Some times demand might. Or vulnerability. This time we need both.
— Geo Davis
Many in our community gathered this afternoon on the front lawn of a friend, neighbor, and former pastor of St. John’s Episcopal Church for an ecumenical prayer vigil, a collective willing of love, hope, and healing as she navigates a significant health challenge. This coalescence of compassion, fortitude, and vulnerability was profoundly moving, a tangible reminder of why we are so grateful to make this community our home. Let the universe hear our prayer.
An early and mostly temperate spring has given us a jump start in Rosslyn’s gardens and meadows. The new orchard behind the carriage barn, already planted with plum trees and pear trees, has almost doubled in size over the last couple of weeks with the addition of apricots and peaches.
Doug Decker, our carpenter-turned-jack-of-all-trades-handyman who diligently caretakes Rosslyn, has planted eight new trees in the orchard, and last week’s rain, rain, rain will help the young trees overcome transplant shock. The new additions include two each of the following:
Peach Reliance
Peach Contender
Apricot Sugar
Apricot Harlayne
Despite the fact that many people opt for dwarf trees nowadays, all the the trees in our orchard will grow to full size. Full sized trees tend to be more cold hardy than the dwarfs, they don’t require lifelong staking to stabilize the trunks and they place the fruit high enough that the deer pose less of a threat.
In the image above, Doug heads out of the barn — cell phone to ear, cruising on the John Deere Gator — to plant the newly arrived fruit trees. Susan jokes that the reason many of the fellows like to work for us is that they can ride around in the Gator. She may be right. I’ll look for some fun photos to pass along. And I promise to post some orchard shots too!
Although the fruit trees in the new orchard have been our fruit tree focus over the last year, I continue to prune and restore the old apple trees. And last fall we planted some new apple trees too. More apple trees will be planted later this spring and fall.
Tie dye dome behind carriage barn (Source: Geo Davis)
Last night — while walking out to the vegetable garden for a last minute harvest — the sunset tried to outcompete the colorful veggies. And the tie dye dome mounted a heroic campaign!
Even after all of the veggies were gathered for for our impromptu salad (a rainbow haul of red and green romaines, tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchini, banana peppers, tomatillos, and a single looong radish) the hands-down winner was clear. Winners, actually. Sky for color, veggies for flavor.
Tie dye dome behind carriage barn and ice house (Source: Geo Davis)
Not sure I’d earned this reward, but I certainly did appreciate it.
A productive morning at my desk followed by an equally productive afternoon on the tractor brush hogging some of the back meadows with the new offset flail mower. If you think that’s the foundation for a perfect day, you’re right. But there was even more goodness in store. An end-of-day wake surf with Susan, Amy Guglielmo, and Brian Giebel was followed by a “Surprise, I brought sushi!” dinner made possible by Amy and Brian. The perfect accompaniment? A jumbo salad harvested at sundown!
Tie dye dome reflects on carriage barn’s West façade (Source: Geo Davis)
It was already well into nightfall when we walked from the house toward the barns, but the day wasn’t yielding without playing out a sky-wide drama. It was spectacular! We stopped and gawked. We acknowledged our good fortune. And then we gawked some more.
With last remnants of fading light, we made our way past the carriage barn and ice house toward the garden.
Tie dye dome beyond vegetable garden (Source: Geo Davis)
Once we removed the silhouetted buildings from view the tie dye dome appeared even more vast, more vibrant, more spectacular. Fortunately the still empty garden hod reminded us why we’d come.
Tie dye dome above the [uncovered] high tunnel (Source: Geo Davis)
For a moment I imagined the high tunnel sans cover as a vast ribcage, as if some prehistoric whale had emerged from the garden. Our very own Burning Man?!?!
With the final fiery light guiding us, we filled the hod with harvest and headed back to the house for a laughter filled dinner…
I just pulled my bike out of the carriage barn for a post Independence Day ride, but before I could saddle up, this handsome fellow caught my eye. He (or she?) was navigating slowly across the gravel driveway. So I offered a little assistance to a friendlier corner of the lawn. I lingered for a few minutes, hoping that the turtle would extend his head and legs back out from under his painted shell so I could share a third photo with you, but he chose to play it safe. I suspect he’d never seen a grown man sporting cycling attire and helmet (MAMIL)!
