In 2004 through 2006 when we finally purchased the property, Rosslyn’s boathouse—a pleasure-promising peninsula from our perspective—mesmerized Susan and me with her beguiling siren song… What if we abandoned all sensibility and dove into this fantasy?!?!
Does anybody recollect seeing the Sherwood Inn‘s boathouse billboard as photographed above. It’s well before my time, but probably not too long before my earliest Essex memories in the 1970s. I recently reached out to our friend Cheri Phillips to find it what she might know about the photograph above. She generously gifted me the photo shortly after we purchased Rosslyn, but she no longer recalls where it came from. In terms of seasonality, it looks like late winter or early spring. March seems likely. And the abbreviated west end of the boathouse pier intrigues me. Perhaps that helps narrow down rough timeline? I’m hoping that one of our insightful readers will be able to help fill in the gaps?
Today bold signage no longer greets the eye in Essex, but the handprinted (I’m guessing) boathouse billboard must have been extremely visible on the waterfront rooftop just north of the ferry dock. It’s the most attention grabbing element in the photo above, but there are some additional details worth noting as well. For example, if you examine the left side of the photo, roughly halfway up the edge, you can just barely detect the roof of the long gone bathhouse once located north of Rosslyn’s boathouse and roughly adjacent to the remains of a crib dock that once reached far out into Lake Champlain. Also notable is the absence of trees along the waterfront. This and other images made in the 1940s, 50s, and 60s reveal a virtually treeless lakefront at Rosslyn and the other residences located south of Rosslyn: Sunnyside, and Greystone.
Sherwood Inn Signage on Boathouse Roof (Photo: Cheri Phillips)
In just a few short months it’s possible if not likely that we’ll be able to enjoy a similar perspective looking northeast from roughly Sunnyside. There will be considerably more trees, and most likely there will be considerably less ice and snow on the lake. And not boathouse billboard! Although it’s too early to guess, recent years have resulted in fewer and fewer significant freezes of the broad lake. Perhaps this year will be different? If so, maybe we can stage a now-and-then duet with Cheri’s vintage view of Sherwood Inn’s boathouse billboard.
Rosslyn, Essex on Lake Champlain (Painted by Mary Wade)
My bride refers to herself as “Mama” to our Labrador Retriever, Griffin. It’s always struck me as a bit goofy, preferring, I suppose, to think of myself as my dog’s master. Though anyone familiar with our little family of three would hastily remind me that I might have that backwards, as Griffin clearly rules the proverbial Rosslyn roost.
I kid Susan that her childfree stance belies latent maternal instincts which she channels into her canine progeny. (N.B. While you might initially balk at this, detecting an underhanded jab, you can rest assured that Susan is quite comfortable with — even proud of — her “Dog Mama” status. And any implication that I’m married to a metaphorical dog, well, let me just suggest that the quick glimpse of my dazzling damsel in the video below will handily refute any concerns. After eleven years she still knocks my socks off!)
So where were we?
Mother’s Day.
Despite endlessly kidding Susan for mothering Griffin (Perhaps over-mothering?), I actually find it endearing. And our almond-eyed-butterscotch-furred best friend is thoroughly content with the arrangement.
“Hello, my love bug. Mama missed you,” Susan greets Griffin when he races up to meet her at the end of the day. His tail wags excitedly and he stretches his head upward, offering a nice slobbery kiss. “How did Mama get such a drooly boy?” she asks playfully as she wipes off her nose and cheek.
This year, I decided it was time to accept my bride’s dog mother instinct. No, I decided it was time to embrace it with a surprise gift or two. And the perfect gift? A symbol of our family, our home.
Rosslyn’s boathouse (Artwork by Mary Wade)
Each winter Essex residents celebrate the holidays early during a weekend-long event called Christmas in Essex. It was this tradition which connected me to Mary Wade, a folk artist who lives in Willsboro but runs a seasonal gallery in Essex each summer. She creates painted wooden models, silhouettes, and paintings of historic buildings in Essex that are collected by her fans all around the world.
Although I’d visited her shop in the past, it wasn’t until last December (when Mrs. Wade was offering her artwork for sale during the Christmas in Essex event) that we discussed her Rosslyn inspired artwork. I spotted a painting of Rosslyn’s boathouse adorning a wooden box (see image) and asked her if she could make a birdhouse modeled on the same structure.
“I think so,” she said, considering. “I could do that.”
“What about a painting of Rosslyn?”
