watery locomotion, it is for all practical purposes a sort of barn. A diminutive lakeside barn purpose-built for boating. A utility outbuilding conceived and specifically confected to serve the Kestrel just over a century and a quarter ago.

    And Rosslyn’s icehouse, occupying much of my attention these last few months as we cartwheel through an ambitious rehabilitation and adaptive reuse project, is likewise a barn. We often refer to the carriage barn and icehouse, standing as they do side-by-side, as “the barns”. As a utility building designed to complement the architecture of the carriage barn and home, it was nevertheless first and foremost a utility building constructed to support the residents with year round cooling at a time when refrigeration did not yet exist. It was an ice barn!

    And so you see perhaps the elasticity of my identity as a barnophile. A barn might not immediately appear to be a barn. But the rudiments, the purpose, and likely the longevity have profited from the heritage of barn building. And this, my friends strikes me as the right place to wrap up. If this this post was intended as a more intimate look at the romance of bygone barns, those that have endured a looong time and even those no longer viable, then I’ve covered my bases. And too, I’ve revisited my original hope of locating an old barn to convert into a home, a hope that has not altogether faded away.

    In fact, Susan and I have been for a few years brainstorming a barn-inspired for the future, our future, that just might begin to emerge in the years ahead. Stay tuned…

  • Upcycling Garapa Decking

    Upcycling Garapa Decking

    You may recall that we’ve been upcycling garapa decking from Rosslyn’s 2008-9 deck that we salvaged and laid aside this past summer. Spanning half a year so far — from deconstructing and culling reusable material midsummer to multiple experiments determining optimal dimensions for adaptive reuse as bathroom paneling — we’re now scaling up production and the results are impressive.

    Tony Upcycling Garapa Decking (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Tony Upcycling Garapa Decking (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Adaptive reuse of the old decking was an abstract ideal when I announced it at the outset. I’m not 100% certain whether the rest of the team was intrigued and looked forward to the challenge, or thought it was yet another frustrating folly. But Hroth was an especially good sport, planing board after board and trimming the edges to determine what would work best.

    We have begun re-milling and re-planing garapa decking salvaged from Rosslyn’s summer 2022 deck rebuild. These sample boards are among the many weathered specimens carefully removed this spring and summer prior to rebuilding Rosslyn’s deck substructure and re-decking with new garapa. Hroth’s patient. Hroth’s patient exploratory experimentation is the first phase in our effort to adaptively reuse this character-rich material in the icehouse. Still preliminary, but exciting possibilities ahead!

    Adaptive Reuse

    And later…

    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)

    Squeezed into the interstices of all of the other more pressing priorities in the daily scope of work, little by little Hroth determined that 3-7/8” x 5/8” were reasonable dimensions. We both really liked the look. In fact, Hroth, Tony, and Pam, like the look so much that they decided to upcycle some reclaimed garapa (plus a few artifacts from the icehouse excavation) into dashing decor!

    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. (Source: Upcycled Christmas Gifts)

    And now Tony is beavering away industriously transforming the salvaged lumber. The photographs in this post offer a nice glimpse into Tony’s work upcycling garapa decking into pristine planks for paneling.

    Tony Upcycling Garapa Decking (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Tony Upcycling Garapa Decking (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    In the photograph below, you see gradients of old gray surface wood that was exposed to the weather over a decade and a half. You can also see wood that is further along in the planing process, revealing beautiful garapa coloring and grain.

    Upcycling Garapa Decking (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Upcycling Garapa Decking (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    It’s a slow and painstaking process that demands plenty of patience and focus, but the results are worth it. Transforming debris into beautiful finish paneling will prove rewarding, for sure. And in the photograph below, I suspect the Tony is even beginning to appreciate what magnificence he is bringing into existence.

    Tony Upcycling Garapa Decking (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Tony Upcycling Garapa Decking (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Here’s a quick remix to enliven this static commentary…

    https://www.instagram.com/reel/Cm_ttD5haqx/

    And here’s another, reflecting back to Hroth’s earlier expiratory “research”.

    XXX

    https://www.instagram.com/reel/Cj4hbRIAFlh/

    And, just for the fun of it, here is the new deck build once it was complete.

    https://www.instagram.com/reel/Ci0XQr3A3Rn/

    Thanks, Hroth and Tony.

