Sometimes the universe rhymes. Have you ever noticed that? As if there’s a poetry underneath our everyday lives, and sometimes — when we’re lucky — the poetry floats up to the surface.
“Dueling Banjos” à la Adirondacks
This morning I was lucky. My thanks go out to friend and North Country enthusiast Steve Malone who shared Mark Kroos‘s “Dueling Banjos” video on Facebook.
Inspired by Mark Kroos
I’ve loved “Dueling Banjos” since I was a boy, but there’s another less obvious reason that this song, synonymous for many people with John Boorman’s Deliverance, strikes a chord. (Forgive the pun!)
I was reared in the rural Adirondacks, and as an adult I returned to the Adirondacks with my bride. And while many express envy for our nature-centric, outdoorsy lifestyle, I’ve become accustomed to Deliverance jokes when people wonder aloud what it must be like to actually live and work “in the sticks“. Geographic disparity aside, whistling or humming a few bars of “Dueling Banjos” has become a sort of universal reference to back-country social backwardness.
I suspect that this may have bothered me when I was younger, away at summer camp or boarding school, but specific memories of feeling slighted haven’t stuck with me. I do recall feeling excited to come home to the Adirondacks, and I do remember how much visitors enjoyed playing in the Adirondack Mountains and Lake Champlain and the Boquet River. For me “Dueling Banjos” became a sort of insiders’ anthem to all that was good about rural living.
“Dueling Banjos” à la Mark Kroos
That belly-button gazing aside, the merits of Mark Kroos‘s solo rendition of “Dueling Banjos” need no propping up from me. This guy’s a genius! I headed off to his website to learn a little more.
Mark Kroos plays 2 guitar necks at the same time… His primarily instrumental style is characterized by open harmonies, polyphonic textures, incredible tapping technique, and is as entertaining to watch as it is to listen to…
In May of 2010, Mark embarked a sparsely-booked road trip, giving up his apartment in Williamsburg to play coffee shops and bars, relying on donations, human kindness and the grace of God. This road trip blossomed into a year-long concert tour filled with performances, clinics, and a multitude of new friends. (Mark Kroos)
If his gifted plucking, strumming and finger tapping weren’t already enough to earn him place of honor in my personal pantheon, his quixotic adventure turned success story confirmed my admiration for Mark Kroos.
Follow your dream, even when it means turning your back on the safe and familiar, and plunging into risk and uncertainty. Create beauty and share it with those who appreciate beauty. A great start to this early spring week! Thanks, Mark Kroos. Thanks, Steve Malone.
“To all whom it may concern: Be it known that I, Harry C. Bunnell, a citizen of the United States, residing at Westport, in the county of Essex and the State of New York, have invented a new and useful Improvement in Chairs. … ” So begins patent number 794,777, dated July 18, 1905, in reference to what we commonly refer to as the Adirondack Chair. With its signature slanted back and wide armrests, the recognizable profile of this outdoor recliner has become a trademark of summer in America. Despite the patent filed over a hundred years ago, though, Harry Bunnell, a carpenter and shop owner, was not actually the one who created the chair’s design. (via NYTimes.com.)
Image from original patent for Adirondack Chairs
In Monday’s Rosslyn Roundup I included a link to a post about Adirondack Chairs, originally invented by Thomas Lee in 1903 but copied and adapted by countless carpenters since. It is a welcome surprise then to see the New York Times’ The 6th Floor blog tackling the same timely topic today.
In “Who Made That Adirondack Chair?” Hilary Greenbaum highlights Harry C. Bunnel’s decision to patent the design actually invented by Thomas Lee allegedly without his permission. A case of vintage Adirondack snark? Perhaps. But even in Hilary’s telling, Lee seems to have been gracious and let the matter go, permitting his friend to produce the Adirondack chairs for profit for a quarter century.
Local Link to Adirondack Chairs
[pullquote]I think Uncle Tom’s design is superior but Harry Bunnell patented and sold “a better mouse trap”.[/pullquote]
As luck would have it, I’m friendly with several of Thomas Lee’s descendants who still visit or live in Westport, New York – our Lake Champlain “neighbor” to the south – where the original Adirondack chairs (aka Westport chairs) were invented and produced. I’ll ask around to see if there’s any more to this story, perhaps passed down through the generations.