“Yikes, freak alert! Better keep my appendages packaged until he trundles off on that bizarre, two wheeled contraption…”
Sorry. Next time! If there is one.
Painted Turtle enjoying the grass
Turtle v2.0
It’s worth noting that there was a last time, about a year ago, also while cycling. I’m not sure I shared that story at the time, though I may have snapped a few photos. I’ll dig around and see what I can find.
I was returning from a midday ride, westbound on NYS-RT 22 toward the stoplight in Essex. Suddenly I came across a slightly larger painted turtle crossing the busier road, slowly, methodically lifting each leg and inching forward, working his way up to the yellow line.
I slowed, then stopped and dismounted. I was concerned that the turtle might get hit by a vehicle, so I lifted him up and carried him to the side of the road. Then it struck me. What if he decided to wander back out into the road again?
I decided to bring him home with me. My nieces were visiting at the time, and I thought it would be fun to show them the real live turtle. I strapped him to my bike rack and headed home. He kept his head, tail and feet pulled in during the ride. Within eyesight if Rosslyn however, I hit a bump and the poor turtle went skittering across the pavement. It turns out an upside down turtle can really zoom down a paced road!
I carried the turtle the rest of the way home, and my nieces were duly impressed. After a while I figured the critter was sick of bring poked and prodded, so we released him in the stream beyond the orchard. Free to swim and muck about in the mud without danger of speeding cars.
Perhaps this slightly smaller painted turtle is the offspring of the one I cycled home? I’d like to think so.
Turtle Tales
Today is August 10, 2022 — a mere hop, skip, and jump after I first published this post on Juli 5, 2013 — but the second recollection, the biking while turtling story, once again resurfaced. It’s always fun (and often surprising) to discover which of the many stories we’ve collected since jumping into this Rosslyn adventure sixteen years ago become immortal. Often tales that seemed terrific at the time haven’t endured. And curiosities like this one pop up again and again. Proof positive that we’re not always the best editors of our won work! And a reminder as I plunge headlong into the final year of redacting Rosslyn to rely on time’s more objective filter…
I few evenings ago I remembered that I’d left my iPhone on the runabout, so I headed down to the waterfront before dinner to grab it.
As I stepped out onto the dock, I noticed an energetic mink playing around on the rocks. I froze.
Would he vanish if he saw me?
He continued to explore the rock pile undisturbed. If only I had my phone I could take a photo or shoot a video. But it was in the boat.
For several minutes I stood motionless, and then I started taking slow steps toward the boat whenever he turned away. Eventually I realized that he wasn’t concerned with me at all. I unsnapped the boat cover and fumbled around in the failing light for my camera. The mink continued to play.
This is the video sequence I shot with most of the repetitive stuff edited out. Sorry it’s still a bit long, but couldn’t bring myself to erase his antics after he’d tolerated mine…
American Mink
From what I can ascertain, this was an American mink (Neovison vison), a semiaquatic carnivore which is inclined to dine on fish, frogs and crustaceans like crayfish. And, yes, it is the source of the fabled fur more valuable globally even than sable and silver fox.
I’d first titled this post “Summer Evening Mink” because it conjured up all sorts of dramatic (if slightly misleading) images. It sounded like a scene from a Merchant Ivory film. Too much. Besides, I knew it would ruffle my bride’s animal-centric feathers.
“Are you suggesting that someone should turn that beautiful wild creature into a collar?”
“Nope. Just liked the sound and imagery…”
“The imagery? Of slaughtering defenseless animals?”
Rosslyn’s American Mink
I know how this conversation goes. And besides, “Rosslyn’s American Mink” — although a bit presumptuous since this sleek fellow no more belongs to Rosslyn than Lake Champlain or that handsome moon does — gets right to the point of the matter. My bride likes that.
