Rosslyn Redux

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  • Ready for Rhubarb Time?

    Ready for Rhubarb Time?

    Rosslyn Rhubarb Time (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Rosslyn Rhubarb Time (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Spring along the Adirondack Coast tempts us with plenty of enticing seasonal flavors, but a personal favorite is the sweet tart medley of local maple syrup and homegrown rhubarb. Although we’re still a little shy of rhubarb time, the maple syrup is standing by, and my imagination is conjuring up this springtime staple. It’s as perfectly paired with a steaming cup of morning tea or coffee as with grilled protein and a spring mixed green salad.

    Rosslyn Rhubarb Time (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Rosslyn Rhubarb Time (Photo: Geo Davis)

    The images in today’s post, rhubarb photos that I posted on Instagram back in 2021, were inspired when Pam thrust a healthy handful of rhubarb stems into my grateful paw one morning. They’re a pinch more poignant now because our rhubarb crowns were accidentally rolled under last spring and we haven’t yet propagated a new generation.

    Now that I’ve dangled the palate puckering temptation of rhubarb sautéed in maple syrup I’m going to ask your forbearance as I take a brief detour. I’ll get back to the super simple recipe in a moment.

    But first an amuse-gueule: rhubarb haiku.

    Rosslyn Rhubarb Time (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Rosslyn Rhubarb Time (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Rhubarb Haiku

    Still chill, spring soil parts. 
Green, red, unclenching, stalking,
sweet tart rhubarb.

    When spring’s still inhospitable weather and clammy soil don’t seem to suggest this potent plant coming forth, just then, it does. Courageous and colorful. A fist unfurling from the earth, stretching out into impossibly lush, almost tropical, foliage. It is rhubarb time again.

    Perhaps this tangle of tartness and sweetness, cool climate growth and tropical semblance, is the allure of rhubarb time.

    Rosslyn Rhubarb Time (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Rosslyn Rhubarb Time (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Rosslyn Rhubarb Time (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Rosslyn Rhubarb Time (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Rosslyn Rhubarb Time

    Rhubarb was one of my first forays into homegrown edibles back in 2007. I transplanted several crowns from my parent’s Rock Harbor property. We did not yet own the acreage west of the barns, so I hadn’t even begun to conceive of the gardens and orchard that we’ve been fortunate to develop since acquiring the first portion of our backland from Greystone in 2008/9.

    I propagated the transplanted rhubarb crowns directly to the south of the carriage barn within the stone foundation of a long gone lean-to addition to the barn that may have at one point housed animals judging from the fertile soil. Combined with sunlight and heat reflected off of the carriage barn’s southern facade, this proved a productive microclimate for rhubarb (and asparagus) in those early years.

    When fortune cast her benevolent gaze upon us, allowing us to add +/-28 acres to Rosslyn, I transplanted the rhubarb (and the asparagus) to a new location about 100 feet west of the carriage barn, where the plants would benefit from plenty of sunlight. These hardy perennials served as reliable forerunners for today’s productive vegetable and fruit gardens.

    Their propagation served another symbolic, if sentimental, importance to me. Both — Rosslyn’s rhubarb and Rosslyn’s asparagus — were transplanted from existing beds that my mother had previously transplanted from our childhood home (see “Homeport in Wadhams, NY”) to Rock Harbor a couple of decades prior. A continuity reaching back to childhood, a lineage of homes, and a meaningful association with my mother, the self taught gardener who exposed me as a boy to the uniquely fulfilling practice of germinating, propagating, cultivating, harvesting, preparing, and sharing homegrown food. A perennial interconnectedness.

    Rock Harbor Rhubarb Time

    Turning back the clock a dozen years to May 31, 2011 I posted about harvesting Rock Harbor rhubarb some 5-6 years prior. (If lost in the math, the following refers to the time when Susan and I were contemplating the still-unlikely possibility of moving from New York City to the North Country. Rosslyn was still more playful pipedream than reality.)

    We walked down the road from the tennis court and stopped off at my parents’ house, still closed up for the winter. It would be several weeks before my parents arrived in Rock Harbor for the summer, and by then the asparagus would have gone to seed, so we picked enough for dinner and enough extra to bring back to the city for another meal.

    I also picked a fistful of rhubarb to sauté with maple syrup for dessert. Susan disliked rhubarb, but I loved the lip puckering tartness. The taste transports me instantly to The Farm. (Source: The Farm)

    Rock Harbor Rhubarb (Source: Geo Davis)
    Rock Harbor Rhubarb (Source: Geo Davis)

    Much as our Rock Harbor rhubarb bridged time and place, Rosslyn’s rhubarb had become a seasonal reconnection bridge to a timeless tapestry of family, gardening, meals shared, and home oases.

    Before I slide further down the slippery slope of sentimentality, I’d better get on with that recipe!

    Maple Rhubarb Recipe

    This maple rhubarb recipe may well be the simplest how-to you’ve ever come across. Sometimes the best recipes are the simplest!