Update: I checked in with Bruce Ware, the realtor who showed us property for several years and ultimately brokered the deal for us when we purchased Rosslyn. He is directly related to Thomas Lee. Here’s what he had to say:
The Adirondack chairs that Uncle Tom made and the one that Bunnell patented are similar but not the same. I can say that I think Uncle Tom’s design is superior but Harry Bunnell patented and sold “a better mouse trap”. The patent has since expired, and I would be happy to discuss it more and show you the differences. So it goes… (Bruce Ware, 6/30/11)
If you know any more about the history of Adirondack chairs, please share your wisdom in the comments below or on the Facebook page.
Steamboat Landing at Westport, NY circa 1907 (Source: vintage postcard)
Perhaps some of my North Country readers recognize this sylvan scene along the Adirondack shore of Lake Champlain?
It is the site of present day Westport Marina in Westport, NY. Seen here in an earlier incarnation as a steamboat landing circa 1907, there are several notable differences with more contemporary photographs of this same waterfront.
Most notable is the veritable absence of buildings. A few are visible, mostly in the distance, but it seems that turn-of-the-century Westport (aka Bessboro) was a much more treed village — at least along the lakeshore — than it is today.
Another absence is the Westport Yacht Club. Standing south of the Westport Marina and separated by present day Ballard Park, this historic yachting landmark (rebuilt in the 1980s after it was destroyed by fire) has been home to several top-tier restaurants in recent decades. A clue might be hidden in the bottom/foreground of this photographs. Notice the crumbling crib dock? I suspect that the Westport Yacht Club may have been constructed on a previous pier (one used for mercantile shipping, perhaps?) and that the photographer may have set up his tripod amid the rocks and logs to capture this evocative image. What do you think?
East 57th Street between First and Sutton (via Wikipedia)
Accustomed to living out of a suitcase, I pendulumed back and forth between Manhattan where Susan was wrapping up a degree in interior design following a decade-long career in video production, and Westport, New York, where both of our parents owned homes and where we’d met a couple of years prior.
Susan had recently refinished a one bedroom apartment in The Galleria, and she was itching to sell it and start a new project. I was intrigued by the prospect of collaborating on a project and plugging my recent Paris experience into a tired but dignified New York apartment, but the Adirondacks were pulling me. After almost half a lifetime living in cities, I yearned to return to the rhythms and pleasures of rural life.
My idealized notion of a country house had its roots in a small farm that my parents had bought in Washington County while still living in New York City in the 1970s. Initially a getaway for my recently married parents trying to balance life and careers in New York City and later, albeit briefly, a full time residence, The Farm underpins my love for countryside and provides my earliest childhood memories.
The perfect place, I explained to Bruce, the friend and realtor who shuttled me from property to property, would be a small, simple farmhouse in the middle of fields with a sturdy barn and some acreage, maybe a stream or a pond or access to a river. Barns, in particular, pulled me. Secluded places with good light and views, forgotten places with stories still vaguely audible if you slowed down long enough to hear the voices. No loud traffic. An old overgrown orchard, perhaps. Asparagus and rhubarb gone feral near the barn. Stone walls, lots of stone walls and maybe an old stone foundation from a building long ago abandoned, the cellar hole full to bursting with day lilies. A couple of old chimneys in the farmhouse with fireplaces. A simple but spacious kitchen. A bedroom with plenty of windows. A room to read and write and collage the walls with notes, lists, photos, drawings and scraps. Someplace I could tinker at myself, gradually restoring the walls and plaster and roof. Timeworn wide plank floorboards of varying widths that I would sand by hand to avoid erasing the footpaths and dings and cupping from a burst pipe years before.
Although I’d painted the picture often enough, my budget and unwillingness to abandon the serene, patinaed fantasy resulted in a few false starts but mostly a very clear idea of what I was not interested in buying. On the upside, I came around and helped Susan select and renovate a coop in a 1926 McKim, Mead and White prewar located on 57th Street just off Sutton Place. An elegant apartment in a handsome building. Great bones, view and sunlight enhanced with a top-to-bottom environmentally responsible, non-toxic renovation. A success!
