Yesterday’s nod to Hemerocallis Fulva, notwithstanding, my floral fondness for Papavers is an open secret. Who am I kidding? It’s no secret at all! So I brimmed with jubilation when Pam surprised me today, with our first poppies of summer. I was euphoric!
Pam Offering the First Poppies of Summer (Photo: Geo Davis)
And so a spontaneous haiku was born…
Summer’s First Poppies
Summer’s first poppies: petite preemies, delicate, fuzzy, threadlike stems.
Perfection at quarter scale. Stems almost too slight to support the floppy blooms. Vulnerable. Durable. Both.
First Poppies of Summer (Photo: Geo Davis)
I remember a previous pensé on poppies and haiku. It perfectly applies to these first poppies of summer.
Almost ephemeral brevity, stark minimalism, and — at best — a tingly eureka moment overlap haiku’s distinctive hallmark. Delicate. Vigorous. As unlikely a juxtaposition as poppies. Exuding a fragility and sparseness, but remarkably robust and resilient, the poppy is the haiku of flowers… (Source: Poppy Poems)
Although my original post explored the possibility of Eastern massasauga rattlesnake (Sistrurus catenatus) an update to the post concluded that a considerably more likely possibility was that I’d seen a milksnake, aka milk snake (Lampropeltis triangulum), a species of kingsnake.
While I feign no herpetology pretenses, my October 9, 2014 re-identification hinged upon communication from a more learned authority.
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
Possible indeed! Even likely. I’ve concluded that, then as now, Rosslyn’s resplendent snake was a milksnake. What do you think?
Sooo close to arriving at Rosslyn, but these peony blooms (Paeonia lactiflora) have exploded into exuberant bloom before I made it back. A false start. Preterprecocious peonies, at least from my present perspective.
Fortunately Pam documented these peony season precursors. (Thanks, Pam!) Beautiful debutants, welcoming Rosslyn arrivals. Our arrival. Shortly. But, inevitably rain will arrive, as if on cue, once the peonies bloom…
Perhaps micropoetry might capture a petal or three. And offering it up to the universe just might invite a rain free reprieve?
Preterprecocious Peonies (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Bursting with color and perfume, peonies might seem an unlikely culinary accessory. But the roots and petals are, in fact, edible. Of course anybody who’s cultivated propones (preterprecocious or otherwise) would resist disinterring peony roots for eating. But the petals?
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)
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)
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
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)
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.
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!
Looks like my spring 2023 veggie garden exuberance (and perennially Pollyanna optimism) served me poorly. As we all well know from the time tempered tale of Daedalus and Icarus, the consequences of taking risks can send us plunging. Or, in the case of cheating the calendar by prematurely planting tomatoes, tomatillos, and other delicate spring starts in the hoop house, the fickle fates can zap our healthy vegetable transplants. Ouch! The consequences of high tunnel hubris is at once humbling and heartbreaking.
High Tunnel Hubris: Damaged Peppers (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Rewind the calendar a few weeks. I was chomping at the proverbial bit, anxious to get plants into the ground, overconfident that the high tunnel would take the sting out of any late frosts.
There’s something about springtime, about gardening, about the promise of colorful blooms and produce that I’m finding too tempting to resist… with all the enthusiasm and optimism of an almost 100% planted garden. May 2023 be as abundant as 2022!(Source: Giebel Garden Flashback)
For a couple of months, we’d been monitoring a dozen data logging thermometers positioned strategically throughout the high tunnel. I made the apparently ill informed decision that we were ready.
High Tunnel Hubris: Freeze Watch (Source: Apple Weather)
I’ve learned again, and again that worrying about the weather is an unhealthy and unhelpful practice. So I won’t. Or, I will try not to worry. Nature, benevolent nature, will offer us what she considers right. (Source: Giebel Garden Flashback)
Benevolent, yes, in the grand scheme of things. But the peaks and valleys of nature’s day-to-day EKG is perhaps, slightly less benevolent.
This will be our second season high tunneling, but it’s our first opportunity to jumpstart planting (by about two weeks).
[…]
We’re tempting fate by leapfrogging the typical Mother’s Day planting date, crossing our fingers, and imagining tomatoes by the 4th of July. (Source: Green Zebras 1st in High Tunnel)
There it is: “tempting fate“. No blame, except my own optimism. I understood the stakes. I understood the risks. And I understood the consequences. But, friends, I find no analgesic in any of this today.
High Tunnel Hubris: Damaged Tomatoes (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
With metaphorically melted wings and a painful plunge, it’s now time to regroup. Time to triage.
High Tunnel Hubris: Damaged Eggplant (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Geo: How do the damaged plants look?
Pam: Not good. Looks like three tomato plants survived. Possibly lost all of the tomatillos as well.
Geo: Crushing. Hardly seems possible. Let’s allow them to adjust. Tomatoes may send out new shoots. Tomatillos too, but less likely.