    • Trim rhubarb ends to remove any leaf remnants (which are toxic to humans due to high levels of oxalic acid.)
    • Trim rhubarb ends to remove earthy bits.
    • Chop rhubarb into 1/2″ to 3/4″ pieces.
    • Fill a saucepan about halfway full of chopped rhubarb, and place on low heat.
    • Add a cup of water and a teaspoon of vanilla.
    • Cover the sauce pan and simmer for 15 minutes, stirring periodically to ensure even sautéing.
    • Once the rhubarb has begun to break down evenly, add a dash of cinnamon
    • Add maple syrup to taste.
    • Top this quick dessert/snack with whipped cream, vanilla ice cream, or a dollop of vanilla yoghurt. (If you’re dairy free, as I am, substitute your preferred alternative!)

    The sweet tart flavor profile of sautéed maple rhubarb is so unique, so scintillating, so memorable that my taste buds are tingling as I write these words. Enjoy.

  • Framing Flashback

    Framing Flashback

    At the outset of Rosslyn’s icehouse rehab, I envisioned posting weekly summaries, highlighting the team’s accomplishments in 7-day installments. Noble vision. Ignoble follow through. Among the many overlooked episodes, one especially significant accomplishment stands out: building interior structure for the loft, bathroom, mechanical room, etc. So today, months after construction was completed, I offer you an icehouse framing flashback.

    Much belated but nevertheless heartfelt thanks to Pam, Hroth, Matt, and Justin for transforming Tiho’s interior plans into the skeleton around and upon which the reimagined icehouse will take shape. It’s slightly surreal to reflect back from the finish phase. Mere months ago the rudiments were still taking shape. The internal volumes and flow were being defined. The former utility building purpose built to preserve ice cut from Lake Champlain was beginning to resemble the newly relevant work+play space now coming into focus. Adaptive reuse was perhaps no more clearly articulated than this interstitial moment when a voluminous interior was being reconfigured into distinct zones serving distinct functions. Hurrah!

  • Among the Amish

    Among the Amish

    In keeping with the modesty of our Amish neighbors, this morning I would like to offer an understated but respectful nod to the family who have been helping us maintain and nurture Rosslyn’s grounds over the past year. No personal portraits and no names. No website and no Instagram handle. But plenty of respect and gratitude to the kindhearted, hardworking men and women who help empower our stewardship of Rosslyn’s ample responsibilities and resources as well as groundskeeping at our ADK Oasis Lakeside and ADK Oasis Highlawn guest accommodations.

    Among the Amish: One Horsepower (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Among the Amish: One Horsepower (Photo: Geo Davis)

    I’ll allow these images of horse and buggy to stand in for the individuals whose disciplined humility belies their industry, tenacity, and spirited nature.

    We’re grateful to our Amish community for assistance nurturing Rosslyn’s organic vegetable, fruit, and flower gardens; our holistic orchard and vineyard; and 60+ acres of landscape.

    […]

    One nearby Amish family has been trafficking between our properties, learning quickly what each garden, each plant, each property needs. (Source: Amish Assistance)

    Pam’s gratitude for their mettle and endurance is especially notable, as circumstances have obliged her to evolve her business in an increasingly administrative and organizational capacity. Juggling a half dozen properties within our extended family (as well as additional properties for other clients) and project managing demanding construction projects for us leaves little opportunity for gardening, orcharding, landscape maintenance, wood splitting, and countless other chores that our Amish friends have willingly taken on.

    Among the Amish: Buggy & Barn (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Among the Amish: Buggy & Barn (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Amish Buggy Haiku

    Air conditioning
    even when the horsepower
    is pausing to graze.

    There’s something slightly pastoral, slightly romantic about the buggy and barn snapshot above, and perhaps the haiku as well. And do I close with another gratitude, for life and work among the Amish offers this additional perk. Recalibrating and picturesque, their welcome presence and participation affords us opportunities to pause and contemplate a life lived differently from our own. And oh-so photogenic!

  • Relics Rhymed

    Relics Rhymed

    I’m verily inspired by potsherds and beach glass, coal fragments, and other detritus churned up on Rosslyn’s waterfront. Or disinterred from the yard while planting a garden or building a stone wall. I stall a while and meditate on the process of fragmenting, the potential for reimagining artifacts. I wonder about dark or damaged backstories, sharp shards, mollified by time’s persistent palliative pressure into “worry beads” carried and caressed like the glass glob I carried in my pocket for several years as a totem, a talisman, a pocket palliative for angst. Imagine delightful detritus strung into necklaces, assembled in mosaics, relics rhymed in song, or puzzle-pieced into a poem.

    Relics Rhymed (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Relics Rhymed (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Relics Rhymed

    I gather fragments
    wrought asunder by
    great gusts, gales, and
    tempestuous tantrums
    of feuding forces,
    jagged shards tumbled
    in the roiling surf,
    defanged, lenified,
    smoothed, polished, and rhymed
    by the tides of time,
    memory’s meager
    mitigating reach.