  • Voyeuristic Glimpses & Mosaic Mirages

    Voyeuristic Glimpses & Mosaic Mirages

    Voyeuristic Glimpses: Carley, June 9, 2020 (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Voyeuristic Glimpses: Carley, June 9, 2020 (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Before you shift uneasily in your seat and survey your surroundings nervously, I’d best prologue my post with an assurance that nothing unseemly is in store. Exhale. Voyeuristic glimpses, yes, but only as the subject of an overdue clarification.

    Voyeuristic Glimpses

    After bricks and mortar, land and lake, residents (human and canine), Rosslyn’s blog is the most visible — and maybe even the most accessible — part. And if the blog is by definition a digitally distributed diary, then it offers voyeuristic glimpses into Susan and my relationship with Rosslyn, a circa 1820 home and property on the Adirondack Coast of Lake Champlain. We can debate how candid or unfiltered they are, of course, because the experiences these coup d’œil capture are inevitably shaped and edited by my perspective. 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. Caveat emptor.

    Voyeuristic glimpses aside, the blog is only one constituent part of Rosslyn Redux. In sum, it’s actually a sprawling, multimodal mess! Er, I mean… it’s a multidisciplinary *experiment*.

    Voyeuristic Glimpses: icehouse door, December 27, 2022 (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Voyeuristic Glimpses: icehouse door, December 27, 2022 (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Mosaic Mirages

    Beyond chronicling the stumbles and growth spurts of Rosslyn’s historic rehabilitation (along with the inevitable ups and downs of our romantic runaway to this lakeside Elysian), Rosslyn Redux is an exploration. An experiment. A creative endeavor. A lyric essay — from Old French essaimeaning attempt or trial — calling upon collage and composting as often as language and logic. In many respects, Rosslyn Redux aspires more to conceptual art than a home renovation blog, more to performance art than a midlife marriage memoir. It’s an epic poem mosaic (a constellation of poetry fragments) crossed with an archeological exhibition crossed with an inside-out inquiry into homing and homeness crossed with a serial meditation on rootedness and itinérance and longevity and impermanence crossed with a genre bending memoir crossed with a sketch and artifact swollen scrapbook. 

    Hhhmmm… If it’s all this, or even close to all this, then isn’t it just a cluttered attic too deep and dusty to decipher?

    Sometimes. So far.

    Voyeuristic Glimpses: contemplative Pam, December 13, 2022 (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
    Voyeuristic Glimpses: contemplative Pam, December 13, 2022 (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)

    But I’m endeavoring to evolve Rosslyn Redux beyond an avalanche of artifacts into a cohesive experience. Into a sojourner’s stopover, perhaps even the sort of sanctuary that Rosslyn has been for us.

    My initial foray into building something durable out of our relationship with Rosslyn lead to bookish brainstorms (and hundreds of pages of drafts.) But conversations with editors and agents, pitching what was most readily definable as a memoir in those days, consistently came up against the same setback. Whether genuinely or politely intrigued by the ingredients for our Rosslyn story, everyone advised me to refocus the story, to restrain the narrative arc to my relationship with Susan. Newlyweds swapping Manhattan for the bucolic Adirondack Coast where they anticipated simplifying their lives while licking their wounds. Newlyweds nesting in a tumbledown money pit. A poet and a designer dive into home renovation… what could go wrong?!?!

    I was also consistently and repeatedly advised to limit the story to one year. Two or more years is too messy! (Of note, editors’ and agents’ discomfort with the sprawling scope and calendar of our renovation was also a familiar refrain with our parents who were were increasingly nervous about the ever attenuating timeline and dwindling coffers.)

    The trouble was, this was as much a story about Rosslyn as it was about the two of us. And so much more. And “the story” felt to me like more than a story. I envisioned an immersion. A three-dimensional immersion. I envisioned inviting the audience into the experience more like a long-stay houseguest, not just a reader. And, the truth be told, I was as keen to explore the limitations of language as I was to document the historic property’s rehabilitation; our hyperlocal reboot; a meandering meditation on home; etc.

    Needless to say, I wandered and wondered and gradually — accepting that I was lost — I succumbed to inertia.

    But Susan and my relationship with Rosslyn did not end. The sanctuary salved us, and the adventures reignited our wonderlust. And little by little clarity has emerged, a plan, a map forward. Born of necessity. And that, my friends, is why the last five months have been so different than the previous. And while the coming months will continue to catalyze and coalesce a map. Perhaps even a clear and cohesive multidisciplinary work to offer my virtual houseguests.