“Oh, sure. I’ve done that plenty of times, you know, all the Merchant Row houses.”
As soon as my bride was safely out of earshot, we began to conspire. Could she undertake *both* projects this winter? She could. And much more!
Last week I met her at home where she unveiled these whimsical renditions of Rosslyn and Rosslyn’s boathouse. The small painted silhouettes of the the boathouse were a bonus, unanticipated when we made our plan last December. She had gotten the idea while creating the birdhouse, and she liked it so much that she decided to make almost a dozen to share with her other collectors.
I suspected that the birdhouse would prove too valuable to allow it to fulfill its intended use, and Susan promptly confirmed my suspicions.
“What a perfect centerpiece!” she exclaimed arranging the miniature copy of Rosslyn’s boathouse in the center of our deck table to test out her theory. It was a great idea.
The beautiful painting of Rosslyn will likely be hung in the morning room where a growing collection of artist renderings of the quirky Eastlake inspired dockhouse adorn the walls. And for now, the silhouetted boathouse is in the screen porch. Until I convince her that it would be fun to have in the boathouse…
Katie Shepard posted this vintage photograph of the steam yacht Kestrel on the Essex blog recently to see if anyone could identify the vessel, the boathouse, the men on the pier, the approximate year, etc.
Greater Adirondack Ghost and Tour Company: Wow, what a great photo. That’s the steam yacht Kestrel, owned by Samuel Keyser. The Keyser family used the Kestrel while summering in Essex and she was a regular sight on the Lake from the 1890s until the late 1930s. This beautiful 19th Century yacht still exists today and I’ve actually had the pleasure of seeing her first hand, she’s a magnificent vessel…
George Davis: You ghosty folks sure are good. Well done. And extra credit since you’ve seen the Kestrel in person, up in the 1,000 Islands, I imagine. Right?
Greater Adirondack Ghost and Tour Company: Thanks! We were visiting Alex Bay this past summer and went out to see Boldt Castle. Admission also covers the Boldt’s boat house over on Wellesley Island which we had never visited before. Sitting in one of the slips inside the boathouse was the Kestrel in all her glory. It took a minute of head scratching and “hmmm…where have I seen this boat before” until it finally clicked. It was a bit of a jaw dropping moment. I had no idea the yacht even still existed, but she’s an amazing survivor.
Kestrel at Boldt Castle Yacht House
While I knew that the Kestrel still existed and was afloat in the Thousand Islands, I was surprised that others were aware of the local connection and even more tickled by the fact the Plattsburgh “ghost folks” had spotted (and identified) the handsome old steam yacht. The following information is published on Boldt Castle’s yacht house web page. It helps illuminate the Kestrel’s lengthy history.
The Kestral was designed by D. Crawford and built by George Lawley at his South Boston shipyard in 1892. Her first owner is not presently known, but the first available written records indicate that she was sold on June 14, 1899 to Samuel Keyser of Baltimore, Maryland. After a succession of owners who lavished money and care on her, she was sold to James A. Trowbridge of Norton, Connecticut on February 19, 1937. Mr. Trowbridge enjoyed her for nearly 33 years and her ship’s log shows many short trips up and down Long Island Sound with a favorite stop at Northport, Long Island.
Records show an overhaul and some replacements in 1957. Her original boiler was replaced first in 1926 and again in 1967. In 1972, she was sold to Robert P. Scripps of New York, and appeared in the New York Harbor for the 1976 Parade of Tall Ships. She was then sold to the American Maritime Academy on Staten Island. The American Maritime Academy used for a few years and then abandoned her. In 1988 she was acquired at auction by Mr. John H. Luhrs of Ponte Verde, Florida.
After purchasing the Kestrel in 1988, the owner chose to have the steam engine completely repaired by the renowned Conrad Milster at his boiler room at the Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, New York. In 1990, she was taken to Kettle Creek Yacht Services at Tom’s River for final finishing. Some of the individual items that were salvaged and could be reused were her 1967 boiler and cylinder blocks, part of the engine shaft and assorted hardware. She now has four pineapple finials atop her compound engine.
Her interior has been completely redesigned and painted white. She has sixteen “Wylie” ports with decorative wedges, ten 22-inch deck cleats, and a compound curved sliding hatch on the forward deck. Her outward appearance shows a semi-permanent canvas awning with roll-down protective panels around her fantail stern. Her new five foot stacks displays Mr. Luhr’s private signal and brass decorative dolphins adorn her railends. Her capstan is original, while her galley has all modern conveniences and the head has a very unique brass faucet with shower attachment. During a period of five years Mr. Luhrs completed her final restoration at St. Augustine Marine Center in Florida.