And my bride does not like mink coats. Not American mink or sable or silver fox or any other fur. She’s a big advocate for the critters. No eating or wearing critters for her. For me? I’m a carnivore, a bit like the American mink, I suppose, though my tastes are perhaps a bit more diverse. Oh, and I wear fur. Not American mink fur, but my own fuzzy pelt. Fortunately there’s little demand globally for my fur.
Update:
Leanne Hobbs Bula contacted me via Facebook to share a pair of mink photos that she took near Isle la Motte, Vermont.
Minks, by Leanne Hobbs Bula
“I also have an American mink at my home. She has 6 babies too! Scared the heck out of me the first time I saw her. She doesn’t like my dog… They are a bit far away because I ran away screaming bloody murder… we haven’t seen the babies in a few weeks, only the mom. We now have a pair of bald eagles and an eaglet? … We suspect the bald eagles may have snacked on the baby mink. Nature can be cruel but it certainly makes me less nervous when I am tanning myself lakeside!” ~ Leanne Hobbs Bula
Great photos, Leanne! Thanks for passing them along. I wonder if Rosslyn’s American mink has babies hiding away somewhere. I’ll keep my eyes peeled, but judging from all of the healthy ducklings growing into ducks along our waterfront, I suspect that there may only be the one lonely American mink I spied.
Meet our Yellow Garden Spider (Argiope aurantia). This morning this awesome arachnid greeted me from a flower bed planted with Shasta daisies, lupine, and irises. She’s dazzling and, I’ll admit it, a little daunting.
Although I’ve come across these visually impressive pest predators before I needed a little refresher. Here’s what I found.
Yellow garden spiders are large, orb-weaving arachnids, meaning they spin a circular web… In females, the top side of the abdomen is black with symmetrical patches of bright yellow. The legs are reddish brown at the base and black toward the tips. Males are less striking in appearance—they are smaller with brownish legs and less yellow coloration on their abdomens. Females average 0.75 to 1.1 inches (19 to 28 millimeters) in body length, which is up to three times larger than the males. (Source: National Wildlife Federation)
Obviously a female, this yellow garden spider was definitely on the laaarge end of the spectrum.
If you look closely you’ll see a zigzag pattern woven into the web. I wondered about that. A repair?
The web of the garden spider contains a highly visible zigzagging X-shaped pattern called a stabilimentum. The exact function of the stabilimentum is unknown, but its purpose may be to alert birds to the presence of the web so that they don’t fly through and destroy it by mistake. (Source: National Wildlife Federation)
Wow! Clever spider.
By Any Other Name…
It turns out this savvy lady has intrigued her bipedal admirers enough to inspire a parade of names (Source: Wikipedia) including:
yellow garden spider,
black and yellow garden spider,
golden garden spider,
writing spider,
zigzag spider,
hay spider,
corn spider, and
McKinley spider.
I think that my favorite is “writing spider”. Time for a little etymological archaeology to disinter the backstory for that name. 
Lest your onboard warning system went into high alert when your eyes distinguished the yellow garden spider from the iris spears and other distractions in the photograph above, I have some good news.
These spiders may bite if disturbed or harassed, but the venom is harmless to non-allergic humans, roughly equivalent to a bumblebee sting in intensity. (Source: Wikipedia)
While few of us favor a bumblebee sting over, say, a slice of refreshing watermelon on a hot August day, it’s far from lethal (for most of us, anyway). So, despite the yellow garden spiders arresting appearance, you may consider her a friend rather than a foe. Especially if you’d like to prevent pesky insects from eating your plants!
I close with a curious coincidence. A neighboring farmer shared his discovery almost concurrently. They. Are. Everywhere.
According to this USGS data for Lake Champlain we’re making history. To be more precise, Lake Champlain’s water levels are making history. That red line at the top of the graph is the historic high water mark set during spring flooding on April 27, 1993. And, as you can see, the blue “actual” recordings have already flickered above the red line a couple of times, though — as I understand it — these figures are not official. Yet. Not sure why. Nor when we’ll know the official water level, but I can assure you that Rosslyn boathouse is now swamped. And the lake is virtually windless and flat… Imagine what this afternoon will look like if/when the wind climbs into the high teens as forecast!