Though there were occasional fireworks when our aesthetics and convictions clashed, we enjoyed working together and decided to look for a North Country property that would suit both of our interests…
Adirondack storyteller and writer, George Davis, needs you to help him kill a few stories on Wednesday, August 3 at The Depot Theatre in Westport, NY. Prepare for a pell-mell parade of vignettes, monologues and readings ranging from a wader-wearing Amazon named Rosslyn to a perennially pickled bathtub yachtsman… This solo performance pokes fun at the idiosyncrasies (and absurdities) of renovation, marriage and North Country life while inviting the audience to participate in editing a memoir… “Along the way I collected too many stories to fit in one book. The audience will help me decide which stories live. And which stories die. Basically, I’m asking otherwise compassionate, peaceful people to commit story-cide… It’s quite a unique opportunity!” (Adirondack Almanack)
I’m almost ready to redact Rosslyn Redux tomorrow night in Westport. Still playing with timing, transitions, and trimming. Always room to cut it shorter, shorter, shorter. If you come, you can help by “gong” editing… What? I guess you’ll have to come to see what I mean…
When I step onto the boards at the Depot Theatre tomorrow night, it will mark the first time that I’ve shared any of the material from the Rosslyn Redux manuscript, much less asked my readers to help me figure out what direction the final draft should take. Of course, much of what I’m reading will not make it into the final draft, and some of the vignettes aren’t even in the manuscript, instead created specifically for the performance. Suffice to say, this is an experiment, inviting readers and audience into the creative process, into the revision and redaction process. It could get very messy… Or it could be wildly successful. I’m gambling on the latter. In either case, I can’t wait to see how it turns out!
Update: I’ve just received some dapper Rosslyn Redux embroidered caps that will find their way onto the pates of some participants, and a stack of gift certificates to the finest dining establishments in Essex sit on my desk beside me. Participants will be entered into a drawing for caps, gift certificates, and one-day-some-day books!
With September and October skulking away and November slithering in, I’m dishing up a photographic retrospective, a parade of annotated images gathered “on the fly” over the last few months.
Timber Rattlesnake killed on Lakeshore Road in Essex, NY on August 22, 2012.
This first photo was actually taken in August, but I couldn’t resist including this unsettling image. I came across this freshly killed three foot long Adirondack timber rattlesnake while cycling along Lakeshore Road near Essex. The blood was fresh and the rattle had been cut off.
Although I want to believe this near-black Crotalus horridus was accidentally hit and killed by a car, it prompted a serpentless September rattlesnake safari, and catalyzed much conversation with friends about our local population of timber rattlesnakes. How can we protect them?
I’ll share rattlesnake news if/when relevant. For now I’ll move over to the autumn harvest. Given our hot, dry summer it was been a phenomenal year for most locally grown produce.
While we began flirting with frost most nights in September (earlier than the previous two years), tender vegetables like tomatoes were still coming out of our own garden and our local CSA, Full and By Farm, owned by Sara Kurak and James Graves.
These “ugly but delicious” heirloom tomatoes from Full and By Farm tempted me despite the fact that we’d been giving away and composting excess tomatoes since August. Too many, too fast. I’d been eating 2-3 tomatoes every day for lunch and dinner. Literally. I’m not exaggerating.
When I posted the picture of these yellowish orange tomatoes on Twitter and Facebook, several friends insisted that these tomatoes weren’t ugly. True. They were voluptuous and vibrant and even a quick glance discloses the explosion of flavor they pack.
But many of the heirloom varieties that we grow in our vegetable garden and the Full and By farmers grow are often referred to as “ugly” simply because they lack the uniformity of color and the blemish-free skin of the hybrid varieties usually sold in stores. In fact, the “uglier” the variety, the better they usually taste. One of my favorites, Black Krim is a perfect example. I wish I had posted a photo when they were still producing…
These hot, hot, hot peppers (early Adirondack autumn colors?) were part of our farm share pickup for several weeks.
I don’t tend to use many hot peppers in my cooking (and I grow several varieties in our own garden) so I haven’t been loading up on these, but I find them beautiful. Beautiful! I’m always amazed how naturally glossy and polished peppers and eggplant are. And the green/red mottling is exquisite.
If you scratch and sniff the photo, you just might understand why the farmers remind us again and again, “Those are hot!”
And what better complement to those exotic peppers than a not often witnessed artichoke blossom.
