Last Thrusday’s Full and By Farm share pickup included baking pumpkins and carrots. Fall fare. There was plenty more in the share, but these two struck a Saturday morning brunch chord while speaking with Sarah Kurak. So mentioned a recipe she’d used for baking pumpkin carrot muffins. “Delicious,” she said.
I imagined them into existence during my short drive back the house.
“Guess what,” I teased my bride.
“You want to feed Griffin dinner?” she asked, raising her eyebrows optimistically?
I told her that I was going to bake gluten free pumpkin carrot muffins on Saturday morning. “We can sleep in,” I tempted. “And then I’ll make homemade muffins. From scratch. The who house will smell like a pumpkin pie tango-ing with a carrot cake!”
She laughed. And probably forgot. Until Saturday. When the whole house smelled like pumpkin pie tango-ing with a carrot cake. No. Better.
A quick dip into the interwebs introduced me to Nicole Hunn (@gfshoestring). She must have dropped off a batch of her Pumpkin Carrot Muffins in Mountain View, California for the search doctors to gobble up for breakfast because Google loves her!
And I’m not surprised, because a dozen delicious gluten free pumpkin carrot muffins later my bride and I are now BIG fans. Maybe it’s because her recipe is really for cupcakes, not muffins, but what’s the difference. Carrots, pumpkin, eggs from the local CSA? That’s healthy! That more than qualified these delicious breakfast treats for muffin status.
And then this serendipitous tweet inspired me to take the plunge
Creativity is a natural extension of our enthusiasm. ~ Earl Nightingale #creativity#quote
It reminds me of the decidedly unclever but honest way I describe my dancing: what I lack in skill I make up with enthusiasm. I love to dance. But I’ll never be on Dancing with the Stars. Some day I’ll share a few of my moves. A few because that’s all there are! Or better yet, I’ll tell you the story my first dance experience. In middle school. Embarrassing. Scarring. But that juicy morsel for another day.
For now, the world’s most delicious (and healthy) gluten free pumpkin carrot muffins.
Before proceeding, I should mention a few deviations from Ms. Hunn’s recipe. I skipped the raisins and the chocolate chips. My bride dislikes the former and experiences life threatening allergies to the latter. I also opted for organic canola oil in place of all oil/butter, and I replaced half of the sugar with stevia.
En route to homemade gluten free pumpkin carrot muffins… Yum or yuck? We'll soon find out! @ Rosslyn http://t.co/msYZ1u21
We ate our first muffins hot out of the oven. I melted a bit of butter inside. Hot tea. Birds at the bird feeder. Bluebird skies. Late morning, but still in pajamas and bath robes. In short, the odds were stacked. And yet, I feel comfortable saying that the muffins were delicious. It wasn’t just that the moment was ripe. The muffins were amazing!
We had seconds. Thirds. Fourths.
Really.
I’m not exaggerating. They were that good. You might want to give Ms. Hunn’s recipe a try. After all, culinary creativity is a natural (and inevitable) extension of our enthusiasm. Which reminds me, you may want to try a few funky 1980’s dance moves while you’re running the blender…
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…
This morning my friend, Mark, sent me a photo snapped exactly thirteen years ago (where does the time go?!?!) after we launched the dock and boat lift for the start of the boating season. In addition to a timely hint that spring is starting to flirt with summer — a meta metronomic rhythm reminder, if you will — another note struck me: friendship is the common denominator in so many of our Rosslyn memories. So at its core, this “photo essay” flash back thirteen lucky years ago is a meditation on seasonality and friendship.
Installing Dock with Tom and Griffin on April 30, 2010 (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Dock & Friends
Rosslyn seasonality is a year-round singalong, the metronomic melody I suggested above. Highest water level. Lowest water level. Docks and boat lift in. Docks and boat lift out. The photos in this post tell the springtime refrain of Rosslyn’s waterfront singalong, or at least part of it. The other is the voices joining in the singalong.
Installing Dock with Doug and Mark on April 30, 2010 (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
The inspiration for today’s post, a retrospective photograph texted to me by Mark, sent me digging deep into my photo history. I pulled up the photos that Susan had snapped thirteen years ago while we were readying the waterfront for an incoming boating season.
Installing Dock on April 30, 2010 (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Upon locating these images I was struck far less with the docks and the boat lift and much more with the three friends braving the cold lake on an inclement day to help us get ready for months of boating, waterskiing, etc.
Installing Dock with Mark, Tom, and Doug on April 30, 2010 (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
While I couldn’t ignore the fact that peeling a decade and change off our faces and physiques made me nostalgic for younger days, the more poignant sensation was of gratitude for the camaraderie.
Installing Dock with Doug and Tom on April 30, 2010 (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Mark Englehardt, Tom Duca, and Doug Decker, I thank you. These fuzzy old photos trigger a great gusher of gratitude to you three. Yes, there’s gratitude aplenty for you waterfront assistance. Plenty! We couldn’t enjoy much of our Rosslyn lifestyle without the generous participation of so many. But there’s also something even more fundamental. Friendship. Rosslyn has, since our earliest days, been interwoven with a wondrous web of friendships.