    A runaway run-on identifying as a poem, a piece of a poem, a poetry puzzle piece,… Make of it what you wish. Those last two lines are a piece of what I’ve been wrestling with in many ways. In what ways does the past extend into the present? To and through the bits and pieces proffered by history, inherited evidence of a long before, timeless tidbits ostensibly proving our place in the river of life and death, creation and destruction? Do these artifacts salve us?

    Many questions. Few answers.

    Wanting wonder, I’ll simply allow that — as so often — relics rhymed.

  • Flooring Sneak Peek

    Flooring Sneak Peek

    It’s a little premature to start celebrating the soon-to-be-completed hardwood flooring in the icehouse. With only the first two rows installed (and a third in the works), a superstitious soul might delay an update in the interest of humility (or outwitting fate). But it’s been so many months in the planning and preparation that I’ve decided to offer you a flooring sneak peek. After all, it looks too spectacular to keep it a secret!

    Flooring Sneak Peek (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Flooring Sneak Peek (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Do you remember my post about acclimating the ash and elm flooring in the icehouse loft? Well, with plenty of time for the homegrown flooring to acclimate and a rapidly diminishing timeline, Peter guided the transition to flooring as Eric put the finishing touches on the garapa paneling in the bathroom. (Glorious garapa bathroom update tomorrow.)

    In the photograph above, you can see the dramatic intersection of new flooring with the bookmatched threshold (beneath the columns.) The flooring courses will be perfectly aligned in the vestibule and in the main room ensuring continuity with a dramatic interstitial transition at the ash “heart” abstraction formed from the mirrored grain (concealed with rosin paper in this photograph) of the bookmatched planks.

    Variable Width Flooring (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Variable Width Flooring (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    We opted for variable width flooring, and we’re intermingling ash and elm. All of this lumber was harvested, milled, seasoned, dimensioned, and finished on-site. In fact, some of this wood was felled almost 15 years ago, so this has been a slooow evolving rehab! So slow, in fact, that until about a year ago, we’d begrudgingly come to accept that the icehouse rehab might never happen. So, finally witnessing progress, even a few boards, is momentous and deeply rewarding.

    I will follow up soonish with a more detailed look at how we’re joining the floorboards and a few other details that will make more sense once we’re a little bit deeper into this project. But, suffice to say, we haven’t taken the easy (or quick) way out! But I’m confident that the rewards are around the corner.

  • Windowing

    Windowing

    Remember our upside down, inside out window installation plan? Repeated delays during the window ordering process combined with a looong, slooow fabrication and delivery schedule compelled us to invert the standard installation sequence. Instead of installing windows and doors first, then siding the exterior and interior, and then trimming everything in, we flip-flopped windows/doors and siding. That’s right, in order to maintain an ambitious timetable, we’ve executed an exterior and interior cladding prior to installing the windows. his involved some unintuitive workarounds, reverse engineering an otherwise routine process. So, yes, “windowing” the icehouse has been a unique challenge.

    Supi Windowing the Icehouse (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Supi Windowing the Icehouse (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    And yet this nimble team of problem solvers have have managed to make it work. And, I might add, much of the windowing work has fallen to Supi who has been stretching to simultaneously succeed on diverse, often disjointed projects (also heading up stone hardscape team in charge of an ambitious stone masonry design for the west and northwest of the icehouse deck.)

    So today I tip my cap to this perennially willing, hardworking, and understated member of the team. Supi, you’ve been a benison beyond compare. A Jeroboam of gratitude! Whether designing, shaping, and mentoring stone masonry; workhorsing a concrete pour; rebuilding the boathouse gangway; or windowing the icehouse; we couldn’t have made it this far with out you.

    Thank you.

  • Essex Railroad Station, circa 1907-8

    Essex Railroad Station, circa 1907-8

    I’m a fan of train travel, so I’m especially joy-filled now that Amtrak service between Manhattan and Montreal has been restored to service. No finer way to travel between New York City and the Adirondack Coast. Actually, let me amend that opinion. There’s plenty of pleasure arriving at the train station in Westport, our closest passenger stop. But can you imagine for a moment being able to board and disembark from Amtrak’s Adirondack just up the road? That’s right, restoring service to the long ago discontinued Essex Railroad Station would indeed be the finest way to locomote between NYC and SX!

    Before inspecting the photographs adorning the vintage postcards above and below, let’s familiarize ourselves with the above mentioned train know by Amtrak as the Adirondack.