We grew Imperial Star Artichokes for the second time this summer. Last year we successfully propagated and matured a half dozen plants. But the result was only a few smallish artichokes. Lots of effort for negligible reward, but I was encouraged to try again. I’d never even known that we could successfully grow artichokes in the Adirondacks.
The discovery was made in the fall of 2010 while visiting the gardens of Château Ramezay in Montreal. I was astonished to see the thriving plants, and immediately began researching. It turned out that Imperial Star Artichokes are productively grown as annuals in Maine and other parts of the Northeast. We vowed to try to our luck.
This summer we had nine plants of which two never produced artichokes but the other seven each produced multiple artichokes. Several plants produced five to ten artichokes apiece. We’ve felt truly fortunate each time we’ve harvested artichokes for lunch or dinner. Can believe that artichokes are yet another highlight of Adirondack autumn?
In fact, so abundant were the artichokes during August and September that several began to bloom before we could harvest them. The photograph above nicely conveys the part-sea-anemone-part-fireworks blossom of an Imperial Star Artichoke. A favorite of our Rosslyn honeybees.
Adirondack autumn is also the perfect time for sailing on Lake Champlain. Although my bride and I have mostly concentrated on windsurfing in recent years, I often find myself gazing longingly at larger sailboats gliding gracefully across the water.
For most of my life I’ve dreamed of a swift sailing vessel large enough to live aboard and wander from port to port, slowly gunkholing my way around the world with occasional blue water crossings between continents. I even have a name for my ship. And her dinghy. But I’ll keep them under wraps until the time is right.
This handsome navy blue sloop was in the neighborhood for a few days, repeatedly cautching my eye because of its minimalist but handsome design. Elegant when drifting in a light breeze and even more so when scudding through whitecaps riding a stiff blow!
Although I’m aware that my critics may justifiably accuse me of bellybutton gazing each time I post a new image of Rosslyn’s boathouse, I simply can’t resist it. This architectural folly has enchanted me since childhood, and now that I have the opportunity (and responsibility) to care for her, I’m all the more smitten.
This photo was taken at dawn after a forceful windstorm (an unwelcome hand-me-down from Hurricane Isaac) that loosed one of the Adirondack chairs from the deck and dumped it into the shallow water of the beach. We were relieved to recover the chair because it was a handmade wedding gift from a close friend. Though one armrest was shattered, we will repair and repaint it this winter so that it will be ready to enjoy again next spring.
And, as if hurricanes weren’t enough, a short time later we were warned that a tornado threatened! A tornado? It does seem that extreme weather is becoming more and more common.
Only a couple of days before, Camp Dudley, a boys camp in Westport, NY where I spent a couple of memorable summers as a boy, was hit by an destructive windstorm that damaged roofs and snapped trees.
This moody black and white photo of the dockhouse was taken in the hours awaiting the tornado. Anxious hours.
Fortunately we were spared the worst of the tornado, but our good friends who own a home north of us near Valcour Island were not so lucky. They lost a towering old growth tree and their boat docks were tossed and somersaulted out into Lake Champlain. Fortunately nobody was hurt and the docks were able to be recovered.
In a similarly ominous vein, this photograph of Rosslyn’s waterfront not only conveys the foreboding of stormy weather but also of summer passing. Or at least that was my hope. You’ll have to be the judge.
The lighting and the shading suggest an antique photograph (thanks to a handy iPhone app which allows limitless technical control over the image elements) while the angle and unpopulated Adirondack chairs and beach add an eerie, abandoned feel. As if a seasonal camp or resort is about to be mothballed for the winter.
There’s irony in this, of course, because Rosslyn is our home. Once our summer guests depart and Essex village slows down, we experience a second wind. We are revitalized. But that story for another day…
Although we have several times hunkered down in anticipation of severe weather this fall, we’ve been been spared each time. And each time the skies have cleared to reveal blue skies and sunshine enough to warm our optimism. And even the occasional wild turkey feather. Check out this bumpy but fun video of twenty turkeys in Rosslyn orchard.
I’ve walked the property after these storms to survey fallen limbs and other damage. Each time I’ve been relieved with the minimal damage. We’ve lost many branches and leaves, but few trees. Perhaps this is due to some sort of cosmic payback for the damage to our fruit trees this spring when a powerful hailstorm destroyed an ancient crab apple and killed seven young fruit trees in our orchard.
