I missed out on the fireworks last night. And the night before. And tonight I’ll be missing them yet again. On balance, some years we’re able to enjoy them on multiple nights because we celebrate the first, second, third, and Fourth of July in our neck of the woods. Or, as my late father-in-law used to say about his own birthday, we celebrate a birthday season. Why celebrate Independence Day when we can extend America’s birthday to Independence Days?!
So, fireworks or not, I’d like to offer up a few mementos on Independence Days past. The photographs in this post were snapped between 2010 and 2016, making the most recent seven years old. It hardly seems possible! And yet the rituals remain largely unchanged, year-after-year, and that, my friends, is no not a negligible part of the charm.
Independence Day 2011 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Independence Day Fireworks
Although I may have missed the fireworks this year, here are a few reminders of booms and blasts, pyrotechnic palm trees and paisleys, aerial blooms from 2011 and 2016.
Independence Day 2011 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Photographed — in all three cases, as I recall — from the lower deck at the Westport Yacht Club, these iPhone images are at best fuzzy fill-ins for the razzle-dazzle of my memory.
Independence Day 2016 (Photo: Geo Davis)
In this third photograph, a cluster of lights just below the black silhouetted horizon, is the Westport Marina. As a dock boy in the 1980s and 1990s, I remember looking toward the “old public beach“ as colorful mortars were launched in short succession, provoking ooohs and aaahs from boaters and Galley guests.
Independence Day Parade
Although the pomp and circumstance of Independence Day fireworks are inevitably the most dramatic symbol of our nation’s birthday commemoration, the every-other-year Essex parade is almost as popular.
Independence Day 2010 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Fortunately for us, the parade passes directly in front of Rosslyn, affording us front row seats.
Independence Day 2010 (Photo: Geo Davis)
From boats and floats to horses and horsepower, it’s always fun to observe the pageantry.
Independence Day 2010 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Classic cars, tractors, and even an occasional unicycle roll past, tossing candy and tooting horns.
Independence Day 2013 (Photo: Geo Davis)
As I flip through photographs, comparing the years, in struck by how often the same vehicles and the same smiling faces are present.
Independence Day 2013 (Photo: Geo Davis)
And it’s not just muscle cars and nostalgic jalopies that commemorate the birth of our nation. Veterans remind us that the tribute we observe is and was a a patriotic path from nascent democracy to global superpower.
Independence Day 2013 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Gravitas notwithstanding, handsome vehicles like the one below, offer a wistful bridge to times of yore.
Independence Day 2016 (Photo: Geo Davis)
To everyone who organized and participated in our 2023 Independence Day festivities, thank you. It’s a privilege to witness the enthusiasm and merriment each July 4th. And July 3rd. And July 2nd. And July 1st… Happy Independence Day!
Happy Easter to you from the Adirondack Coast where our seasonalreawakening is picking up pace with each passing day. And since spring is synonymous with the reemergence of vibrant lizard-like amphibians — most notably the red eft and the yellow-spotted salamander — it feels appropriate to substitute creatively died Easter eggs for a watercolor tribute to these brilliant wild neighbors brightening our day with their own unique Easter color if we take the time to observe them.
Easter Color: Red Eft & Yellow-Spotted Salamander
If you do any hiking or biking in our area this time of year, you’re quite likely to come across fluorescent orange-red salamanders making their way across roads and trails. Although most of us refer to them as red efts, they are actually adolescent eastern newts.
The eastern newt (Notophthalmus viridescens) is a common newt of eastern North America. It frequents small lakes, ponds, and streams or nearby wet forests… The striking bright orange juvenile stage, which is land-dwelling, is known as a red eft. –Wikipedia
I assist them across roadways during my bike rides to ensure that they don’t meet an untimely end in transit from shoulder to shoulder.
Dissimilar in appearance but similarly vibrant in Easter color and pattern, the yellow-spotted salamander is another startlingly, beautiful amphibian that you just might spot on a damp afternoon.
The spotted salamander or yellow-spotted salamander (Ambystoma maculatum) is a mole salamander common in eastern United States and Canada. –Wikipedia
So, in lieu of an Easter egg hunt I bid you a happy, healthy holiday (with a basket full of good fortune in your wildlife wanderings.) I hope you spot some Easter color, whether salamanders or otherwise!
