Just when a couple of dry, sunny days had begun to feel familiar, even normal, the rain returned. It came down in waves upon waves. Streams and rivers swelled, the driveway became two coursing torrents, and the vegetable garden turned to soupy mud.
Spirits slipped.
And then slid deeper.
But… as cocktail hour yielded to dinner hour, the deluge ceased, the fog lifted, and the setting sun bathed Vermont’s Green Mountains in alpenglow.
This is what it looked like.
We’ve been slowly working forward on the carriage barn renovation. Yes, a looong time ago our historic rehabilitation morphed into rehab ad infinitum!
Our most recent focus is rebuilding the floor in—and in between—the stalls, and the “floor-door” that allows access to the hay mow. The project may never end.
This afternoon, instead of a detailed review of progress-to-date and a slightly discouraged look forward, I submit to you an imaginary conversation inside my head.
Me: I’m overdue for an update on the carriage barn.
Other Me: You mean that’s not done yet?
Me: No. It’s still ongoing. May always be.
Other Me: You guys are slower than molasses in January.
Me: Yes, but it’s February. Almost March. And, before you get your knickers in a knot, I’ll admit that a year from now there will still be some carriage barn projects ongoing…
Other Me: Procrastination?
Me: Maybe. Or maybe just insanity prevention. When you own an old place, renovation is ongoing. It’s never done. We’ve learned to pace ourselves. Fast enough to keep ahead of entropy, slow enough for it to be enjoyable. And affordable!
We’re pacing ourselves.
But that still doesn’t explain why the initially quite finite scope of work with which we initiated this project has metastasized toward the infinite.
So many little steps. I just ordered finish material for the walls: 800′ total of v-groove Douglas fir (10′ x 6-5/8″ x 3/4″). The materials drop on time. But the work never ends…
If you’d like a peak inside, here’s a slow-poke slide show of the work so far.
Ongoing carriage barn renovations that might interest you:
I’ll try to update this page as additional carriage barn renovation posts are published.
Catherine Seidenberg, an exciting new addition to “Team Rosslyn” this spring, has been tackling all sorts of vegetable and flower garden projects.
Most exciting? I’m learning lots from her!
Her most recent caveat was that I’ve been using too much manure around our peonies.
She warned that burying the peony crowns will hinder them from blooming.
Yikes!
She’s carefully excavated all 15+ clumps, so we should be in the clear now.
I have to admit that I’ve been mounding nutrient-rich composted manure over the expired peonies in the autumn for as far back as I can remember. Fortunately I’ve gotten lucky in the past. But now I’ll remedy my ways.
An inch or two of fresh powder and bluebird skies above lured me away from my desk on Monday for a mid-morning x-country ski outing with my lab.
Hooky!
Crisp but otherwise perfect conditions were the enticement; fresh fox tracks (I think) were the unanticipated reward.
Griffin, my water and snow loving labrador retriever was quick to find the scent of a recently visiting fox. Sniff, sniff, sniff.
Judging from the single line this fellow was doing the foxtrot, not just wandering aimlessly.
Foxes walk or trot in an alternating pattern, with prints nearly in a line. In shallow snow, foxes may trot in a two-print pattern or gallop in a four-print pattern. Dainty, oval tracks (2.3 to 3.1″ long) usually show small triangular foot pads, claw marks, and foot drag marks. (wildthingsultd.org)
I x-country skied all through Rosslyn’s meadows and woods for about an hour, and Griffin lunged giddily along, sending great colds of powdery snow up into the air. And throughout our adventures we kept crisscrossing the path of our foxtrotting friend. The fox tracks periodically followed my ski trail from the previous day, and at other times veered off on their own course. And yet throughout the 30+/- acres we were exploring the foxes tracks returned again and again.
There’s a pleasant geometry in x-country ski trails, and the linear perfection of the fox tracks added to it, at times creating the illusion of a loosely interpreted argyle pattern across the undulating fields.
Of course, Griffin was eager to pursue the fox tracks, but he mustered the focus to stay on course with me. And the reward was an extra long, extra fast workout for both of us.
Here are few more photos from our outing.
Rain rain go away,
Come again another day.