    The Adirondack travels from New York City, through the lush wine country of the Hudson Valley, into Montreal. Heading north, you’re scheduled to depart New York’s Moynihan Train Hall in the morning and arrive in Montreal in the evening. Board the southbound train anywhere along the line and arrive in mid-town Manhattan in time to enjoy dinner and nightlife in New York City. (Source: Amtrak)

    While growing up in the Adirondacks — and more recently when Susan and I still volleyed back-and-forth between Manhattan and Westport then Essex) — the Adirondack was my go-to transportation by convenience and preference. Although the timing/schedule can be unpredictable, I’ve consistently opted for Amtrak to shuttle me between New York City and the Adirondack Coast for the better part of half a century. The brief blurb above does little justice to this spectacular journey skirting the Hudson River, Champlain Canal, and Lake Champlain.

    Essex Railroad Station, circa 1907-8​

    Sadly the route was suspended during the pandemic and only resumed service a little over a month ago. Welcome back, Adirondack!

    Amtrak, in conjunction with VIA Rail Canada (VIA Rail), New York State Department of Transportation (NYSDOT) and other federal agencies, is resuming train service between New York City and Montreal via the Adirondack train today, Monday, April 3. This milestone marks the return of all Amtrak and VIA Rail cross border service between the United States and Canada for the first time since 2020 and aligns with the growing demand of train travel in both countries. (Source: Amtrak)

    After roughly three years’ absence, the restored service is long overdue and widely praised.

    “The cultural riches and natural beauty along the Adirondack train route amount to an experience that is unlike anything else in the world, and it highlights the importance of this service – making it easy and fun for travelers to be able to enjoy the unique treasures of the Empire State,” said New York State Department of Transportation Commissioner Marie Therese Dominguez. (Source: Amtrak)

    At this point my love for this train route is evident, but I’ve neglected the present postcards (and my hope that possibly, just possibly, one day we’ll again enjoy an Essex Railroad Station!)

    Both of these sepia hued images of yesteryear document the former Essex Railroad Station. Not sure when or how the building was lost, but I’ll update if/when I find out.

    And if you’re the curious sort, as I am, I’ve included the backsides of the postcards. Turning your device sidewise reveals the amusing note on the first card.

  • Timber Rattlesnake? Massasauga Rattlesnake?

    Massasauga rattlesnake (Sistrurus catenatus)
    Massasauga rattlesnake (Sistrurus catenatus) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

    Have you ever ever heard of an Eastern massasauga rattlesnake? Or a Sistrurus catenatus?

    Me either.

    Until recently.

    I’ve just come across notes that I scribbled almost three years ago on May 15, 2009 after seeing a large, unfamiliar snake behind the carriage barn. I tried to identify the exotic serpent but never solved the mystery.

    My sleuthing was reinvigorated this afternoon, leading me to a new possibility. As unlikely as it may seem, I now suspect that I may have spotted a massasauga rattlesnake with markings totally unlike our local Adirondack timber rattlesnakes.

    But I’m getting ahead of myself. First let’s take a look at my old notes:

    After gardening, while watering transplanted tomatoes I saw a large snake with unfamiliar coloring/markings. I described it to naturalist John Davis (@trekeast), conservationist Chris Maron and Essex Farm guru, Mark Kimball. No consensus. Perhaps a copper head, a northern water snake or an adder. I poked around the web looking at photos and reading descriptions. It was not a Northern Water Snake. The Northern Copperhead photo could be a match, and the description fits quite accurately. And this photo of a copperhead looks similar. Actually, most photos I find online of Northern Copperheads look similar:

    Some other possibilities include Eastern Fox Snake, Northern Water Snake and Corn Snake. In fact, it looked an awful lot like a, Anerythristic Corn Snake (Elaphe guttata), but we’re definitely not in their natural range. Here’s a photo of a baby corn snake that is much smaller than the stealthy serpent I spied, though otherwise very similar. And here’s another corn snake. This photo of an Anerythristic Corn Snake is a dead ringer for the rhubarb runaway.

    That was my thinking three years ago. But I’ve changed my mind. If only I had a photograph…

    At the time I called my bride on my mobile phone and asked her to bring my camera so I could take a picture. “Come quick. I don’t want the snake to get away!”

    Massasauga rattlesnake (Sistrurus catenatus)
    Massasauga rattlesnake (Sistrurus catenatus) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

    “Don’t get near it. It’s probably a rattlesnake.Come inside. Now.”

    A brief, anxious verbal volley later the snake had vanished into the deep grass around the rhubarb patch. No photograph. Though the image of the snake — pale yellowish tan background with brown and black foreground markings — lingered in my mind, the length of the snake grew longer with each passing minute.

    The timber rattlesnakes that live in the Adirondacks are dark, almost black with only a faint pattern visible in certain lighting situations. This snake was not a timber rattlesnake. And I never saw a rattle. Nor did I hear a rattle.

    And yet when I stumbled upon the photographs of the yellow rattlesnake above, I instantly recognized the snake that vanished in the rhubarb patch. We had a Sistrurus catenatus, yellow massasauga rattler in Rosslyn’s rhubarb patch!

    Or did we?

    What if the assumption that all Adirondack timber rattlesnakes living in the Split Rock Mountain Forest area are brown-black is erroneous? What if some of our local rattlers look like the yellowish tan snakes in this video which was ostensibly filmed in New York Sate?