Fortunately there’s less debris floating around the boathouse today. I’m worried that heavy wave action combined with a large floating log or two acting as a battering ram against the boathouse superstructure could be devastating. We’ve witnessed the damage already when the water level was 18″ lower. I’ll head down when the rain abates to take some more images of the drowning boathouse to share with you. Until then, please send dry, windless vibes Essex-way. Thanks!
Rosslyn boathouse is flooded (6:00am April, 29, 2011)
We knew it would happen sooner or later. But like so many inevitable but dreaded events, we’d wrapped ourselves in a warm comforter of denial. And four springs slipped quickly past since purchasing Rosslyn without the boathouse getting flooded. Sure, we’ve had plenty of high water, but the water’s never risen above the floorboards. In fact, the highest it had ever gotten was about 9-12″ below the floorboards!
Not this year. Lake Champlain‘s water level has risen quickly in recent weeks due in part to seasonal spring melt after an extremely snowy winter and spring. But spring rains are the real culprit. Lots and lots and lots of rain. We’ve been watching day by day as the water crept up, reassuring ourselves that it must be cresting soon… Only it wasn’t. It’s still rising. About another 5″ inches since yesterday afternoon, bringing it to about one foot in the last 24 hours. That’s fast! But slow enough for us to clear out the items that don’t play well with water. Which put a dent in Doug’s carpentry work upstairs, finishing up the trim and oiling the fir. We also had to shut down all electric. Which makes for a dark and eerie lair in the evening. A bit like a flooded tunnel. Interesting photos though…
Most of the drama surrounds the boathouse, especially since we’ve worked long and hard to restore it to health and happiness. But the waterfront is another big concern. Major erosion already, and that’s with relatively light wind and minimal wave action. Big wind and big waves could be catastrophic! Hoping against hope that the wind will remain calm and the waters will fall. Help me hope if you’ve got psychic horsepower to spare. Although we haven’t finished landscaping the entire waterfront, roughly a third (about 80′) looked great up until a few days ago. We’ve rebuilt the stone walls and planted a lawn on the terrace above the beach. The rear edge of the lawn, following the base of the next stone terrace had grown into a handsome daylily bed that stretched the full eighty feet. Spectacular in summer. Now virtually erased by drift wood grinding and churning in the waves. All hand planted. All pampered through the first season. All healthy and thriving earlier this week. All gone now. Memories. I can only hope that some of the bulbs are intact, floating around Lake Champlain, and that they will wash up on people’s beaches and surprise them this summer with heirloom blooms!
In the time it took me to whip up this post, the USGS has changed the Lake Champlain water level from 102.54″ to 102.61″ which happened over an interval of about three hours. So, still not cresting. And the sky has gone from sunny and clear to dark and cloudy. Storm clouds threatening. Wind rising…
Our caretaker adrift after the boat lift cable snapped and he leaped aboard. I taught him to operate a boat via mobile phone…
Boat Lift Moved in to Shallow(er) Water for Repair
Boat Lift Cable Shredded
Boat Lift Replacement Cable
New Boat Lift Chain Does Not Fit
Aborted Repair; New Chain too Short
We were sent the wrong chain: too short!
Boat Lift Chain Replaced
Boat Lift Repaired at Last
There is a musty old adage among boaters: “A boat is a hole in the water into which you throw money.” And time, I hasten to add.
It’s not only boats. It’s everything that has to do with boats. Boat lifts, for example.
“Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing – absolutely nothing – half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.” ~ Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows
I heartily agree with the Water Rat, but if ever I stop messing about with boats long enough to formulate a spreadsheet and fill it with calculations of the time and money I’ve poured into nautical endeavors, I’ll be forced to immediately stop boating. For I’ll certainly discover that each hour, no, each minute spent actually sailing or paddling or waterskiing has cost me a king’s ransom in time and treasure. For this reason, I’ll never attempt the calculations because – truth be told – no sensible person can justify recreational boating.