Installing Dock with Doug, Tom and Griffin on April 30, 2010 (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Over the past year that I’ve been revisiting our almost seventeen years at Rosslyn it’s become abundantly obvious that first and foremost this place is a nexus of friendships, memories made, and memories still-to-be-made. Rosslyn is so much more that bricks and mortar, beach and meadows, gardens and orchard. Rosslyn is connectedness, relationships, people, stories,…
Installing Dock with Tom on April 30, 2010 (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
The photos so far, a 2010 dock launch “documentary” of sorts, are interspersed with stream of consciousness notes that, upon rereading, are more gush than good. Unfiltered. Unedited. And perhaps a little over the top. Perhaps. But I’m going to leave them. For now at least.
And I’ll get out of the way as we shift from dock to boat lift.
Boat Lift & Friends
Here’s the photo essay I promised at the outset (sans the sentimental soul dump that infiltrated the preceding. Thanks for your forbearance!)
Installing Boat Lift with Tom, April 30, 2010 (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)Installing Boat Lift with Mark, Tom, and Carley on April 30, 2010 (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)Installing Boat Lift with Mark, Tom, and Doug on April 30, 2010 (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)Installing Boat Lift with Mark, Tom, and Doug on April 30, 2010 (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)Installing Boat Lift with Mark, Tom, and Doug on April 30, 2010 (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)Installing Boat Lift with Mark, Tom, and Doug on April 30, 2010 (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)Installing Boat Lift with Mark, Tom, and Doug on April 30, 2010 (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)Installing Boat Lift with Mark, Tom, and Doug on April 30, 2010 (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)Geo and Tom Installing Boat Lift, April 30, 2010 (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Acknowledgements
Thank you, Mark, Tom, and Doug. Thank you, Griffin, who made several appearances in these photos. We still miss you. And thank you, Rosslyn, for continuing to connect amazing people (and dogs!)
I received heartbreaking news this morning that dear friend and accomplished folk artist, Mary Wade has passed away.
Mary was a remarkable woman with a huge heart and sense of humor, a vast memory, and an enchanting gift for storytelling. Our community loses so much with her passing, but her caring and creative legacy will endure for generations. I consider myself fortunate to have shared a memorable friendship — from laughter filled meals to Essex memories and stories — with Mary since we moved to Essex. Susan and I will forever cherish her many artworks that we’re lucky to have collected over the years.
Mary Wade, December 3, 2011 (Photo: Geo Davis)
I shared the following memory a little over a decade ago.
Mary Wade, a folk artist who lives in Willsboro but runs a seasonal gallery in Essex each summer… 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… 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! (Source: Mary Wade’s Rosslyn Rendition | Rosslyn Redux
The photograph shows three Rosslyn inspired artworks that Mary created for me in 2012 to gift my bride on Mother’s Day. The three dimensional model of Rosslyn’s boathouse is not only meticulously accurate, it’s also a birdhouse!
Mary Wade, May 11, 2012 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Among our colorful menagerie of Mary Wade artwork are a couple of favorites. A weighty stone, tumbled smooth along the shore of Lake Champlain, was transformed into a functional work of art, a paperweight and an unmistakable rendering of our boathouse as seen from the Essex ferry dock. Capturing the peak of summer in a breezy day, seagulls swooping in front of the quirky lakeside folly that enchanted us almost two decades ago (and that continues to enchant us today!)
https://www.instagram.com/p/CUFrUiZvGJl/
You can scroll to see the backside of the stone in the Instagram post above. The simple caption on the reverse of this treasure we received from Mary is especially poignant now. An evocative scene and a handwritten dedication, a bridge back to the twinkling eyes and the rich repository of Essex lore that Mary chronicled with endless energy and a hint of playful mischief.
Another personal favorite Mary Wade memento is an almost life sized representation of our Labrador retriever, Griffin. This handsome pup, painted onto a wooden cutout, was a surprise that Mary presented to us a decade ago. It stands sentry in our entrance hallway to this day, welcoming guests, and keeping an eye on Carley.
Mary Wade, May 30, 2013 (Photo: Geo Davis)
I will update this page with additional memories of Mary Wade as I come across them. For now I conclude with a brief recap of something I mentioned to Mary’s grandson, Kasey McKenna, this morning. We’re fortunate when our parents, aunts, uncles, and grandparents are able and willing to guide us and to enrich our life’s journeys. But every once in a while we happen upon a relationship outside of our family, a connection to an acquaintance that evolves into something closer to kin, perhaps a sort of intentional extended family. In this way, I can’t help but feeling as if I am saying goodbye to more than a friend today. And I am profoundly grateful for this opportunity.
“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.
“Rather than trying to coerce the house to do something new, we tried to reawaken it.” (New England Home)
In “Taking the Long View” Paula M. Bodah refers to the renovation of a Victorian house near Boston, Massachusetts in unusually anthropomorphic terms. Reawaken? Since when do houses sleep?
Despite the unfamiliar reference, Bodah’s terminology is precise, accurate and familiar. In the case of Rosslyn, reawakening is precisely how I too describe our renovation process, though I didn’t understand this at the outset.