    The photographer/videographer who shared that dramatic footage was prudent not to disclose the location of the snakes, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they were right here in the Champlain Valley. Those pale snakes, especially the rattlesnake with the pale yellow head are extremely similar to my rhubarb patch mystery serpent!

    If you’re a wise herpetologist with a knowledge of the Adirondacks’ Champlain Valley maybe you can help solve my snake mystery…

    Updates

    June 27, 2012: Perhaps Bill Brown (and many others) are relying upon empirical evidence about the Split Rock rattlesnakes that is changing?

    Bill Brown, an expert on timber rattlers… said the Split Rock population is unusual in that all the specimens are black. Except for a tiny population in New Hampshire, other populations in the North are made up of black snakes and yellow snakes (with crossbands)… A biologist who has studied timber rattlers for more than three decades, Brown attributes the uniformity of the Split Rock population to the “founder effect.” It is supposed that all the founders of the population were black, and no yellow snakes contributed to the gene pool. (Adirondack Explorer)

    July 17, 2012: Seems that we need help identifying another mystery snake in the Adirondacks.

    https://twitter.com/Davecfm/status/223131416618209280

    Dave Cummings' mystery snake(s)
    Dave Cummings’ mystery snake(s)

    Or, if my eyes serve me, two Adirondack mystery snakes.

    Thanks, Dave Cummings (@Davecfm), for adding more serpentine curiosity to the mix!

    If you’re interested in building a timber frame home, you need to check this guy out. Cummings shares photographic documentation of his quest to build an off-the-grid, timber frame and straw bale house just south of us, near Bolton Landing.

    I missed Cummings’ first Twitter post about the snake(s), but this Northern Water Snake follow-up tweet by Jake (@darkeyes924) got my attention. Better late than never!

    https://twitter.com/TrekEast/status/224966236382044161

     

    Timber Rattlesnake seen by John Davis
    Timber Rattlesnake seen by John Davis

    https://twitter.com/TrekEast/status/224973177439260673

    https://twitter.com/TrekEast/status/224978430666612736

    https://twitter.com/TrekEast/status/225174561753284609

    October 9, 2014: 

    Recently I was contacted by a herpetologist here in NY studying the Massasauga who was interested in my observation. In our discussion he mentioned this:

    It is common for Milksnakes to be identified as Massasaugas. The belief is that Milk snakes have evolved to mimic venomous species in their area, and in eastern states are known to be EMR mimics. Is it possible what you saw was a Milk Snake? ~Alexander Robillard of SUNY College of Environmental Science and Forestry

    So, it’s quite likely that I saw an enormous, beautiful milk snake. I’ve seen no similar snakes recently or ever. And given the fact that our local population of rattlesnakes (Split Rock Wilderness) are apparently all blackish, this suggestion seems the most likely.

  • Thanksgiving Leftovers: Corn Cakes and Turkey Gravy

    Thanksgiving Leftovers: Corn Cakes and Turkey Gravy

    Corn cakes and turkey gravy? Let me explain…

    In my bride’s family birthdays are celebrated with endurance and fanfare. In fact,  my bride’s late father preferred to think of birthdays as commemorative seasons, not days at all. Celebrating for anything less than a week was simply barbaric in his estimation.

    Corn Cake Batter
    Corn Cake Batter

    So, over the last decade I’ve become accustomed to multiple birthday celebrations, abundant gift-giving and the family birthday dinner: game hens, artichokes and mashed potatoes or rice followed by birthday cake. For my vegetarian bride swordfish is substituted for a game hen, but few other exceptions are made.

    Tradition is tradition. Comfort food is comfort food. These are the givens.

    Most families enjoy revered meals steeped in nostalgia and embraced generation after generation. And yet my family’s most traditional comfort food, corn cakes and turkey gravy, provokes looks of bewilderment and lame excuses when I invite friends to experience meal.

    Care to Try Corn Cakes and Turkey Gravy?

    Conjured out of Thanksgiving and Christmas leftovers, neither holiday is complete without the lumpy griddle fried cakes and rich turkey gravy, thick with chunks of leftover turkey. Eaten for lunch or dinner, the meal is filling, tasty and a delightful flashback to the autumns and winters of my childhood.

    Corn Cakes
    Corn Cakes

    Over the years I have introduced countless friends to this quirky combination of ingredients. And though most have been polite, few have devoured the meal or asked for the family recipe.

    My bride’s recent phone call with her mother offers the typical response to my corn cake and turkey gravy invitations.

    “Why don’t you join us for corn cakes and turkey gravy on Sunday,” Susan asked.

    “Corn cakes and turkey gravy?”

    “You’ve never had them? Oh, it’s a tradition in George’s family…” Susan went on to explain the dish.

    “Hmmm, that sounds interesting, but…” It was clear to me that my mother-in-law’s interesting was akin to, “Are there any other options?”

