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With the last sands of August slipping through the hourglass, the winds of September have already arrived in full force. And this afternoon, following an alarm on my phone by only a very few minutes — enough for me to rush around the house battening down windows and doors, and enough to quickly hustle Carley out for a pre-downpour potty break — the sky darkened dramatically and an end-of-summer weather burst blasted through Essex. Although the entire dramatic affair last only minutes, the storm damage was significant.
The photograph above and the next one below capture the startling aftermath of a large, old maple tree growing just west of the old tennis court. I was aware that fairly significant rot had begun to compromise the tree, but I grossly underestimated how little unrotten trunk the grand old tree was relying upon to stay upright.
Storm Damage, August 30, 2022 (Source: Geo Davis)
Pushing my fingers into the spongy interior I was struck by what a miracle nature has been performing maintaining this towering maple, and I now know how fortunate we’ve been. And how fortunate we were this afternoon. I’ve included the second photograph from the perspective of the hammock huddle because it shows that a similar storm arriving from the northwest would have likely crushed the icehouse. Spared by fate!
Storm Damage, August 30, 2022 (Source: Geo Davis)
The vengeful blast also snapped this large ash tree, slamming it so suddenly that it lifted part of the root system right out of the ground.
Storm Damage, August 30, 2022 (Source: Geo Davis)
This immense stem from the ornamental maple in our front yard was unceremoniously trimmed from her high perch as were countless branches and limbs from many of the trees on our lawns. Tomorrow we’ll venture into the back meadows and forests to see how they fared.
Storm Damage, August 30, 2022 (Source: Geo Davis)
Adding a dose of drama to the storm damage, another large ash (I’ll confirm variety tomorrow after the power lines have been addressed) came down, this one across the power lines, and indeed partially across NYS Route 22. It’s difficult to see in the photo, but the tree caught fire, several times flaring up quite fiercely. Then a series of small explosions, starting at the hung tree and then popping down toward the ferry dock in a dramatic series of bangs appear to have deactivated the wire. No more fire. Just smoke.
Fortunately we received virtually damage to buildings. And — the consolation prize, I suppose — it looks like we will have a whole lot of firewood soon!
Icehouse on ice. Yes, this tidy clutch of words and ideas appeals immensely to my poetic perspective on living, but there’s more to it than that. Like so many of the posts I’m revisiting lately, the earliest iteration of this originally somewhat melancholic reflection is nearly a decade old. Like many blog drafts it became an “orphan”, put aside for a day when my time was more abundant or my melancholy was less crowding or my thoughts were better gathered or…
You get the point. As with my poems, I frequently launch into a draft with the passion and clarity of purpose propelling me. And then, something stalls. And the initial foray falters. Or, at the very least, the seed for what I envision writing is cast aside indefinitely.
Often enough I circle back, allowing the persistent relevance of the idea, the recurring urgency to undergird a certain confidence that I might be on to something. That I need to revisit the seed, germinate it, nurture it.
This is the case with my work on preservation by neglect. The idea is baked into my love for and efforts toward rehabilitating old buildings, and it’s in many respects more compelling to me than the finished accomplishments of a preservation project. Not sure I’m ready to put my finger on exactly why yet, but it’s akin to my penchant for wabi-sabi. In my perspective there is profound beauty in the imperceptibly slow entropic forces revealed in aging, even failing, man-made artifacts. Sorry, that’s a major mouthful and earful, and it’s a bit of a mind bender. That’s why I’m not yet ready to flesh this idea out. I’m still trying to sort it for myself. Hopefully soon I’ll be able to better articulate what’s percolating in my noggin.
I’m wandering afield, so I’ll lap back to my earlier intentions.
Ice House, Northeast Side (Source: Jason McNulty)
Icehouse Rehab Revisited
Icehouse on ice. Again.
Rehabilitating (and repurposing) Rosslyn’s historic icehouse is an ongoing desire. Has been since the outset. But advancing this desire to rehabilitate the icehouse has been chilling on ice almost as long.
Going all the way back, since the summer of 2006 when we purchased this property, we’ve wanted to transform this obsolete utility building into a relevant-for-the-21st-century utility building. But, alas, we’ve perennially and indefinitely postponed the project for a variety of reasons. Actually that’s not 100% true. We ensured the building’s preservation back in 2006-6 by tackling the most pressing challenges.