One of the joys of homeownership lies in expressing ourselves through our surroundings… Most of us can hardly wait to put our personal stamp on our living spaces. It is, after all, part of the process of turning a house into a home. (New England Home)
While “turning a house into a home” is a topic for a future post, and although I’ve frequently joked that no detail of Rosslyn’s rehabilitation escaped our fingerprints, much attention was paid throughout to preserving the buildings’ unique heritage. My bride and I were far less preoccupied with our own personal stamp than we were with finding Rosslyn’s personal stamp, her DNA, and reawakening it to guide our renovation.
In fact, I wanted to move into Rosslyn after six months — after the most critical infrastructure had been upgraded — so that I could discover the house by living in it. I wanted to understand Rosslyn from the inside out. Remember my coffee-in-the-morning pipe dream? My bride thought I was crazy at the time, willfully opting living in a full-scale renovation project. No doubt here judgment was sound, but it turns out my instinct wasn’t so unusual after all.
The couple who bought this Boston-area Victorian [described above]… lived in their house for a full year, noting how they used the space and how the light flowed (or didn’t), thinking, planning and discussing before undertaking any serious renovating or redecorating. (New England Home)
There’s a certain intimacy, a depth of familiarity and knowledge, that is only possible when you live in a house. When you fall asleep listening to its sighs and creeks mingling with the soft breathing of your bride and dog. When you wake up and navigate your way to the bathroom in the dark in the middle of the night. When an avalanche of snow slides off the roof, startling you early in the morning. When you wake up but stay in bed with your still sleeping bride because the room’s so cold, the comforter is so warm, and you can’t imagine feeling this cozy ever again. When Griffin, your Labrador Retriever, licks your cheek and stares at you pleadingly so that you slide into your robe and slippers and shuffle down the staircase to take him outside for a crack-o-dawn potty break. When you crack a pair of eggs into a sizzling skillet next to the popping bacon and wait for the house to smell like Sunday morning. When the ferry boat landing at the nearby ferry dock vibrates the house. When you step out of the shower onto the worn floorboards. When you inhale a nostril-full of moist brick after a summer rain. When you gather family together for a celebratory meal in the dining room with the smell of crackling fire mingling with the the aroma of roast turkey and pumpkin soup…
These are the caresses and whispers that you miss when you renovate a house from without, when diagrams and computer-assisted drawings and conversations are the only firsthand contact you’ve experienced with the environment that will nurture and protect and inspire you for many years to come.
Several years of interior design school underpinned my bride’s confidence that living in a home to understand it was unnecessary, that carefully calibrated (and much debated) drawings were more than adequate to understand the best orientations for bathrooms and kitchens and beds and desks. She was comfortable forging ahead.
I was not. I wanted to touch and smell and hear Rosslyn in order to understand her. I agreed with my bride that it was critical to renovate our home according to the needs of our own lifestyle, but I wanted to ensure that we weren’t imposing our own will haphazardly onto those of the house.
Perhaps this sounds contrived? Perhaps it hints of New Age-y pseudo philosophical blather? I don’t fully disagree. But it’s an honest accounting of our differences as we plunged into Rosslyn’s renovation.
For a long time I struggled to admit to myself, much less to my bride, that I considered it arrogant to impose our dreams upon Rosslyn without first trying to understand her dreams. I was obsessed with reawakening and listening to the old house, trying to hear what she was trying to tell us.
At first we strained to hear, and then it became easier. Her stories, her dreams flowed, and before long we lost the ability to mute Rosslyn. We were inundated with her past and her hopes for the future. Before long it grew virtually impossible to distinguish between Rosslyn’s will and our own.
And so the scope of our project mushroom and the timeline extended. And mushroomed. And extended. We joked that we had been kidnapped by Rosslyn, and in a sense we had.
You’ve heard of happy hour. And maybe even beer blogging. But opossum o’clock?
Carley *Prior* to Opossum O’Clock (Photo: Geo Davis)
Earlier this evening (or late this afternoon, if you’re still jet lagging from the standard time to daylight savings time adjustment,) Carley burst into a barking frenzy. Bark, bark, bark,… Not an excited “My momma’s home!” bark. Nor an “I need to pee” bark. It was an unmistakable alarm bark.
So I extracted myself from my desk chair and headed down to the sunporch where she’s taken to snoozing, tucked between pillows on the sofa, most days lately.
But she wasn’t on the sofa. She was alert at the glass doors, pointing, hackles high. All business.
So I followed her gaze to the stonewall around the back deck where a fat opossum was waddling. Carley was incensed. Why wouldn’t I let her out? She wanted to show that overgrown rat who was boss around here!
The opossum finally made her/his way up and over the snow bank, across the driveway, and then began an ungainly exit toward the hemlock hedge. At least until Carley seemed less threatening at which point the opossum made a 90° turn to the right and began waddling down toward the bird feeders hanging under the ginkgo tree.
Opossum, Oh, Possum
What to make of these quirky characters that have become commonplace in the Adirondacks despite the fact that I never saw one in this area in the 1970s and 1980s when I was growing up. Are they even native?
