Tag: Autumn

  • Low Lake Levels + Crib Dock Reflections

    Crib Dock more and more exposed in front of Rosslyn boathouse. (September 12, 2016)
    Crib Dock more and more exposed in front of Rosslyn boathouse. (September 12, 2016)

    Whether you call it climate change, “nature’s sense of humor”, or something else, Lake Champlain’s water level is raising eyebrows. Back in 2011 we experienced the highest lake levels in recorded history. Five years later lake levels are flirting with the lowest record.

    The highest recorded level at the gage in Burlington was 103.27 feet above mean sea level on May 6, 2011.The minimum lake level observed in Burlington was 92.61 feet above mean sea level on December 4, 1908. (Source: USGS Lake Gage at ECHO)

    As of today (September 14, 2016) Lake Champlain is 94.07 feet above see level. Lake Champlain has dropped just over four feet since this spring’s not-so-high high, and an annual drop of about five feet (from spring to late autumn) is normal.

    In other words, we’re unlikely to break the all time record for Lake Champlain’s lowest recorded water level, but it’s not impossible. And yet, record-busting aside, this is by far the lowest lake levels we’ve witnessed since purchasing Rosslyn, and by far our best chance to study the old crib dock extending out into the lake from Rosslyn’s boathouse.

    Crib Dock Brainstorms

    When we first imagined ourselves living at Rosslyn, we mostly daydreamed about the waterfront. And while the boathouse was the most enticing component of the waterfront, the former docks/piers interested us as well. We’re avid boaters, and we hoped that one or the other of the old crib docks would be recoverable so that we could enjoy convenient access to our boats.

    Although neither of us can quite believe it, a decade has already snuck past since we first took ownership of Rosslyn. Ten years of gradual renovation, revitalization, rehabilitation,… And yet, many of the projects on our original punch list continue to be deferred.

    For a variety of reasons restoring one of Rosslyn’s historic docks has eluded us so far. But this summer’s incredibly low water level has resuscitated our hopes that one day we’ll be able to transition from the aluminum docks we’ve been using to a refurbished crib dock pier. In recent weeks my imagination has been running wild, scheming up simple, practical solutions to the challenge of repairing a failing/failed crib dock.

    I’ll post again with more detailed photographs of the crib dock in front of boathouse since it’s the most recently extant of the historic piers, and I will also find older photographs of the dock to better show what it used to look like. Until then I’d like to share some intriguing excerpts from a story produced by Brian Mann for NCPR back in December 1, 2014, How a North Country family harnessed an Adirondack river. Mann took an insightful look at a dam on the St. Regis River that was rebuilt by Wadhams resident and hydropower guru, Matt Foley, along with his brother-in-law, and nephew.

    While the St. Regis crib dam is an altogether different beast than the crib dock in front of our boathouse, both are simple but sound timber and stone structures that post similar reconstruction challenges. I’ll share my current idea anon, but first I offer you several relevant riffs from Mann’s story.

    Historic, Hyperlocal Crib Dam Rebuild

    With the temporary coffer dam (on the left) diverting the St. Regis River, a local crew laid in a crib of tamarack logs stuffed and weighted with rock and boulders. (Source: NCPR)
    With the temporary coffer dam (on the left) diverting the St. Regis River, a local crew laid in a crib of tamarack logs stuffed and weighted with rock and boulders. (Source: NCPR)

    This summer [2014], a family that owns hydro-dams in Essex and Franklin counties rebuilt the historic log dam [in St. Regis Falls] using local labor and materials. Using 19th century techniques, the Smiths and the Foleys preserved a dam that generates power and creates an important impoundment on the St. Regis River…

    “We went to old books [Emmett Smith said]. We went to books from the turn of the century about how you build wooden timber crib dams.”

    The last couple of years it was clear this structure needed to be replaced entirely after decades of floods and ice, partial repairs just weren’t cutting it any more. The family tried to find financing for a concrete dam, but that would have cost three or four times as much and the money just wasn’t there. So they went back to tradition, using native wood and stone…

    Building the dam this way meant they could use local materials. But they could also use local guys. Crews from the North Country built the big stone coffer dam to divert the river while the log dam was rebuilt. They milled the big tamarack logs and hauled the rock…

    Emmett says building this way was necessity. “Us doing it together and building this log structure in a traditional way is pastoral, but we didn’t do it this way for the poetry of it. It was a question of cost. This is the only way we could do it. This was the cheapest way we could do it. It had to happen now and the price of power is so low that this was the only way it was going to get done.”

    […]

    There was a time when they did consider letting this dam go. There were so many hurdles, so many risks, and so little certainty of reward. But Matt Foley says rebuilding was important for the family and for the community of St. Regis Falls.

    “This dam has a pond that’s six miles long with twelve dozen houses on it and big wetlands,” he says. “So in addition to our generating plant, the town people here have a vested interest in having a dam here.” (Source: How a North Country family harnessed an Adirondack river | NCPR News)

    Takeaways

    I’ve promised to share my current thinking (as well as some past/present photos) soon, but for now I’d like to close by highlighting a few points that resonated with me.