    So we ate steak with leftover mashed potatoes and green beans. Delicious.

    Craving Corn Cakes…

    Turkey Gravy
    Turkey Gravy

    But on Monday evening I fired up the griddle and prepared corn cakes and turkey gravy. Leftover mashed potatoes, green beans and Brussels sprouts rounded out the meal (as did a mind massaging Chardonnay from South Africa.)

    I got carried away and prepared enough corn cakes and turkey gravy to eat all week! Now, who can I invite over for the leftover-leftovers so that they can politely demur when I offer then seconds?

    I suspect there’s a forgotten history explaining my family’s post-Thanksgiving and post-Christmas culinary comfort food, but I’ve been unable to ferret it out. Yet.

    Time to Interview Mom

    I’m pretty certain that the tradition comes from my mother’s family, so I’ll pose a few questions to the world’s best (and my favorite) mom, Melissa Davis.

    Me: Is it fair to say that I inherited my appetite for corn cakes and turkey gravy from your side of the family?

    Mom: Yes, I don’t know anyone else who ate them other than the Duvalls, so from my side via my mother.

    Me: Do you know anything about the origins of corn cakes and turkey gravy?

    Mom: No, just that my grandmother Lela made them. Or I thought she did. I suppose my mom could have made them up!

    Me: Did you eat corn cakes and turkey gravy as a child or did the tradition start later?

    Corn Cakes and Turkey Gravy
    Corn Cakes and Turkey Gravy

    Mom: We always ate them the same way we Davises now do, following a turkey dinner (which for us Wellers was the traditional Thanksgiving and Christmas meal). We would also have them if we had a random turkey meal at other times of the year. I’m trying to remember if my Aunt Margaret Liggett (my granny’s sister who lived near us in Colorado) also made them. I vaguely think so which would increase the chances that they came from that side of the family. They were daughters of a union of a Swedish American and an Irish American.

    Me: Did you actually enjoy corn cakes and turkey gravy the first few times you ate it?

    Mom: I can’t remember the first time I had them, but I loved the meal always. For a while when I was little, I preferred them to the first meal of the turkey. I loved the holidays because I knew the corn cakes and turkey gravy inevitably would follow!

    Me: When you serve corn cakes and turkey gravy to people for the first time, how do they tend to react?

    Mom: Politely but without enthusiasm! Our guests on Friday were complimentary, but only one person ate seconds. Do you remember when I fed them to your college Christmas visitors? They were all polite, but I don’t remember anyone gobbling them up. I can hardly think of anyone to whom we introduced this fabulous meal who genuinely liked them!

    Me: What do you consider the best accompaniment for corn cakes and turkey gravy?

    Mom: Browned leftover mashed potatoes or hash browns (so you can add the gravy to them) and a green salad. If you like cranberry, it’s a good place to get rid of the leftover cranberry sauce. I don’t especially!

    Me: Can you offer any special tips on how to prepare corn cakes and turkey gravy?

    Mom: I have always just used the basic Joy of Cooking pancake recipe, cut back on the sugar amount and added canned corn. I’ve doubled it without problem and added a second can of corn. I use any leftover gravy from the main meal and make new gravy from the first round of “stocktaking” off the turkey bones. I also add lots of leftover meat if it is for our family. I don’t always make it as meaty for guests since the meat seems to be off-putting to some.

    My mother’s brother, Uncle Herman, admitted an enduring fondness for corn cakes and turkey gravy while confirming the maternal family link, and he offered a possible clue.

    I wonder if they were a Pennsylvania Dutch recipe Mom discovered. ~ Herman Weller

    Perhaps. Or Swedish-Irish. Or just a creative way to get kids to eat leftovers?

    It worked. I still love them! What’s your family’s comfort food?

  • Adirondack Birding and Squirreling

    Indigo Bunting (Passerina cyanea)
    Was it an indigo bunting (Passerina cyanea) I spied at our bird feeder?

    Rather than whining through another verse of the Bali Blues on my harmonica, I awoke on my first morning back at Rosslyn in a fever to jump-start autumn/winter rituals. Top of the list was setting up the bird feeders in anticipation of Adirondack birding. A recent radio report on Vermont Public Radio had mentioned that October through April is the recommended bird feeding season. Sorry birds!

    I hasten to add (for the sake of Ellen Pober Rittberg (@ellen_rittberg) and any other seasoned birders who I may have inadvertently mislead) that I’m not 100% certain I saw an indigo bunting. The size and general description in our bird books were spot-on, but the coloration was considerably darker than the flashy blue in the illustrations. And I realize that the beginning of November is late in the migration calendar for an indigo bunting to be spotted this far north. Perhaps this helps?

    “It displays sexual dimorphism in its coloration; the male is a vibrant blue in the summer and a brown color during the winter months, while the female is brown year-round.” (Wikipedia)

    Either the late date explains the closer-to-blue-black coloration of the bird I spied at the feeders hanging in our ginkgo or else I’ve misrepresented the fancy fellow. (All other suggestions are welcome in the comments below!)