Chief among my concerns when the winds howl (or the snowstorms dump, dump, dump) is our carriage barn which is overdue for a new roof.
When an old barn collapsed at Full and By Farm a couple of winters ago I started looking more critically at our historic carriage barn. Although it is in surprisingly good shape for its 100-200 years, the structural elements of the post and beam construction are under-built by modern standards. There are several areas where settling and sagging cause concern, and we’ve been moving forward with plans to secure the building and replace the roof.
If all goes as planned, construction will begin soon and we will be spared another anxious winter worrying that the snow load will overcome the proud old building. I will post updates if/when this project advances.
The perils and challenges of severe weather for homeowners with aging property are plenty, but there’s little pleasure in fretting. And there’s ample pleasure in celebrating the harvest, so I’d like to return to the topic of harvesting, preparing and preserving the vegetables of our labors.
But I’ve already droned on ad nauseum, so I’ll save further harvest updates for your next installment… Stay tuned for Adirondack Autumn 2012: Part II.
Steven Kellogg and Bill McKibben at Champlain Area Trails event in Essex, NY.
Monday morning media mashup? From Champlain Area Trails (CATS) to Old Adirondack, there are so many local news updates directly related to Rosslyn that I’ve collected the half dozen most relevant links for you. The titles are clickable links to the primary content, so once you’ve read each blurb (in most cases excerpted directly from the article/post/site) you can easily access the full story by clicking the link. Easy! In most cases the Rosslyn connection will be pretty obvious, but one or two might need some additional information. Feel free to ask me for clarification via comments on the bottom of this blog post, Twitter (@rosslynredux) or Facebook. Thanks!
Champlain Area Trails Hosts Author McKibben I spent the loveliest Saturday afternoon of 2011 at the home of acclaimed illustrator and author, Steven Kellogg. Kellogg hosted a lively and family-friendly fundraiser for Champlain Area Trails (“CATS”) at his historic Blockhouse Farm in Essex, New York. 70 degrees in a clear blue sky, a light breeze, and the sweeping grounds organically manicured sloping to an immense vista of Lake Champlain – exactly what you dream of when you think “summer day” in the Adirondacks. The postcard-perfect weather and view seemed to join us in celebrating CATS’ mission to link communities and connect people with nature. The focal point of the festivities was author and educator, Bill McKibben. (LakePlacid.com)
USGS real-time water data for Lake Champlain: 101.87 feet Despite growing superstitions about acknowledging falling water levels on Lake Champlain, I must celebrate the good news. Our majestic lake has finally fallen beneath 102 feet. The last week has been marked by a rapidly dropping water level, and despite threats of a torrential downpour later this week, my optimism is rekindled. I only hope that progress is made quickly enough for local marinas, waterside restaurants and other businesses compromised by Lake Champlain flooding to recover. (USGS)
Essex County asks for emergency reassessments It would take an act of the State Legislature to adjust the tax assessments of people with severe flood damage from recent storms… [according to] Essex County Real Property Tax Service Director Charli Lewis… The committee promptly voted unanimously to ask the State Legislature to give local assessors the power to devalue properties that were walloped by the severe storms of late April and because of continued flooding. (Press Republican)
Lake Champlain marinas assess damage As the water level slowly begins to recede on Lake Champlain, marina owners and managers are beginning to assess the damage. According to Mike Winslow, a staff scientist with the Lake Champlain Committee, at this time of year, the average lake level is 95 feet… “We average approximately one week for the lake to drop 1 foot under ideal weather conditions,” he said. “The flooding has affected marinas, restaurants and any other facilities close to the lake. There’s a severe economic toll that this flooding is causing. That effect has also drastically affected Canadian patronage due to level of the Richlieu (River) as well.” As recently as mid-week, the lake leveled hovered near 103 feet, still well above its all-time record high. (Press Republican)
This Week’s Adirondack Web Highlights On Friday afternoons Adirondack Almanack compiles a collection of the week’s top weblinks. Rosslyn Redux was featured this past Friday as one of ten intriguing Adirondack stories. Check them all out and get a taste of the Adirondack experience!