We stabilized the failing structure, replaced the failed roof, repaired the crumbling stone foundation and upgraded the mechanicals. But then we mothballed the project, deferring the next phase indefinitely until circumstances warranted moving forward. For several years we’ve used the ice house as a storage and maintenance annex for the carriage barn, but recently we’ve begun to address a sustainable plan for use. I hope to address this in more depth over the course of the next year. But for now, I’ll just say that we understand that simply stabilizing the building is not enough. Successful rehab demands a sustainable plan for use. And we’re working on it! (Source: Demolition Dedux )
But once the icehouse’s structural integrity was restored, we shifted further rehabilitation off the short-term priority list. It could wait. It would have to wait. Completing the house rehab (and the boathouse rehab) had proven challenging enough. Hemorrhaging time and money, our scope of work had been repeatedly curtailed, narrowing to the two most essential buildings.
Ice House, East Side (Source: Jason McNulty)
Icehouse On Ice, Hurrah!
Let’s step back a moment, before moving onto the exciting update (in the next section as well as several other recent posts) about the looong neglected icehouse rehabilitation coming to an end at last.
This handsome little outbuilding has endured for six score and more — probably about 130 years or so, but how could I resist the chance to borrow that linguistic artifact when polishing an aged subject?!?! — rugged winters and sultry summers. And looking around it’s pretty evident that most icehouses haven’t endured. They’ve largely vanished from historic view-sheds throughout the country. But this well built, classically proportioned addition to Rosslyn’s timeless property remains with us, ready for a new chapter.
Although various reasons likely underpin the icehouse’s endurance, and the attentions of previous owners are no doubt high on this list, I would suggest that one of the reasons we’re now fortunate to undertake a purposeful re-imagination of this building is that it’s been preserved for more than a century, in large part, by neglect. First and foremost it wasn’t demolished to make way for other needs (such as the clay tennis court that adjoins its west and northwest flank). And it wasn’t adapted into a chicken coop or conjoined with the carriage barn or… It served a limited functional purpose for at least two previous owners that I’m aware of (one as part of honey-making accommodations and another as a woodworking shop), but the building wasn’t irretrievably bastardized to fulfill its temporary needs. And this, as mentioned elsewhere, so forgive my repetition, is the best argument for preservation by neglect.
Ice House, Northwest Side (Source: Jason McNulty)
Icehouse On Ice No More
After sixteen years, we’re finally moving forward. And not just baby steps this time. Building on the original infrastructure improvements from 2006-7 and drawing upon a decade and a half of perspective gained from actually living on this benevolent property, we’re now ready to rejigger our original vision, tempering the lofty, grounding the capricious, and infusing new relevance into this landmark utility space.
Ice House, North Side (Source: Jason McNulty)
I will be sharing new plans as we move forward, showing here what we presented to the Town of Essex Planning Board last month. There are still some adjustments to be made following our public hearing and project approval last week. I’ll delve into those details separately as well. But in the mean time I’ll like to honor the beginning of the thaw, the un-icing of this too long postponed project. And it struck me as a poignant opportunity to showcase images that were gifted to us by Jason McNulty. The photographs taken by him on November 8, 2004 and were sent to us on July 6, 2010 following his first return visit back to Rosslyn, the house where he grew up. There is a personal appeal for me, glimpsing the property well before we owned it. And the gratitude we felt upon receiving the images a dozen years ago is rekindled now as we initiate our preliminary stage of rehabilitation.
Green Mountain moonrise over Lake Champlain. Tricky to capture the moon’s surreal size and color as it burbles up out of the “Greens”. (Source: Geo Davis)
Smart phone photography (i.e. “iPhonography”) inevitably includes some limitations. But the biggest upside (that in some respects outweighs many of those limitations) is its omnipresence. The mid-July moonrise in this image — a martian mime lifting up out of the Green Mountains, a fiery moonbeam searing the surface of Lake Champlain, a blurry silhouette observing, and the viewer’s vantage that of a voyeur peeking over the shoulder of the silhouetted observer — is possible because my phone was with me when my camera was not. Returning to Essex by boat from dinner at the Red Mill at the Basin Harbor Club in Vergennes, Vermont. At the helm, piloting a crew of close friends homeward at the end of a celebratory evening. Late at night. In the dark. Miles from my camera.
Smart phone photos will inevitably be the subject of academic scrutiny some day, an unwieldy proliferation of self referential documentation offering powerful insights into our era for some distant descendent curious about her/his/its anthropologic backstory. But for now I offer up thanks that I so often have this device close at hand when the moment demands recording. A photo. A video. An audio clip…
This Green Mountain moonrise is fuzzy. It is unexceptional its photographic integrity. But it nevertheless possesses a certain energy that wouldn’t have otherwise been captured. I so rarely bring a camera with me any more unless I plan to take photographs. But the most important images appear when unexpected. It’s a law of the universe. Probably.
