Tag: France

  • Poppies Aplenty

    Poppies Aplenty

    Poppies aplenty summer through early autumn (Source: Geo Davis)
    Poppies aplenty summer through early autumn (Source: Geo Davis)

    Poppies aplenty! A gardener can never grow too many poppies in my estimation. Biased? Yes, unabashedly biased when it comes to Papavers, I’m afraid. (The oriental poppies that we plant at Rosslyn are in the genus Papaver in the subfamily Papaveroideae of the family Papaveraceae. No worries, you won’t be quizzed later.)

    So smitten am I with this almost impossibly perfect pairing of sensuous and carefree, delicate and robust, that I’ve gathered a passel of poppy poems as a rainy day elixir. Feel free to avail yourself of this sure cure if you’re stuck in the doldrums and need a boost. I can’t guarantee that the poems pack the euphoric punch of actual poppies, but they just might remind your heart and soul how to conjure these beguiling beauties out of your own memory. 

    If I could grow poppies year round, I would! (Source: Geo Davis)
    If I could grow poppies year round, I would! (Source: Geo Davis)

    Bloom Where You’re Planted

    The advice, “bloom where you are planted,” apparently owes it’s pithy endurance to the Bishop of Geneva, Saint Francis de Sales (1567-1622), but my first point of reference was different. It was 1999, and I had just relocated from Santa Fe, New Mexico to Paris, France. I received a book in my workplace welcome packet that had been compiled by the FACCP Franco-American Community Center of Paris. The title was Bloom Where You’re Planted: Tips for Living and Thriving in Paris.

    Although I grew up admiring poppies that my mother grew in the Adirondack’s Champlain Valley, there’s no doubt that visits to Normandy where poppies still dot green fields, and teaching John McCrae’s “In Flanders Fields” to my students at the American School of Paris deepened my connection to Papavers. Somehow the helpful manual provided to me in my late twenties became connected with the poppies in my memory and in my gardens.

    This morning’s poppies and the lovely reminder from Saint Francis de Sales and the good folks at the FACCP Franco-American Community Center of Paris coalesced for a fleeting moment, and the first semblance of a new poppy poem unfurled its still wrinkled petals. Not sure where it’s headed, if anywhere, but here’s where it stands today.

    Bloom where you’re planted,
    where the wind blows you,
    where you are needed.
    Bloom when conditions are perfect
    and when they are not. Bloom.

    Might need to let it rest a bit, and possibly, hopefully resurface anon. After all, I surround myself with poppies aplenty, so perhaps this poetry seed will germinate some day in the future, a reminder that preservation by neglect applies not just to orphaned buildings and blog posts, but also poems.

  • Rosslyn Featured in Old House Journal

    "Beguiled into Stewardship", Old House Journal, June 2015 Issue (Page 1-2)
    “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)
    “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)
    “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)
    “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)
    “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.

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  • ADK Oasis Highlawn

    ADK Oasis Highlawn

    ADK Oasis Highlawn: Looking West (Source: Julia Rebecca Photography)
    ADK Oasis Highlawn: Looking West (Source: Julia Rebecca Photography)

    If you’ve ever wanted to visit the Adirondack Coast, I have some good news for you. Late last year we decided to purchase a new property north of Rosslyn, and as of last month we’ve launched an AirBnB that we’re calling ADK Oasis (www.adkoasis.com as well as www.airbnb.com and @adkoasis). (Updated in 2019 to ADK Oasis Highlawn to distinguish it from second adjoining vacation rental we’re calling ADK Oasis Lakeside.)

    Susan and I have been variously involved in the vacation rental market for a few years. I developed a luxury property called Maison Margaux in Paris’s Faubourg Saint-Germain almost two decades ago, and Susan and I launched Adobe Oasis (www.adobeoasis.com) is Santa Fe, New Mexico’s Historic Eastside in 2013. We’ve come to believe that the distinctly authentic and immersive travel experience made possible with well designed, well located, and well maintained vacation rentals is one of the best concepts in travel accommodation. And given the somewhat slender “bed base” in our region, we’re hoping to provide an alternative for visitors eager to discover the Adirondack Coast lifestyle.

    ADK Oasis Highlawn

    Commanding a panoramic view of Lake Champlain and Vermont’s Green Mountains, this totally private vacation rental is nestled into into lush landscape on seven lakeside acres. Renters rave about the revitalizing rhythm as much as the view. And the fire pit in summer, fire pit in winter. With a well stock, open plan kitchen, you’ll love chef-ing up locally produced ingredients. With kayaks, paddleboard, snowshoes, and all sorts of revitalizing activities waiting for you, we’re hoping that you’ll fall in love with ADK Oasis, your very own Adirondack sanctuary on the Adirondack Coast.

    Here’s a sneak peek at our ADK Oasis Highlawn vacation rental.

  • Paris, Rome, New York City and Essex

    Paris, Rome, New York City and Essex

    Living Past: Paris, Rome, New York City prepared me for Essex, NY
    Living Past: Paris, Rome, New York City prepared me for Essex, NY

    Early in the millennium I lived in Paris and Rome for a little while. Twin hardship posts!