The steam yacht Kestrel is representative of the period and vessels owned and operated by George Boldt.
On July 30 of 2009 Mr. Luhrs generously donated the Steam Yacht Kestrel to the Thousand Islands Bridge Authority for permanent display at the Authority’s Boldt Castle Yacht House facility for the enjoyment of present and future generations. (Official Boldt Castle Website)
Our Friends at Greater Adirondack Ghost and Tour Company shared this “photo of Kestrel docked outside her palatial new home. She sleeps inside the center (largest) berth in the yacht house.”
Kestrel at Boldt’s Boathouse, Wellesey Island (Credit: Greater Adirondack Ghost and Tour Company)
Kestrel at Keyser’s Boathouse in Essex
Nowadays I refer to our boathouse – the revitalized dock house captured in the vintage photo at the top of this post – as Rosslyn boathouse, but the name is actually slightly misleading. Rosslyn, the name given to our home by the W.D. Ross family when they built it in the 1820s, would likely not have originally been used for the boathouse.
You see the boathouse wasn’t built for another three quarter’s of a century, and when it was, the waterfront had been sold off from the rest of the property. It was purchased by Samuel Keyser for construction of a boathouse / dock house to moor and service his steam yacht, Kestrel. Sound familiar. Although the Keyser estate is located north of Rosslyn by a half mile or so, the pier on their own property was ostensibly damaged during flooding or perhaps an ice flow during Lake Champlain‘s spring thaw. (Still trying to learn more about this, but scarce information available.)
The turn-of-the century building was most likely designed and built for the Keyser family to accommodate their 62 ft. long, steam-powered yacht, Kestrel. Constructed entirely of mahogany, the yacht plied Lake Champlain’s water the 1890’s through the 1930’s, becoming as much an iconic vessel in Essex history as the boathouse has become in the century since it first adorned Merchant Row. (Essex on Lake Champlain)
Thousand Islands Field Trip
In closing this already run-on post, I’d like to make myself a promise to visit the elegant old steam yacht. Soon. And in the mean time, I’ll try to contact the staff to see if they have any interest in a few vintage photographs of the Kestrel to add to the ship’s log…
Rosslyn Boathouse, circa 2019 (watercolor painting by Ric Feeney)
Watercolor artist Ric Feeney shared this beautiful painting on Facebook recently, and of course it caught my eye as it featured Rosslyn’s whimsical boathouse/dock house.
Feeney captioned the post: “Finished this 17 x 26 watercolor of early spring with the Champlain Ferry approaching the Essex dock.”
There’s something almost cinematographic about the Essex-Charlotte ferry approaching the Essex ferry dock from the north-northeast. Our boathouse, centered in the foreground, appears jollier (color saturated and slightly vignetted with a hint of sunlight) than the ferry boat, the Old Dock Restaurant (red roof near right hand side of the image) and Begg’s Point, both visible behind the ferry dock.
Over the years we’ve collected many artists’ interpretations of the boathouse, each a fresh perspective, a new chapter in the timeless tale we call Rosslyn Redux. Much as I have attempted to narrate the property’s story, an inspiring retinue of painters, photographers, and artists drawn to other media (i.e. Mary Wade’s wood and stone creations) have curated and showcased their own experiences with Rosslyn, especially Rosslyn’s boathouse.
You can enjoy more of Ric Feeney’s watercolors at ricfeeney.com.
It’s always a nice pick-me-up when a friend (or a complete stranger) shoots me a snapshot (or a painting, etc.) of Rosslyn’s boathouse. Tom Duca’s sunny snapshot this morning is no exception. Thanks, Tom!
Another… Autumn day, blue skies, geese bobbing on the lake beside your boat house. ~ Tom Duca
I chuckled when he responded to my request for permission to repost his photo with an apology that the photo is off kilter. Off kilter? Hardly. I chuckled because the boathouse that we inherited when we took ownership of Rosslyn a little over a decade ago was indeed off kilter. I mean, really off kilter. Ready to tumble @$$ over teakettle into Lake Champlain. What a relief that today this quirky little house on a pier is less likely to succumb to the wily ways of weather and time and gravity.
It’s Friday, friends, and I’d like to offer you an ever so slightly nostalgic nod to a post I published in September 2022 shortly after receiving a gift from our neighbor, Emma Paladino. I titled the update Melancholy Boathouse, and it featured this black-and-white photograph.