    In any case, kamikaze chickadees began dive bombing me while I was installing the bird feeders despite the fact that all four feeders were empty. At first. Until they weren’t. I stuffed them with black oil sunflower seeds. And waited. But the birds were gone! So much for Adirondack birding…

    The squirrels were considerably less bashful, especially this coal black fellow who was totally focused on sunflower seed nirvana all day.

    Adirondack Squirreling
    Forget Adirondack birding…
    Time for Adirondack squirreling!

    Of course, this warmed up the ongoing debate with my bride about the merit of feeding squirrels. Remember our fox and squirrel adventures last year?

    I’ve accepted that I’m not making any headway toward convincing my haven-for-wildlife-unless-they’re-predators bride that we should feed songbirds, not squirrels. Perhaps its time to swap Adirondack birding for Adirondack  squirreling aspirations? Although, the latter conjures up the image of my bearded, red and black check wool coated, Daniel Boone hat wearing, shotgun toting alter ego  trudging through the snow.

    I suppose it doesn’t much matter if we feed the birds or the squirrels, especially since the latter inevitably results in considerably wilder window safaris. And yet I still have some misgivings.

    The idea started logically enough. Sprinkle excess food on the stone walls, etc. so the squirrels will not try to “rob” food from the bird feeders.

    Unfortunately, the squirrel population mushroomed last winter and the songbird population shrank. Are the wee feathered critters intimidated by the squirrels? I suspect the equation is a bit more complicated.

    You see in addition to squirrels, my bride’s robust feeding regimen also attracted a healthy host of doves and pigeons. And crows. It seems that the density of big critters discourages the little songbirds, but I’m venturing into the land of brazen hypothesis here. With plenty of plump squirrels and pigeons waddling around, it was only a matter of time before savvy foxes and hawks got wind of the Rosslyn buffet. I suspect that it doesn’t take too many fox attacks and hawk attacks before the songbirds wise up and search for friendlier dining.

    Stay tuned for further developments.

    In the mean time, I’ll enjoy the abundance of songbirds that have been flocking to our feeders over the past couple of days. And the endless Canada Geese migrating south, many of which stop on Rosslyn’s waterfront to spend the night. There must have been three hundred geese standing along the shoreline and bobbing in the morning waves when I looked out my office window today!

  • Pumpkin Carrot Muffins

    Pumpkin Carrot Muffins

    Last Thrusday’s Full and By Farm share pickup included baking pumpkins and carrots. Fall fare. There was plenty more in the share, but these two struck a Saturday morning brunch chord while speaking with Sarah Kurak. So mentioned a recipe she’d used for baking pumpkin carrot muffins. “Delicious,” she said.

    I imagined them into existence during my short drive back the house.

    “Guess what,” I teased my bride.

    “You want to feed Griffin dinner?” she asked, raising her eyebrows optimistically?

    “I will,” I said. “But that’s not the mystery.”

    I told her that I was going to bake gluten free pumpkin carrot muffins on Saturday morning. “We can sleep in,” I tempted. “And then I’ll make homemade muffins. From scratch. The who house will smell like a pumpkin pie tango-ing with a carrot cake!”

    She laughed. And probably forgot. Until Saturday. When the whole house smelled like pumpkin pie tango-ing with a carrot cake. No. Better.

    A quick dip into the interwebs introduced me to Nicole Hunn (@gfshoestring). She must have dropped off a batch of her Pumpkin Carrot Muffins in Mountain View, California for the search doctors to gobble up for breakfast because Google loves her!

    And I’m not surprised, because a dozen delicious gluten free pumpkin carrot muffins later my bride and I are now BIG fans. Maybe it’s because her recipe is really for cupcakes, not muffins, but what’s the difference. Carrots, pumpkin, eggs from the local CSA? That’s healthy! That more than qualified these delicious breakfast treats for muffin status.

    And then this serendipitous tweet inspired me to take the plunge

    I love that! The best aphorisms are those we might have coined ourselves.

    “Creativity is a natural extension of our enthusiasm.” ~ Earl Nightingale

    It reminds me of the decidedly unclever but honest way I describe my dancing: what I lack in skill I make up with enthusiasm. I love to dance. But I’ll never be on Dancing with the Stars. Some day I’ll share a few of my moves. A few because that’s all there are! Or better yet, I’ll tell you the story my first dance experience. In middle school. Embarrassing. Scarring. But that juicy morsel for another day.

    For now, the world’s most delicious (and healthy) gluten free pumpkin carrot muffins.

    Before proceeding, I should mention a few deviations from Ms. Hunn’s recipe. I skipped the raisins and the chocolate chips. My bride dislikes the former and experiences life threatening allergies to the latter. I also opted for organic canola oil in place of all oil/butter, and I replaced half of the sugar with stevia.

