Tag: Entrance

Favored by Fortune: Sherwood Inn Flashback

Rosslyn has been reinvigorated (even reinvented) many times over its two century history on Essex, New York’s Merchant Row. But beyond all others, the mother lode of artifacts and memories of this fascinating property derive from its years as the Sherwood Inn.

This morning I’d like to share with you an article that was published on the front page of the Essex County Republican on March 29, 1946.

Favored by Fortune: Sherwood Inn Flashback (Source: Essex County Republican (Keeseville, N.Y.), March 29, 1946, Page 1)

The full article is well worth a read, so I’ve transcribed it below in it’s entirety. But first I’d like to thank Scott Brayden for bringing this article to my attention. It’s no exaggeration to claim Scott as one of the MVP sleuths of Rosslyn and Essex area history. In addition to an extraordinary gift for disinterring artifacts with his metal detector, smarts, and soothing patience, Scott has also mined digital archives with remarkable luck. This article, three quarters of a century after it was published, STILL fascinates. And while there are potentially a couple of discrepancies with the broader historic record, it’s mostly spot on. And it fills in some of the gaps that still exist in my own understanding of the property that enraptured Susan and me a decade and a half ago…

Here’s the original article about the Sherwood Inn.

Favored by Fortune: Sherwood Inn Flashback (Source: Essex County Republican (Keeseville, N.Y.), March 29, 1946, Page 1)

Here’s the Sherwood Inn transcribed article about the from the March 29, 1946 Essex County Republican front page.

90-Year-Old Essex Home

Sherwood Inn Has Associations Dating Back to 1830s, Brick Mansion Erected by W. D. Ross

Sherwood Inn at Essex on Lake Champlain, built, it is believed, between 1830 and 1835, is one of the oldest and most dignified residences in that community, permanent establishment of which was begun about 1785 by Daniel Ross. The residence is known to have ante-dated the Harmon Noble house, erected in 1835, and is thought to have been erected by William D. Ross.

The property was later owned by the Harmon Noble Estate, which when divided was acquired by Sarah Elizabeth Noble Waite. Upon her death, or the following year, 1889, it was sold to Edward Richardson who was proprietor of a summer boarding house there.

A family named Walmsley of New Orleans, La. then became owners and later Mrs. Caleb J. Coatsworth bought the house. (about 1907 or 1908) When Mrs. Coatsworth died, her daughter, Mrs. Howard Hill, fell heir to the property.(1912) During ownership of the Hill family the place was named Hyde Gate House.

[pullquote]Essex is favored by fortune in having another of its oldest homes cared for so well.[/pullquote]In 1937 Essex county assumed ownership, but sold to Richard R. Williams in 1941. Mr. Williams in turn, sold Hyde Gate House to Sloane E. Miller in 1942, who disposed of the property in 1945 to Mr. and Mrs. W. Sherwood, the present owners and occupants.

Interior of the imposing brick mansion, renamed Sherwood Inn in 1945, has undergone little change since days of early settlement at Essex. Front entrance is made into a broad hallway with fine stairway leading to second floor. On left, or southern side of the house are living room and connecting dining room. To the right of the hall, on the north, is another living room, with kitchen to the rear. The large room across the back of the house, formerly used as dining room, has recently been converted into a pine-paneled Colonial tap room, attractively furnished. A frame section of the residence containing the original kitchen with fireplace and Dutch oven, extended farther to the rear in past years but was demolished before Mr. and Mrs. Sherwood became owners.

The upstairs sleeping rooms, all generously supplied with windows and three of which are equipped with fireplaces, as are the living rooms on the first floor, are inviting in modern fittings. All front rooms overlook Lake Champlain, whrose [sic] waters wash against the shore only a few steps across the highway on which Sherwood Inn faces.

The Inn has the same pleasant setting it has had for nearly a century and there is still evidence of the fine gardens, carefully tended by various of its owners. Essex is favored by fortune in having another of its oldest homes cared for so well.

