I apologize in advance for bypassing several timely updates on the icehouse rehabilitation progress. Sorry. I promise that they are coming soon. But there’s something about springtime, about gardening, about the promise of colorful blooms and produce that I’m finding too tempting to resist. And so I share with you what I’ll call a “Giebel garden flashback” from last summer, August 10, 2022 to be exact. Taken by dear friend Brian Giebel and pushed out to the world via Instagram, I revisit it now with all the enthusiasm and optimism of an almost 100% planted garden. May 2023 be as abundant as 2022!
Giebel Garden Flashback (Photo: Brian Giebel)
Thank you, Brian, for capturing this outrageous sunset (and my embarrassing posture). And thank you for reminding me what I’ve garden looks like in high season so that I may gird my angst about the two upcoming frost warnings.
I’ve learned again, and again that worrying about the weather is an unhealthy and unhelpful practice. So I won’t. Or, I will try not to worry. Nature, benevolent nature, will offer us what she considers right.
Artichokes Ready to Transplant (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
And in the meantime, we’ll postpone planting 18 newly arrived artichoke thistles. They look robust and healthy now, so we’ll try to keep them that way until the risk of frost has passed. Then, into the garden, they go!
Artichokes Ready to Transplant (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Once those artichokes are planted, we will be almost finished. Today we offer an especial thanks to Pam for rounding up the artichokes (the last available from our supplier), and the Amish family who helps ensure that our seeds are in the freshly filled ground and the transplants are well tended. Thank you!
Giebel Garden Flashback (Photo: Brian Giebel via Instagram)
And to you, Brian, thanks for this Instagram post nine months past that fills me now with hope for our future harvest. Soon we will be feasting once again!
Champlaining on a mirror morning (Photo: Geo Davis)
I like to joke around with our friends, Amy Guglielmo and Brian Giebel about “Champlaining” (aka “Lake Champlaining”) when we’re puttering about on our glorious front yard: Lake Champlain. A common refrain, “Stop Champlaining!” is actually a lighthearted reminder that even on the clunkiest of days, time spent plying (or playing i/on) the waters of America’s greatest lake is a revitalizing gift.
Swimming. Sailing. Speedboating. Windsurfing. Wakesurfing. Waterskiing. Bonfiring… (And even when we’re fortunate enough to have a winter freeze so that we can skate and cross-country ski on the lake!) Champlaining is a term of lighthearted gratitude for the immense good fortune that so many of us enjoy in, on, and near the greatest of American lakes,Lake Champlain.
Mucking through late midwinter strikes me as the optimal moment to share the distinct joy of champlaining with a quick photo essay.
No better place to start than one of my personal favorites, sailing.
End-of-day waterskiing, sailing, surfing offers a unique magic (but paying attention to boating regulations vis-à-vis sunset which I might have inadvertently let slip here…)
Champlaining with a Sundown Wakesurf, August 10, 2022 (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Celebrating a peak-of-summer day with a sensational sundown surf… in one of world’s the most spectacular spots… This is Champlaining! (Source: Sundown Surf)
Hammocking lakeside might very well be one of the best ways to wind down a week.
https://www.instagram.com/p/CjbaQb4Po9t/
Followed with a beach bonfire. NOW we’re starting to explore the range of possibilities…
Champlaining with a Lakeside Bonfire, September 27, 2014 (Photo: Geo Davis)
In-on Lake Champlain,
even the clunkiest of days,
revitalize bliss.
— Geo Davis
Lake Champlain Official
If my photo essay peppered with editorial asides isn’t exactly what you were hoping to find when the mysterious internauts delivered you here, then I’ll step aside and offer you a by-the-books springboard to more official data points (with a tiny tout for Champlain arts and culture.)
A freshwater lake located between New York State on the west, Vermont on the east, and Canada’s Quebec province on the north, Lake Champlain is approximately 120 miles (193 km) long, 12 miles (19 km) wide, and 400 feet (122 m) at its deepest trench. The sixth-largest lake in the United States by volume, Lake Champlain contains 71 islands. (Source: LCLT.org) Source waters include the Boquet, Ausable, and Saranac rivers in New York and the Richelieu, Missisquoi, and Lamoille rivers in Vermont. Contrary to a common misperception, the lake flows northward into the Richelieu River (and eventually into the St. Lawrence River.)
Inspiring artists, musicians, and vacationers for centuries, Lake Champlain is a creative and cultural epicenter for the Northeast. To get in the mood, how about a singalong of Alfred Bryan and Albert Gumble’s “On Lake Champlain”? (Check out the lyrics and audio recording.)
Named for the French explorer, Samuel de Champlain, who was the first European to map the region in 1609, the waterway quickly became an important transportation and trade artery. The Battle of Valcour (October 11, 1776) during the American Revolutionary War and the Battle of Plattsburgh (September 6-11, 1814) during the War of 1812 wove the majestic lake into early American history. Today, Lake Champlain is a popular destination for vacationing, swimming, boating, fishing, and camping. (Source: Lake Champlain)
Enough with official. Back to anecdotal, whimsical, and romantic! I’ll wrap up with a couple of delightful vintage Lake Champlain postcards. Enjoy.
Yachting on Lake Champlain (Source: Vintage Postcard)
Sunset on Lake Champlain (Source: Vintage Postcard)
Tie dye dome behind carriage barn (Source: Geo Davis)
Last night — while walking out to the vegetable garden for a last minute harvest — the sunset tried to outcompete the colorful veggies. And the tie dye dome mounted a heroic campaign!
Even after all of the veggies were gathered for for our impromptu salad (a rainbow haul of red and green romaines, tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchini, banana peppers, tomatillos, and a single looong radish) the hands-down winner was clear. Winners, actually. Sky for color, veggies for flavor.
Tie dye dome behind carriage barn and ice house (Source: Geo Davis)
Not sure I’d earned this reward, but I certainly did appreciate it.
A productive morning at my desk followed by an equally productive afternoon on the tractor brush hogging some of the back meadows with the new offset flail mower. If you think that’s the foundation for a perfect day, you’re right. But there was even more goodness in store. An end-of-day wake surf with Susan, Amy Guglielmo, and Brian Giebel was followed by a “Surprise, I brought sushi!” dinner made possible by Amy and Brian. The perfect accompaniment? A jumbo salad harvested at sundown!
Tie dye dome reflects on carriage barn’s West façade (Source: Geo Davis)
It was already well into nightfall when we walked from the house toward the barns, but the day wasn’t yielding without playing out a sky-wide drama. It was spectacular! We stopped and gawked. We acknowledged our good fortune. And then we gawked some more.
With last remnants of fading light, we made our way past the carriage barn and ice house toward the garden.
Tie dye dome beyond vegetable garden (Source: Geo Davis)
Once we removed the silhouetted buildings from view the tie dye dome appeared even more vast, more vibrant, more spectacular. Fortunately the still empty garden hod reminded us why we’d come.
Tie dye dome above the [uncovered] high tunnel (Source: Geo Davis)
For a moment I imagined the high tunnel sans cover as a vast ribcage, as if some prehistoric whale had emerged from the garden. Our very own Burning Man?!?!
With the final fiery light guiding us, we filled the hod with harvest and headed back to the house for a laughter filled dinner…
![Tie dye dome above the [uncovered] high tunnel (Source: Geo Davis)](https://abdul2.rosslynredux.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/7ae20af2-067b-4ea3-af82-bd62ab23c452.jpg "Tie dye dome above the [uncovered] high tunnel (Source: Geo Davis)")