Welcome to spring! It’s currently 43° at Rosslyn, on target to hit 46° shortly. Sun is out. Snow is melting. Bulbs are bursting. So many remarkable signs and suggestions that the vernal equinox may indeed have marked the transition from winter to spring (daffodils and daylilies perking up, an auspicious sunset cloud formation, a handsome Barred Owl encounter,…)
Let’s start out with our just-passed solar equinox and then work our way toward the Barred Owl (Strix varia) and some celestial special effects from Susan’s end-of-day walk with Denise.
Vernal Equinox: Rosslyn Sundown (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Vernal Equinox-ish
In 2023, the official first day of spring is Monday, March 20. This date marks the “spring equinox” in the Northern Hemisphere… at 5:24 P.M. EDT. This… is the astronomical beginning of the spring season in the Northern Hemisphere… (Source: The Old Farmer’s Almanac)
That was yesterday. In fact, this post was intended to be published yesterday. On time. Relevant. But, sometimes searching for poetry preempts timely updates. Sorry.
Despite the fact that today’s post is slightly out of sync with the astronomical calendar, I couldn’t resist the chance to subtly revise yesterday’s draft and share it anyway. There was simply too much resonance. Yes, I’m biased. But after yesterday’s candid peak into Rosslyn’s artifact-packed carriage barn (and into my mental morass where architectural salvage, historic rehabilitation, poetic introspection, and memoiresque storytelling commingle) it felt, well, almost logical. Bear with me? I find that spring’s arrival rarely follows a predictable schedule. Each year unique. And, in spite of the heathen thrill that comes with romancing celestial and meteorological rituals, it would appear that the vernal equinox is merely a symbolic approximation of springtime.
An equinox occurs twice a year, around 20 March and 22 September. The word itself has several related definitions. The oldest meaning is the day when daytime and night are of approximately equal duration. (Wikipedia)
I excerpted the tidy part, eliminating the inevitable diatribe about day and night not really being the same length. A debate for another blogger. I love rituals, even when they’re easily scoffed. Here’s a flip riff by Phil Plait (@BadAstronomer) if you’d like a quick scoff before we romance the vernal equinox.
Today is the vernal equinox, what a lot of folks think of as the first day of spring (though given the forecast, people on the U.S. East Coast can be forgiven if they’re rolling their eyes at that thought, assuming their eyeballs aren’t frozen to their eyelids). (Slate)
The omnipresent smell of mud hints at spring’s earth entrance, and that’s good enough for me. No. More. Snow. Please!
Tony and I were returning from the forest beyond Library Brook where we’d been blazing the next meander in Rosslyn’s ongoing trail building initiative. The brook was swollen and running wild. The trees were a-chatter with avian neighbors and squirrels riffing raucous against the riparian chorus. It felt like a page out of Dylan Thomas. And then Tony spied the owl.
“Do you see it?” he hoarse-whispered, pointing up into the trees.
I didn’t. He guided my gaze. But I couldn’t identify the big blob on a branch. Wrong sunglasses.
“It’s an owl,” he said
We walked closer. I fumbled with my phone, launch the camera app, zoomed in as far as I could, snapped a couple of images. We kept walking. The owl swooped away, an immense span of plumage, arcing through trees and branches powerfully, gracefully without brushing a twig.
Disinclined by temperament to observe overt omens and symbolism in the world around me, I’m nonetheless receptive to the “singing underneath”. Sometimes life rhymes. I try to exercise humility and wonder in these moments. I endeavor to hear and observe and sometimes to record the poetry that presents itself. I’ll leave conclusions to others. For me, for now, questions are plenty.
Vernal Equinox: Day Lilies Reawakening (Photo: Geo Davis)
Daylilies
With snow, still covering much of the ground, bulbs are bursting up, unwilling or unable to wait. The earthy array above are day lilies, among the thousands of green shoots reaching skyward below the stonewall that divides our lower lawn from upper lawn.