August 1, 2022
Midpoint Milestone: 6 Months Down, 6 Months to Go

Midpoint Milestone (Photo: Geo Davis)

Yesterday was a meaningful midpoint milestone in my quest to post a Rosslyn update every day without fail for an entire year.

Six months, 26+ weeks, 184 days. One new installment every 24-hours without fail. Rhapsodizing Rosslyn, celebrating our team’s accomplishments, soapboxing historic rehab and adaptive reuse, showcasing seasonality snapshots and historic Essex memorabilia, weaving in some hyperlocal haiku and place-based poetry, illuminating the mercurial transition / transformation we’re currently navigating, and sharing boathouse and icehouse updates, intriguing artifacts, and wildlife observations.

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.

Thank you for meeting me in the middle!

February 1, 2023
Repainting Entrance Hallway, 2023
Repainting Entrance Hallway, 2023 (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

A Jeroboam of gratitude to Kasey McKenna and Karly McKenna for their exceptional accomplishment repainting the entrance hallway. It looks superb! The lighting in the picture above doesn’t do justice to the work in progress, nor now that repainting the entrance hallway is complete. Lighting was poor. And the intention was just a quick progress report. Ditto for this next photo.

Repainting Entrance Hallway, 2023 (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

But I’ll be snapping some additional photos soon, hopefully with dramatic morning light illuminating the front hallways downstairs and upstairs. Until then, here’s a quick video walkthrough.

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Flashback to Yellow Entrance Hallway

Late last August I reflected on the morning light in the front hallway, shared a moody morning photo as well as this warming shot that I took July 8, 2019.

Morning Light, Front Hallway, July 8, 2019 (Source: Geo Davis)

The mood and energy of this photograph perfectly conveys the opening moments of the daydream that I relived countless times in [late 2004 through early 2006 during] the extended prologue to our acquisition of this home. Although the interior of Rosslyn’s front hallway was in decidedly rougher shape during our early visits to the house…, I imagined it looking — and even more importantly — feeling just like this. (Source: Morning Light, Front Hallway)

I accompanied the photos in the post with a haiku, falling back on my Pollyanna confidence that poetry somehow captures what words and lenses overlook.
```
Morning Light Haiku
```
```
Mellow morning lites.
Merry mantequilla lights.
Durable daydream.
                     — Geo Davis
```
Needless to say, I remain a believer in the poetics of place. The following excerpt follows from the same morning rumination.

When Susan and I decided on paint colors, I pushed for yellow. She wasn’t particularly keen. I no longer recollect what color she desired, but my yen for yellow was quite simply a yielding to this daydream. My imagination had confected a morning vibe that needed to be experienced in reality. Not a particularly compelling argument when horse trading with Susan over design decisions, but I ultimately prevailed. Trim we agreed on early throughout the house. Beach hardwood flooring, the period chandelier and wall mounted lighting, the rug, the art,… all of these were joint decisions. But the yellow walls remain a point of disagreement even now. In fact, we’re considering a change, and given her willingness to accommodate me for the better part of a decade and a half with faint yellow walls in both halls, I’m inclined to yield at last. (Source: Morning Light, Front Hallway)

And this brings us to the present. Or just before the present when I agreed that it was Susan’s turn to pick a new color since we’re overdue for repainting the entrance hallway.

Fast Forward to Monterey White

She sent me this list of preferred colors, carefully chosen to complement the color of the stair treads (Benjamin Moore‘s Clarksville Gray) that lead upstairs (as well as the hallway floor upstairs.)

Susan’s Benjamin Moore Sample List (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)

She had agreed to meet me partway by allowing that the new color not be a complete departure from the pale yellow paint that had lived in my mind for a couple of years and on the walls of both the first and second floor hallways for the better part of a decade and a half. This list represents her compromise. So off to the paint store I went for samples.

Benjamin Moore Paint Samples (Photo: Geo Davis)

The next step was to paint some swatches onto the walls alongside the trim and the downstairs beech flooring.

Sample Paint Swatches for Entrance Hallway, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)

Although I’ve manage to crop out the flooring inadvertently, the swatches still capture the wide range in tones and hues. Here are the swatches on the mid-flooring landing, adjacent to the Clarksville Gray floor.

