Rosslyn Redux

Blog

  • Lake Champlain Boathouse Blues

    Welcome to spring in the Champlain Valley. And to Rosslyn’s annual spring drama: the Lake Champlain boathouse blues!

    Over the last month lake water level has been rising, rising, rising. And rising some more. In fact, it’s even risen since I started drafting this post. (Current level a little further down.)

    Boathouse Blues Begin

    Until recently I was singing the end-of-ski-season rag and the dandelion ditty while quietly hoping that Lake Champlain water levels would rise enough to hedge against last summer’s all-too-low water levels.

    And then I received this recent message and photo from Essex friend and neighbor Tom Duca.

    Lake Champlain Boathouse Blues (Source: Tom Duca)
    Lake Champlain Boathouse Blues (Source: Tom Duca)

    “The lake was superlow last year, but now it’s moving right up… Most of the snow is melted in the higher elevations, so I don’t think the lake will get much higher than this…” ~ Tom Duca

    Nerve wracking, right? Hopefully Tom’s snow melt assessment is accurate. And hopefully it’s not an overly rainy spring.

    My mother was the next boathouse blues melody maker. Here are her updates.

    Lake Champlain Boathouse Blues (Source: Melissa Davis)
    Lake Champlain Boathouse Blues (Source: Melissa Davis)

    “Water much higher, you’ll be glad to know!” ~ Melissa Davis

    So I suppose my wishes for higher-than-2016 water levels weren’t as quiet as I had thought. And initially Lake Champlain’s spring  water level increase did relieve me.

    And then my mother sent me this.

    Lake Champlain Boathouse Blues (Source: Melissa Davis)
    Lake Champlain Boathouse Blues (Source: Melissa Davis)

    “Water rising! Almost even with Old Dock dock.” ~ Melissa Davis

    She was referring to the Old Dock Restaurant, located just south of the ferry dock. Time to start monitoring the official Lake Champlain water level.

    Boathouse Blues Reference & Refrain

    For the official Lake Champlain water level, I turn to USGS.gov and pull up a one year retrospective that reveals the lake is much higher than last spring.

    Current Lake Champlain water level on April 21, 2017 (Source: USGS.gov)
    Current Lake Champlain water level on April 21, 2017 (Source: USGS.gov)

    See that red line marking 100′ above sea level? That indicates flood stage. Yes, we’re pretty close. In fact, as of today, April 24, 2017 the most recent instantaneous “water surface elevation” is 99.74′ above sea level. And by the time you read this, it may be even higher. Check out the current Lake Champlain water level (and temperature) if you’re curious.

    Until then, here are couple of additional glimpses of Rosslyn boathouse struggling to stay dry. This latest refrain in the Lake Champlain boathouse blues was photographed by Katie Shepard.

    Lake Champlain Boathouse Blues (Source: Katie Shepard)
    Lake Champlain Boathouse Blues (Source: Katie Shepard)

    Great angle, Katie! You can tell that even on this relatively placid day, a medium-sized wave or boat wake would likely inundate the floorboards.

    Lake Champlain Boathouse Blues (Source: Katie Shepard)
    Lake Champlain Boathouse Blues (Source: Katie Shepard)

    Looking down on the boathouse gangway reveals flotsam and jetsum that have already washed up on the decking.

    Lake Champlain Boathouse Blues (Source: Katie Shepard)
    Lake Champlain Boathouse Blues (Source: Katie Shepard)

    And Katie’s last photograph shows the water level almost cresting Roslyn’s waterfront retaining wall. Fingers crossed that we won’t experience flood stage this year!

  • October Wind, Canada Geese and Essex DNA

    Rosslyn from Lake Champlain in October (Photo: Kelly Youngs-Schmitt)
    Rosslyn in October (Photo: Kelly Youngs-Schmitt)

    My day was made when part-time Essex resident Kelly Youngs-Schmitt shared these fun photographs on Facebook.

    Kelly’s a relatively new acquaintance (although her Essex connection is far deeper, longer and more historically significant than my own.) But the Facebook-powered social web and the curiously compelling Essex DNA have brought us together. She participates in the Essex on Lake Champlain community blog, and she generously shares the stories and artifacts from her family’s Essex past.