I realize in these times of introspection, digging deep into the repository of images and documents and artifacts that have accrued since the summer of 2006 when we purchased Rosslyn, that a vast documentary already exists. It is the story of our time in this home. Recorded, by and large, because phone cameras made it convenient and quick and possible to record the myriad moments. Early images are poor quality by today’s standards. But they possess a certain intrigue for their inexact verisimilitude. They leave room for memory and imagination to conjure a crisper story. They are romantic in that sense. Allusions. Illusions.
So many mornings and evenings I’ve gazed at the Green Mountains. So many celestial gazes focused on the moon. Moonrise. Moonset. Full full. Delicate crescent. This curious device we call a smart phone has become a participant, a filter, a scribe, a documentarian. It is rooted in the way we see Rosslyn. The way we see our time at Rosslyn. A fuzzy collage of moonrises. Sunrises. And the interstices where sixteen years of life germinated…
[NB: I’m not 100% certain what or why this post is. Nor why I’m inclined to share it despite the meandering, inconclusive foray. Some how a snapshot of a Green Mountain moonrise evolved into a meditation on fuzzy photography, smartphones, and the peculiar documentary amalgam these omnipresent devices co-create…]
Icehouse Concrete Work Complete (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
It’s been another monumental week! After the concrete subcontractor melted down a week ago, mere days before starting work on the icehouse, our in-house team decided to undertake the foundation and slab themselves. Today I can report with profound pride and pleasure that it was a total success. The crew is gathering tomorrow to celebrate two exemplary pours and an end result that is — in all candor — most likely superior to what we would’ve wound up with in the first place. Sometimes setbacks are actually the inspiration to regroup, reboot, and outperform original expectations.
Needless to say, it’s been an uber productive but looong week with a staggering level of accomplishment to celebrate, so I’ll keep this update short and sweet. I promise to share a more detailed look at the full court press made by Hroth, Pam, Peter, Supi, and Tony (as well as the concrete collaboration extraordinaire they have to show for their efforts) soon, probably even tomorrow or Sunday.
Team Barbecue: Peter, Hroth (back l-to-r), Supi, and Pam Hroth (front l-to-r)
Another short and sweet post to mark the end-of-week team barbecue. With four fifths of the icehouse concrete dream team present (Tony was unable to join), it was a well earned chance to take a break from work and celebrate.
Susan and I are profoundly grateful for the problem solving and priority juggling and camaraderie and diligence and expertise and enthusiasm and accomplishments of this crew. Thank you.
We’ve had good luck with using Earth Friendly Products’ Furniture Polish on unsealed wood such as cherry and walnut furniture that hasn’t been varnished, lacquered, etc. Because the grain is open and receptive to oil, the furniture polish works nicely to brighten the natural pigments and grain while maintaining the requisite moisture in the wood. But this product is decidedly unsuitable for our mahogany dining room table, leaving behind unsightly smears and swirls from the applicator.
My current quest to source a green furniture wax connected me with Betsy at Farmhouse Wares, a user-friendly online purveyor of the sort of essentials you might have found at a general store in the distant, slightly idealized past. Betsy’s goal complements our own ideals nicely: the marriage of classical elegance and healthy, ecologically responsible design. So the website was an obvious match for me this morning when I was dredging the web for a non-toxic wax to maintain our French polished and lacquered antiques.
Update: Time for a re-order! It’s been eight months since I first posted, and I’ve just placed another order for more Farmhouse Furniture Wax, and this time we’re trying the lilac as well as the lemon scent. Lavendar is not likely to be a big hit with Susan’s who’s sensitivity to fragrance tends to rule out lavendar. A shame since I love the smell; reminds me of Provence…
Verdict is that this product is a good, reliable hard wax for highly finished wood furniture. We’ve been using on finicky antiques with great results!
A vintage Sherwood Inn postcard received from a Crater Club neighbor.
Without a doubt, one of the greatest rewards of living at Rosslyn is the parade of people I’ve met (and the stories they tell) simply because this house and boathouse have touched so many over the years.
[pullquote]”Everyone’s so busy nowadays,” Lila said.[/pullquote]A couple days ago I answered the front door midday. A smiling, well dressed lady introduced yourself. Lila and I had met a couple of winters ago at the Essex Inn, and she reminded me that she had spent many enjoyable afternoons and evenings at the Sherwood Inn a half century or so ago.
She presented me with a color copy of a Sherwood Inn postcard she had received from a friend long ago. The rear side of the postcard said, “My summer home for June – September 1953. Old looking, eh?” Lila explained that she had been meaning to bring this postcard to me ever since we first met.
Lila’s Sherwood Inn Memories
Lila told me stories about the glory days of the Sherwood Inn, a once popular place for a drink and lakeside lodging in the property where I now live. She named several of the friends with whom she’d wiled away pleasant afternoons in the tavern and on the porch, and several were names that were familiar to me.