Sample Paint Swatches for Entrance Hallway, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)

Again, not the best photos, but you get the point.

It’s worth noting that there was general consensus around Monterey White which is second from the left on the upper row of swatches in the image above. It is the second from the right on the lower row in the preceding photo. You can see that it has some of the warmth of the yellow (albeit without much of the yellow and a generally grayer cast). Here it is in Benjamin Moore’s color chip, adjacent to the Clarksville Gray which we all agreed was an agreeable combination.

And the Winner is… Benjamin Moore’s Monterey White (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)

In the video above, the finished paint job is in fact somewhat reminiscent of the old color. Granted, Pam shot the video on a gray day which and low light. The result emphasizes the gray hue. But several of us, upon watching the walkthrough, commented on how similar it appeared to the previous color.

A closer inspection during the cutting in process however captures the significant change.

Repainting Entrance Hallway with Benjamin Moore’s Monterey White (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

I look forward to watching the space fill with early morning sunshine soon. How much will it rekindle the nostalgic daydream? Or will it feel like the departure that Susan has long anticipated? I’ll share an update soon…
February 9, 2023
Garden Hose Haiku

Verdigris patinated copper pot holding a coiled garden hose near carriage barn entrance.

A coiled garden hose,
a verdigris copper pot,
sunset puddling…
— Geo Davis

Some moments are captured best with wordy reflection, others with a watercolor. Sometimes a it takes a photograph or a lyric ode. But best of all is an instant, a glance, a gasp… The briefest of moments. The ellipses suggesting an interstitial moment.

This verdigris patinated copper pot concealing a coiled garden hose, warmed by a splash of setting sun offered itself up as a haiku. It was not my place to question or resist.

August 7, 2022
Morning Light, Front Hallway

Morning Light, Front Hallway, August 20, 2022 (Source: Geo Davis)

Ah, that morning light… Long before we purchased Rosslyn, before we’d even had any realistic discussions about purchasing Rosslyn, and before I personally had wrapped my mind around the possibility of Rosslyn becoming our future home, before all of this, I began experiencing a recurring daydream.

If you imagine a daydream to be a bit like a film, the sequence started in Rosslyn’s front hallway. Actually, the sequence started upon entering the hallway, as if from the kitchen door. It’s early in the morning, dawn illuminating the interior, chasing shadows into corners. Tasha, our labrador retriever, accompanies me as I step into the hallway, carrying a cup of coffee, steam rising to my nose. I linger on the way toward the dining room, pause a second, two seconds in the buttery warmth, to witness a whole new day arriving at this exact moment.

The photograph above, taken one week ago, last Saturday at 6:23am, is for all practical purposes that opening moment in the daydream. There are some notable differences like the actual art, carpet, light fixtures, and other furnishings. But these are incidental. The mood and energy of this photograph perfectly conveys the opening moments of the daydream that I relived countless times in the extended prologue to our acquisition of this home. Although the interior of Rosslyn’s front hallway was in decidedly rougher shape during our early visits to the house (photos in an upcoming post), I imagined it looking — and even more importantly — feeling just like this.

A little over three years ago I shared the following image and an earlier incarnation of the haiku below on Instagram, but the daydream dates to late 2004 through early 2006, the period when we were visiting Rosslyn while considering real estate.

Morning Light, Front Hallway, July 8, 2019 (Source: Geo Davis)

Morning Light Haiku

Mellow morning lites.
Merry mantequilla lights.
Durable daydream.
— Geo Davis

Early Morning Vibe

I’ve been a “morning person” for, well, forever. I rise early. I do my best thinking early in the day. My wellspring of motivation and energy is most notably in the first few hours after I awaken. And, all things considered, morning just make me optimistic.