Perhaps overly precocious sprouts. I’d venture a guess that some more freezing nights, possibly even some more snow might challenge these daylilies. And yet, as in all previous years, they will flourish, foliage thickening, stout stems reaching somewhere between knee and waist by Independence Day when they’ll explode in joyful orange blooms. They will. And yet I can’t help wondering if they’re premature?
Vernal Equinox: Cloud Theatre I (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Sundown Skies
As if conjuring orange blooms is contagious, the day’s spring preview weather concluded with a dash of colorful drama and cloud theatre extraordinaire.
Taken by Susan while winding down the day with Denise and Carley, ambling Blockhouse Road, likely lost in conversation. Phone photography sure has come a long way!
Vernal Equinox: Cloud Theatre II (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
So beguiling and mysterious is that second cloud theatre image that I’m sharing a tighter, second perspective.
Vernal Equinox: Cloud Theatre III (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Welcome back, springtime. What wonders do you have in store?
With Saint Patrick’s Day upon us it strikes me as the perfect opportunity to update my venison green chile stew recipe with new stick-to-your-ribs dish that I prepared for friends last weekend. Why? Is today’s recipe Irish-influenced? Slow cooked in Guinness Stout? Neither! And the flavor profile is decidedly southwestern, not Irish. But how many opportunities are there to trot out an exceedingly *green* stew? And what better booze-buffer than Elk Green Chile Stew?!
Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Here’s how I introduced my venison green chili stew (aka “green chili stew”) recipe back February 25, 2014.
This time of year, green chile stew is an ideal core-warning, vitamin rich comfort food. If you’re only familiar with red chile, it’s time to try something new. The flavor is totally different, and you just might change your chile preferences. (Source: Venison Green Chile Stew)
My 25+ year connection to Santa Fe underpins a hankering for green chile stew whenever conditions call for comfort food. This St. Patrick’s Day — cold and blustery with intermittent rain and a surplus of snow, slush, ice, and mid — is precisely when I crave a steaming bowl! Fortunately, I had just enough leftover to sate my appetite. The recipe below, like all stars really, gets better each day!
Hatch Green Chile (Photo: Geo Davis)
Elk Green Chile Stew Recipe
Consider the following recipe a rough guide, not a set of rules. (Ditto for all recipes, mine or otherwise!)
Ingredients
4 tbsp. olive oil
3 medium/large onions, diced
6 garlic cloves, minced
3 lbs. elk, ground
16 fl. oz. chicken or beef stock
2-4 bay leaves
4-6 cups green chiles, fire roasted/peeled/chopped
4-5 medium potatoes, chopped
salt and pepper
Preparation
[I prepared this elk green chile stew recipe in an Instant Pot pressure cooker, but these directions can be adapted to crock and range cooking.]
Heat olive oil in pressure cooker with lid off on low sauté setting. Add onions and garlic, stirring over low heat until the onions become soft and translucent. Add venison, and break up any large lumps of meat. Continue stirring and heating until ground meat is fully cooked and mixed with onions and garlic. Add remaining ingredients (except salt and pepper) and mix thoroughly. Secure pressure cooker lid, and cook under high pressure for 20 minutes. Allow pressure to release slowly, and change to slow cooker mode. Set temperature and timer for three hours (high) or five hours (low). Stir and check for adequate moisture from time to time. Salt and pepper to taste. Enjoy!
Beck & Bulow Elk for Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Saint Patrick’s Day Stew
Let’s dedicate this special Saint Patrick’s day twist on traditional, New Mexican green chili stew to the legendary Irish elk (Megaloceros giganteus). Sadly, no longer with us, this handsome specimen seems an appropriate subject of celebration on this holiday. I have relied upon a unique Santa Fe butcher, Beck & Bulow, to source this 100% free range grass fed and grass finished ground elk that was quickly and conveniently shipped to me in Essex.
I should also mention that the Hatch green chile in the photograph above also originates in New Mexico. Although canned and jarred roasted green chile wouldn’t be our first choice if we were in Santa Fe right now, it certainly is convenient when we’re on the Adirondack Coast.