  • George O. Webster’s “Essex-on-Champlain”

    George O. Webster’s “Essex-on-Champlain”

    Back in 2013, I wrote a series of posts on Rev. George Orlia Webster for the Essex on Lake Champlain community blog. I had become interested in this former Essex resident, pastor of the Fed­er­at­ed Church in Es­sex, and prolific composer of liturgical music because of his hymn, “Essex-on-Champlain.”

    Today I’ve collected (with the able assistance of Katie Shepard) and lightly curated my earlier posts into a single feature on George O. Webster’s life and career in the enduring hope that it may encourage a new performance (or even a recording!) of “Essex-on-Champlain.”

    Reverend George Orlia Webster (Photo credit: Thomas Palmer)
    Reverend George Orlia Webster (Photo credit: Thomas Palmer)

    Reverend George Orlia Webster

    If the name Reverend George Orlia Webster sounds familiar to you, it’s likely because you’ve heard (or read) the hymn “Essex-on-Champlain” which he wrote in 1929. Or because you’ve read the commemorative plaque at the Essex Community Church (aka the Federated Church) in Essex, NY.

    Son of a Bap­tist min­is­ter, Web­ster at­tend­ed school at Sax­on’s Ri­ver Acad­e­my. His first pas­tor­ate af­ter ord­in­a­tion was in St. Johns­bury, Ver­mont. Of his over 50 years of service as a min­is­ter, over 30 were spent in non-de­nom­in­a­tion­al set­tings, oft­en in com­bined church­es with Meth­od­ist, Pres­by­ter­i­an, and Bap­tist mem­bers. In later years, Web­ster was pas­tor of the Fed­er­at­ed Church at Es­sex, New York, where there is a plaque in his mem­o­ry. (Hymnary.org)

    Reverend George Orlia Webster
    Reverend George Orlia Webster

    In 2013 I received word from two great grandchildren of Rev. George Orlia Webster (1866-1942), Jane Palmer Baker of South Padre Island, Texas and her brother, Thomas Palmer of Galion, Ohio. In addition to a handsome photo of her great grandfather, Ms. Baker shared the brief biography above and the following details which will prove especially helpful to genealogists.

    George Orlia Webster (1866-1942)
    Born: April 25, 1866, Fort Ann, New York.
    Died: October 1, 1942, Es­sex, New York.
    Buried: Bol­ton Land­ing, New York.
    (Source: Jane Palmer Baker)

    Essex resident Norma Goff responded to Ms. Baker’s Facebook post with a poignant personal connection to Rev. George Orlia Webster.

    “I have heard much about your great Grandfather, George Webster. I am quite sure he married my parents here in Essex in 1935, and know he was a beloved pastor in this town. I think he is also responsible for writing many hymns, among them, one about Essex!” (Source: Norma Goff)

    Undoubtedly many other past and present Essex residents and visitors remember George Orlia Webster as well, and I invite you to share your memories and stories so that we can share them with the community.

    POETIC DESTINY

    Turning to Webster’s creative legacy, “Essex-on-Champlain” is likely the most famous of his hymns among Essex, NY residents and seasonal habitues, but it represents a mere fraction of this prolific man’s creative output over the years.

    Back in 2013, Thomas Palmer shared a wealth of information on his great grandfather, George O. Webster, including the following.

    George was born in 1866 to Joseph B. and Francis Webster, his father being a minister himself as well as a Civil War veteran. When George was young, the family had a visit from a lady known as “Aunt Lucy,” who “read” the bumps on heads (“phrenology”). She proclaimed that young George had a “poetic” bump, and sure enough, he went on to author several hundred published hymns, cantatas, musicals, and other works.” (Source: Thomas Palmer)

    Apparently Aunt Lucy was on to something. George O. Webster became a prolific author of hymns. Included at the end of this post is a list of 229 hymns that George O. Webster is known to have composed. “Essex-on-Champlain” does not appear on the list, an indication that there may be other hymns likewise overlooked.

    I also have scrapbook of his correspondence with well-known hymn writers he knew and/or collaborated with, such as Charles H. Gabriel (who wrote hymns such as “His Eye is on the Sparrow,” “Will the Circle be Unbroken,” etc.) and many others.