It’s been a soggy two days with nonstop rain falling from the fog-blocked dome above and spongy lawns that remember footfalls long after treads have passed.
The meteorological gurus promise a sunny weekend. If they’re correct, and sometimes they actually are, then our vegetable garden will begin to transform from bog to fresh produce market… If not, I plan to plant watercress!
Excuse my recent hiatus. Life continues afoot at Rosslyn, but I’ve been pouring time into manuscript revisions for an illustrated (think doodles) architectural handbook for our fair village on the still-flooded shores of Lake Champlain. Fun. Almost done.
In the next couple of weeks I’ll try to catch you up on recent developments chez nous. Not just another garden update. There’s actually plenty of news in the tree-smashing-fence-but-not-smashing-house drama category, and also some news of spring/summer progress in the orchard and vegetable garden. For example, for the first time I’m experimenting with natural pesticide solutions for the fruit trees and vegetable plants. I’ll try to tackle this topic soon.
For now, a couple of quick garden update snapshots of Rosslyn’s still partially unplanted and super-duper soggy vegetable patch. Can you identify what we’ve planted so far?
Sorry the slide show is so fuzzy. And that this post is flickering to life almost a pair of weeks after the last tender morsel of slow cooked chicken went tobogganing down my gullet.
As for the fuzzy photos, I’m not quite sure what happened. They looked crisp before I turned them into a slide show. Technology is an unreliable bed buddy! I’ll try to get the slide show gremlins sorted before posting another.
It was bitterly cold two weekends ago, and not at all enticing for outdoor adventures. No sunshine. No fresh snow. Bone chilling cold, and constant wind. In short, the perfect conditions for culinary adventures!
March triggered a deep-down biological alarm clock – ring-ring, ring-ring – that’s been jangling in my ear. “Spring thaw.” “Snow drops.” “Seed the tomatoes and eggplant…” And yet, snow and ice and cooold temps endure. It feels like springtime may still be a long way off.
So rather than lamenting winter’s overstay, I decided to cook up some comfort food. I had picked up a 3.8 pound chicken with our Full and By farm share the previous Thursday, so I pulled out the big blade and played butcher.
Some meals require advance planning, meticulous execution, and draconian quality control. I don’t cook too many of those meals! I prefer more extemporaneous culinary adventures. Raid the larder for fresh goodies and then divine a common link…
This slow cooked chicken fell unquestionably into the improvisational school. Whack up a local fresh bird into breasts, legs and wings. Tip the bird bits into hot coconut oil and brown up the skins with salt and pepper. Chop up some onions and scallions and heat them until just shy of caramelizing then return the chicken to the pot, add parsley bay leaves, garlic and the better part of a bottle of dry white wine. The most important step is also the simplest: slow cook all day. Let the house fill up with aromas so tempting that even my vegetarian bride comments on how delicious it smells.
At day’s end, celebrate with a tasty, local, healthy supper. Comfort food…
A special thanks to Sara and James at Full and By Farm for providing the fresh, organic chicken, onions and scallions that transformed this frosty midwinter weekend into a slow cooked chicken banquet!
Roofing nails and driveways don’t mix. Or they shouldn’t mix. Like oil and water. But sometimes they do, like yesterday for example.
It was mid-afternoon on Tuesday, July 6, a couple of weeks after contractors finished replacing the carriage barn’s rotten and leaky architectural shingles with a beautiful new standing seam roof. I noticed the spiky end of a roofing nail sticking up in the crushed stone driveway directly in front of the barn.
I stooped and quickly recovered more than two dozen more extremely sharp roofing nails scattered where the contractors had parked the dump trailer – sort of a medium sized dumpster with wheels – that was used to collect all of the detritus (asphalt shingles, flashing and roofing nails) they were stripping off of the carriage barn roof.
I crawled around for another 10 minutes or so, visions of punctured tires flashing through my head, retrieving the roofing nails that perfectly match the color of the crushed stone. There were also many small fragments of asphalt shingle embedded in the stone driveway, and while I wish these weren’t there either, the roofing nails are a far greater concern.
