Tag: Hallway

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
Daybreak

Daybreak: Lake Champlain sunrise through “wavy glass” in late August, summertime slipping through the hourglass. (Source: Geo Davis)

Since my earliest Rosslyn intrigue, wondering if the house and property might one day become a home for us, daybreak was my fixation. Perhaps it was just my lifelong affinity for early morning. As an early riser dawn has long been my favorite time of time, a world of possibility… Perhaps it was just curiosity what Rosslyn would feel like, look like, wandering room-to-room early in the morning. Although the front hallway was still in decidedly unfinished condition when we first visited, I imagined the walls painted a pale yellow, transporting the sunrise inside, warming the house with the brightening day.

Daybreak Discernment

This summer has been marked with singularly spectacular sunrises (and sunsets), and I’ve written much and often about these liminal states. This morning, however, catching sight of daybreak through wavy glass in the front parlor, I was struck concurrently with two thoughts.

The wave-rippled surface of Lake Champlain was refracting dawn’s beacon, distorting the beam of fiery orange sunlight into a row of burning “puddles” that wavy glass in the parlor windows was further altering into a dancing mirage. Searing reality transformed into a optical illusion. I was reminded that Rosslyn has often altered my way of seeing and experiencing.

These summer days are filtering faster and faster from anticipation to happening to memories. Just as the fleeting illusion of fiery puddles or bonfires or — pushing possibility to it’s breaking point — fiery cairns guided my eye to the rising sun, wobbling up out of Vermont’s Green Mountains like some hallucination, almost as quickly mellowing to a buttery yellow before vanishing altogether in the cloud bank above, just as quickly this summer is reaching its conclusion.

And these bittersweet realizations, as if coupling and procreating, gave birth to a daybreak haiku.

Daybreak Haiku

Daybreak inside out,
sunrise sublime, august hours
tick-tock-ing away.
— @rosslynredux

A window view early on a Sunday morning. A blazing daybreak. Wavy lake and wavy glass. Near, familiar silhouettes framing a veritable mirage. Dawn within. Dawn without.

August 21, 2022
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.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by (@rosslynredux)

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
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
Fox & Squirrel

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h8vmPSvUNps]

When I was in middle school my parents moved our family from a circa 1876 manse in Wadhams that they’d restored gradually over a decade, to a new home tucked into a tree-lined meadow near Lake Champlain.

Formerly part of the Higginson farm, the homeowners association comprised a little over a half dozen camps and homes tucked between Rock Harbor and the Split Rock Wilderness Area. During the next two years before I headed off to boarding school this wild wonderland dished up a daily buffet of adventures.

Recently I’ve been remembering the spring that we discovered foxes. Or the foxes discovered us. In the spring of 1985 a pair of red foxes got themselves in the family way and unwittingly lured my brother, sister and me into a full-scale Vulpes vulpes obsession.

Red Fox Kits (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I don’t remember now if there were two or three fox kits, but I do remember that their mother would let them play around the house while she hunted for mice or freshened up the den or got her hair done or whatever it is that vixens do when they get a little time to themselves.

The kits played and wrestled and chased butterflies and explored while we studied their every move, first from the windows and then from the open front door and then from the steps of the front stoop.

Day by day they became more comfortable with us, and day by day my brother and sister and I grew more entranced. At first the kits were skittish but they gradually grew more comfortable with us. They tousled and nipped at each other in the sunshine a mere 6 to 10 feet away. As we became more and more obsessed with the idea of diminishing the distance between ourselves and the foxes, they too became curious about us. They watched us and came closer to sniff and inspect.

I was 13 at the time, the eldest of my siblings, and I probably should have spent more time considering the dangers of interacting with wild animals, but I didn’t. I’d abandoned prudence and reason. The beauty and playful nature of the rapidly growing kits had swept me up, eclipsing any common sense I might have possessed.

Red Fox cubs. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

No doubt it was my idea to see if we could entice the young foxes into the house. Little by little the kits followed the trail of snacks placed on the steps, on the landing, on the threshold, in the hallway… We gradually lured the young foxes into the kitchen where they sniffed briefly, nibbled the snacks and headed back outside. We were elated.

In hindsight, there was no meaningful reason to entice the foxes inside except curiosity. And challenge. And the almost primal thrill of interacting with beautiful, wild creatures.

I’m not quite sure how we managed this without my parents realizing what was going on. Perhaps it was early on weekend mornings. I don’t know, but somehow we managed over several weeks to overcome the foxes’ sense of caution and prudence. And then the adventure ended. I’d like to think we wised up, realized the danger of befriending the kits, the danger of having their mother return when the kits were inside. But probably my parents discovered our misguided obsession and abbreviated the adventure.

The memories flooded back this winter because that handsome (if somewhat short-legged) fox in the video clip above became a frequent Rosslyn visitor. Perhaps affected by the virtually snow-less conditions or more likely by my bride’s enthusiastic bird and squirrel feeding regimen, the fox made daily — and sometimes twice daily — tours of our front lawn. I was usually the one to spot him early in the morning while feeding Griffin breakfast, though Griffin’s attentive window watching served as a reliable early notification system.

Fox hunting for mid-morning snack. (Photo credit: virtualDavis)

It turns out that plump, well-fed squirrels are not only a tasty breakfast for a fox but they are also easy prey, unable to skitter up the ginkgo tree as quickly as necessary to escape the hungry hunter.

Despite the emotionally disturbing reality of observing any predator-prey showdown, the foxes cunning and efficiency intrigued me in the way the playful kits had more than a quarter century ago. I’ll save details for another time as I know that my bride suffers these descriptions. She’s informed my on multiple occasions that our yard is a safe haven for wildlife, which is a laudable decision, but difficult to enforce. So far we’ve failed to communicate the message to the foxes and hawks… Any suggestions?

April 26, 2012