Willsboro Adirondack furniture maker closes Adirondack chairs may be riding a continuing wave of popularity, but one of the Adirondack Park’s most important furniture makes is closing it’s doors after a four year struggle to maintain its place in the market. Old Adirondack, located in Willsboro will lay off eleven full time employees… “The recession has done its damage and we just couldn’t last out the long hard slog any longer,” Maselli said. (North Country Public Radio)
Architect (and high school classmate) Ed Pais visits Rosslyn’s boathouse to help me troubleshoot post-flood remediation.
Edward Pais was a classmate of mine at Deerfield Academy from 1986 to 1990, and he now practices architecture in Burlington, Vermont. Despite being out of touch for more than two decades we recently reconnected via Facebook. Ed joined the Rosslyn Redux Facebook page and he’s offered ongoing feedback about our boathouse during the Lake Champlain flooding. Recently he offered to come over and take a look. Needless to say, I eagerly accepted his offer.
We started out with a delicious lunch at Essex Provisions overlooking the still flooded marinas, then headed back to Rosslyn to take a look at the boathouse.
Ed’s reaction was encouraging, and despite pushing him into engineering territory a couple of times, I mostly listened and took mental notes. He reminded me that he’s an architect and not an engineer, but repeatedly expressed his confidence in the work of Engineering Ventures in Burlington. Paul Hobbs who handled most of the structural engineering for the boathouse renovation repeatedly impressed with his keen mind, so Ed’s confidence was not misplaced. That said, I do intend to follow up with Hobbs and/or Jeffords Steel to ascertain whether or not the beams which support the suspended pier were fabricated out of COR-TEN or a similar weather resistant steel.
Ed’s recommendation to quickly and aggressively treat the mold situation was highlighted in a follow-up message after his visit. He suggested that we should remove the baseboards to inspect for mold. He linked me to helpful information “Cleaning Mold on Wood” that confirms that we’ve been remediating the post-flood mold situation appropriately.
The molds seen on lumber are largely a collection of fungal spores on the surface of the wood. Wet wiping and scrubbing the lumber will remove the mold. But simply wiping the wood can release spores into the surrounding air. A better approach is to gently spray or wet down the mold prior to removal.
There are a number of products on the market, ranging from common bleach to commercial mildewcides, which are promoted for cleaning mold from wood. However, the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency suggests using a mild detergent and water for most mold clean up. The EPA recommends wet vacuuming the area, wiping or scrubbing the mold with detergent and water and, after drying, vacuuming with a high-efficiency particulate air (HEPA) vacuum.
Huge thanks, Ed, for taking the time to coach me through the latest challenge! I really appreciate it.
After De’s departure my parents joined us for dinner. They’ve just returned to the Adirondacks from Chicago for the summer, so grilling and dining al fresco seemed like the perfect way to launch their summer. While showing my mother the recovering boathouse, I asked if she remembered Ed Pais from Deerfield. She did! She recounted a story that I’d never known. My brother, two years younger than I, had come to Deerfield for his admissions interview. Although he already knew his way around because he had visited me frequently, he decided to take the admissions office campus tour anyway. His tour guide was Ed Pais! When we got back to the house I asked my father if he remembered Ed Pais, and he immediately told me the same story! Ed, must have made quite an impression…
This afternoon I offer you an enchanting video of musician Martin Sexton sunset-serenading (reminiscent of a loon delivering the quintessential Adirondack sundowners soundtrack.) The video’s minimalist description states, “Martin Sexton croons to the Adirondack sunset”. Enjoy.
Another video for Martin Sexton’s Over My Head reads, “Martin Sexton sings before the sunrise over Loon Lake, Adirondack Mountains.” Somewhat dissimilar but soulful songs sung in a similar setting. I’m guessing that both videos were recorded on Loon Lake.
This is my first encounter with the music of Martin Sexton (@martin_sexton) but I find it catchy, at once playful and haunting. And there’s something about the Adirondack evenings and mornings that he captures in these videos — the sacred sunrise, the unpopulated world — that resonates deeply with me. So often I’ve photographed Rosslyn’s boathouse in these hours. And my earliest infatuation with Rosslyn was a fantasy about spending early morning wandering her rooms. My bride tends to sleep later than I, but Griffin — a Labrador Retriever with an early appetite — and I often rise at 5:00 or 6:00 am. I make him breakfast and then head outside with him to welcome the morning with a cup of tea and often a camera or a notebook. Ideas flow in the morning. With so little noise and so few distractions it’s easier to hear the singing underneath. And the morning light as the sun rises over Vermont’s Green Mountains and bathes the boathouse in orange should be classified an opiate!