Pam: The garden is fighting me this year. Soaker hoses and timers have been a struggle.
High Tunnel Hubris: Damaged Peppers (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Although the perspective is pretty bleak, at this point, I’m tentatively hopeful that some of the tomatoes may recover. If the soil was warm enough, the roots may remain vital. If a sucker shoots in, we can cultivate it into a new plant. The prospect, of course, for tomatillos is less good. But I’m not prepared to give up yet. The possibility of new growth might yet eclipse the discouraging dieback we’re now witnessing. After all, I’m not aware of anyone who has ever died of optimism!
Time for a late season look at our still-semi-new hoop house’s new upgrade: scissor doors. We made it through our first season with ropes to gather and tether the “caterpillar tunnel’s” east/west ends with the assistance of ballast (rocks and bales of sod) to secure the often wind-loosened plastic. We made it, but by season’s end we knew there was plenty of room for improvement.
Hoop House Scissor Doors
So we decided to gather a few simple parts, mostly from Johnny’s Selected Seeds. Pam and Hroth spent a Saturday morning experimenting and tweaking, eventually accomplishing a relatively convenient, weather proof closure for both ends of the tunnel.
Hoop House Scissor Doors
It took some patience, but it all came together.
Hoop House Scissor Doors
A little trimming here and an adjustment there. And voila!
Hoop House Scissor Doors
There remain a few questions such as how well the doors will hold up to harsh winter windows.
Hoop House Scissor Doors
And how best to secure the doors when they’re closed to minimize air leakage and secure against wind flapping.
Hoop House Scissor Doors
I’m sure we’ll adjust further in the months ahead, and we’ll post updates if/when any useful learning is acquired. Until then, here’s what the high tunnel / hoop house scissor doors look like now.
With the high tunnel prepped and heating up and a variety of organic veggie seedlings maturing, we just might be able to jumpstart garden planting by a month.
Transplant Tomatoes Soon? (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
We have been fortunate this year to have help getting our vegetable plant seedlings underway from the Amish family up the road who helps us with so many outdoor activities at Rosslyn, from Aimee Baker who started growing for us last year, and from Pam Murphy who manages projects like this for us on the property.
Transplant Peppers Soon? (Photo: Aimee Baker)
So we have all sorts of healthy young organic vegetable plants, thriving and approaching the point when they can safely be transplanted. Here’s the most recent update from Aimee.
I’ve been putting them in greenhouse during day, bringing them in at night… next week is looking fantastic temperature wise. But I have a few more to transplant. I’m the next couple weeks they’ll really take off! I figure more towards 3rd week they should be doing well enough and hardened enough to get some into ground. The peppers may take a little longer as they take a little more time to take off and harden, I’m figuring an extra week so end of April they’ll be good to go. –Aimee Baker
With temperatures improving, there’s a fairly good chance. We will begin to get things seated in the next week or two. And possibly transplants in mid/late May… Stay tuned!
The high tunnel is now officially planted for the 2023 growing season. Hurrah! And the first plants in the ground are a pair of Green Zebra tomatoes (aka “Green Zebras”), a personal favorite that boast tart flavor, unique color, exotic pattern, and a tendency to ripen early. Win, win, win, win!
Green Zebras 1st in High Tunnel (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
This will be our second season high tunneling, but it’s our first opportunity to jumpstart planting (by about two weeks). Last year we received the high tunnel shipment damaged and missing parts. It took most of the spring to receive the missing and replacement parts, so we forfeited the benefits we’re hoping for this year.
High Tunnel Almost Ready for Planting (Photo: Tony Foster)
We kept the high tunnel covered all winter which accelerated warming of the ground over the last couple of months. Tony has been pampering the soil: supplementing with composted manure and other organics, tilling, and preparing beds.
Tony has done a remarkable job of preparing the high tunnel for early season planting. And check out that solar gain on a freezing day! (Source: Synchronous Progress)
Pam has already planted the first succession of spinach and French breakfast radishes, but those are in raised beds outside the high tunnel. I’m hoping to see signs of germination soon. And the asparagus bed should be waking up any day now. But these precursors to summer invite heady hopes for a robust early bounty, especially tomatoes, the crown jewel of our vegetable garden. So we’re tempting fate by leapfrogging the typical Mother’s Day planting date, crossing our fingers, and imagining tomatoes by the 4th of July. We’ll observe these two vanguard tomato plants and — if they thrive (or at least survive) — we’ll progressively transplant more over the coming days. With luck others (eggplant, tomatillo, peppers, broccoli, cucumbers, etc.) will join them soon.
Here’s willing juicy tomatoes by (of before?!?!) Independence Day!