Yesterday I posted this achingly evocative image on the Rosslyn Redux Instagram feed with thanks to our neighbor, Emma, who gifted the vintage photograph postcard to us. It was a gift to her from Michael Peden who, in turn credited his father, Douglas Peden, as the photographer. Here’s an excerpt from my caption.Source: Melancholy Boathouse – Rosslyn Redux)
At the time I knew that I’d seen the photograph before, but I couldn’t dredge the memory out of my gray matter. So familiar. Melancholy, yes, but also touching on something sentimental that I couldn’t quite identify.
Half a year later, I’m able to explain the poignance that Douglas Peden’s photo invoked.
I had seen it before. During our earliest visits to Rosslyn, when we were still trying to talk ourselves out of making an offer, when we were still convinced that we couldn’t justify the immense undertaking (and risk)…
Douglas Peden’s Boathouse Photo in Rosslyn Bedroom
The yellow bedroom circa 2004 or 2005. A large format version of that remarkable photograph hung over the fireplace. It took stumbling across it while reviewing old photos to realize why I had recognized it last September.
Douglas Peden’s Boathouse Photo in Rosslyn Bedroom
It made an impression a decade and a half ago.
Douglas Peden’s Boathouse Photo in Rosslyn Bedroom
Call it a 184-day streak. Or call it dogged determination. Either way I have 181 days to go until I reach my goal. And with each new post, each small victory, I am growing more and more confident that I will accomplish my mission of 365 posts, one complete year of daily updates beginning on August 1, 2022 and concluding on July 31, 2023.
So how to commemorate this midpoint milestone? With 6 months down and 6 months to go, it feels momentous enough to pause and praise my good fortune. But should this benchmark be acknowledged with a celebratory salute? A solemn ceremony? A toast, my first spirited sip after 31 days of teetotaling? (Yesterday marked the conclusion of my 7th or 8th, maybe even my 9th “dry January”.) Or perhaps a decadent dessert after a sugar free month? (For some sadomasochistic reason I’ve decided in recent years to add a sugar fast to alcohol abstention during the month of January, a timely recovery after the excesses of Thanksgiving-through-New Years…) A new month (ie. rabbit-rabbit) ritual transcending the delicious dinner I shared with Jim and Mark two nights ago at Juniper?
Slow Cooked Whole Rabbit: cumin, blood orange and smoked paprika glazed, corn tortillas, chimichurri, salsa fresca, refried beans (Source: Juniper at Hotel Vermont)
Maybe a romantic romp with my bride who suggested, upon retrieving me from the airport yesterday, that we celebrate a belated anniversary to compensate for the one we missed this past autumn when she was unwell. 17 years of marriage and 21 years together. I’m incredulous even as I type these numbers. Neither seems remotely possible. But my 50th birthday seemed similarly inaccurate this past spring, and I’m obliged to accept it.
Or how about we honor the 200th anniversary of Rosslyn’s front façade, ostensibly completed in 1823? (Apparently 3/5 of the building — the two window portion to the north of the entrance, as well as the entrance itself — was completed in 1820. The remaining 2/5, including the two windows to the south of the entrance and comprising the dining room downstairs, a guest bedroom and Susan’s study on the second floor, and another guest bedroom on the third floor, was most likely finished three years later in 1823, fulfilling the the architectural promise of this classic Federal home with Georgian and Greek Revival elements.
An auspicious confluence of milestones and anniversaries. I’m choosing to interpret this is a good omen even as I nevertheless acknowledge that I’ve meandered from my original mark, hoisting the flag at my halfway point, mid-journey in my post-a-day quest. I recall an earlier waypoint in this quest, an update I published on October 10, 2022 when I was still just shy of halfway to where I am today.
Yesterday marked ten weeks of old house journaling. Every. Single. Day. Two months and ten days back at the helm of this wayward, meandering, sometimes unruly experiment I call Rosslyn Redux. I emphasize the daily component of this benchmark because it’s been an important part of the goal I committed to at the end of July. (Source: Old House Journaling)
Then as now my emphasis on everyday journaling remains a top priority.
Over the last few years, Susan and I have scrutinized our hopes and expectations with Rosslyn. We have reevaluated our plans as they originally were in 2006 when we embarked on this adventure and as those plans evolved during the decade and a half since. It’s been an extended period of introspection, evaluating our current wants and needs, endeavoring to align our future expectations and goals with respect to one another and with respect to Rosslyn, and challenging one another to brainstorm beyond the present.