I’ve hinted at an elusive Adirondack lifestyle that enchants like an Odyssean siren. Or perhaps a Champlain Valley lifestyle. Seductive mornings are a part of either. Both. And Sexton’s song and video evoke this velvety pull. What do you identify with the Adirondack lifestyle?
I’ll change gears from Rosslyn boathouse and waterfront snapshots to a few garden harvest memories.
We had enormous luck with melons this season despite a slow start. Actually, our luck was mixed. We grew about thirty medium sized cantaloups, but the squirrels (and raccoons?) devoured them as they ripened, successfully gobbling up every fruit before we could harvest it.
We had better luck with watermelons which either enticed the wild critters less or were better protected by virtue of their hard, thick rinds.
And a half dozen heirloom varieties of eggplant (eighteen plants) produced a bumper crop. Although we’ve grown eggplant for three or four years with decent luck, this summer was something else. The plants exploded up out of the drought cracked soil, quickly rising above my knees and in many cases reaching all the way to my waist.
We harvested literally hundreds of huge, glossy, delicious eggplant for over three months. We ate them every day. We gave them away. We even learned how to preserve them for mid-winer enjoyment.
I grilled and froze eggplant and blanched and froze tomatoes. I even cooked up (and froze) a sizable batch of Khoresht-e Bademjan, a Persian eggplant stew which we’ll devour this winter when the garden is three feet deep in snow!
The “skinny eggplant” photo was taken before slicing and baking them for the Khoresht-e Bademjan. In addition to several long, slender varieties, we grew several large purplish black varieties and pale purple striped varieties. (I’ve previously grown white eggplants, but skipped them this year.)
The eggplant were added to the tomato sauce which I stewed down from these yellow tomatoes, white wine, garlic and minced onion. The house smelled divine!
It was a challenging exercise in restraint to prepare Khoresht-e Bademjan to freeze and eat several months later without allowing “taste tests” to become “chow time”! But most of the eggplant stew is now frozen and ready for a snowy day.
During the same post-workshop burst of enthusiasm for food preservation I explored preparing and freezing stuffed peppers. Turns out they’re better eaten right away. So I picked a half dozen of the biggest sweet peppers; stuffed them with minced chopped/sauteed mushrooms, onions, garlic, piñon nuts and quinoa; and slow-baked them for a delicious dinner. Ah, the harvest…
Of course, Adirondack Autumn isn’t all stormy weather and culinary experimentation. The same chill which revitalizes the heat-stupored mind and sweetens the apples, pears and grapes chills the ankles.
That’s right, fall is marked by a return to socks.
For the first time in months the end of September found me sliding my paws into foot mittens each morning, a subtle reminder, day after day, that retrains the brain into cold weather survival mode after a summer of wild abandon. A small detail you say?
Perhaps.
For you. But not for me.
This Adirondack autumn has remained relatively mild and dry, though we did have a rainy stretch in October that caused Lake Champlain‘s water level to rise rapidly. The rising water posed some challenges for the stone retaining wall we’ve been rebuilding along the northern half of our waterfront, ongoing repairs to damage caused by the 2011 spring floods. We raced to complete the most critical stone and mortar work while the water was still low enough for the tractor to operate on the beach. Given the massive stones used to build the stone wall in the 1800s, a tractor loader and backhoe are a big help! Unfortunately the rapidly rising water reduced the time we could rely on the tractor, and the crew finished the work by hand, relying on levers and pulleys and winches instead of steel and hydraulics and diesel to perform the feats of brawn.
Next week I’ll feature a few snapshots that capture the natural lighting change that is part of Adirondack autumn.
A new perspective is emerging as Hroth frames my future office window (from the icehouse loft). Looking east (actually southeast in this photo), this will be my morning view. Panning to the left 10 to 15° the view will be filtered through the enormous American Linden (basswood) tree and across the upper lawn, through the ancient ginkgo tree and across the front lawn to Lake Champlain.