I turned to ChatGPT, the chatbot causing such a stir lately, to see what light it might shed (or make up).
Yes, the opossum is native to North America. In fact, it is the only marsupial that is native to the continent. Opossums can be found throughout much of the United States and Mexico, as well as parts of Central America and Canada. They are known for their distinctive appearance, including their long snout, hairless tail, and opposable thumbs on their hind feet. Opossums are also well-known for their ability to “play dead” when threatened, which is actually a defensive mechanism called thanatosis. (Source: Source: ChatGPT)
Not 100% sure that’s all tip-top information given the rather dubious ChatGPT answer that was shared with me earlier today by David Howson. (More on that tomorrow perhaps?) Let’s see what Wikipedia contributors believe about the opossum.
Opossums (/əˈpɒsəm/) are members of the marsupial order Didelphimorphia (/daɪˌdɛlfɪˈmɔːrfiə/) endemic to the Americas. The largest order of marsupials in the Western Hemisphere, it comprises 93 species in 18 genera. Opossums originated in South America and entered North America in the Great American Interchange following the connection of North and South America.
The Virginia opossum is the only species found in the United States and Canada. It is often simply referred to as an opossum, and in North America it is commonly referred to as a possum (/ˈpɒsəm/; sometimes rendered as ‘possum in written form to indicate the dropped “o”). Possums should not be confused with the Australasian arboreal marsupials of suborder Phalangeriformes that are also called possums because of their resemblance to the Didelphimorphia. The opossum is typically a nonaggressive animal. (Source: Wikipedia)
Seems like there’s enough overlap to set us straight (and enough Australasian unclarity to invite confusion?)
Let’s turn instead to a far more reliable source, poetry.
Opossum Poem
Oh, possum, opossum,
our springtime may have come;
narcissus nudging up,
snow melting into mud.
Perhaps prehensile tail,
opposable thumbs, and
dying art theatrics
have inured you to threats.
Or perhaps you're aware
that my Labrador's barks
are booming bluster not
cause for canine concern.
But beware, snouty snoop,
that winter's not finished,
and precocious parades
hint-hinting at hubris
may well invite frigid
flashbacks, hail, blizzards, and
temperate day delays
with bites bigger than barks.
Playing Opossum
[Witnessing the curious creature investigating our deck and yard, I’m transported back to another opossum memory, this one from December 23, 2008 during our early days living at Rosslyn with Griffin, our Labrador prior to Carley.]
Saturday morning and we’re sitting in the morning room eating waffles in our bathrobes and slippers. We’ve slept in, lazed around, made breakfast, and lingered over the ritual of starting our day.
It snowed last night. Not much, but just enough to cover everything. Maybe an inch. Wet snow. Like white frosting coating everything.
Suddenly I’m aware that a critter is making its way across the front lawn toward us. Actually Griffin realized it, stood up from his bed abruptly and pointed, hair on his back standing straight up, low rumbling half barks alternating with half threatening, half excited glances at us then back at the animal. Like a huge rat. Wet from the soggy snow. Dragging itself across the grass, then across the gravel driveway, then across the grass between the driveway and the house. He was coming right toward us and Griffin was not sure whether to be protective or excited.
“An opossum,” Susan and I both said at the same time.
“I’ve never seen one here,” I said.
“Me either,” Susan said.
“Looks like he’s headed for the trash bins,” I reasoned and picked up my Blackberry from the table. “I want to go take a picture.”
“Don’t go out there.”
“Why not?”
“He could bite you. They’re mean.”
“I won’t get that close. Just a quick picture then I’ll be back in.”
The opossum had managed to pull himself up the stone step to the deck and was waddling past the sliding doors of the garbage and recycling shed toward the back deck.
I opened the door and headed outside in my bathrobe and slippers to get a closer look and a photo.
And then, as if Susan had cast a spell upon me, totally wipe out.
I fell on my back, head bouncing off the deck, limbs splayed to the from corners, bathrobe wide open, buck naked, looking up at the sky. And at a freaked out opossum literally a foot from my face, chattering his teeth menacingly.
Susan was laughing, Griffin was barking wildly inside, I was stunned, and the opossum was presiding.
At the root of Rosslyn Redux is a question. What makes a house a home?
Simple question. Less simple answer. More precisely, the answers to what makes a house a home are diverse and possibly even evolving — slowly, perpetually — as we live our lives. What defines “homeness” as a child likely differs as a young, independent adult, nesting for the first time. And our first autonomous forays into homemaking likely morph as we live through our twenties and into subsequent decades, family and lifestyle changes, etc.
Let’s start with a playful poem by Edgar Albert Guest.
Ye’ve got t’ sing an’ dance fer years, ye’ve got t’ romp an’ play,
An’ learn t’ love the things ye have by usin’ ’em each day;
[…]
Ye’ve got t’ love each brick an’ stone from cellar up t’ dome:
It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home.
— Edgar Albert Guest, “Home” (Source: Poetry Foundation)
If you haven’t read this Edgar Albert Guest poem, I recommend it. And I strongly suggest you read it out loud!