There’s no question but that our impromptu quarantine at Rosslyn during the spring and summer of 2021 catalyzed some of this soul-searching. But so too have the many life changes in recent years. Our gradual shift toward Santa Fe as our base and Essex as our getaway rather than the other way around. The loss of Susan’s mother. My parents’ retirement near us in Santa Fe. Our nephews and nieces growing up and expanding their orbits far beyond Rosslyn. A perennially postponed but driving desire to collaborate on a smaller, efficient, creative lakeside home of a different DNA altogether, an unrepressable will to imagine into existence the sort of slow cooked (albeit shapeshifting) and highly experimental homestead we originally envisioned in 2003-5 when we first began to explore our Adirondack Coast homecoming. And there is that hiccup in our 2006 original timeline, our 2-4 year vision for homing at Rosslyn until we’d managed to reboot and reground, until we were ready for our next adventure. Those naive expectations were eclipsed — willingly and joyfully — within the first year or two.
So what does this have to do with my daily Rosslyn updates?
Everything.
In committing to this daily practice last summer I was acknowledging that I had some serious work to do. In order for us to constructively sort through out collective vision for the future, to determine whether we’re too fond of Rosslyn to proceed with plans for designing and building the lakeside retreat we’ve conjured over the years, to honestly assess our willingness and our readiness to hand this sanctuary over to another family, both Susan and I are undertaking the sort of “deep work” that will hopefully enable us to make some decisions. I’m talking about 100% honest, prolonged consideration. Rosslyn has quite literally been a part of our family, and not just our nuclear family. Can we untangle her? Are we willing to let her go? Can we joyfully pass the privilege on to new custodians? Or are we not yet ready?
For me this daily practice, digging deep into sixteen and a half years of living and loving Rosslyn, is my time and place to work through these questions. To sort it all out. To find peace and confidence in my convictions. And six months in, I believe that I’m on the right path. Not all the time. There have certainly been some tangles and tangents that got away from me before I realized what was happening and reined them in. But the constant conversation — *internal* as I study, reflect, and compose these installments as well as *external* as I share these updates and then interact with many of you — is reinvigorating and reawakening Rosslyn from her comfortable slumber (and me from mine!)
So this midpoint milestone is a profoundly significant benchmark for me personally. It’s the tangible representation of my germinating confidence and clarity. It’s the measurable mean between a conflicted outlook and the conviction I’m hoping to discover over the next six months. In a real sense, it’s a halfway point toward the sort of rehabilitation that we’ve been undertaking with Rosslyn’s buildings and grounds since 2006, only in this case the journey is profoundly personal. Instead of historic architectural rehabilitation, it is restoration of my innermost wonder, my romantic dreams, and my idealistic hopes. With passion reawakened and a map forward becoming more apparent each day, I’m tempted to see this benchmark as the sort of celebration enjoyed upon finally reaching a base camp, a lofty peak viewable in the distance foreshadows the ambitious ascent ahead but also offers a majestic affirmation of the reachability and proximity of the summit. Today marks just such a halfway point, an opportunity to appreciate the accomplishments so far, and an incentive to forge ahead.
Carley, Contemplating 33% Ahead (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
This is my 243rd Rosslyn update in daily succession. It completes an 8-month streak of daily old house journaling, the 2/3 mark in my quest to post every day for one year. I marked an earlier milestone — six months in and six months to go — with a summary of the aspirations guiding these posts.
With four months to go, I’d say this vision is still accurate, but the “mercurial transition / transformation we’re currently navigating” has received short shrift. The most psychologically probing (and the most elusive) of the subjects I’ve been exploring, it nevertheless gets sidestepped, dodged, abbreviated, and postponed.
And so I’m hoping to recalibrate in the weeks ahead, offering more perspective on our current state(s) of liminality. Dig deeper. Increase transparency. Invite you into the considerations and conundrums that we’re weighing. Big decisions on the horizon, and sometimes complex, sometimes conflicting feelings and ideas. Time for an open book…
“Beguiled into Stewardship”, Old House Journal, June 2015 Issue (Page 1-2)
Exactly three years ago on June 3, 2015, Old House Journal published an article about Rosslyn. Time for a flashback! Regina Cole’s story and Carolyn Bates’s photographs are entitled, “Beguiled into Stewardship“, and you can find their original article here. (Note: the print edition and the online edition differ slightly.)