If this morning view seems a significant spoil, looking west (featuring prominently in yesterday’s blog post) will offer a similarly breathtaking afternoon view. Across gardens, orchard, meadows, and woods the end-of-day drama will be captivating as sun settles into Boquet Mountain and the Adirondacks beyond.
It’s worth noting that there’s a dash of creative mischief in this snapshot. I’ve described it as the “morning view” from my loft office, but the butterscotch light bathing Rosslyn and the lawn in this image is unmistakably “afternoon light” emanating from the western sky as the sunset nears. An amalgam of morning perspective and late afternoon lighting, almost (but not quite) too good to be true.
Much thought has gone into framing the views in this small building. Although historic rehabilitation and adaptive reuse are the defining DNA in the icehouse project, the challenges and restrictions that inevitably arise with an historic property in an historic district allow ample opportunity for aesthetic fine tuning that will ultimately contribute to the lifestyle rewards when the conversion and renovation are complete.
These little glimmers of the future fuel my enthusiasm, and as I remind our dogs, anticipation is half the fun!
My day was made when part-time Essex resident Kelly Youngs-Schmitt shared these fun photographs on Facebook.
Kelly’s a relatively new acquaintance (although her Essex connection is far deeper, longer and more historically significant than my own.) But the Facebook-powered social web and the curiously compelling Essex DNA have brought us together. She participates in the Essex on Lake Champlain community blog, and she generously shares the stories and artifacts from her family’s Essex past.
Essex DNA
That curiously compelling Essex DNA is in no small part responsible for our decision to relocate here. It’s an elusive topic, one that surfaces and then almost as quickly vanishes again throughout this blog. Like Champ, the Lake Champlain monster, who so many have experienced, but few can clearly and concisely explain or even prove… Essex exerts a quasi-mystical pull on many of us. I suppose the closest analogy would be a large, loosely knit family or a college or prep school that becomes woven into your fibers in a way that you can never quite grasp. You meet a cousin or a fellow alum for the first time and instantly you are drawn to one another, despite only the most nominal connection.
Kelly Youngs-Schmitt and James W. Schmitt (Photo: Kelly Youngs-Schmitt)
No, these analogies falter. Because living in Essex, even for a few short weeks at a time, forges far deeper, far more relevant connections. Human connections. Civic connections. Architectural, cultural and historic connections. Environmental connections too, for so much of Essex’s magnetism is derived from its geographically perfect location between Lake Champlain and the Adirondacks. Access to nature and outdoor recreation, year-round, often elicits the “playground” analogy to the annoyance of some. Certainly far more than play happens in these sacred waters, valleys, hills and mountains. But it’s true that this environment is a proverbial fountain of youth. It invites childhood energy and dreams and playfulness, so in a sense it is a metaphorical playground.
But I’m wandering far from my starting point which was Kelly’s photographs shown here.
October Wind & Canada Geese
Despite the on-again-off-again Indian Summer that we’ve enjoyed this autumn, there have been some bracing days, many like the one captured in these photos. Picture perfect. Bluebird skies and sunshine. But crisp. And windy. That “selfie” in the canoe captures what I’m describing. Kelly’s husband, James W. Schmitt, is pretty well bundled up!
You can practically hear the Canada Geese clamoring across the sky or settling onto the lake for a deserved rest. This time of year vast flocks of Canada Geese ply the skyways from early morning late into the night. It’s the soundtrack of Essex autumn. And Essex spring. And while no Canada Geese are visible in Kelly’s photos, I know they are there. Honking.
There’s something else that’s not visible in the photos: summer sunshine. In addition to Canada Geese, Technicolor fall foliage, and the Gingko shedding its leaves suddenly, dramatically, another autumn highlight is the changing light. During midsummer these photographs would have been bathed in a considerably stronger, more orange hued light. But as autumn advances, even the brightest daylight shifts toward buttery yellow hues and flatter light. This is particularly apparent in the photograph of Rosslyn and the boathouse. They appear to be off-white. And while some credit for this may be due the camera or phone, the reality is simply that the paint colors appear fainter, less pigmented in the autumn light, even in the early morning when the sun rises up out of Vermont’s Green Mountains displaying its most colorful rays of the day.
Hmmm… A meandering, ruminating post if there ever was one. Time to wrap up!