I apologize in advance for bypassing several timely updates on the icehouse rehabilitation progress. Sorry. I promise that they are coming soon. But there’s something about springtime, about gardening, about the promise of colorful blooms and produce that I’m finding too tempting to resist. And so I share with you what I’ll call a “Giebel garden flashback” from last summer, August 10, 2022 to be exact. Taken by dear friend Brian Giebel and pushed out to the world via Instagram, I revisit it now with all the enthusiasm and optimism of an almost 100% planted garden. May 2023 be as abundant as 2022!
Giebel Garden Flashback (Photo: Brian Giebel)
Thank you, Brian, for capturing this outrageous sunset (and my embarrassing posture). And thank you for reminding me what I’ve garden looks like in high season so that I may gird my angst about the two upcoming frost warnings.
I’ve learned again, and again that worrying about the weather is an unhealthy and unhelpful practice. So I won’t. Or, I will try not to worry. Nature, benevolent nature, will offer us what she considers right.
Artichokes Ready to Transplant (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
And in the meantime, we’ll postpone planting 18 newly arrived artichoke thistles. They look robust and healthy now, so we’ll try to keep them that way until the risk of frost has passed. Then, into the garden, they go!
Artichokes Ready to Transplant (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Once those artichokes are planted, we will be almost finished. Today we offer an especial thanks to Pam for rounding up the artichokes (the last available from our supplier), and the Amish family who helps ensure that our seeds are in the freshly filled ground and the transplants are well tended. Thank you!
Giebel Garden Flashback (Photo: Brian Giebel via Instagram)
And to you, Brian, thanks for this Instagram post nine months past that fills me now with hope for our future harvest. Soon we will be feasting once again!
We’ve bookended our concrete work for the icehouse rehab with last autumn’s foundation and slab and concluding with a concrete slab finale for the hot tub and the mini split. And I am going to let the photos. Tell the story since today’s post is best narrated with a photo essay. But first we celebrate the remarkable ability and agility of this team. I am repeatedly impressed with the breadth of skills, the depth of energy, and the capacity to adapt to perennially evolving circumstances.
Despite the end, timely hospitalization of Peter, the lead on this project, just as these two slabs floated to the top of our calendar, Supi, Calvin, Tony, and Pam took the baton and ran with it. With no time to lose, and a concrete truck on the way they adapted and delivered perfection. As so often, I am proud, proud, proud!
Hot Tub Concrete Slab
For the sake of streamlining this post, I am going to divide today’s work into two separate photo essays. This first will showcase the more ambitious of the two slabs, which is integrated into the icehouse deck, and will support the hot tub.
Concrete Truck Arrives (Photo: R.P. Murphy)Supi and Calvin Pull Concrete for Hot Tub Slab (Photo: R.P. Murphy)Supi, Calvin, and Tony Pull Concrete for Hot Tub Slab (Photo: R.P. Murphy)Supi and Calvin Level Hot Tub Slab as Tony Pulls Concrete (Photo: R.P. Murphy)Supi Screeds Hot Tub Slab (Photo: R.P. Murphy)Supi Floating and Edging Hot Tub Slab (Photo: R.P. Murphy)Hot tub Slab Slab Cured and Stripped (Photo: R.P. Murphy)Hot tub Slab Slab Cured and Stripped (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
That slab is ready for a hot tub. Thank you also to Brandon who installed the electrical prior to the concrete pour. Almost time to launch!
Mini Split Concrete Slab
The smaller, but no less essential slab is actually an extension of the one already supporting our generator. It will be the home of a condenser/compressor for the new mini split in the icehouse.
Tony Fills Concrete Form for Mini Split Slab (Photo: R.P. Murphy)Leveling Concrete for Mini Split Slab (Photo: R.P. Murphy)Pam Leveling Concrete for Mini Split Slab (Photo: Tony Foster)Mini Split Slab Swept and Edged (Photo: R.P. Murphy)Mini Split Slab Cured and Stripped (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Thank you, Pam, Tony, Supi, and Calvin. You all surprise and impress us again and again. Congratulations and thank you.
Exciting update: the storage container that’s been serving as our temporary paint station is going, going, gone. One down, one to go.
One Down, One to Go (R.P. Murphy)
Remember the workflow challenge we were grappling with in the late autumn / early winter? Insufficient heated, climate controlled shop space.
Priming and painting thousands of linear feet of interior and exterior finish lumber requires temperature and moisture stability not currently available in the unheated carriage barn, nor outside during a North Country winter. The solution? Meet our makeshift workshop in a storage container! (Source: Makeshift Workshop in Storage Container)
We rented a pair of 20′ storage containers to supplement Rosslyn’s two outbuildings. One storage/shipping container is effectively functioning as a warehouse storing building materials, especially all of the architectural salvage that Pam and Tony inventoried and relocated from the icehouse early last autumn. (Source: Makeshift Workshop in Storage Container)
As of yesterday we’ve satisfied our need for the paint shop storage container, so it’s been retrieved. Sayonara. One down, one to go… Bravo, Pam, for juggling workspace capacity with dexterity!