    I shuffled back and forth on a roughly two week cycle with frequent detours to New York City to visit my then-girlfriend-now-bride. I lived out of a suitcase and a briefcase. I collected frequent flyer miles and passport stamps instead of chotchkies because they were portable and well suited to my itinerant existence.

    [pullquote]As I orbited through Paris, Rome, New York City I grew accustomed to certain similarities… but it was the differences that intrigued me most.[/pullquote]

    It was a frenetic time, juggling life on two continents and work in three countries. But it was an exhilarating and thoroughly intoxicating chapter of my still-young life. I was thirty years old and hungry for adventure. Needless to say, my jet-set life was indulging (and dilating) my appetite if never fully sating it.

    As I orbited through Paris, Rome, New York City I grew accustomed to certain similarities (ie. all three cities encourage a cosmopolitan, lively, gastronomically diverse and culturally rich lifestyle), but it was the differences that intrigued me most.

    Aside from the obvious social, cultural and linguistic differences, the way all three cities engage with their past sets them apart. All three are old — though New York and Rome bookend the age spectrum — and all three embrace their history. Architecture and urban planning are two of the most visible indications of this, and both set Rome apart.

    Rome is old. Sure, all three cities can make that claim, but Rome is really old. Ancient. And while Paris reveals Roman vestiges when quaint or historically beneficial and even highlights older archeological roots clinging to the swampy banks of the Seine, so much of the grandeur of Paris dates from the mid 1800s when Napoléon III commissioned Baron Georges-Eugène Haussmann to renovate and modernize the squalid descendent of Lutetia Parisiorum.

    [pullquote]Essex is a mere freckle on the cheek of Paris, Rome, New York City, but this charming freckle simultaneously lives in the past and the present. Comfortably, happily and willfully. Essex embraces its living past…[/pullquote]

    Although Rome has periodically made efforts to modernize, there’s no escaping the city’s ancient history at every turn. New and the old are interlaced, and Romans habitually extol and condemn their ancient city in the same sentence. They bemoan the frustrations of abysmal traffic circulation, for example, and yet they pride themselves on navigating the labyrinthine quarters with alacrity, colorful language and wild gesticulation.

    Romans’ love-hate relationship with history is evident in the architecture and urban planning, but it also informs their art, design, food, music and language.

    I’ve been a collector, even a hoarder since childhood, but I credit Rome with awakening my fascination with the living past. One man’s artifact is a Roman’s quotidian necessity. The past is not relegated to museums or worse, the dump. It coexists and enriches the present.

    New York covets the new and improved, and Paris fastidiously collects and curates the most valuable gems from the past. But Rome simultaneously lives in the past and the present. Comfortably. Happily. Willfully. In a sense, Rome is timeless for this reason. It embraces its living past.

    W.D. Ross House, Essex, NY (c.1822)
    Rosslyn (aka W.D. Ross House) circa 1822 in Essex, NY

    This has been a circuitous meander to be sure, but it leads to Essex, New York, another “city” that embraces its living past. Alright, “city” is a stretch. Essex is a village, a small village. With a year-round population well under a thousand residents Essex is a mere freckle on Rome’s or Paris’ cheek. And yet this charming freckle simultaneously lives in the past and the present. Comfortably, happily and willfully. Essex embraces its living past, especially when it comes to architecture. Two centuries of heritage and life permeated by a built environment dating almost exclusively to the first half of the 19th century. Indeed many of the current residents were drawn to Essex precisely because of the historic built environment.

    While my bride and I didn’t understand it at the time — seeing our transition from Manhattan to Essex primarily as a lifestyle choice — it was Rosslyn, one of the most historic structures in town, that ultimately seduced us. And it is Rosslyn that took me by the hand and guided me back through the years.

    Through Paris, Rome, New York City to Essex in one meandering rumination, this is the journey through the coupling of past and present that has drawn me since purchasing Rosslyn in the summer of 2006.

  • Connection with Place

    Connection with Place

    Connection with Place (Source: Geo Davis)
    Connection with Place (Source: Geo Davis)

    I was recently accused, tenderly but definitively, of being obsessed with locale, and more precisely, with my connection to place. As a lifelong wanderer, this struck me as slightly ironic. And accurate.

    By now my fixation on hyperlocality and placeness (aka the poetics of place) have become inextricably woven into the entirety of Rosslyn Redux, the robust and resilient fiber that holds it all together, or — as popularized in the parlance of contemporary talking heads — the “connective tissue” of this protracted inquiry into our decision to purchase and rehabilitate Rosslyn as a foundational platform for our small family’s life (and lifestyle) reboot.

    From 1999 to 2003 I was living and working in Europe. Mostly Paris, France. But Rome, Italy had become a second base by the end of that exciting chapter, a period that started with teaching and coaching at the American School of Paris and evolved into co-founding and launching Maison Margaux, an exclusive vacation rental startup, and Margaux Europe Group, a boutique travel platform. My business partner and I had based these businesses in New York City, and this third base of my globetrotting existence became even more important in the summer of 2001 when Susan and I discovered one another and tumbled head over heals into an intoxicating transatlantic romance.