It’s not the boating itself, you see. It’s everything else. It’s maintaining and preparing the boat and tidying up after boating. It’s making sure the boat consistently, reliably works, and fixing the boat when it doesn’t. And it’s all of the peripheral tasks like installing and removing the dock and the boat lift each spring and fall. And fixing them when they break… No, that sounds far too easy.
Time to Sing the Boat Lift Blues
Until yesterday, a broken boat lift was the most recent foible co-conspiring with six straight weeks of rain to dramatically dampen our 2013 boating season. But this morning, when the luxurious responsibility of returning the lift to deeper water and transporting the Ski Nautique from the Essex Shipyard back to Rosslyn’s waterfront, I am at last willing to summarize the boat lift blues.
I will refrain from sharing the boat lift manufacturer’s name, because I do not wish the company ill, nor do I hold them totally accountable for the parade of mishaps which have stunted our boating season significantly. And I genuinely believe that the manufacturer has made an effort to help us resolve this mess. An imperfect effort, but an effort. So I’ll spare them embarrassment and you the sort of grumbling that grates at our emotions like nails on a chalkboard.
Rather than chronicling Rosslyn’s 2013 boat lift blues in the nail biting detail that my bride would readily offer, I’ll recap a few highlights and get on with it. Why? Because the only greater truism about boating than its uneconomical folly is that boaters enjoy, no, love laughing at the boating misfortunes of other boaters. Sophomoric you say? Perhaps. But nautical nuts seek sweet recompense where it swims. So today, I offer my misadventures for your psychological succor. Enjoy.
The photo gallery above captures the trajectory of our boat lift blues and quickest and tiniest terms. The slightly more dilated story begins back in March or April. Normally we take advantage of Lake Champlain‘s boating “pre-season”, launching in early May when the water temperature is still in the 30s. But our Santa Fe sojourn and cross-country walkabout this spring resulted in a later launch, timed to follow our late may return to Essex. We padded launch day with enough time to install the dock and boat lift, and by the beginning of June we were ready to make up for lost time.
We were ready, but the meteorologists had other plans for us. Rain.
Despite the unseasonably low Lake Champlain water levels when we returned from the Southwest — so low in fact that North Country pundits were already lathered up about the causes and impact of shallow water — meteorologists began to dish up rain. And then more rain. And then still more rain.
So the boat was in the water. But the miserable weather prevented us from using it. And worse? We had to raise the boat lift every day or two just to ensure that the rising lake Champlain water levels wouldn’t sweep our craft away. Day after day, week after week lake levels rose and we elevated the ski boat up, up, up.
Until the fateful day. My bride was abroad. And I had just boarded the ferry to Vermont. I was scheduled to be de-pretzel-ized by my chiropractor in Shelburne, and noticing how high the waves were coming to the boat, I called Doug (our handy man / caretaker) on my mobile phone with a request to stop at the waterfront on his way to lunch and raise the boat lift once again.
And then suddenly my phone was ringing. In a rushed jumble of panicky language he explained to me that the lift broke and the boat was bobbing in the waves. No, worse. the boat was in danger of cracking up in the rough water, either smashing against the stone retaining wall, or against the dock, or against the boathouse. He was worried about all three options. I was worried about a fourth, I was worried that the boat might crush him. It’s worth noting that he doesn’t swim. In fact, is not at all fond of water. Nor is he a boater. He’s never been in a boat so far as I know, and he’s often told me that he doesn’t know how to operate a boat. And yet somehow he was clinging to the broken boatlift, a wave-rocked dock, a bobbing boat weighing is much as his pickup truck, and carrying on it panicky dialogue with me on his mobile phone.
A Messy Situation
Within minutes Doug had managed to open up the boat cover, turn on the batteries, started the boat, learned how to use the throttle, and pulled away from Scylla and Charybdis into Lake Champlain’s rougher but presently safer waters.
We remained in telephone contact as he learned how to operate the boat, and I arrived in Charlotte, Vermont long enough to reboard the Essex-bound ferry. As I chugged back across the lake with a half dozen other commuters, I looked out for our boat. The image of a shoreline above with a tiny runabout was my first view of man and boat intact, waiting for me to arrive and help him dock at the Essex Shipyard. In short order I received permission from the marina’s operator to store our boat for the foreseeable future while we repaired our boatlift.