Here are some snapshots from my preparation of the ultimate Saint Patrick’s Day feast: elk green chile stew. Bon appétit. Buen provecho. Bain sult as do bhia. (Apparently Irish…)
Warming Olive Oil for Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Onions for Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Chopped Onions for Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Garlic for Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Garlic for Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Chop Garlic for Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Sautéing Chopped Onions for Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Beck & Bulow Elk for Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Sautéing Elk for Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Potatoes for Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Add Chopped Potatoes to Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Add Chopped Potatoes to Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Dried Bay Leaves for Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Add Bay Leaves to Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Hatch Green Chile for Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Add Green Chile! (Photo: Geo Davis)
Add Chicken Broth to Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
What wintery wonders shall I share with you today? How about a celebration (and showcase) of upcycled Christmas gifts dreamed into existence by three allstar members of our icehouse rehab team?
Upcycled Christmas Gifts from Pam, Hroth, and Tony (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
[pullquote]These upcycled Christmas gifts are a product and symbol of renewal.[/pullquote]
I talk and I type, but these three creative characters have reimagined and reinvented deconstruction debris into functional art and decor. They transformed a piece of old garapa decking and a handful of icehouse artifacts (uncovered during laborious hand excavation for the new foundation) into a handsome coatrack, and they transformed a gnarled piece of rusty steel back into a museum-worthy ice hook that turns the clock back 100+ years.
Let’s start with the photograph at the top of this post which Pam accompanied with the following note of explanation.
Hroth, Tony and I wanted to wish you both a very Merry Christmas. We came up with the idea to make a coat rack out of repurposed items. The wood is old garapa. I found the spikes in the icehouse during inventory and the hook was also discovered in the icehouse during excavation for the concrete floor/footers. Hroth custom made a handle for the ice hook. We also wanted to add a new hummingbird feeder to the garden outside of the breakfast area. Merry Christmas! — Pamuela Murphy
Perfection! Garapa upcycled from Rosslyn’s 2008-9 deck build and miscellaneous ice hauling artifacts reconciled and reborn as a new coat rack that will greet icehouse visitors upon entering the miniature foyer, and a restored antique ice hook that will be displayed prominently in the main room. Bravo, team.
Upcycled Christmas Gifts from Pam, Hroth, and Tony (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
I was curious how Hroth had fabricated the garapa handle for the ice hook out of old decking boards. It’s so round/cylindrical that it looks as if he’d used a lathe.
Two pieces of garapa laminated together. Started out about a 16 inch because it was easier to run through the table saw. I made an octagon out of it on the table saw, then used the big belt sander… I roughed it up a little bit. Didn’t want it to look too perfect. Then Pam suggested that we take a propane torch to it. Made it look older.
It was a fun project. I still need to seal the wood and the metal. Penetrating sealer works well on metal. It’s sharp… We were thinking you might want to put some corks on the ends… or garapa balls. That was the first thing I thought of. We can certainly do that. — Ottosen Hroth
Carving tiny garapa orbs to install on the spikes strikes me as the perfect way to complete the coat rack so that jackets can be hung without getting spikes. It’ll be a difficult-but-intriguing challenge! There must be some technique for creating a small wooden sphere out of a block of wood. Hhhmmm…
I can’t imagine more perfect Christmas gifts. Their collaboration has rendered layers of Rosslyn history — from the late 1800s and early 1900s when the icehouse was in use, through 2008 when we built the deck that yielded this garapa, to 2022 when the old deck was deconstructed and the icehouse rehabilitation was initiated — into timeless beauty that will adorn the icehouse when it is introduced/revealed next summer. These upcycled Christmas gifts are a product and symbol of renewal. Our gratitude is exceeded only by Hroth’s, Pam’s, and Tony’s collaborative accomplishment.
Upcycled Christmas Gifts (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Upcycled Christmas Gifts (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Upcycled Christmas Gift 2022: antique ice hook with handmade handle (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
The flip-through gallery above offers a few more details, and all three (as the two featured photographs above) are documented inside the icehouse with mid-construction backdrops: old studs with new spray foam insulation and new subfloor ready for interior framing and hardwood flooring. It’s tempting to offer tidier or even fancier backdrops, but authenticity prevails. Future decor created from old materials, documented midstream the icehouse’s transformation. Future, past, and present. Concurrent history and hope, a timeless present, an artistic representation of this liminal moment.