    In those years I prided myself with what I had dubbed immersion travel rather than tourist travel. The Margaux Project was founded on this distinction. Deep travel. Authentic travel. Meaningful travel. Transformative travel. Human-centric vs. travel brochure scrapbook travel… My love affairs with Paris and Rome (indeed even with New York City) were complex and enriching and multifaceted. We wanted to provide a means for discerning clients to experience Paris, Rome, (and eventually Barcelona, intended at the time to become our third property) with the nuanced richness; genuine, unadulterated texture; and personal intimacy that we had both come to appreciate.

    But I was a committed and unabashed global nomad. By choice. By conviction. The dissonance didn’t really phase me at the time!

    Wanderlust vs. Connection to Place

    This fundamental duality — a peripatetic wanderer drawn to unique locales and connection to place — is at the heart of the thread I call Wanderlust to Houselust. I’ve learned through our Rosslyn years that I am both migratory and rooted. For many years I understood myself as a perennial vagabond, and I celebrated the carefreedom and independence that my work/life amalgam allowed.

    But building a loving family and a profoundly fulfilling lifestyle around placeness (Rosslyn, Essex, Lake Champlain, the Adirondacks, the North Country,..) has taught me how important community and connection to place are to me. It’s also helped me understand that I’m not either/or… not nomad OR potted plant.

    Life, my life, is more complex than I’d understood despite developing Maison Margaux and Margaux Europe Group around the philosophy of immersion travel — journeying more authentically and meaningfully, interacting rather than travel-skimming. Certainly my need for connection to place was there, but I didn’t recognize what it was. Now I do. And I understand that the meaningful authenticity, the human-to-human interaction, the belonging that had drawn me to a specific type of travel was precisely what fueled my early enthusiasm for living in Essex. It was connection to place that had always enticed me. I just didn’t know it.

     

  • Paris Renovation Bug

    Paris Renovation Bug

    Paris Renovation Bug

    Starting in about 2003 I initiated an unfocused real estate hunt for a “fixer-upper” in the AdirondacksChamplain Valley. I’d returned from four years in Europe with enough savings to justify some idle time, a reprieve I hoped to plough into a long languishing novel while tinkering with the vestiges of a web-based business I’d launched in Paris a few years before.

    But I couldn’t shake the renovation bug that had bitten me quite unexpectedly while bringing a luxury vacation rental to market in Paris’ Faubourg St. Germaine.

    I’d made it into my early thirties without owning a home due to my intentionally peripatetic lifestyle, and despite an aesthete’s appetite for buildings and furnishing and gardens, I hadn’t the least interest in settling down. No biological clock ticking. No nesting instinct. No yen for taxes and maintenance and burst pipes and snow shoveling. No desire whatsoever for the trappings of a settled, domestic life. I understood why it appealed to others, but for me the commitments and encumbrances far outweighed the pride and financial wisdom of home ownership.

    Until recently.

    Something had changed, and I couldn’t quite figure out how or why.

    I’d spent the better part of a year and a half immersed in the acquisition, renovation and marketing of a grand Haussmannian property that promised tourists an opportunity to enjoy Paris à la Parisienne. My business partner and I joked that it was “Versailles in the heart of Paris”, which was a gross exaggeration, but fifteen foot ceilings, 3,200+ square feet of living space including three master suites, a grande salon, a petite salon and a formal dining room invited exaggeration. Magnificent marble fireplaces, intricate plaster moldings, hardwood floors and meticulous finish details exuded Parisian elegance by the time we started booking the accommodation, but it hadn’t always looked so inviting.

    The property underwent a top-to-bottom transformation between the day we received the key and the day we shot the photographs for our brochures and website. Half of the property had been gutted and rebuilt from scratch. One bathroom was remodeled and two new bathrooms were created from scratch. Walls were moved, electrical systems were rewired. Carpets were ripped out and herringbone hardwood floors were hand sanded and resealed. Magnificent crown moldings were painstakingly restored, and sconces, chandeliers, and period hardware were refinished.

    No architect. No designer. No engineer. Just outsized self confidence and a hepped up learning curve. I scribbled construction drawings on walls and fumbled through French and Portuguese until contractors seemed to understand what I wanted. With the Lebanese contractors I gesticulated, made funny sound effects and scribbled some more. That we completed the project at all was a miracle. That the results were exquisite, a mystery that still awes me. Though I’d grown up assisting my parents with a couple of renovation projects, I’d never before undertaken anything so ambitious or complex. Or so rewarding.

    Although our business plan involved duplicating the process in Italy and in Spain, the woman I’d been dating for two years lived in New York City, and after two years of cycling through Paris, Rome and Manhattan on a roughly two week cycle, I opted to trade the business for the woman I loved. I dissolved my interest in the business, packed up my apartments in Paris and Rome, and moved back to the United States.

    [To be continued…]