    Great Grandpa’s best-known hymn is probably “I Need Jesus,” although there are many more that were well-known in their day. That hymn is almost always played or sung at family funerals and important events – it was played at my own wedding. (Source: Thomas Palmer)

    Palmer augmented George O. Webster’s biography and provided a manuscript from a newspaper article written by Billy Burger for “The Adirondacker” column in The Record-Post, Au Sable Forks, NY, on Thursday, October 2, 1941. The following excerpts helps illustrate why George O. Webster was considered “one of the most amazing Adirondack personalities” by Record-Post columnist, Billy Burger.

    Essex Community Church (aka Federated Church) c. 1930s/40s
    Essex Community Church (aka Federated Church) c. 1930s/40s

    A family story relays that Rev. Joseph Webster baptized George as a young man by carving a hole in an icy river in the middle of winter. George received his education at Saxon’s River Academy in Vermont (which is still in operation and known as Vermont Academy). Shortly after graduation, he was ordained as a minister, and his first pastorate was of a Baptist church in Saint Johnsbury, Vermont.

    Rev. Webster spent the remainder of his life as a minister and farmer, and had pastorates in Warrensburg, Utica, and Franfort, New York. His last post was as pastor of the Federated Church in Essex, which I believed he considered the culmination of his career as a minister. I know he lived there for many, many years. He lived there with his last wife, Winifred (my own great grandmother had passed away at the age of 26, just a month after my grandmother was born). His two youngest daughters were there a lot as well, Marilla and Agnes.

    I know for certain that he had a deep love for the Adirondacks in general and Essex in particular. (Source: Thomas Palmer)

    THE SKY PILOT’S PULPIT

    The Record-Post columnist Billy Burger profiled George O. Webster in “Sky Pilot” on October 2, 1941, amplifying the portrait offered by Palmer.

    After his mother’s death, which occurred soon after Aunt Lucy’s visit, Mr. Webster went to a charge in Vermont and George ran wild. But not for long. Presently a famous lecturer and humorist, “Bob” Burdette, preached a couple of summers in the North River church. He got a grip on George, and this resulted in George’s conversion… George now turned definitely to the Baptist ministry, in which he has served almost fifty years. Significantly enough, although he says he can never be anything but, a Baptist at heart, thirty of the fifty years have been spent in undenominational work. His Federated church at Essex contains Methodist, Baptist and Presbyterian groups and he is also Methodist minister at Whallonsburg.

    Because of ill health of the present Mrs. Webster, he was forced to spend twelve years on a farm near Glens Falls. But the old farm just couldn’t keep George out of the pulpit. Before he realized what he was doing he was conducting, with Mrs. Webster’s help, four services a Sunday. The farm chores sandwiched in between. (Billy Burger, “Sky Pilot,” The Adirondacker. The Record-Post, Au Sable Forks, N. Y., October 2, 1941)

    As pastor, farmer and hymn composer, George O. Webster appears to have been a veritable renaissance man.

    Essex-on-Champlain, by Rev. George O. Webster
    Essex-on-Champlain, by Rev. George O. Webster

    ESSEX-ON-CHAMPLAIN, BY GEORGE O. WEBSTER

    I’ve wished time and again that there will one day be an opportunity for an “Essex-on-Champlain” sing-a-long, but so far the hymn’s music exists only in my imagination.

    If you have not had the opportunity to sing, hear or even read Rev. George O. Webster’s “Essex-on-Champlain” we’ve transcribed the hymn’s lyrics for you below. Although I was made aware that a recording of the hymn was made at one point (and that some of our readers have even listened to the recording), so far I’ve been unsuccessful at locating a copy of the recording. If you can help out, please let me know.

    ESSEX-ON-CHAMPLAIN

    There’s a wonderland of beauty,
    One that has ten thousand charms,
    At Essex, old Essex-on-Champlain;
    Its attractions grip and hold you
    Like some giant lover’s arms,
    Dear Essex, dear Essex-on-Champlain.
    Then here’s three cheers for Essex,
    The fairest spot on the Champlain shore,
    Where the moonlight plays like fountains
    O’er the crystal lake and mountains,
    Dear, dear old Essex, Essex-on-Champlain.