Backstory to Upcycled Christmas Gifts
Susan and my gratitude to Pam, Hroth, and Tony is (and obviously should be) the focus of today’s Rosslyn Redux installment, but I can’t conclude without first considering a slightly more amplified retrospective, the backstory, if you will, to the new coat rack and restored ice hook.
Let’s start by rewinding the timeline to 2008-9. Building the new deck and installing garapa decking was the proverbial caboose in a virtually endless train of construction that started in the summer of 2006. (Source: Garapa Decking 2008-2009)
In the photograph below, taken exactly fourteen years ago today, Warren Cross is putting the finishing touches on our first deck build. Although the perspective may be misleading given the still unbuilt garbage and recycling “shed” which today stands directly behind Warren, this is the northernmost extension of Rosslyn’s deck. The stone step (actually a repurposed hitching post chiseled from Chazy and Trenton limestone (aka “Essex stone”) and the rhododendron shrubs are not yet in place either.
But it you imagine the perspective as if you were standing just north of the morning room, looking back toward the carriage barn and icehouse, you’ll be oriented in no time. Oriented, yes, but nevertheless a bit disoriented too, I imagine, as you look upon a carpenter laboring in the snow to scribe and affix the garapa deck skirting / apron that will complete the installation that had began in the autumn with far more hospitable conditions.
Warren Cross completing garapa decking installation on December 22, 2008 (Photo: Geo Davis)
It’s worth noting that Warren, already in his mature years when he worked on Rosslyn with us, not only threw himself into difficult endeavors like the one above, he contributed decades’ of experience and an unsurpassed work ethic that inspired everyone with whom he worked in 2008 and 2009. But there’s an even more notable memory that describes Warren. He was a gentleman. And he was a gentle man. It was a privilege to witness Warren’s collegiality, and Rosslyn profited enduringly from his expertise. But it was his disposition, his consideration, and his kindness that make me nostalgic when I hear him mentioned or when I catch sight of him in photographs.
In terms of memories conjured by this repurposed garapa decking, I should include Hroth’s “research” this past autumn into how best we might reuse the lumber. There was such anticipation and excitement in the hours he experimented and explored. The image below perfectly illustrates the hidden gold just waiting to reemerge from the deconstructed decking material.
Hroth is continuing to experiment with the garapa decking we salvaged from our summer 2022 deck rebuild. I’m hoping to repurpose this honey toned Brazilian hardwood as paneling in the icehouse bathroom. (Source: Upcycling Decking Debris)
Hroth’s discoveries underpin our plan to panel the interior of the new icehouse bathroom with what for a decade and a half withstood the Adirondack Coast elements season after season, and a rambunctious parade of footfalls, barbecues, dog paws, wetsuits, etc. It’s as if the new coat rack exudes the anticipation and optimism that many of us brought to the journey of upcycling the old decking into the new paneling.
And there is an aside that I’m unable to resist mentioning. Pam’s late husband, Bob Murphy, who worked as our property caretaker and became an admired and dearly respected friend, several times removed and reinstalled Rosslyn’s garapa decking over the years — monitoring, triaging, and compensating for the failing TimberSIL substructure. He knew that we would need to rebuild the entire deck soon, and yet he waged a relentless campaign to extend the useful life of the deck as long as possible. I think he’d be proud of the work accomplished by the team this summer, and he sure would have loved being part of that team! And the icehouse rehab would have thrilled him. Needless to say, these upcycled Christmas gifts from Pam and Hroth and Tony also exude Bob’s smile, familiar chuckle, and that mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
And what about that antique ice hook?
I mentioned above an antique ice hook, and the photograph below illustrates exactly what I was referring to. Disinterred by Tony while cleaning out and grading the dirt floor of the icehouse, this badly corroded artifact bears an uncanny resemblsnce to a common tool of yesteryear: the handheld hook. This implement was most often used for 1) grabbing and hauling ice blocks and/or 2) carrying hay bales. The location where this relic was discovered (as well as plenty of examples uncovered by quick research online) strongly suggest that this is an antique ice hook. (Source: Icehouse Rehab 01: The Ice Hook)
Isn’t a beauty? Well, rusty and corroded, but a beauty nonetheless, I think.