I start with Guest’s insights because they’re thoughtful despite the playful affect. They capture both the breadth and the subjectivity of answering the question, what makes a house a home? And they hint at the protean nature of this inquiry.
Love Makes a House a Home (Photo: Geo Davis)
An Evolving Recipe
Just when I think I’ve narrowed down a reliable recipe for what makes a house a home, I question it. Whether catalyzed by a conversation with another homemaker, exposure to an especially compelling or innovative home, or a eureka moment totally unrelated to “homeness” (recently, sailboat design of 35-50′ sloops), my reliable recipe is suddenly less reliable. It needs a few tweaks. I remove ingredients less essential than previously believed, and I introduce new ingredients. A teaspoon of this, an ounce of that. Season to taste…
The mercurial nature of “homeness” is not really that surprising given the subjectivity of our residential tastes, needs, means, ambitions, and limitations. The rise of a thriving van life culture in recent years offers a healthy reminder of how little is actually needed for many individuals to feel at home. And yet, the proliferation of van life blogs and social media streams celebrate the individuality and subjectivity shaping perspectives on what makes a house a home. Overlanding in a tricked out van, living aboard a wind and water washed boat, or nesting on an anchored spot of terra firma, it turns out that what makes a house a home is profoundly personal.
One of the joys of homeownership lies in expressing ourselves through our surroundings… Most of us can hardly wait to put our personal stamp on our living spaces. It is, after all, part of the process of turning a house into a home. (New England Home)
The process of transforming a house into a home — fixed or mobile — inevitably encounters elements and conditions that shape the nesting process. In other words, our will and whim are only part of the equation.
Once upon a time
this handsome old house
became our new home,
and along with it
almost two hundred
years of backstory,
lives, styles, and lifestyles…
Snipped from my short poem about repurposing Rosslyn into our home, I’m acknowledging the property’s history and preexisting conditions. It’s a nod to inputs outside of Susan and my personal needs and desires. Just as these inherited inputs can be hurdles or challenges, often they introduce character and richness, add depth and texture, and even invest an aesthetic or programmatic cohesion that might otherwise be lacking.
I’ve frequently joked that no detail of Rosslyn’s rehabilitation escaped our fingerprints, [but] much attention was paid throughout to preserving the buildings’ unique heritage. My bride and I were far less preoccupied with our own personal stamp than we were with finding Rosslyn’s personal stamp, her DNA, and reawakening it to guide our renovation. (Reawakening Rosslyn)
I suspect that there’s often an even more abstract but profoundly important force at work in making a house a home. Intersecting our needs and appetites and the preexisting conditions, there exists an ineffable consciousness, even a conviction, that we feel at home. Can it be a sanctuary where we feel safe, happy, calm, nourished, revitalized, and creative? Can the house, as our home, become an oasis nurturing the sort of life that is indispensable to our wellbeing?
House of Dreams: Gaston Bachelard (Source: The Poetics of Space)
I understand that this wonderful old, living and breathing home provides for us in innumerable ways every day. I know that Rosslyn is a house of dreams and daydreamers. And for this I am extremely grateful. (House of Dreams)
This consciousness or conviction is totally subjective and deeply personal. Clearly articulating it can prove elusive. But we recognize the feeling when we’re fortunate enough to come across it. Sometimes the pull can be so powerful that we yield despite logical and practical considerations, and even despite obvious counterindications.
We had joked about how much time and money it would take to make Rosslyn habitable, categorically dismissing it as an investment. And yet it clearly had captured our hearts. If it were our home and not a short term investment, then maybe the criteria were different. Maybe the potential was different. Maybe the risk was different. (We Could Live at Rosslyn)
Many of us have found ourselves in this push-pull between the abiding rules and paradigms we use to navigate most of our life’s decisions and the sometimes conflicting passion we feel for a potential home. Over the last decade and a half that I’ve been trying to understand “homeness” and the curious exceptions that some of us are willing to make when it comes to our homes, I’ve picked the brains of family, friends, and total strangers when opportunities arose. And sometimes when they didn’t! I’ve been struck as much by the overlaps as the distinctions. There do seem to be some almost universal notions of what makes a house a home, and yet a beautiful bounty of unique attributes are at least as important to the individuals creating (and sometimes recreating) their homes.
Personal Mementos Make a House a Home (Photo: Geo Davis)
Vox Populi, An Introduction
Rather than pretending I’ve distilled the perfect formula, I’m going to showcase a relatively random but recent collection of perspectives and opinions gathered from family, close friends, and several contributors to our current projects. That’s right, I’m going to sidestep the tempting trap of defining what makes a house a home in lieu of broadening and diversifying consideration. Or, put differently, I’ll bypass my own bias by crowdsourcing the question.
I reached out a few days ago to a couple people with whom I’ve discussed this topic before. I asked them all some version of the following.
I have a quick challenge-type-question for you. I’m drafting a blog post about “homeness”, and I’ve reached out to a handful of people that I think might offer interesting perspectives. If you have 30 seconds, I’d love to include your thoughts. If not, no worries. No deep thinking. No fancy answers. No pressure. Just a spontaneous, off-the-cuff, candid response to the question: what does it mean to make a house a home? In other words, what transforms a house into a home?