If you’re unfamiliar with Old House Journal, — and if you’re renovating or rehabilitating an older home — I recommend both the print magazine and the online website and resources.
This site is the ultimate resource for owners of old houses and period-style homes, gathering information from Old-House Journal, Old-House Interiors, Early Homes, and New Old House. You’ll find inspiration, how-to info and advice, stories and photos of old houses galore and sources for traditional products. Whether you’re restoring your old house or searching for period decor, you’ll find help here. (Source: Old-House Online)
An Insider’s Glimpse
It’s worth noting that the article fumbles a few points here and there, but the gist is mostly on target. And the photographs are amazing!
Like many owners of important old houses, this couple never intended to become stewards of a 2½-storey neoclassical manse that spreads over more than 6,000 square feet. The building was originally just a three-bay, side-hall dwelling, but Rosslyn was expanded between 1835 and 1840 into its symmetrical five-bay configuration. Other buildings on the grounds include several barns and a very adorable, Eastlake-style boathouse added in 1898. (Source: “Beguiled into Stewardship“)
Eek! Adorable? Though my bride and I fell head over heels in love with the Rosslyn’s boathouse (really a “dock house” more than a boathouse) long before we succumbed to the home’s beguiling pull, neither of us would likely describe the quirky lakeside structure as adorable. Too cute, me thinks, for this weathered folly. But I’ll leave that judgment up to you.
A significant rear wing had been added to Rosslyn in the 19th century for domestic services—a kitchen and pantry, etc.—and servants’ quarters. Early in the 20th century, when the house became a hostelry called The Sherwood Inn, that service wing was renovated to accommodate guest lodging, a restaurant, and a tavern. When the inn ceased operation by the early 1960s, most of the rear wing was removed.
George and Susan used its remnant to create a large new family room. For symmetry and better flow, they also added two new wings, one to house a screened porch and one to create circulation between old rooms and new. The boathouse, of course, was a later addition, but its late Victorian style is so charming, they never considered removing it. It has been restored inside and out.
[…]
The front of the house is historic, but the rear had undergone numerous additions and subtractions over the years. George and Susan updated the rear with sensitive additions and a patio surrounded by a stone wall. George rebuilt the old stone walls that surround the property. They built a new fence, basing its design on one found in a Federal pattern book. (Source: “Beguiled into Stewardship“)
Mostly accurate, except I’ll humbly concede credit to others for the handsome stone walls. I did design/redesign/adapt them and figure out how to repurpose old stone salvaged from failed walls and long buried foundations, but virtually all of the heavy lifting was done by others. And we remain extremely grateful for it!
Okay, enough revisionism… On to the article.
“Beguiled into Stewardship”, Old House Journal, June 2015 Issue (Page 3-4)
The opening spread showcases one of the handsome entrance gates designed and built by our friend, Tom Duca. And that interior shot of the front entrance door with side lites and fan lite? That challenging project was meticulously executed by Kevin Boyle.
“Beguiled into Stewardship”, Old House Journal, June 2015 Issue (Page 5-6)
The front parlor and the dining room offer pigmented nostalgia bridges.
The pea green paint in the parlor is a nod to the previous owner whose paint choice perplexed us at first, but grew on us gradually, imperceptibly during our endless renovation. My bride elected to preserve and refresh it while I was away. It was the perfect choice.
And the light blue walls in the dining room recollect the dining room in Maison Margaux, a top-to-bottom renovation I shepherded in Paris’ Faubourg St. Germain.
“Beguiled into Stewardship”, Old House Journal, June 2015 Issue (Page 7-8)
The kitchen and morning room (aka “the north porch”) are principle phases of our daily orbit. No finer way to start the day that breakfasting with songbirds!
“Beguiled into Stewardship”, Old House Journal, June 2015 Issue (Page 9-10)
Griffin, our Labrador Retriever, is the perennially proud protector of Rosslyn in general and our bedroom in particular. From his perch at the end of the bed he can monitor the deer and wild turkeys sneaking snacks from his vegetable garden and orchard. I suppose “protector” might be a mild overstatement.
A few days ago I came across a provocative Facebook post that artistNick Bantock had shared on December 30, 2022. The date’s not particularly notable, but the author is. Familiarity with Bantock’s work adds context and texture to the explanation about his creative process, specifically how he moves from found ephemera to finished artwork.