Tomorrow we will need to search the entire area with a “shop magnet” to ensure that we’ve removed all the cartoonishly menacing roofing nails. Before a car or tractor tire finds them…
With luck we’ll catch any remaining spikes, but inevitably we’ll drive uneasily for quite a while. Such a simple oversight, and yet such a frustrating inconvenience. This long ago became a familiar pattern, part of the DNA of Rosslyn’s ongoing renovations. One problem solved, another problem (or two) inherited.
Perhaps this is the nature of renovating and revising and redacting. One step forward. One or two back. And the perennial risk of puncture!
It’s time for a late summer gardening update. The August heat’s been great for cycling and wake surfing, and for fast-tracking veggies (tomatoes, eggplants, peppers, squash, melons, corn, artichokes, cucumbers, leaks, broccoli and Brussels sprouts) after a rainy June.
But hot, hot days also pose some challenges, especially for the leafy green vegetables like lettuce and spinach which are especially sensitive to high heat. Too much baking sun for too long and both will bolt before your eyes.
Over the last week I’ve pulled up and composted all of the remaining greens. And this weekend I replanted.
In addition to a new crop of lettuce and spinach, I’m experimenting with greens that I normally plant early in the summer. I would’ve planted kale and Swiss chard at the same time that we put in most of the other early summer vegetable transplants, but an incredibly rainy June didn’t offer amenable growing conditions. By the time the rains passed at the beginning of July, I was racing to try and catch up, and the kale and Swiss chard fell by the wayside.
So I decided to plant both now.
I expect that neither will reach maturity before autumn frosts stunt their growth, but I’m curious to see how they fare. The seeds emerged almost overnight, and I figure even premature kale and Swiss chard will be delicious to eat in late September and early October. I stuck with my favorite kale, Nero di Toscana, but I’m trying two unfamiliar varieties of Swiss chard, Fordhook Giant and Magenta Sunset.
In the second and third photographs kale (left) and Swiss chard (right) flank a row of beets, the only veggie I didn’t compost in this raised bed.
Although I love eating beets, we receive more than enough in our farm share from Full and By Farm, so I grow beets for their “green” instead. Including these beautiful violet black leaves in a salad adds welcome color and a slightly sweet earthiness that everyone seems to enjoy.
I’m confident that the spinach and lettuce seedlings will be ready-to-eat by the end of the month, but the kale and chard are a gamble. I have no idea whether or not they’ll be large enough to eat before frost up some…
I’ll update you when the time comes!
It seems that rainy days always result in crops all of mystery mushrooms sprouting in our lawns. I remain a total mycology neophyte, though I own several detailed mushroom identification books and enjoy reading the descriptions. I remain totally ill-equipped to distinguish between delectable and deathly!
I posted an image of this mushroom clump on several social media sites and received a couple of guesses including Chicken of the Woods. But I don’t think it’s a very close match.
My wife has a cousin who visits us each summer, and if he were here I feel pretty confident that he’d be able to identify this mystery mushroom. But he’s not. And I can’t. Can you?
Until it vanishes (another equally quick phenomenon, not unlike the way they appear overnight) I will simply ensure that Griffin does not snarf it up. He is forever trying to eat any mushrooms he can get his mouth on. We worry that one day he’ll manage to gobble up a magical mystery mushroom. Or worse!
Although it would have made more sense to start last spring, I’ll make a mental note to begin recording the various different sorts of mushrooms I encounter on Rosslyn’s grounds. There a mammoth mystery mushroom sprouting from the side of the ancient maple tree in front of our house. Tourists stop and take pictures, often with a young child standing underneath. Unfortunately, the mushroom’s prodigious growth also spells the expiring tree’s demise, but that woeful tale for another day. For now, a promise to snap photos of any mystery mushrooms appearing in the near future.
Until then, I’m hoping that a clever reader can help me identify the clump of mushrooms above. Are they edible? Are they poisonous? Thanks in advance for demystifying the fungusamungous…
Can you smell the chicken Provencal wafting through Rosslyn?
Sundays are the best day of the week for experimental cooking. Pungent aromas filling the house all day long just feels relaxing, the perfect reward for a week well lived.