    All who know her sing the praises
    Of our village by the lake,
    Of Essex, old Essex-on-Champlain;
    And, with each returning season,
    Here their thirst for beauty slake,
    At Essex, dear Essex-on-Champlain.
    Then here’s three cheers for Essex,
    The fairest spot on the Champlain shore,
    Where the moonlight plays like fountains
    O’er the crystal lake and mountains,
    Dear, dear old Essex, Essex-on-Champlain.

    Summer skies or wint’ry weather
    Have their charms for those who care
    For Essex, old Essex-on-Champlain;
    And her friends are now a legion
    You can find them everywhere,
    Dear Essex, dear Essex-on-Champlain.
    Then here’s three cheers for Essex,
    The fairest spot on the Champlain shore,
    Where the moonlight plays like fountains
    O’er the crystal lake and mountains,
    Dear, dear old Essex, Essex-on-Champlain.

    So we sing a song for Essex,
    ‘Tis a song from out the heart
    For Essex, old Essex-on-Champlain;
    Wheresoe’er her name is spoken
    Fondest mem’ries always start,
    Of Essex, dear Essex-on-Champlain.
    Then here’s three cheers for Essex,
    The fairest spot on the Champlain shore,
    Where the moonlight plays like fountains
    O’er the crystal lake and mountains,
    Dear, dear old Essex, Essex-on-Champlain.

    Ever since I began reading about George O. Webster’s “Essex-on-Champlain” I’ve yearned to hear it performed. I hope that one day in the not too distant future it might be possible to make a recording, sung and performed on the Warren A. Cross memorial pipe organ at the Essex Community Church. And back in 2013 there was even rumor that Rev. Webster’s great grandson, Thomas Palmer, a church organist and pianist with a direct-DNA link to the composer may have worked on an audio recording of “Essex-on-Champlain.” Fingers crossed!

    GEORGE O. WEBSTER HYMNS

    In addition to “Essex-on-Champlain”, Rev. George O. Webster composed literally hundreds of additional hymns. While “Essex-on-Champlain” may be the most hallowed of George O. Webster hymns for Essex residents and visitors, it by no means represents a unique accomplishment. In fact, it didn’t even appear in this impressive directory of hymns composed by Webster, opening the possibility that Webster may have composed additional hymns that are not properly credited. We’ve taken the liberty of updating the list with “Essex-on-Champlain” and we hope you’ll let us know if we’re missing any others.