    Essex DNA

    That curiously compelling Essex DNA is in no small part responsible for our decision to relocate here. It’s an elusive topic, one that surfaces and then almost as quickly vanishes again throughout this blog. Like Champ, the Lake Champlain monster, who so many have experienced, but few can clearly and concisely explain or even prove… Essex exerts a quasi-mystical pull on many of us. I suppose the closest analogy would be a large, loosely knit family or a college or prep school that becomes woven into your fibers in a way that you can never quite grasp. You meet a cousin or a fellow alum for the first time and instantly you are drawn to one another, despite only the most nominal connection.

    Kelly Youngs-Schmitt and James W. Schmitt (Photo: Kelly Youngs-Schmitt)
    Kelly Youngs-Schmitt and James W. Schmitt (Photo: Kelly Youngs-Schmitt)

    No, these analogies falter. Because living in Essex, even for a few short weeks at a time, forges far deeper, far more relevant connections. Human connections. Civic connections. Architectural, cultural and historic connections. Environmental connections too, for so much of Essex’s magnetism is derived from its geographically perfect location between Lake Champlain and the Adirondacks. Access to nature and outdoor recreation, year-round, often elicits the “playground” analogy to the annoyance of some. Certainly far more than play happens in these sacred waters, valleys, hills and mountains. But it’s true that this environment is a proverbial fountain of youth. It invites childhood energy and dreams and playfulness, so in a sense it is a metaphorical playground.

    But I’m wandering far from my starting point which was Kelly’s photographs shown here.

    October Wind & Canada Geese

    Despite the on-again-off-again Indian Summer that we’ve enjoyed this autumn, there have been some bracing days, many like the one captured in these photos. Picture perfect. Bluebird skies and sunshine. But crisp. And windy. That “selfie” in the canoe captures what I’m describing. Kelly’s husband, James W. Schmitt, is pretty well bundled up!

    You can practically hear the Canada Geese clamoring across the sky or settling onto the lake for a deserved rest. This time of year vast flocks of Canada Geese ply the skyways from early morning late into the night. It’s the soundtrack of Essex autumn. And Essex spring. And while no Canada Geese are visible in Kelly’s photos, I know they are there. Honking.

    There’s something else that’s not visible in the photos: summer sunshine. In addition to Canada Geese, Technicolor fall foliage, and the Gingko shedding its leaves suddenly, dramatically, another autumn highlight is the changing light. During midsummer these photographs would have been bathed in a considerably stronger, more orange hued light. But as autumn advances, even the brightest daylight shifts toward buttery yellow hues and flatter light. This is particularly apparent in the photograph of Rosslyn and the boathouse. They appear to be off-white. And while some credit for this may be due the camera or phone, the reality is simply that the paint colors appear fainter, less pigmented in the autumn light, even in the early morning when the sun rises up out of Vermont’s Green Mountains displaying its most colorful rays of the day.

    Hmmm… A meandering, ruminating post if there ever was one. Time to wrap up!

  • Footings, Foundation, and Fundamentals

    Footings, Foundation, and Fundamentals

    Hat tip to Hroth and Tony for sweating the fundamentals. It’ll all pay off down the line!⁣

    Marking footers for new icehouse footers (Credit: Hroth Ottosen)
    Marking footers for new icehouse footers (Credit: Hroth Ottosen)

    Marking the new footers that will provide the structural foundations for icehouse rehabilitation.

    Marking footers for new icehouse footers (Credit: Hroth Ottosen)
    Marking footers for new icehouse footers (Credit: Hroth Ottosen)

    Original stone foundations will remain in situ, and new internal footings, perimeter curb, and slab will ensure structural integrity of new loft, etc.

    Cutting footers for new icehouse footers (Credit: Tony Foster)
    Cutting footers for new icehouse footers (Credit: Tony Foster)

    Meticulous dimensioning, soil cutting, and removal transform engineering scheme to stable “form” for the structural underpinnings for Rosslyn’s icehouse rehabilitation. Once final interior excavation is complete rebar can be installed. 