I keep an in-between tank, a collection of part-constructed smaller pieces that are in a state of flux or transition. Resonating bits that touch or brush-up against one another, in a pre-morphing box (or in this case, a studio drawer)… Ideas are rarely plucked out of the ether, in my experience they come from creating an environment where happy accidents and surreal collisions can best occur. (Source: Nick Bantock, Facebook, December 30, 2022)
I’d be wise to leave his words to stand alone. Unsullied. Undistorted. Unaccompanied. A beacon.
And I’ll try.
But trying isn’t enough. Temptation is building, like a wave rising higher, gaining momentum, wisps of foam falling from the curled lip.
And so I succumb. Slightly.
Creative Collisions
The image above, an illustration of Rosslyn’s boathouse by Essex resident, Paul Flinn, was documented by Tony Foster. Between upcycling garapa decking boards into distinctive wall paneling for Rosslyn’s icehouse rehab he popped into Essex Town Hall, spied this handsome architectural sketch, snapped a photo, and pinged it through the ether to me.
Collaborating with creative characters; emphasizing the merits and possibilities of adaptive reuse while repurposing collected curios, salvage, and surplus; and generally endeavoring to create an environment where “happy accidents and surreal collisions can best occur” just might be working. Thank you, Paul. Thank you, Tony.
Happy Accidents
Fusion. Collage. Combinatorial creativity… It’s been immensely satisfying to help catalyze the morphing. And it seems that everyday their are more happy accidents. They’re not all tidy or comfortable. Sometimes there friction and frustration. Sometime fission in place of fusion. But we’re in a flow state that, like an undertow and a strong surface current, are pulling us forward. Where? Too soon to say. But creative collisions and happy accidents suggest we’re trending in the right direction!
Rosslyn boathouse during Adirondack mud season (Source: Geo Davis)
I recently returned to Rosslyn after almost two months away. It was my single longest absence since buying the house in July 2006, and the extended hiatus was a bit surreal. I departed Essex in February and returned in April!
For readers familiar with life in the Adirondacks, you’ll remember that we have the distinction of a fifth season in addition to spring, summer, fall and winter affectionately known as “mud season”. Okay, not so affectionately. Mud season — tied with black flies for least sexy North Country inconveniences — is tolerable for two reasons:
Sugaring: Authentic maple syrup is an Adirondack staple. Remember the smell and flavor of real maple syrup, before corn syrup and artificial flavoring and coloring elbowed their way onto the breakfast table? Sugaring is as much a gourmet delicacy as it is a theme of story lore. Extracting maple sap and concentrating it into syrup or sugar wasn’t just a local sweet source before grocers and box stores. According to Bill Yardley, sugaring provided an occupation for lumberjacks during mud season.
Transformation: Like a rite of passage, the Adirondack mud season is sometimes dreaded, usually messy, often cathartic and almost always revitalizing. Tucked between winter and summer, two of the most glorious North Country seasons (the other two are spring and fall,) mud season is our annual reminder that we aren’t living in paradise, just a near-perfect facsimile of paradise.
This year I was traveling during mud season (not altogether a coincidence, I admit) which meant that I missed almost the only snowfall that the Champlain Valley experienced this winter. The silver lining? I also missed the slush and mud that followed.
Maple Syrup (Source: Wikipedia)
But despite my absence, life at Rosslyn sailed on smoothly. By now you may have realized that my bride runs a tight ship, possibly even more so when I’m away from home. And with Doug and Lorri contributing muscle and follow-through to my bride’s decrees, not much slips between the cracks. Except for the tattered flag…
Upon returning from my travels I discovered that a concerned passerby had stopped to complain about the tattered American flag flapping over Rosslyn boathouse. He spoke with Doug, referenced his years of military service and departed. By all accounts, the passerby was courteous and respectful, and his concern was justified. Old Glory was in a sorry state of neglect.
Doug promptly replaced the tattered flag and assumed that the case was closed.
It wasn’t.
A few days later the same gentleman returned and expressed his gratitude. And then he departed. No name. No way to thank him for his attention. A mysterious stranger with a patriotic soul and a neighborly spirit.
Melancholy Boathouse (Source: Douglas Peden, Essex Studios)
Melancholy much? Yesterday I posted this achingly evocative image on the Rosslyn Redux Instagram feed with thanks to our neighbor, Emma, who gifted the vintage photograph postcard to us. It was a gift to her from Michael Peden who, in turn credited his father, Douglas Peden, as the photographer. Here’s an excerpt from my caption.