    • a traditional (i.e. “old school”) repair/rebuild would be preferable to a new dock;
    • even a quasi-traditional hybrid would preferable to replacing historic crib dock with a modern alternative;
    • local lumber, stone, and labor would be more historic, more aesthetically pleasing, more affordable, more positively impactful to the community, etc.;
    • pastoral and practical are not mutually exclusive; and
    • we’ve almost been convinced to give up hope of rehabilitating Rosslyn’s crib dock because there are “so many hurdles, so many risks, and so little certainty of reward”, but we’re not ready to abandon the dream.

    I’m still brainstorming, and each time I settle on a possible solution, I’m beset with further challenges. If clever ideas are swimming in your heard, chime in! I’d love to learn from you.

  • October Wind, Canada Geese and Essex DNA

    Rosslyn from Lake Champlain in October (Photo: Kelly Youngs-Schmitt)
    Rosslyn in October (Photo: Kelly Youngs-Schmitt)

    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)
    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!

  • The Day the Gingko Leaves Fell

    [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B8IkDKsmee8&w=600&rel=0]

    This morning I awoke to see the Gingko (Ginkgo biloba) shedding it’s fan-shaped leaves. First I noticed the golden carpet ringing the tree trunk, and then I headed out and stood underneath the boughs to hear the last tumbling gingko leaves.

    Gingko Leaves Retrospective

    Here’s what I wrote on November 3, 2010 on my blog when the gingko leaves let go and I first photographed the peculiar phenomenon.

    Each autumn the leaves of an enormous old Ginkgo Biloba tree in our yard retain their leaves until the frigid end. They’re among the last leaves to fall, and they remain green until just a day or two before cascading down. And when they decide it’s time to let go, they all do it at once.

    An enormous canopy of a tree reaching about 100 feet tall covered in thick foliage one day and naked the next. It’s dramatic. And slightly surreal. (virtualDavis)

    Gingko Leaves 2012

    The gingko leaves had transformed from green to brilliant golden in the last few days, so I have been anticipating their fall, but the change is so stark and so sudden each year that I can’t help but stop and wonder about this mysterious tree “with no close living relatives… similar to fossils dating back 270 million years.

    English: Ginkgo leaves shown in their fall col...
    Ginkgo leaves, fall color (Wikipedia)

    During autumn, the leaves turn a bright yellow, then fall, sometimes within a short space of time (one to 15 days). (Wikipedia)

    But why? Why (and how) does this prehistoric species retain its chlorophyll-rich leaves so much later than other deciduous trees? And why do they drop so suddenly, so precisely — the entire vast canopy shed in a matter of hours — after a deep frost?

    If it were the first hard frost or the most severe frost to date, it would make sense. But last night was neither. And yet almost all of the leaves have cascaded down to the ground over the last few hours.

    Gingko Leaves Mystery

    Can you explain the gingko leaves dramatic behavior? Please post your hypothesis (or scientific solution to this mystery) in the comments below. Thanks.

  • Photo of the Week: Hurricane Isaac

    Photo of the Week: Hurricane Isaac

    Instacanv.as Photo of the Week?
    Instacanv.as Photo of the Week?

    Wondering why Hurricane Isaac is the title for this entry and photo? Or better yet, what Hurricane Isaac and Instacanv.as have in common? I’ll explain (and encourage you to vote for this Photo of the Week) in just a moment.

    But first, let me tell the story behind the picture.

    The photo to the right was a spontaneous snapshot that I took with my iPhone on September 4, 2012 after Hurricane Isaac lumbered through the Eastern United States.

    We were fortunate that the the storm had used up most of its anger by the time it whirled through the Champlain Valley, but Rosslyn’s boathouse nevertheless endured a thorough water and wind lashing.

    Once Hurricane Isaac’s fury passed I headed down to the waterfront to survey the damage. For all practical purposes we escaped unscathed. Almost. Except for this red Adirondack chair which was swept off the boathouse pier and dumped into the shallow water in front of our beach. Unfortunately the waves pounded the chair against the rocks, crushing one armrest and dinging the chair up elsewhere. I snapped this picture and posted it to Istagram with this message:

    By the dawn’s early light… The Adirondack chair that got away!

    Good fortune was smiling upon us. The chair is repairable and no further damage was evident.

    The barn red Adirondack chair is one of a pair that was hand made for us as a wedding gift by a close friend who grew up in the Adirondacks but now lives and works in Burlington, Vermont. He presented us with two miniature versions of the chairs while still designing and constructing them and then surprised us the following summer by installing the handsome pair on Rosslyn’s boathouse pier, flanking the double doors on the Vermont side. They’ve become a fixture in the half dozen years since. Combined with the hammock, the handsome pair of Adirondack chairs invite you to linger a while to watch the ferry come and go while catching up with an old friend.

    This winter once Hurricane Irene repairs to our waterfront and normal seasonal maintenance abates, we will rebuild and repaint the battered chair. And next spring it will greet ferry passengers once again.

    Vote for Hurricane Isaac Photo!

    Wouldn’t it be fun to see this quirky photograph of Rosslyn’s boathouse splashed across the front of the Instacanv.as home page as a Photo of the Week?

    It could happen. It’s nominated and in the running. All it takes is your vote and a little bit of luck. Okay a whole lot of votes and luck!

    Please consider voting and/or sharing this post with your friends. I’d love to see this photo featured. Thanks for your help. Vote HERE.