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

  • How to Apply Tanglefoot to Trees

    How to Apply Tanglefoot (Source: Geo Davis)
    How to Apply Tanglefoot (Source: Geo Davis)

    It’s Tanglefoot time again. Actually, we’re late — really late! — due to this rainy, soggy summer. But better late than never, especially since I’ve begun to spy the first tent caterpillars of the 2017 season.

    First a quick refresher. A little over a year ago I explained how to use Tanglefoot and I explained why holistic orcharding benefits from this goopy ritual.

    It’s a messy installation process, but it seems to work pretty well… Applying Tanglefoot to fruit trees a messy but relatively straightforward task. Better instructors have already explained application, so I’ll defer to their able guidance rather than overlook something important. (Source: How to Use Tanglefoot (And Why Fruit Trees Need It))

    That post includes the excellent advice of “better instructors”, but I wanted to follow up with a quick visual instructional to show you how to apply Tanglefoot. Consider it a supplement. Quick tips.

    How to Apply Tanglefoot

    In the previous post I discuss using plastic film to wrap the tree trunk, but four years into our Tanglefoot adventure, we’re still using paper/cardboard wraps.

    Following is a quick video / slide show intended for orchardists, fruit tree hobbyists, or basically anybody who wants quick and easy instruction for how to apply Tanglefoot on young (i.e. slender trunk) trees. Many thanks to Jacob for letting me photograph his hands during installation.

    [youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GPlnN0g11-8?rel=0&w=500 ]

    I hope you find the video helpful. We’ve been extremely satisfied with the results year-after-year, and we’re happy to recommend Tanglefoot (and confident in our recommendation) for other fruit tree growers. Good luck!

    SaveSave

    SaveSave

    SaveSave

  • Blood’s Bay in Essex, NY

    Vintage stereoview of Blood's Bay in Essex, New York
    Vintage stereoview of Blood’s Bay in Essex, NY

    In my ongoing quest to gather and showcase vintage artifacts from our fair hamlet, I often come across images and other items that stump me. The vintage stereoview in this post is one such example. We’ve shared it on the Essex on Lake Champlain community blog in the hopes of crowd-sleuthing the whereabouts. Our understanding was that this sliver of an Essex harbor was once known as Blood’s Bay. But that’s far from certain…

    Here’s what we offered our neighbors by way of brainstorming invitation.

    I have read that this northern Essex harbor was once-upon-a-time referred to as Blood’s Bay or some such similarly sanguine moniker. Do you know of any other names this bay has been called throughout the years? (Source: Essex on Lake Champlain)

    And here’s how two of our neighbors responded.

    Steve Mckenna: Whallons bay.
    Mark Kupperman: Second vote for Whallon’s bay, from what used to be the town beach? Is that building part of original Barracks?
    George Davis: Or perhaps a bit further north?
    Steve Mckenna: Ha! That was my second [guess] (Source: Essex on Lake Champlain)

    Perhaps they are right. Perhaps the image was made near where the intersection of Albee Road and Lakeshore Road. But I’m not certain. And at the risk of perpetuating a falshood (and in the hopes of soliciting more learned feedback), I’d like to reword my thoughts from the original post on our Essex community blog.

    Given other historic photographs from early in the 20th century it appears that the timbers in the foreground of this stereoview were part of a “crib dock” pier near the present day Essex-Charlotte ferry dock, and the “barn” in the distance was most likely located near Sandy Point. Or possibly on the now defunct crib dock north of — and parallel to — Rosslyn’s boathouse? This is more apparent in another stereroview shot from the opposite perspective which we’ll share online soon. (Source: Essex on Lake Champlain)

    What do you think? Any idea what we’re looking at?

  • The Art of Dirt Work

    The Art of Dirt Work

    Excavation, grading, and other related site work can sometimes be like sculpting — carving away material, building up material, liberating a vision, reimagining environs, transforming possibility into reality. It’s truly the art of dirt work.