So it’s not particularly strange to me that one of my earliest points of connection with Rosslyn was a morning memory of an experience that had never actually taken place. Frankly, Susan and I did visit Rosslyn for almost two years before deciding to make an offer, but we never visited early in the morning prior to purchasing. So the material for this daydream was conjured out of desire and various tidbits gathered during non-morning visits. Apparently my unconscious curiosity and desire was pining for early morning, alone with my dog and a hot cup of coffee (another anomaly which I’ll touch upon elsewhere), to witness the intimate arrival of morning in the home’s entrance hallway (and dining room, another return-to-later detail).

When Susan and I decided on paint colors, I pushed for yellow. She wasn’t particularly keen. I no longer recollect what color she desired, but my yen for yellow was quite simply a yielding to this daydream. My imagination had confected a morning vibe that needed to be experienced in reality. Not a particularly compelling argument when horse trading with Susan over design decisions, but I ultimately prevailed. Trim we agreed on early throughout the house. Beach hardwood flooring, the period chandelier and wall mounted lighting, the rug, the art,… all of these were joint decisions. But the yellow walls remain a point of disagreement even now. In fact, we’re considering a change, and given her willingness to accommodate me for the better part of a decade and a half with faint yellow walls in both halls, I’m inclined to yield at last. (Psssttt… But I haven’t admitted it to her yet, so please don’t through me under the bus!)

August 27, 2022
Toward a Barn Vernacular
Barn Vernacular (Source: Geo Davis)

I’ve talked around my fascination with barns, barn architecture, barn construction, and barn aesthetics for long enough. But I haven’t outlined the tenets for my enduring intrigue, nor have I articulated exactly what I mean when I refer to a barn vernacular. It’s time to draft at least a preliminary look at my love of barns. I’ll circle back as I achieve clarity, but in the mean time, I’m going to venture into the white space, plant a flag, claim the territory. Excuse the untidy, incomplete effort. For now. In time I hope to revisit and expand this post, but I’ll start today with a precocious first foray toward a barn vernacular.

Barn Vernacular Haiku
```
          Barn vernacular,
          so utilitarian
          and so efficient.
          — Geo Davis
```
Yankee Barns

In the vernacular vocabulary of quintessentially North American architecture, the barn endures as a practical yet proud icon of rural living. First and foremost a utility structure, the barn evolved to maximize usability while prioritizing efficient construction, cost, and maintenance. Barns have evolved regional and agricultural nuances to accommodate local materials, agricultural use, and climate but the fundamentals are similar. In the northeastern United States consistent elements, volumes, geometry, and even materials appear in many barns. Although history offers various compelling variations such as gambrel roof barns and round barns, one of which existed in Essex in the 1800s, these are not as compelling to me as the traditional New England or Yankee barn. Its familiar austerity, tidy efficiency — and I would argue — its exceedingly pleasing utilitarian aesthetic have appealed to me for decades. Based upon my personal experience it feels like the quintessential barn.

Although the term, “Yankee barn” is often associated with the customs timber frame home building company, Yankee Barn Homes, I’m harkening back to an earlier and broader style of barn architecture.

In New England, English barns were further adapted into larger, timber-framed structures, which became known as the Yankee barn. Yankee barns have large sliding doors on either of the gable ends, with large areas for livestock on either side of a central hallway. Overhead lofts allowed for convenient hay storage, and oftentimes basements were added in the bank barn style.

Yankee barns, also called New England barns, allowed for more cattle to be housed, and were the first step in a continuing trend of larger barns to accommodate more animals. (Source: History of the American Barn – Grit

Well proportioned, not only for agricultural utility but also in a more classic architectural sense, the Yankee barn was well built. The gabled roof was pitched to shed rain, snow, and ice during inclement weather. Positioning the principle entrances at the gable ends proved especially practical in rainy, snowy climates, allowing convenient access without needed to contend with ice and snowbanks collecting rom the roof. And traditional post-and-beam construction was well suited to the punishing loads and the swings in temperature and humidity to which the historically hand-hewn beams easily adjusted again and again over the years.

Here’s another overview of Yankee barns.