Besides, Sundays at Rosslyn tend to be the lazy day of the week, affording more time for culinary caprice. During the week, it’s easy to fall into the trap of “efficient cooking”. The schedule is tighter, and the risks of a flop can outweigh the joys of taking risks in the kitchen. But on Sunday I get brave. It’s time for adventure!
This morning’s dish was less adventurous than some previous experiments – chicken Provencal (or chicken Provençal if you’re French-ish) is a pretty straightforward – but it nevertheless fueled my anticipation receptors. Enter the slow cooker. It’s the perfect way to concentrate flavors, preserve tenderness and stretch out the pleasure of a fine meal. Think of the aromas wafting through our house, enticing my appetite, tempting an early taste. Or two. (Though undercooked chicken offers pretty effective sneak prevention!)
I’ve often joked that some foods like bacon, popcorn, and chocolate chip cookies are almost as enjoyable to smell during their preparation phase as they are to actually eat. Take away the aroma of bacon cooking, and you’re left with a crinkled, strip of fat and marginal meat. But smell the bacon in the skillet, hear the occasional crackle, and you’re halfway to heaven before the first crunch.
Slow cooked sundae meals fit into the same category. The tangled fragrance of bay leaves and tarragon sweetened with caramelized onions. And the juicy chicken and white wine gradually marinating as it cooks. Tantalizing!
Here’s what I did:
It’s a hearty meal for two people or a savory middle course for four people. Today I paired the chicken provencal with garlic wilted spinach drizzled, but Brussels sprouts would also pair nicely. Along with the rest of that bottle of white wine. Aaahhh, Sundays…
The gallery below shows a bit more of the process. Enjoy.
Call it climate change or call it multi-millennial weather cycles, yet another freak thunderstorm or the cost of care-taking an old house, a test of will and endurance or man (and woman) versus nature. No matter what you call it, the reality is that we are experiencing increasingly erratic meteorological patterns in this usually bucolic and quite predictable Adirondack Coast village.
Last night I was tidily tucked into my seat at the Depot Theatre in Westport, NY enjoying opening night of Boeing, Boeing. Back in Essex at Rosslyn my bride and nieces were slammed with explosive winds and rain. A thunderstorm, according to the weather app on my mobile phone, though thunder and lightning apparently skipped the show. Nevertheless, the power flickered once, twice and then was extinguished.
For a few hours of sweltering humidity they fumbled in the dark, trying to figure out why the still-new Kohler generator installed a summer ago wasn’t working. Again.
This morning we wonder together why the generator has never worked properly despite repeat attempts to identify and resolve the problem(s). The contractor that installed it, the gas company who connected it, and the manufacturer who built it have failed us. Disappointing. And frustrating. Beyond explanation! And yet an increasingly familiar aspect of home ownership in this brave new world.
Is this the new normal?
Another installment of Rosslyn day lilies, these beauties leaning toward the exotic a bit more than yesterday’s “tiger lilies”. I had hoped to photograph several other dramatic varieties as well, but the recent heat and dry weather have taken their toll, and the blooms have passed their prime. No matter. Others will soon bloom!
I will soon share a gallery of images from the carriage barn roof repairs. We initiated this project 1-2 years ago, but a parade of setbacks (including the need to first undertake structural repairs and stabilization) delayed replacement of the failing asphalt shingles with a standing seam steel roof. Soon – super soon, as my visiting nieces would say – I hope to announce that both the ice house and carriage barn have matching standing seam roofs. The work was supposed to be completed today, after an impressive 4-day (two back-to-back weekends) project.
Following in the wake of so many endless, deadline-busting Rosslyn rehabilitation projects, it has been refreshing to witness such an efficient turn-around. I’ll save the detailed chronicle for another post (once the new roof is 100% complete), but for now I hail the hard working crew who endured blazing heat and even some rain to see this project through on schedule. Almost…
As they wrapped up today, they discovered that they were one section short. After an enormous roof, the two massive spools of steel that fed into the “bending machine” ran out. The final 18″ or so, on the northeast end of the carriage barn remains exposed this evening. I’m confident that the missing material will arrive soon and the roof will be done.
But until then, I salve any frustrations I may feel over the delay with the spectacular gardens, ablaze with drama and visual song. Thank you, day lilies!