    The Art of Dirt Work (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    The Art of Dirt Work (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Occasionally, I’m fortunate enough to be one of the operators sculpting concept into actuality, imagination into existence. Often instead I’m standing and pacing and siting and gesticulating and interrupting the hard work of another operator, tweaking and revising, recalibrating my original idea(s) as circumstances warrant.

    The Art of Dirt Work (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    The Art of Dirt Work (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Last week was challenging for me. While I prefer to be on site, observing, directing, reevaluating, making field decisions as the site evolves, I was unable to be present for the site work. In fact, while Bob, Scott, and Phil were practicing the art of dirt work around Rosslyn’s icehouse I was over 2,000 miles away. With only telephone, video, and photos connecting me to their progress, I was forced to let go, to trust their judgment, to rely on the whole team to help catalyze the plan.

    And you know what? It looks like everything worked out great!

    https://www.instagram.com/reel/CkYWmy3gi5f/

  • Up in Smoke: How to Fix a Smoky Fireplace

    I enjoy smoked turkey. Thinly sliced. Between bread. Or inside a wrap with Swiss cheese and lettuce and mayonnaise. Maybe even some slices of pickle. Yes, slices of pickle and salt and pepper.

    But a smoky fireplace on Turkey day?

    Half an hour before my in-laws arrived to celebrate Thanksgiving dinner at Rosslyn I began to prepare the dining room fireplace. Logs, kindling, newspaper. The usual. But before lighting the fire I undertook an unusual step: warming the flue.

    “Wait,” I can hear you say. “Isn’t the fire supposed to do that?”

    Yes. And no.

    While I’ve blathered on often enough about the quirky fireplace situation at Rosslyn, I’ve neglected to explain the importance of the dining room fireplace. Despite having six chimneys and nine fireplaces, there’s only one “usable” wood burning fireplace in the entire house. And it required to small parade of miracles to ensure that we would be able to restore and use this one fireplace to actually burn logs.

    Long story short: the majority of Rosslyn’s chimney flues were either built for coal burning (and are too narrow) or are too old and deteriorated for burning wood fires. We discovered this after we’d fallen in love with Rosslyn and her nine fireplaces. We bought the stately-but-sagging home anyway, and before long many of the fireplaces had been converted to gas. Efficient. Easy. Pleasant.

    But I love fireplaces, real fireplaces, with logs and crackles and the faint fragrance of smoke and oak or maple smoldering away. And so we managed to find a mason who assured us that he could rebuild the dining room fireplace.

    The flue was lined and the firebox was rebuilt. In fact, almost the entire fireplace was rebuilt as was the surround and hearth and mantle. Beautiful. Elegant. But problematic.

    The chimney is tall. Almost four stories tall. And it is built into the exterior brick wall. This makes is cold during the winter which in turn prevents it from drawing smoke up from the hearth until the air column withing the flue is warm. Unfortunately, starting a fire and waiting for the chimney to warm up enough to draw out the smoke is hazardous to my marriage.

    “You’re not going to start a fire in there,” my wife asked/announced as I began setting it up between turkey basting and gravy stirring.

    “Yes, my dear,” I announced with feigned authority. “I am.”

    “Are you crazy? You’ll smoke up the entire house just as everyone is arriving for Thanksgiving!”

    “Don’t worry, I’m sure I can warm it up enough to draft before starting the fire…”

    She was not convinced. But I insisted. A year or so ago I actually managed to warm the flue enough by burning a rolled up newspaper held high up into the throat of the firebox. The paper burned and the smoke slowly began to rise. I continued to light new rolls of paper like a chain smoker on steroids, holding them high up into the chilly chimney until the fire burned clear and fast. I could see the flames and smoke being pulled up the chimney. Then I lit the previously laid fire. Victory. We enjoyed a beautiful fire throughout dinner with a dining room full of guests. No smoky fireplace.