Yankee Barns (beginning ca. 1820s) In these barns, the main entrance is on the gable end and the drive bay parallels the ridgeline. Yankee barns usually have a larger footprint than English barns, and are characterized by sawn timbers (circular or water-powered up-and-down), large doors on either end, roofs at half-pitch (45 degrees), and stables along an eaves’ wall. They are sometimes banked with a basement level, and were often expanded by adding additional bays to the rear gable end. Rooftop cupolas and added windows help with light and air flow. Metal roofs became standard in the late 19th century. (Source: New Hampshire Preservation Alliance)

Although my fascination with barn vernacular isn’t limited to Yankee barns, it is my most consistent and encompassing vision. For now, at least, I’ll narrow my inquiry and reflection to this general design.
September 29, 2022
Garapa Decking 2008-2009

I left you wondering, patiently waiting for a couple of weeks after the “Deck Rebuild” update. I promised a post specifically focusing on the garapa decking, but days turned into weeks, and no garapa gallery. Sorry. Rest assured it was an act of omission, my friends, not an act of commission. (Maybe “fall” earned its name as an abbreviation for “falling behind”?)

Before 2022 re-decking… (Source: Geo Davis)

But you needn’t wait any longer. Patience is overrated, and the new deck “eye candy” is ready. Pictures aplenty coming your way shortly, but first a little backward glance to Rosslyn’s first garapa deck waaayyy back in 2008-2009. You see, this newly completed deck is a redo of the same deck and decking completed during our epic rehabilitation project a decade and a half ago.

So, without further ado, let’s look at the first iteration of Rosslyn’s garapa deck.

Garapa Decking v1.0

Let’s start by rewinding the timeline to 2008-9. Building the new deck and installing garapa decking was the proverbial caboose in a virtually endless train of construction that started in the summer of 2006. And with winter upon us, December days flurrying past, the year coming to an end, carpentry conditions deteriorating rapidly, and the risk of missing yet another deadline, we were pushing hard to get the deck complete before 2008 morphed into 2009. Fortunately most of our crew had been with us for years and they were really, really good sports about giving everything they had to finish the year with a completed deck.

Although the deck had been underway for many weeks at this point, let’s start with a couple of cold and drizzly December 10, 2008 snapshots.

Doug’s Decking Tent, December 10 2008 (Source: Geo Davis)

This makeshift weatherproofing was an attempt to endure the increasingly cold and wet conditions as autumn gave way to winter. Decking was closer, closer, sooo close,… but not yet done. And the damp child found its way into every every gap between clothing, up sleeves, down collars. Winter’s warning was everywhere as the team hustled toward the finish line.

Wondering about that smiling, blurry apparition at the left? That’s Doug Decker, hustling to keep warm. (And his colleague, partially concealed beneath the tarp, is Jonathan “Boulder” Schier.)

Here’s another glimpse of the challenging conditions the crew endured during the final stretch of the garapa decking project almost fourteen years ago. It’s not east to discern but Doug’s under the tarp tent working on the stairway.

Decking Tent on Rainy Winter Day, December, 10 2008 (Source: Geo Davis)

Of course, the only way to make these drizzly early December conditions look pleasant is to leapfrog forward to December 22, 2008.

Installing Garapa Stairs on December 22, 2008 (Source: Geo Davis)

You might almost miss freezing rain once a couple feet of snow have blanketed the North Country. In the photo above, a dauntless carpenter (either Kevin Boyle or Warren Cross, I believe, though perspective and bundling make me uncertain) is scribing and installing garapa treads, the final step to completing the deck. And despite the snow, it’s sunny and he’s dressed for success. This is certainly one of the downsides of installing a deck so late in the season (and one of the upsides of having such an amazing team of carpenters, willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done right and on time!)

Garapa Deck, January 1, 2009 (Source: Geo Davis)

What a perfect way to start the new year! Garapa decking installation complete; access to and from vehicles, garbage and recycling shed, side yards, safe and convenient; and an absolutely breathtaking addition to the property, transitioning perfectly from interior to exterior space.