I was so enthralled with the first few responses that I decided to postpone the post in order to solicit even more perspectives. What follows is a fascinating array of responses, starting with several collaborators on Rosslyn’s icehouse project (Tiho, architecture; Hroth and Eric, construction/carpentry; and Pam, project/property management) and Mike, a carpenter who works for us in Santa Fe (as does Hroth, although we’ve been fortunate to have his expertise at Rosslyn as well since July.)
Tiho Dimitrov: What makes a house a home? For me, it’s my books, my guitars, and the odd pieces of art that I own. It’s the art and the books that bring a sense of me or a sense of my spirit. Combine that with the smell of freshly brewed coffee, and you have a home. It’s the imperfections of a place that make it perfect.
Hroth Ottosen: Off the top of my head the difference between a house and a home would be family. But that doesn’t apply to my life. My circumstances are extremely exceptional. I consider my house in Mora, New Mexico my home because I built it from scratch without much help from anybody, and to my own specifications and desires. Not many people can say that. (Later…) While making dinner I thought about what makes a house a home. A name doesn’t hurt. I consider Rosslyn my home right now!
Eric Crowningshield: Home is the place where I feel proud and comfortable being! I joke around saying we are the dream makers because we try to take homeowners’ dreams and turn them into a reality!
Pamuela Murphy: A house is a house, but a home is where the love is. It takes love, hard work, and teamwork to make a house a home.
Mike Hall: To me it it means cozy and comfortable and someone to share that with. This popped into my head because my wife and I are at the Bosque del Apache celebrating our 31 anniversary!
Homegrown Food Makes a House a Home (Photo: Geo Davis)
My next pollees are family members, starting with my beautiful bride (Susan), then on to my parents (Melissa and Gordon), one of my nieces (Frances), one of my nephews (Christoph), and my cousin (Lucy).
Susan Bacot-Davis: It’s easy to see Rosslyn as my home. We’ve invested sixteen years of our life reimagining, renovating, and sharing her. But I learned in Côte d’Ivoire where I lived in 1989 and 1990 that home can be a place very foreign to me. I came to my village wondering how I would ever be comfortable there. I departed almost a year later wondering how I could ever bear to leave. It was my neighbors, my friends and colleagues, my community, and my sense of belonging within that community, not the concrete hut within which I dwelled, that embraced me and made me feel safe and nurtured.
Melissa Davis: I’d say home needs comfortable spaces for you to do the things that you like to do. That means you need to know what those things are! So I need a place to sit and write, draw, type, pay bills, and address Christmas cards. And I need a place for the related “stuff”. And homeness means music in the places I do my activities as well as space to actually do the activities (room for yoga mat, comfortable chair/bed to read paper and books, do crossword puzzles, and drink coffee). House becomes home with enough outdoor space to grow something to eat! Eventually a home has memories throughout it which solidifies its homeness, and that requires people who are important to us.
Gordon Davis: Takes a heap a livin’ to make a house a home. And snacks.
Frances Davis: What makes a house a home in my mind is the few mementos that hold special memories or are sentimental for any reason, which we bring with us to each new place we live in. For example, random mugs collected over the years, or certain books, or even a sweater that we wore after high school grad. Whatever they are, these items carry significance in our hearts and bring our past into whatever new building we’re in to make it our home.
Christoph Aigner: Home is a place that draws people in, a space that makes one feel comfortable and at peace. It is familiar to those who call it home, and it reflects a person’s or family’s values and the life they live.
Lucy Haynes: Bringing the outdoors in – branches, plants. Living things. Also – antiques and pieces that have been used. And enjoyed.
On to friends, diverse personalities with whom we’ve fortunately become acquainted across the years.
Kevin Raines: The word home has it’s roots in the old English word ‘ham’ and means a place where souls are gathered. I like that idea because as a house is lived in it grows rich in memories that welcome and enrich the inhabitants and guests who frequent the structure. Through the gathering of souls space becomes an extension of self, past, present, and into the future.
Lisa Fisher: Home is not the house where you live but your relationship to it. If within the space you feel comfortable, yourself. To be “at home” is to have a sense of belonging — to a place, to the world you have made within it. I think it was Heidegger who came up with the notion of individual worlds, meaning the stuff we surround ourselves with, including ideas and beliefs, but also our physical realm. Homenesss speaks to the human element of habitation: the inhabiting of a space.
Alexander Davit: The stories that are created while people are living there.
Miriam Klipper: House is the structure. A home is all the things you’ve put in it — including memories. By the way, memories include selecting every painting, carpet (remember our visit in Turkey?), crafting the most beautiful house, every perfect detail…
Amy Guglielmo: What makes a house a home? For me it’s comfort and color! Soft natural textures, local art and touches. Softness, coziness, calmness. Always views for us. Aspirational space to dream. And accessibility to community. Beach, pool, recreation. Close proximity to nature. We’re wrapping up designing our new home in Ixtapa, Mexico, and we’re only missing books and games at this point. But I think we nailed the rest!
Roger Newton: Love.