    1. America, Be­loved
    2. Are You Build­ing on the Rock?
    3. Are You Over Borne by Tri­als?
    4. Arise, Arise, a Voice Is Sound­ing
    5. Arise, Arise, for Lo, the Night Is Past
    6. Arise, Arise, for Men
    7. Army with Ban­ners Is March­ing Along, An
    8. As We March Along, We Will Sing a Song
    9. Awake, O Ye Blos­soms
    10. Away in Yon­der Forest
    11. Be Loy­al to Your Col­ors
    12. Blossoms Lift Their Sun­ny Faces
    13. Boys and Girls Re­peat
    14. Breaking Through the Clouds Above Us
    15. Call Rings Through the Land, A
    16. Can a Boy For­get His Mo­ther?
    17. Can I For­get the Debt I Owe?
    18. Captain Calls for Vol­un­teers, The
    19. Changeful May Be My Lot
    20. Clericus Hymn, The
    21. Clovers White and Clo­vers Red
    22. Come Home, Come Home
    23. Conflict Is Rag­ing of Right Against Wrong, A
    24. Cry to Arms Is Heard, The
    25. Day When Hea­ven and Earth Unite
    26. Do the Storm Clouds Ga­ther So?
    27. Earth’s Vic­tors with Gar­lands of Flow­ers
    28. Essex-on-Champlain
    29. Faith Will Keep the Sun­light Shin­ing
    30. Father, So Ho­ly
    31. Fear Not, but Trust
    32. Fill Each Swift­ly Pass­ing Day
    33. For His Dear Sake Who Car­ried
    34. For the Sum­mer’s Gold­en Hours
    35. For Your Flag and My Flag
    36. Forward, For­ward, Sol­diers of the Cross
    37. From the Gar­den of the Heart
    38. From the Hea­ven’s Opened Por­tals
    39. From the Riv­en Side of Je­sus
    40. Gates of Life, The
    41. Gird on Your Ar­mor
    42. Go Forw­ard, Go For­ward in Je­sus’ Con­quer­ing Name
    43. God Leads to Vic­to­ry
    44. God Will Take Care of Me, Why Should I Fear?
    45. God’s Will I Know Is Best for Me
    46. Going Forth to Serve for Je­sus
    47. Golden Hours Are Glid­ing On, The
    48. Guiding Hand I Clear­ly See, A
    49. Hail to the Great Cre­at­or
    50. Have We Climbed the Mount of Vi­sion?
    51. Have You Heard the Call to Bat­tle?
    52. He Took My Place
    53. Hear the Sweet Voice That Is Call­ing to Thee
    54. Hear You Not the Sav­ior’s Lov­ing Call?
    55. Holy Fa­ther, Thou, Throned on High
    56. How Won­der­ful, How Mar­vel­ous
    57. I Am Hap­py in My Sav­ior
    58. I Have a Mighty Sav­ior
    59. I Know That My Lord Watch­es o’er Me
    60. I Need Je­sus
    61. I Wan­dered on Life’s Care­less Way
    62. I Will Tell the Won­drous Sto­ry of Re­deem­ing Love
    63. I Would Go Where Je­sus Sends Me
    64. Idly Stand­ing in the Mar­ket
    65. If Christ Should Come to Me
    66. If Je­sus Will Make Me a Bless­ing To­day
    67. If the Clouds Are Dark and Drea­ry
    68. If the Way Leads Down
    69. If the Way Seems Hard with the March
    70. If You Can Smile
    71. If You Can­not Cross the Place
    72. If You Will Just Be Hap­py
    73. If You Would Walk in the Nar­row Way
    74. I’m Re­deemed with a Price
    75. In Ev­ery Hour of Tri­al
    76. In My Heart He Set the Mu­sic Ring­ing
    77. In My Heart There Swells a Song
    78. In the Great World Field
    79. Is It Well with My Soul
    80. Jesus Gave Him­self for Me
    81. Jesus Is a Friend of Mine
    82. Jesus Loves Us
    83. Jesus Set the Mu­sic Ring­ing
    84. Jesus Took the Lit­tle Ones
    85. Jesus, Who Knows and Cares
    86. Just a Ray of Sun­shine
    87. Just a Whis­pered Pray­er
    88. Keep in Touch with Je­sus
    89. Keep the Joy-Note Ring­ing
    90. King of the Ag­es
    91. Let a Song of Praise from Our Hearts Up­raise
    92. Let the Child­ren of the King
    93. Let the Glo­ry Crowned Ban­ner of Je­sus To­day
    94. Let the Nat­ions Hear the News of Full Sal­va­tion
    95. Let Us Cheer and Help Each Other
    96. Let Us Now the Heart’s Door
    97. Let Us Run Our Race
    98. Let Us Sing for Joy
    99. Let Your Life Be Set
    100. Life Is a Book
    101. Life Is a Friend­ly Road
    102. Lift To­day Your Heads, Ye Mighty Gates
    103. Lift Up Your Heads, Lift Up Your Heads
    104. Listen to the Strain
    105. Lo the Ro­sy Gleam of the Morn’s First Beam
    106. Long Years I Had Wan­dered
    107. Lord Is Call­ing for Men to Serve Him, The
    108. Lord of Life Is Vic­tor Now, The
    109. Lord, Teach Us to Pray
    110. Love Led Him to Cal­va­ry
    111. Love Led the Sav­ior, in Days Long Ago
    112. Love of Christ the Sav­ior, The
    113. Lovingly, Ten­der­ly, Tell the Sweet Sto­ry
    114. Make Your Life a Means of Bless­ing
    115. Manger, a Mo­ther, a Ba­by So Fair, A
    116. Many, Ma­ny Years Ago
    117. Many May Strive
    118. March Forth for the King
    119. Men of Our Amer­i­ca, The
    120. Mighty God, the King of Life Im­mor­tal, The