Garapa Deck, February 2, 2009 (Source: Geo Davis)

One month later Rosslyn’s garapa deck looks as if it’s always been there. Patinated perfection. Still unsealed, waiting for more forgiving conditions, but that too will happen in due time. (Although it’s an off-topic segue, I will revisit this period between garapa installation and sealing down the line. There was an unfortunate hiccup that required attention, but — spoiler alert — it wasn’t actually caused by the gap between install and oiling. Another gap was the culprit…)

Wayne Gryk Sealing Garapa Deck, September 19, 2009 (Source: Geo Davis)

Friend and jack-of-all-trades-master-of-many, Wayne Gryk tackled the challenge of sealing the garapa decking 9-10 months after installation. He’s an artist, a perfectionist, a productive and diligent finisher, and exactly the right person for the final step in Rosslyn’s [first] garapa deck.

Home stretch… One of the boobytraps of sealing a deck is maintaining house access. It’s easy to accidentally close off entrance and egress without forethought about how you’ll access the dwelling while patiently swaying the often lengthy cure time. Fortunately this isn’t the sort of drama Wayne delivers

Sealing Garapa Deck, September 19, 2009 (Source: Geo Davis)

Wayne proceeded strategically, leaving a small unsealed “pathway” on the deck for us to enter and exit until the newly sealed decking had dried sufficiently. Once we could switch to another doorway, Wayne finish up the last little bit. In the photo below he’s almost finished, but you can already see the glorious accomplishment.

Wayne Gryk Sealing Garapa Deck, September 19, 2009 (Source: Geo Davis)

At this point it’d be reasonable to fast-track from 2009 to the present, 2022. With a newly rebuilt deck, brand new garapa decking installed, and a fresh coat of oil accentuating the unique color and grain of the garapa, it’s a site to behold.

But before showcasing the new decking, I’d like to make a quick pitstop on November 25, 2016 which is a handy example of the results of resealing our first garapa deck. Let’s start with a high sun, midday look across the deck shortly after oiling.

Resealing Garapa Deck, November 25, 2016 (Source: Geo Davis)

You’ll note the considerably darker decking in the photo above. This is not because we used a dark pigmented sealer (we have always used clear sealers). It’s the effect of graying as the deck ages. We generally allow a few years between resealing, in part because we actually really enjoy how the gray patinated decking looks next to the Essex quarried limestone (aka Chazy limestone) walls. But a sealed deck is better preserved against the snowy Adirondack winters, so we reseal in service to longevity. In this photo you can see how much depth and character the garapa exudes as it matures. Each season offers intriguing nuances to discover and appreciate.

Resealing Garapa Deck, November 25, 2016 (Source: Geo Davis)

The same deck, the same day, viewed from another angle highlights the honey and maple syrup range of Rosslyn’s garapa deck approximately eight years and several resealings after her debut.

In more recent years we allowed the decking to gray without resealing because we knew that the substructure was failing and deck replacement was iminent. In preparation for our summer 2022 deck rebuild we carefully salvaged all of this original garapa decking, and current experiments are underway to determine the most appealing adaptive reuse in the new icehouse project. (I’ll post an update on that soon!)

Next up? Installing garapa decking on the newly rebuilt deck!

September 30, 2022
Phoenix Rising
Phoenix Rising: Entrancing Icehouse Entrance (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)

Hroth sent me the photograph above so that we could troubleshoot some subtle details for the old/new icehouse entrance and the relationship between the door and the still-to-come exterior landing. I think we’re 99% in sync, but we’ll hash out the details tomorrow so that we’re 100% in sync. In the meantime, I’m enchanted with this photo. The significant evidence of progress toward a new chapter in the life of Rosslyn’s icehouse. The new floor visible within. The shadowed but perceptible interior framing for windows and doors on the far western elevation. A through-view of the area west of the icehouse where lie the gardens and orchard, and where — on a less overcast day — the sun will set into Boquet Mountain a few tree lines beyond Rosslyn’s meadows and woods…

Entrancing Icehouse Entrance

Ever since 2006 when we removed the existing windows and closed up the gaping openings on the north and south elevations of the icehouse in order to re-stabilize the structural integrity of the building, this handsome edifice has been a shrouded utility building primarily employed for off-season storage of deck furniture, hammock stands, unused building materials, and almost decades’ worth of architectural salvage.