Jennifer Isaacson: Surrounding yourself with things/objects that hold a history and meaning to you.
Lee Maxey: What transforms a house into a home… One word “life”. Living things, people, animals, plants, and any items that support or enhance life. Cooking implements, cozy blankets, music, well read books on a bookshelf, and signs of soul. Today is the 2nd anniversary of my mom’s passing. I have just spent a couple hours going through photos and crying and writing in my journal. One of the things I miss most are the smells. Our smells make a house our home.
Denise Wilson Davis: For me, simply, what makes a house a home is the feeling that love resides there. That, as an owner you’ve put love into it… from the care and fixing to the furnishings and found objects that bring joy or remembrance. Home is an intimacy — a reflection of your heart and creative soul — that welcomes guests and makes them comfortable.
David Howson: This is similar to the saying, “at home”. When one feels “at home”, they mean they feel a certain kind of comfort and peace. One wouldn’t say, I feel “at house”. I fondly remember the first night I stayed at Rosslyn. While it wasn’t my house, you and Susan certainly made me feel “at home”.
Ana June: I think of home as curated and designed. It is a space where your heart is visible in your environment.
I’m profoundly grateful to everyone who offered their quick thoughts. And I was warmly surprised by how many wanted to expand the exchange into a lengthier conversation. So many intriguing notions of “homeness” and personal perspectives on what uniquely distinguish their own living space. Often relationships, shared experiences, and love wove their way into our discussions. I’ve abbreviated this post, and yet I realize that I’d like to dive in a little deeper with many of those I’ve quoted here. With luck I’ll revisit again in the near future.
Pets Make a House a Home: Griffin, April 16, 2012 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Until then, I’d like to weave in one additional thread that I personally consider an indispensable component of our home. Pets.
While Susan is the beating heart around which our small nuclear family orbits, we’ve never been without a dog for more than a few months. For us family and home are intrinsically connected with Tasha, Griffin, and Carley. Although Tasha and Griffin are chasing balls in the Elysian Fields, they remain with us, surfacing every day in our memories and conversations. They’ve left their imprints in the ways we live and play and entertain and in the way that we raise our current Labrador Retriever, Carley. On occasions when our little threesome is temporarily divided, for example this past October while I was away in California while Susan and Carley were in Santa Fe for a couple of weeks, our home felt incomplete. Despite good adventures with good people, Susan and I both acknowledged the voids we were feeling. Our home was temporarily divided. Returning to my bride and my dog instantly made me feel complete once again. So, for us, an important part of what makes a house a home is all of the beings — human and not-so-human (although our dogs differ on the distinction!) —that inhabit and visit our dwelling.
Early Autumn? The weather Channel tells the story…
Autumn appears to be coming early this year. For at least a week nights have been dropping into the chilly 50s. And this morning I see that temperatures slid even lower.
Perhaps this is normal? Yet it doesn’t seem normal. The 40s in mid August? In Essex, New York? On the shores of Lake Champlain which usually acts as a “heat sink” effectively extending our warm season?
Early Autumn’s Reminder
Early Autumn? The thermometer outside my bedroom verifies the chilly story…
Whether or not early autumn is here to stay, it’s serving as a reminder. Get out and enjoy the temperate weather before it’s gone. Today and tomorrow promise to be sunny and warm, perfect days for cycling and hiking and gardening. Perhaps even windsurfing? Or wake surfing? Hopefully one or the other!
And there’s another goal I’ve set but neglected for several years. I’d like to make a habit of working in the boathouse for a few hours away from my study, my desk, my piles and files. No better time than the present. No better motivator than a crisp, early autumn morning when I can faintly see my breath in the sir as Griffin sniffs around the yard. Soon it will be too cold to work in the boathouse. Soon…
Anticipating Autumn
Of course, early autumn whispers aren’t all “Caution!” and “Carpe diem…” After all, Adirondack autumns might well be the finest time of the year. The harvest reaches its peak. The hiking and biking are unquestionably superior to all other times of the year. Photography. Sunsets. Sailing. Fly fishing. Fall foliage. The day the ginkgo leaves shower down…
In short, August’s recent summer lullaby marks both a bittersweet ending and a joyful beginning. It’s a time to savor summer’s delicacies and anticipate autumn adventures ahead. I think I’ll call a chum and bum a sail!
Griffin Considers Winter Solstice: December 22, 2013 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Welcome to day one of the Adirondack Coast‘s coldest season. Today is the winter solstice, the first official day of winter, and — more importantly for the likes of my mother and others who favor longer days and shorter nights — the threshold between the briefest day and the most prolonged night and imperceptibly-but-steadily lengthening daylight. If you live in the North Country it seems peculiar that winter should only have just begun given several weeks of wintery weather. Seasonality, in these parts, might suggest a slightly earlier autumn-to-winter transition, closer to Thanksgiving than to Christmas.
But the choice is ours to remark and not to make, so we soberly observe this hibernal milestone with tempered optimism that sunnier days await us on the other side. And, for the astronomically exuberant, it’s time to celebrate. Cheers!