    That was the one and only time we’ve successfully had a fire in the dining room. The only other time we tried was just before family and friends arrived for Christmas dinner almost two years ago. Catastrophe! The flue seemed to be drawing, but as soon as the fire was started the smoke ceased to rise and the dining room filled with smoke. Thick, heavy smoke. We had to smother the fire to put it out releasing even more sooty smoke… Weeks later we were still trying to clean the sooty stains and smells from the dining room.

    This year would be different. I had succeeded once, and now I understood the formula.

    Unfortunately, the formula was insufficient remedy for the cold flue and heavy smoke. The dining room filled with smoke and my bride chastised me as I ran out the front door with the burning roll of newspapers like an Olympian preparing to the light the torch.

    Fire out, we proceeded to throw open any windows not yet sealed with winter storm windows. And then the doorbell rang. Our guests had arrived…

    In theory, lighting a fireplace with a tall, cold flue is possible. Even in a tight house. Here, for example, is the technique for warming a fireplace flue with a newspaper torch:

    Roll several sheets of paper lengthwise and twist one end closed. This keeps the smoke from traveling through the newspaper tube and into your face. Light the other end of the torch and hold it inside the fireplace. Move it slowly around the walls and let the flame touch the damper grate. When the flue is properly warmed, the smoke from the torch will travel straight up the chimney. (eHow.com)

    Sounds good. And, in some cases, it works wonderfully. Though Rosslyn’s dining room fireplace apparently poses some challenges to this tried and true method for warming a cold flue. Perhaps a “gas supplement” is the trick to start our finicky fireplace:

    Prime the flue. If your chimney is built on the outside of your house, the chimney flue is probably cold. When you open the damper, the cold air in the flue will sink and come into your warm house. If you try to light a fire during this air sink, you’re going to end up with smoke coming into the house instead of up the chimney. To counteract the air sink, you need to prime the flue by warming it up. This is done by lighting a roll of newspaper and holding it up the damper opening for a few minutes. When you feel the draft reverse, you know the flue is primed, and you’re ready to start your fire. If you have a fireplace that has a gas pipe to supplement your wood burning, turn on the gas and light the pilot light without any wood in the fireplace. Your flue will warm up in a matter of minutes. (The Art of Manliness)

    Sound logical enough. But one success and two failures represents daunting odds, especially when my bride’s patience has already been exhausted. And I hesitate to add gas to an already worrisome fire hazard. Call me a coward.

    But all hope is not lost. It has been suggested that running a heater in the firebox for a period before starting the fire would warm the flue. Or installation of a flue-top exhaust fan which would such smoke up the chimney until the fire could manage on its own.

    Both sound slightly dubious, so I’m casting about for alternatives. Any ideas? I need to fix this smoky fireplace once and for all…

     

  • Halloween-ing 2022

    Halloween-ing 2022

    Halloween-ing 2022 (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Halloween-ing 2022 (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Halloween-ing with help from our Amish friends. (Yes, these pumpkins have warts!) ⁣

    Warty Pumpkin (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Warty Pumpkin (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Less than a week until the spookiest day of the year. Are your jack-o-lanterns carved?

  • Happy Halloween 2022

    Happy Halloween 2022

    Happy Halloween 2022 (Credit: Hroth Ottosen)
    Happy Halloween 2022 (Credit: Hroth Ottosen)

    Happy Halloween!

    Our friend, carpenter, 2022 Rosslyn rehab team leader, and creative-but-maudlin jack-o’-lantern designer, Hroth Ottosen, channeled his theatrical genius for the win with this Covid safe “hatchet head”. Pretty spooky, right?

    Hope you are having a safe and happy Halloween weekend. Don’t let this spooky jack-o’-lantern spoil your Halloween vibes!

    Halloween Haiku

    Halloo, hatchet head,
    too-too cool jack-o’-lantern, 
    warty but sporty.

  • Lingering Longer at Rock Harbor

    Rock Harbor view of Lake Champlain and Vermont shoreline
    Rock Harbor view of Lake Champlain and Vermont shoreline

    Back at Rock Harbor I packed the car while Susan prepared tuna melts. The temperature had warmed to the mid seventies, and a light breeze was blowing off the lake. We ate lunch on the deck, one last indulgence before locking up and heading back to Manhattan.