But the vision illuminating our rehab project is of a light filled space, a delicate balance between the finite volume of such a small structure and the uninhibited openness of vaulted ceilings and generous fenestration. Rosslyn’s icehouse is mid-journey between dark and constrained to light and open. It’s a transformation from merely functional to inviting, inspirational, invigorating, and multifunctional. A tall order? Perhaps. But the photo above suggests to me that we’re heading in the right direction.

Phoenix Rising: A Haiku
```
Auburn and umber,
where embers are memories,
phoenix from ashes.
— Geo Davis
```
This micropoem draws upon the hues of the nearly century and a half old building, naked without siding, textured with time. And it associates these with earthen pigments and with the fading signs of fire. Ashes. Memories. On the one hand this photograph captures a moment on the quest for redemption. Rebirth as a new sort of utility building, relevant in the 21st century as opposed to an icehouse no longer fulfilling its original need. On the other hand, this photograph, as a tiny puzzle piece in my ongoing conversation and collaboration with Hroth, alludes to his still recent, still raw firsthand experience with the Calf Canyon/Hermit’s Peak blaze, the largest wildfire in New Mexico history.

Rising from the Ashes

I detect the energy of this post getting away from me. I intended to reflect briefly on Hroth’s photo, an aperture into the icehouse itself and into the vision for its future. But I feel the mounting wind pulling free the threads of my narrative. The focus is scattered and the motif is blurring.

A more entangled tale is untucking itself, fluttering and flapping, vying for attention. I understand that I can’t contain it forever, but I’d like — a little longer, at least — to discipline my post, my posts to march in a phalanx toward, well, toward the moment of truth. Or unraveling. Or arrival. Or departure.

I feel the azure dome spinning overhead, and the earth below. I realize I’ve been restraining this mythological force for months, for years. It surfaces and I acknowledge it, but then hasten on. Like a hummingbird or a butterfly lighting brightly, then buzzing on, fluttering on.

Here, for example.

Sometimes setbacks are actually the inspiration to regroup, reboot, and outperform original expectations. Sometimes fiasco fans the fires of triumph. Sometimes the phoenix rises from the ashes.
Icehouse Rehab 4.5: Foundation Collaboration

And here.

While our carpenter fiasco of the previous year might be summed up as a run-of-the-mill “crash and burn” story, this summer’s refreshing sequel was a quintessential “phoenix rising” story of mythic proportions.
Installing Garapa Decking 2022

Two fleeting mentions. And then this less oblique reference.

I’m hoping to eventually persuade Hroth Ottosen to share his very personal decision to roadtrip east from Santa Fe… after the 2022 catastrophic wildfire season that ravaged the southwest… Hroth reminds us that it is possible to emerge from calamitous circumstances braver, wiser, stronger, and freer than we were beforehand… Like I’ve already suggested, a phoenix rising from the ashes!
Installing Garapa Decking 2022

But now I’ll abbreviate this reference to Hroth, as the story is his to tell, if and when he’s ready. Instead let’s bring some semblance of closure to this curious clutch of field notes.

What Does Phoenix Rising Mean?

Without further muddling the message, I’ll step back and offer a sounder source.

To rise like a phoenix from the ashes means to emerge from a catastrophe stronger, smarter and more powerful. An example of rising like a phoenix from the ashes is someone who opens a new, successful business after his previous business has failed. Another example is someone who builds a new house after his previous house has been destroyed in a tornado.
(Source: Rise Like A Phoenix From The Ashes)

Familiar? Here’s a look into the mythological origins of this familiar “born again” story.

The phoenix bird is a mythical bird from Greek mythology. It was a feathered creature of great size with talons and wings, its plumage radiant and beautiful. The phoenix lived for 500 years before it built its own funeral pyre, burst into flame, and died, consumed in its own fiery inferno. Soon after, the mythical creature rose out of the ashes, in a transformation from death to life…
(Source: Rise Like A Phoenix From The Ashes)

And this, for now, strikes me as a suitable spot to sidle off.
November 27, 2022