Sometime in the early days of the millennium, perhaps. The condition of the boathouse suggested it may have been a few years prior to 2005 when we purchased Rosslyn. Such ethereal longing and melancholy in this painterly rendering. Hoping to learn more about this evocative photograph…
It turns out that my conjecture may have been off by a significant margin. There’s still no definitive date for when this melancholy moment in Rosslyn’s history was captured, but some interesting insights have emerged.
I’d guess that it is much earlier than 2005 – probably before 1985. If nothing else, the front porch doesn’t have its roof, and I don’t remember it ever being missing. The lack of the dock doesn’t mean anything, because with the water that high you wouldn’t see it, anyway. — Jason McNulty
I don’t recall the porch roof ever being missing either. Quick check from photos I have shows the roof there in 1969 and again in 2004. — George McNulty
Jason and George McNulty, two of the previous owner’s sons, have suggested that I’m probably off in my estimate by at least two to four decades. And George McNulty also shared another photograph doubling the subjects of my inquiry: when were these photographs taken?
Rosslyn Boathouse (Source: George McNulty)
Melancholy Boathouse Revisited
I’m grateful to Emma, Jason, and George for kindling this inquiry. And, as it turns out, the initial photograph gifted to Emma by Michael Peden (and ostensibly photographed by his father, Douglas Peden) which was in turn re-gifted to me has catalyzed even more intriguing feedback and photographs from Jason McNulty.
Jason McNulty followed up on Douglas Peden’s photograph at the top of this post with some feedback from his father, George McNulty, Sr. from whom we purchased Rosslyn sixteen years ago.
Sorry, but I really do not remember about the date. A good guess would be about 30 years ago. The photograph was taken by Doug Peden. It shows the dock house after I had rebuilt the cribbing but had not started to replace the roof. — George McNulty
Jason amended his own thoughts and another truly unique photograph of the boathouse.
For what it’s worth, if you fudge some numbers a little, this roughly corresponds with a picture that you posted on your site showing the dock house with its roof nearly destroyed by flooding in 1983. Given my parents’ finances at the time, it could easily have taken a few years to replace that roof. I’ve also found a picture in my collection from roughly 1989 showing a clearly new roof. — Jason McNulty
Boathouse 1989, original un-enhanced photo (via Jason McNulty)
Spectacular cinematic image! I’ve taken the liberty of tweaking the levels, etc. to improve the detail of the boathouse, pier, etc. Here’s the adjusted and enhanced version.
Boathouse 1989, adjusted/enhanced for detail (via Jason McNulty)
I was curious about the photo’s provenance, also wondered about the boats, etc. Jason offered some helpful insights. Although he wasn’t certain who originally took the photograph, he felt confident that the year was 1989 (i.e. seventeen years prior to our purchase of Rosslyn.)
When I added the file to my collection, I renamed it and added the year 1989 to the name. I wouldn’t have done so if I was uncertain about the year, although I have no idea now why I was so confident then. As for the sailboat, it was my father’s second sailboat during my lifetime. It was fiberglass and this picture must be relatively early in Dad’s ownership of the boat since he didn’t wait too long to replace the outboard rudder with an inboard one. This boat eventually disappeared from its moorings with no explanation, although the aluminum mast was still in the barn for years later. The first sailboat was a wooden boat, possible yellow in color, that sank on the other side of the dock (parts of its frame can still be seen), and its mast is now the flagpole for the dock house itself. The rowboat was one of three or four that Dad designed and built using plywood. Growing up, I rowed it all over the shoreline, going at least as far the marina. Unfortunately, part of the reason that Dad had to make so many was that they kept rotting out. — Jason McNulty
Although I’ve wandered afield to be sure, my curiosity’s been awakened. I told Jason that I recollected him (or perhaps his father) telling me about the sailboat that sank. As a boater and a sailer, the tragedy etched itself into my memory. But, I told Jason, I didn’t realize that another sailboat had vanished as well. Mysterious. Might it also have sunk?
It might have, but I doubt that it sank at its moorings. It was tied to a buoy not to far away from the dock itself, and I’m sure that Dad did things like check to see if the rope was still there or whether there was a large white blur underwater. Besides, unlike the wooden sailboat, the fiberglass one didn’t leak. Beyond that, though, I’m not sure. — Jason McNulty
I’m aware that Rosslyn’s boathouse flagpole is their former sailboat mast. A perfect story instance of repurposing. And I have salvaged a few other pieces from the sunken vessel. But now my wonder wanders to the second sailboat that disappeared. Hhhmmm…
Rosslyn Boathouse (Source: Geo Davis)[/caption]