    121. Mighty Hosts of Sin and Wrong, The
    122. Morning Breaks, I Face the Way Ahead, The
    123. My Heart Is Aglow with a Love Light Di­vine
    124. Now, in the Pride of the Strength of Thy Youth
    125. O, Fall­en Bro­ther, Heed the Call
    126. O Gift Di­vine, God’s Bound­less Love Re­veal­ing
    127. O Ho­ly Spir­it, Breathe up­on Us Now
    128. O Je­sus, Lad of Naz­a­reth
    129. O My Bro­ther, Worn
    130. O Pre­cious Word of Je­sus
    131. O Sav­ior Dear, My Heart O’er­flows with Glad­ness
    132. On Life’s Path­way as We Jour­ney
    133. Onward Chris­tian Soldiers, Ev­ery Voice Sing
    134. Our Eyes Have Seen the Mul­ti­tude
    135. Our Fa­thers’ God, to Thee
    136. Out in the Fields with God
    137. Out of the Heart Are the Is­sues of Life
    138. Perfume Lad­en Breez­es Bring a Mes­sage, The
    139. Perhaps Your Feet May Chance to Tread
    140. Pilgrim Band, a Throng, A
    141. Praise God for His Word
    142. Praise the Ev­er Liv­ing Lord
    143. Praise the Lord, Praise the Lord
    144. Prayer Is the Key That Will Open the Door
    145. Prize Is Set Be­fore Me, A
    146. Prize Is the Hea­ven­ly, The
    147. Proud Gird Your Ar­mor On
    148. Ranks of Joy­ous Youth, The
    149. Rocky Tomb Is Ri­ven, The
    150. See the Mighty Youth­ful Ar­my
    151. Seeking a King Who Was Born in a Man­ger
    152. Shadows of Ev­en­ing Around Me, The
    153. Shout Aloud Your Hal­le­lu­jahs
    154. Since Je­sus, the Son of the High­est
    155. Sing a Lit­tle Song
    156. Sinner, the Sav­ior Is Call­ing to Thee
    157. So Ma­ny Are Hea­vi­ly La­den
    158. Some Days Are Dark, Some Days Are Fair
    159. Someone Is Need­ing a Bless­ing To­day
    160. Sometimes I Catch a Vi­sion Fair
    161. Speak to Me Now, My Sav­ior
    162. Stand in the Place of God’s Choos­ing
    163. Strong Right Hand of Him Who Rules the World, The
    164. Sweetest Songs Now Are Lift­ing
    165. Tempests of Temp­ta­tion, The
    166. There Are Hearts Whose Sor­est Need
    167. There Are the Words of Je­sus
    168. There Is a Name of Won­drous Might
    169. There Is a Place Called Cal­va­ry
    170. There Is Glad­ness, There Is Glo­ry
    171. There Is One Who Und­er­stands
    172. There Is Par­don Free
    173. There Is So Much of Trou­ble
    174. There Is Work for All to Do
    175. There’s a Call for Men
    176. There’s a Voice Full of Ten­der En­trea­ty
    177. There’s Joy in the Ser­vice of Je­sus
    178. They That Be­lieve in the Lord Shall Live
    179. This Day We Call Our Mo­ther’s Day
    180. This Day We Re­mem­ber the Deeds
    181. This Shall Be Theme and Song
    182. Thou God of the Mo­thers
    183. Though Tem­pests of Temp­ta­tion Sweep
    184. Though Tri­als Throng My Earth­ly Way
    185. Though You May Not Do for Je­sus
    186. Thro’ the Land a Call Is Sound­ing
    187. Thy Ser­vants, Lord, Be­fore Thee Stand
    188. Tiny Lit­tle Tots Are We
    189. To All the World, the Son of God
    190. To Trust in Our Fa­ther from Day to Day
    191. Trusting the Pro­mis­es Pre­cious
    192. Underneath the Ban­ner of Our Sav­ior
    193. Victor Comes with King­ly Tread, The
    194. Victory May De­pend on You, The
    195. We Are Com­rades of the Cross
    196. We Know That God Is on the Throne
    197. We Love Our Coun­try’s Flag
    198. We May Jour­ney with Re­joic­ing
    199. We Praise the Con­quer­ing Might of Christ
    200. We Send the Word to Af­ri­ca
    201. We Sing To­day as Well
    202. We Will Strive to Do
    203. We’d Like to Sing
    204. What Does the Mas­ter Ex­pect of Me?
    205. When at Last the Strife Is End­ed
    206. When Bur­dens Are Press­ing
    207. When Cares and Toils Are Press­ing
    208. When I Was Sink­ing in Des­pair
    209. When in His Beau­ty My Sav­ior I See
    210. When Sin Is In­vit­ing
    211. When the Clouds Have Hid the Skies of Blue
    212. When the Clouds Their Dark­ness
    213. When the Days Are Dark
    214. When the Sha­dows Deep­en
    215. When the Sha­dows Ga­ther Dark
    216. When the Temp­ter Calls You
    217. When the Youth of Our Land
    218. When to the Sav­ior You Come
    219. Whene’er the Sha­dows Ga­ther
    220. Where the Bless­ed Sav­ior Leads Me
    221. Wherever the Path­way
    222. Why Go We Mourn­ing All the Day
    223. With a Firm and Lov­ing Hand
    224. With Loy­al Hearts We Come Again
    225. With Souls Aflame for Deeds of Fame
    226. World Is Full of Sin, The
    227. Ye Sol­diers of the Liv­ing God
    228. You Ask What Makes Me Hap­py the Whole Day Long?
    229. You May Ban­ish Care and Sad­ness
    230. Youth Is the Speed­ing