    Perched a hundred feet above the lake, the deck offered a stunning panorama of Lake Champlain’s mid-section, known as the narrows. At just over a mile across, the narrows are the wasp’s waist of the 125 mile long lake that at its broadest spans 14 miles across. Across the field of sparkling topaz Vermont farmland extended to the Green Mountains. The Basin Harbor Club’s whitewashed cottages winked through heavy foliage along the shoreline. Several sailboats glided north. A motorboat buzzed lazily, weaving in and out of the coves along the New York shoreline.

    I remembered the summer five years ago when Susan and I first explored these same coves together — waterskiing, drifting, skinny dipping — enjoying a whimsical summer fling before heading back to separate lives and responsibilities on opposite sides of the Atlantic.

    “I was thinking,” Susan interrupted my reverie. “I don’t really have to be back in the city until noon tomorrow…”

    I smiled. We both knew that she really meant, Do you want to stay another night and drive home tomorrow? Though not habitually subtle, Susan had a tendency to suggest rather than request. So, an offhand, “It’s getting late, we really should feed Tasha,” actually translated into, Can you please feed Tasha dinner? Or, “It would be nice to have a fire in the fireplace,” meant, Would you build a fire?

    “Great! Let’s stay.”

    “Really?” Susan sounded surprised.

    “Sure, it’s a perfect day for tennis.”

    My work was portable, so Monday mornings rolled out more or less the same whether we were upstate or downstate. Up early, take Tasha out, feed Tasha, feed myself, fire up my laptop and get to work. In Rock Harbor I could let Tasha out the front door in my bathrobe and then let her back in five or ten minutes later when she barked at the door. In Manhattan, I got dressed, chatted with the doormen, walked Tasha around the block on a leash, chatted with the doormen again and then scarfed down a banana or some cereal at my desk in front of my computer. Breakfast at 430 East 57th Street and Camp Wabetsu might have tasted the same, but the view from the kitchen window in Rock Harbor — this same IMAX movie we were experiencing right now — tipped the scale. Often we were accompanied by a bald eagle sitting in the dead pine tree 25 feet away, waiting to plunge down and grab his own breakfast. Or a fox patrolling for mice. Or a herd of white tail deer browsing saplings and tender spring shoots.

    “You won’t be anxious if you can’t work tomorrow morning?”

    Translation: You won’t be annoyed if I sleep in and we get a late start? Now we were getting to the crux of it.

    “No problem. I’m okay with missing a morning’s work while we drive down in exchange for some tennis this afternoon and another relaxing night here. But let’s make sure we get up early and leave on time, okay? I don’t want to miss a whole day’s work because we got a late start.”

    This was a familiar conversation. We always craved more time at Rock Harbor and always found it hard to leave. The Champlain Valley effect. It kicked in each time we drove up, right after passing the last Lake George exit on Route 87. It felt like the first few deep breaths after a good visit to the chiropractor. Maybe it was the clean air or the spectacular views. Or the absence of traffic. Or the anticipation of a slower rhythm.

    We agreed to postpone our departure, and I unpacked the car while Susan cleaned up from lunch. A couple of phone calls and a change of clothes later we headed up to the tennis court to burn off the tuna melts and Doritos.

  • Independence Day Parade

    Tie Dyed Crater Clubbers, 4th of July parade, Essex, NY 2013
    Tie Dyed Crater Clubbers, 4th of July parade, Essex, NY 2013

    [I started this post on the 4th of July, but uploading and captioning the photos delayed the post. Sorry!]

    There’s no finer time to live in a small town in America than on the 4th of July. Essex, New York offers the quintessential Independence Day parade experience, straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting!

    Although the last month and a half has brought rain, rain, rain — and ever rising lake Champlain water levels — today appears to be a welcome ellipsis. The humidity is off the charts, and the temperature was already above 80 when we awoke this morning, but at least for a short while the rain has abated. The lawns are swampy and unmowed throughout town, but the Essex running races this morning were well attended, main street is busy, there’s already a line at the ice cream shop, Penelope the Clown is entertaining pedestrians at the stoplight, and the smell of strawberry shortcake is wafting across the North Bay.