    We ate our first muffins hot out of the oven. I melted a bit of butter inside. Hot tea. Birds at the bird feeder. Bluebird skies. Late morning, but still in pajamas and bath robes. In short, the odds were stacked. And yet, I feel comfortable saying that the muffins were delicious. It wasn’t just that the moment was ripe. The muffins were amazing!

    We had seconds. Thirds. Fourths.

    Really.

    I’m not exaggerating. They were that good. You might want to give Ms. Hunn’s recipe a try. After all, culinary creativity is a natural (and inevitable) extension of our enthusiasm. Which reminds me, you may want to try a few funky 1980’s dance moves while you’re running the blender…

  • Hawk Attacks Dove

    Hawk and Dove: the spoils of generous bird feeding.

    Last Sunday my bride and I settled in for a post-lunch-tea-and-snooze in the parlor. The previous week’s unseasonably temperate spring-going-on-summer weather had yielded to cold and rain, so we weren’t feeling too guilty about playing hooky. No gardening or tidying up the waterfront for spring boating. No orchard pruning or apple tree grafting for us. Just a lazy afternoon on the dry side of our rain pelted windows…

    Whaplumf!

    That’s the noise of a dove crashing into a window pane.

    Hawk Attacks Dove

    We headed into the breakfast room where we discovered a fierce looking hawk pinning a dove to the ground on the lawn near the bird feeders, ripping beak-fulls of feather and flesh from the stunned dove’s back.

    Did I mention that the dove was still alive? Despite the predator’s fierce talons and efficient beak, the dove periodically struggled and lifted its head to look around. The efforts were futile and only increased the hawk’s aggression.

    It was a fascinating if deeply disturbing sight. A real world immersion in the sort of wild spectacle usually limited to the Discovery Channel. A Rosslyn safari sequel to the the Fox & Squirrel episodes.

    Cooper's Hawk on feeder
    Cooper’s Hawk on bird feeder (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

    A dusty impression of the dove was still visible on the glass, and I surmised that the dove had crashed into the window while attempting to flee the hawk. I had seen a similar image about a week before on the kitchen window, as if a dove had been rolled in flour and then pressed against the glass, wings outstretched and head turned to the side revealing an eye and and the beak. Had this same drama played out then?

    My bride was horrified. She raced outside flapping a pair of bright pink dishwashing gloves and shouting at the hawk. “Stop that! Get out of here. Go away!” The hawk looked at Susan flapping the pink gloves menacingly less than 10 feet away, then looked down at the dove, then up at me standing in the window, then back at Susan. The dove lifted it’s head, eyes wild with fright.

    A standoff? A detente?

    Suddenly the hawk flapped its wings lifting the still struggling dove from the ground. My fearless bride leaped toward the hawk, flailing her gloves and shouting angrily. The hawk settled briefly in front of the kitchen window and then flew away, abandoning the injured dove.

    My bride pulled on her gloves and lifted the injured dove from the grass. It gazed up at her, struggling to breath. She carried the dying bird to the edge of our front lawn where placed it gently into a comfortable nest of leaves and twigs.

    In recent weeks we’ve seen three of four piles of feathers near the bird feeder on different occasions, but I assumed the fox had switched from squirrels to doves. It turns out that we have two efficient predators who’ve discovered the benefits of dining on critters drawn to our birdfeeders.

    Hawk Attack Dove “Research”

    Never having witnessed this before I turned to the interwebs for assistance in deciphering what we witnessed. I found forums and blog posts documenting the exact same experience, in many cases even including the dove or pigeon smashing into a window before being nabbed by the hawk. And there’s a veritable glut of video footage online if your stomach is strong and your emotions are steely. (Note: If you are remotely squeamish, these videos are not for you.)

    Are we contributing to the predation by overfeeding wildlife. I’m increasingly concerned that we are. Is there a better balance between feeding songbirds during the winter and over-concentrating/over-fattening the squirrel and dove populations? Certainly. But we haven’t quite figured out how to proceed.

    I’ve recommended limiting bird feeding to the cold winter months, and my bride has reluctantly agreed. Verbally. When the food runs out. Which means that Rosslyn remains a fast food restaurant for foxes and hawks. And while my bride had repeatedly decreed our yard a safe haven for wildlife, we haven’t figure out how to communicate this to the predators. All advice welcome!

    Hawk Attacks Dove Update

    Hawk attacks hare (Image: Ahsan @ahsan)

    Half a year later I flash back to this experience.

    It’s autumn, and we’ve just placed the bird feeders out for the winter. I’ve seen a fox slinking among the cedar hedge, spying on the squirrels, planning his next meal. The first pigeons arrive to peck the overspill sunflowers from the ground beneath the feeders.

    Still no hawks.

    And then, one crashes through the interwebs, plunges into my day, startles me, horrifies me, fascinates me. A hawk. A hare. An attack so familiar it seems as if I had watched the hawk attack the dove only yesterday.