If you’re longing for more sunlight, Wednesday is a day to celebrate: Dec. 21 is the winter solstice, the shortest day and longest night of the year — and first day of astronomical winter — in the Northern Hemisphere. It’s a sign that longer, brighter days are upon us. (Source: Justin Grieser, “First day of winter: Shortest day, longest night on December 21 solstice“, The Washington Post, December 21, 2022)
But, as with most tidy transitions, this threshold isn’t actually so tidy. Winter solstice may mark the shortest day and the longest night of the year, but the sunrise and sunset equation is slightly more muddled.
The bottom line: mornings will get a bit darker until early January, but we’ve already gained a few minutes of evening light. On balance, daylight will start to increase after Dec. 21, even as winter’s coldest days still lie ahead. (Source: Justin Grieser, “First day of winter: Shortest day, longest night on December 21 solstice“, The Washington Post, December 21, 2022)
So let’s focus on the lengthening days. And, if those increasingly cold days ahead bring snow, then let’s focus on that as well. After all, winter — proper, snowy winter — is one of our four favorite seasons of the year at Rosslyn! It’s a time for dog adventures, cross-country skiing, snowshoeing, alpine and telemark skiing, bird feeders flush with avian wildlife, and that unique flavor or crystal clarity that only a subzero morning can catalyze.
Winter Solstice & Onward: December 21, 2022 (Image: Dark Sky)
And speaking of colder days ahead, this screenshot from Dark Sky appears to corroborate the generalization, albeit with a curious exception on Friday. Winter is here, and it looks probably that we’ll be able to enjoy a white Christmas (unless Friday’s warm weather melts the existing snow and delivers rain instead.)
In closing, note that the handsome Labrador retriever atop this post is not Carley, our current dog, but Griffin, a prior pal-o-mine. We lost him just over two years ago, and the ache hasn’t subsided. Maybe with longer, colder days ahead…
Merry Christmas from the three of us — Susan, Carley, and yours truly — to you and yours. Today’s a time for family and friends and maybe a few memories. So, instead of waxing wordy, let’s celebrate the Christmas spirit with a few memories of Rosslyn past.
Christmas Spirit 2012 (Photo: Geo Davis)
These first two snapshots are from 2012, a decade ago according to the calendar, but yesterday in every other way. I enjoy the quirky sense of balance, symmetry even, in that photograph above. Three stockings beneath the three charcoal figure drawn it’s by Susan’s cousin, Rafael. A coincidence, if you believe me, but a decidedly agreeable one.
Griffin embodied the Christmas spirit, eager to unwrap gifts, shred wrapping paper, sit confidently by as Christmas treats were enjoyed (all his DNA-driven retriever skills focused on falling crumbs), wearing goofy elf caps or antlers to please Susan, or just sitting by the tree at night watching the lights twinkling. Although two years since we lost him, Griffin is still very much with us this time of year.
Susan decorating, Christmas 2013 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Christmas is enriched and savored as much in preparation and anticipation as the actual day of celebration. And there’s nothing finer way to cultivate the Christmas spirit than finding and decorating a Christmas tree, listening to Christmas carols, and reminiscing and pipe dreaming together.
Christmas 2014 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Camouflaged in that evergreen darkness above is a silver silhouette with Susan’s name inscribed, a reminder of the first Christmas we celebrated together in Santa Fe, a looong way from Rosslyn in so many ways.
Christmas 2015 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Back in Essex in 2015! So much of the Christmas spirit is tangled up in our childhood associations, nostalgia, maybe even sentimental souvenirs like timeworn ornaments that have passed from generation to generation. In our family, two of those slightly unusual Christmas traditions are Christmas crackers during the big meal and corn cakes and Turkey gravy as a follow-up to the big meal. But more on those later…
Upcountry Christmas Spirit
I can’t resist wrapping up today’s holiday post with Heather and Lee Maxey’s “Christmas in Essex” mashup. As Mr. and Mrs. Clause they infused our annual town wide festivities with their own unique enthusiasm and Christmas spirit. And that quirky green “sleigh” is a perfectly delightful afterward to the John Deere “truckling” story.
Clauses Celebrate Christmas in Essex (Credit: Heather & Lee Maxey)
Thank you, Lee and Heather. And to all, a merry Christmas!
[pullquote]Griffin “polar bear plunges” in 35° Lake Champlain… mid-winter swimming bliss![/pullquote]
Griffin, our now almost nine year old Labrador Retriever, was thrilled with to chase some throw-toys in the chilly lake today despite the fact that it’s February 19 and the water temperature is exactly three days above freezing… 35° of mid-winter swimming bliss!
Here’s a fuzzy but joyful glimpse into one of about a dozen of Griffin’s “polar bear plunges”.
We just returned to Essex and were quite excited about the recent snowfall. Last year’s virtually snowless winter was a bummer. No skiing in winter followed by alarmingly low lake levels due to unusually low levels of spring melt and runoff. Up until the last couple of weeks this winter has been similarly snow-free, so having a chance to spend the morning cross country skiing around Rosslyn’s woods, trails, and meadows with my bride and dog was a welcome change. And the perfect warm-up for Griffin’s February swim…