    Independence Day Parade in Essex

    Spreading the Fun, 4th of July parade, Essex, NY 2013
    Spreading the Fun, 4th of July parade, Essex, NY 2013

    Farm wagons and tractors costumed as patriotic floats idle north of town where officials orchestrate the parade’s start. Antique cars and farm implements, an impressive menagerie of emergency vehicles, a pair of miniature sulkies pulled by miniature donkeys, and a fleet of Shriner micro-jalopies join the excitement. Sirens wail. A pair of costumed Native American “braves” whoop and startle children. Horses carry proud equestrians. Veterans march and bear standards. A band plays. Politicos toss candy and promises. Bystanders snap photographs and point or scramble for Tootsie Rolls and caramels.

    Every year it surprises me how long the Independence Day parade takes to pass. I suspect there are nearly as many participants as bystanders. Eventually the last vehicles and waving celebrants chug past Rosslyn and continue toward the center of town where judges will celebrate the best parade entry and the community clap and laugh and then make its way to Beggs Park for a barbecue and games and the always popular build-your-own-raft race.

    I hope that you enjoy the photos in the gallery below!

  • Postprandial Soak

    Postprandial Soak
    Postprandial Soak

    After dinner Susan opted for a postprandial soak. Quiet. Languid. Sybaritic. Tasha curled up beside the bathtub, sighed and fell asleep. A breeze carried the faint smell of pine trees through the open window. A whippoorwill called in the distance.

    “Wouldn’t it be great if we could live here?” Susan said.

    “Why couldn’t we?” I asked, vaguely aware that my response might abbreviate the placid mood we were enjoying.

    “Really?” Susan sat up abruptly. “I mean, of course we could, but we can’t just leave our friends behind. And the apartment?”

    “Our friends would visit. And the apartment? We could figure that out.” We only recently had found and renovated the co-op on East 57th Street, our first joint remodel. Located on the twelfth floor of an understated pre-war with a southern exposure, tons of sunlight, a working fireplace and beautiful hardwood floors, we knew we were incredibly fortunate. The neighbors and staff were friendly, and the neighborhood offered excellent restaurants, grocers, wine shops and even a knowledgeable and well stocked fromagerie.

    “We can’t just sell the apartment. I mean we’ve barely lived there. And besides…”

    “You want to work in green design, right?” I asked. “Why not get a job in Vermont? They’re all about green over there, aren’t they?”

    “How did you know I was thinking about my career?”

    “I didn’t know. I guessed.”

    “I know I haven’t exactly gotten around to starting my design career yet,” Susan said and went on to remind me that soon – very, very soon — she anticipated a high profile job with a world renowned firm, designing hotels and proving that commercial interior design could be environmentally friendly, healthy and affordable.

    “Sounds good,” I said softly, definitively and tried to sink back into dreamy limbo.

    Susan was quiet. Tasha ran in her sleep, thumping against the side of the tub.

    “I need to spend a few years with a big firm first, for the experience. Then, maybe…”

    “I’m just saying, if you’re serious about green design, Vermont might be as good a place as any to start your career. And besides, you’d actually be living a green lifestyle in the Adirondacks, right?”

    “But what about you?”

    “What about me? I’d be living a green lifestyle in the Adirondacks too. I love it here. I’d be thrilled to live here for a few years.” Peripatetic by nature, I enjoyed relocating every three to four years. Having grown up in the Adirondacks, mostly in the Champlain Valley, I had long yearned to reconnect, not just for vacation or a weekend.

    “Really? But what about your career?”

    “Which one? Teaching? Writing? Ecommerce? Renovating real estate? Susan, my career is adventure!” I said melodramatically, with a splashy flourish and a roguish grin. “And right now my adventure is the Margaux Project and ShipStore,” referring to two websites I was currently working on. “I can do that anywhere. And, frankly, if we we’re up here I might find more time to write. This’d be the perfect place to finish my novel.”

    “And my screen play.”

    “And your screen play.”