In the weeks since then we have tried and tried and tried to repair the boat lift. At first it appeared that the cable had sheared and snapped. So the manufacturer sent as a replacement. Although it took a week to arrive, I was elated to have it in my hands, and I immediately hauled tools to the waterfront. Unfortunately I discovered that one of the three chains, akin to oversized motorcycle chains, which connect the gears inside the lift was broken. Snapped. Another conversation with the manufacturer, and this time the shipping was prompt and gratis. Again, my spirits soared. Unfortunately while attempting to install the replacement chain discovered another setback. The replacement chain was about 56 inches shorter than the one it was intended to replace. Another conversation with the manufacturer, more frustrated now, and curt but told me he’d figured out. A few days later the correct chain arrived. My bride backed me up with a bucket beneath the lift to ensure that any falling parts wouldn’t sink to the bottom of the lake, and after an hour or so of mechanical microsurgery the chain was installed and working. Yesterday the caretaker and I managed to thread the new cable through the lift and perform a successful test. Today I’ll retrieve the boat from the marina to whom I owe a gargantuan debt of gratitude. Will pull the lift back out to the end of the dock, and — just in time for latest round of houseguests — we will once again be able to use the boat conveniently from Rosslyn’s waterfront.
That’s the boat lift blues. Sing them with me, and hope with me that the lift work properly, unfailingly for the balance of the boating season. All aboard!
Sun Setting into the Adirondacks before Perseid showers
Darkness is falling in the Adirondacks, and soon with a little luck I will witness the Perseid showers streaking the Champlain Valley dome. My bride shot this image on her mobile from our runabout in the middle of Lake Champlain on August 12, 2013 while waiting for the meteor shower. If you’re in the neighborhood, look up. And watch out for flaming pebbles!
That seems like the perfect, cheesoise title for this photo I just snapped standing in the road between our home and the boathouse. Looking east at Vermont’s Green Mountains, though you’ll have to take my word for it since the rain and fog have veiled the view.
But fully in the dairy free camp in recent years, I’ll sidestep the cheesoise in favor of the inane.
No rainbows were injured making this picture.
Just to show I’m a nice guy. And comfortable patting myself on the back for being a nice guy. Or is that goofy? No, this is goofy.
No ferries were injured making this picture…
Basically the photo speaks (or whispers) enough on its own. I need to zip up my blather mouth and let the moment carry the post. Quietly. Except of the wind which was whipping. Is whipping. And the raindrops which — despite the sun and clear skies behind me — were beginning to pelt down. Hence my retreat from the boathouse hammock to the sunporch with a very soggy Griffin who chased frisbees in the rolling waves without the least concern for darkening skies and rainbows.
Yes, rainbows. There are actually two. Can you see the slightly fainter echo of a rainbow just to the right of the more pronounced one? Look carefully. And you might even spot a pot of gold. Or a ferry?
One is a large cottonwood with a pair of fallen locusts hung up on it. The beaver (Castor canadensis) has already gotten a pretty good start, and the tree is laaarge and disconcertingly close to Rosslyn’s boathouse.
We contacted the neighbor in the hopes that they would take a look at their earliest convenience (i.e. before the cottonwood and gravity conspire against the boathouse!) I suggested the possibility of wrapping the tree with steel mesh/screen to inhibit further damage. This isn’t the most sightly solution, but it tends to be effective.
An early and mostly temperate spring has given us a jump start in Rosslyn’s gardens and meadows. The new orchard behind the carriage barn, already planted with plum trees and pear trees, has almost doubled in size over the last couple of weeks with the addition of apricots and peaches.
![Tie dye dome above the [uncovered] high tunnel (Source: Geo Davis)](https://abdul2.rosslynredux.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/7ae20af2-067b-4ea3-af82-bd62ab23c452.jpg "Tie dye dome above the [uncovered] high tunnel (Source: Geo Davis)")