Lila also told me about playing tennis at the Crater Club where she still spends the warm part of the year. She lamented the fact that younger generations in her family (and all families perhaps?) seem to spend less and less time relaxing on Lake Champlain during summer vacation. “Everyone’s so busy nowadays,” she explained.
When she shook my hand to greet me and then again when she left I was amazed with her firm grip.
“Tennis,” Lila reminded me. “I played lots of tennis for many years.”
I hope I’ll have another chance to catch up with Lila this fall, another chance to hear about slower times in Essex when friends stopped for drinks at the Sherwood Inn and played endless tennis and vacationed all summer long on Lake Champlain…
Piece-by-Piece: fabricating post bases for Rosslyn’s boathouse railings (Photo: Peter Vaiciulis)
As temperatures drop and winter weather threatens, Peter and Supi are toiling against the onset of winter. They’re taking advantage of shop work when possible, fabricating post bases — piece-by-piece — painstaking duplicating our boathouse‘s existing post and railing details while ensuring the most hardy, weatherproof construction possible to ensure the longevity of these handsome architectural elements that will be installed in the most challenging conditions on the entire Rosslyn property. It takes master craftsman to to marry these delicate aesthetic details with such a demanding, punishing environment. And there is no other way to describe the conditions endured by the boathouse and the boathouse gangway.
The trim molding is being shaped, one router pass after the other to match the existing details. These will then be secured to the railing posts above the bases being fabricated below. Piece-by-piece the carpenters are transforming a vision into a railing. And today sections have been handed off to Erin who has begun installing the first coat of primer to cure, be re-sanded and re-primed. Once primers are properly cured we will begin to paint, again building up to well cured coats in a controlled, heated environment so that when these elements finally reach their destination along the shore of Lake Champlain, they will be not only beautiful, but well protected from the Adirondack Coast winter elements.
Piece-by-Piece: fabricating post bases for Rosslyn’s boathouse railings (Photo: Peter Vaiciulis)
Piece-by-Piece Mashup
In keeping with the spirit of previous updates, here’s a quick remix of Peter and Supi’s painstaking, piece-by-piece post base fabrication for the historic rehabilitation of Rosslyn’s boathouse gangway railing.
Eric Crowningshield Framing Icehouse Floor (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
What. A. Week. It’s a bit of a three ring circus at Rosslyn lately. So many projects happening concurrently. And so many invested, industrious, upbeat, solution-centric colleagues helping us repurpose Rosslyn’s circa 1889 icehouse rehabilitation into the ultimate 21st century flex-work-lifestyle hub. And as of today the first floor is framed!
Icehouse First Floor Framed (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Vision + Ambition + Skills
With such a fortunate gathering of capable tradesmen (and woman) progress this week has reached a new level. A shared vision. An eagerness to advance the mission. An absence of ego. And a shared enthusiasm for the project. If only ever week can run this smoothly!
Although the collaboration of many ensured that the icehouse first floor was framed this week, especial thanks are due Pam, Hroth, Eric, Peter, Andrew, Ben, and Supi for your various contributions. You are truly inspirational. Thank you.
Video Mashup of Floor Framing
If you prefer a quick zip through, then this video mashup is for you.
Morning Meander, June 12, 2018 (Source: Geo Davis)
My best days at Rosslyn start with a mellow morning meander to the waterfront to watch the sun rise up out of the Green Mountains. Or to the vegetable gardens and orchard to pick fresh fruit while sipping my tea. Or around the property inspecting flower beds and deadheading peonies or whatever else has bloomed and withered.
And by my side, my Labrador Retriever. In our early days at Rosslyn, our dog (and my early-morning companion) was Tasha, an almost snow white Lab who passed away as we neared the final significant phase of Rosslyn’s rehabilitation. Tasha was buried beneath a maple tree that she frequented for, well, shall we say, her morning and evening rituals.
Griffin joined our family after Tasha, and he turned ten years old this spring. It hardly seems possible. How did a puppy who so recently chewed up the trim (just as soon as the finish carpenters and painters finished) rocket into the early weeks of his second decade?!?!
Griffin was with me during my morning meander this past Tuesday, June 12. He too loves early morning but for different reasons than I, so my sunrise saunter was brief enough for me to get back inside and make his breakfast before he fainted from starvation…
It was such a mesmerizing effect that I wandered around in the early light watching the morning unfold in duplicate. Here’s a snapshot that I posted on Sailing Errant.
Lake Champlain offered up this morning mirror today. Errant reflected… (Source: Sailing Errant)
The length, breadth, and depth of the greatest of American lakes (Yes, I’m partial!) ensures that perfectly glass flat mornings are few and far between. But when we’re lucky enough to witness one, it feels like slipping into a magnificent Technicolor dream.