    (Source: The Cyber Hymnal)

    HELP CATALOG WEBSTER’S HYMNS

    When I originally published the series of posts on Webster, I encouraged readers to augment the list, and we did receive two comments filling in some missing information including the following from George O. Webster’s granddaughter, Mary Hartman.

    I am G.O. Webster’s granddaughter – Mary Caroline (Palmer) Hartman. Born in Battle Creek, MI in 1939 to Lawrence and Mabel (Webster) Palmer. I am now widowed and reside in Texas. There is an old song book in my possession – “Spiritual Melodies” published by Pilgrim Publishing House in 1942 that contains four hymns you are missing on your list. These are songs with lyrics and music written by George:

    • Praise His Name
    • Jesus is Leading Me On
    • I Met the Christ
    • My Guide Will Bring Me Home

    (Source: Mary Hartman, June 1, 2015)

    Well done, Ms. Hartman!

    The following was received from Teri Canty.

    I have found a piece, mostly known as a descant (or an obbligato) with Silent Night. The two were blended in an arrangement by Anita Smisek. I believe the original hymn may have been known by the title “O Night of Holy Memory”. The text is attributed to George Webster and the music to Ira Wilson. Here are the lyrics:

    Neath the silent stars the town is sleeping.
    Shepherds on the hills their watch are keeping
    Flocks are safe within the fold, secure from danger, want or cold.
    Silent, silent night, Holy, Holy night,
    Sleep in peace, sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in peace.

    O’er the moonlit plains were angels winging.
    From the realms afar glad tidings bringing
    See their robes of glistening gold, reflecting a celestial light.
    Silent, silent night. Holy, holy night
    Christ, the Saviour, Christ, the Saviour is born, Christ is born.

    Now the dawn grows near the town is waking.
    Magi on the hills their goal approaching.
    Their gifts are safe within their arms, their hearts have found the loving light
    Glorious, glorious night. Heavenly host sing alleluia
    Jesus is born.

    I haven’t found a music setting for JUST this text; it is always blended with Silent Night. If you have any luck locating the original setting, I’d love to know about it. (Source: Teri Canty, December 30, 2018)

    The wonders of crowdsourcing! Now if we can inspire a performance and recording…

  • Generosity of Friends: Lemons from Afar

    Generosity of Friends: Lemons from Afar

    Generosity of Friends​: Lemons from Afar (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Generosity of Friends: Lemons from Afar (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Picture perfect lemons arranged in an enormous clay bowl. Layers of largess. The sweet tart citrus was a gift from a recent friend married to my former student of 25+ years. The ceramic vessel, wheel thrown by my godfather, OMC, in the 1970s and gifted to my mother was recently regifted to Susan and me. Perhaps the generosity of friends and family is one of the essential ingredients for what makes a house a home?

    Lemons from Afar

    Picked
    in January
    in California
    from his parents’ tree;
    packed
    into a duffle
    with clothes, toothbrush, and
    a few stems and leaves;
    gifted
    so nonchalantly
    four dozen lemons
    so ripe, so fragrant.
    Smiling…
    “The silver lining —
    my clothes smell fresh and
    citrusy,” he laughed.

    Such abundance invites further generosity, so Susan and I have been regifting lemons to others. It’s super satisfying to extend the ripple effect, the generosity of friends multiplied. Especially with a glass of fresh squeezed lemonade!