Antique Ice Hook, artifact unearthed during the icehouse rehabilitation, 2022 (Source: R.P. Murphy)
The prospect of restoring that ice hook crossed my mind at the time. But it struck me as a challenging proposition given the advanced state of decay. What a surreal transformation from rust-crusted phantom to display-ready relic! It too is marinated in memories, some recent and personal, others vague and distant. In the near rearview mirror are the painstaking efforts made by our team to secure the historic stone foundation beneath the icehouse while ensuring the structural integrity demanded by modern building codes. A labor of loves on the parts of so many. And today we can look back from the proud side of accomplishment. As for the more distant rearview, the antique mirror has succumbed to the influence of time, the glass crazed and hazy, the metallic silver chipped and flaking. And yet we can detect traces of laughter and gossip as blocks of ice were cut from the lake, hooked and hauled up to the icehouse, and stacked in tidy tiers for cooling and consumption during temperate times ahead.
A Glimmer of Springtime
In closing this runaway post, I would like to express my warmest gratitude for the upcycled Christmas gifts above, and for a new hummingbird feeder to welcome our exuberant avian friends back in the springtime. Taken together this medley of gifts excite in Susan and me the enthusiasm and optimism for the coming months of rehabilitation and mere months from now the opportunity to celebrate a project too long deferred and so often anticipated. With luck we’ll be rejoicing together in the newly completed icehouse by the time the hummingbirds return to Rosslyn.
Hummingbird Feeder 2022 Christmas Gift from Pam, Tony, and Hroth (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Thank you, Pam, Hroth, and Tony for these perfect presents. And thank you to everyone else I’ve mentioned above for enriching this home and our lives. I look forward to rekindling these memories when I hang my coat or my cap up each time I enter the icehouse. Merry Christmas to all!
We survived 2022, friends, and in some fortunate cases, we even thrived. Cheers to surviving and thriving an occasionally challenging year!
New Year’s Day: Writer’s Garret (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
That means it’s time for a meandering year-ender…
Retrospective
I’d like to jumpstart my retrospective with a positive personal milestone.
Yesterday’s post, “New Year’s Eve”, was my 153rd post in a row, completing a 5-month streak of daily updates without missing a single day. It’s an impartial victory at this point with seven months still on the to-do side of the ledger, but it’s an accomplishment that underpins my optimism — indeed my confidence — that I can achieve my goal of 365 days of uninterrupted Rosslyn updates. (Wondering why one year is a significant benchmark? I’ll explain soon, I promise.) In broad strokes, this is beginning to feel like actual, believable progress toward resuscitating Rosslyn Redux, my multidisciplinary meditation on the *art of homing*. There are so many reasons why this is important to me, and I’ve poked at a bunch on them in recent months, but for now I hope you’ll just allow that this exploration, this inside-out creative experiment, this quasi crowdsourced inquiry, and the resulting nexus of artifacts and stories and visuals and poems and all of the esoteric marginalia that has accreted over the last seventeen years since Susan and I bought Rosslyn is meaningful. Heck, to be 100% candid, for me it’s not just meaningful; it’s vital.
But enough heavy handed me-centrism. I’m flirting dangerously close to catharsis, so it’s time to lighten up. Time to imbue the balance of this post with effervescent toast-worthy bullet points like champagne bubbles rising giddily. Time for levity.
But first, an aside. I’m trying to distill my year-ender into a positive, celebratory retrospective without slipping into a post-mortem review of some of the less celebratory events. For this reason I started with a little victory dance celebrating the Rosslyn Redux momentum. My re-immersion has been stimulating and it’s catalyzing all sorts of overdue transformation. For this I’m profoundly grateful. And I’m doubling down on my commitment to see this challenge through to its conclusion.
There’s actually much more to celebrate, but to avoid overburdening this retrospective I’ll streamline my recap by simply listing and linking some of the most notable highlights. That way you can follow the links to more specific updates if you’re interested. And I’ll add a coming-soon placeholder in lieu of a link for those I haven’t yet covered. I’m hoping that this will keep things as lean as possible, because isn’t that always on our New Year‘s resolutions?!?!
High on the happy news is the ongoing icehouse rehab. It’s been a looong fantasized vision (and an almost equally long unrealized vision) that involves rehabilitating the last of the four buildings we set out to revitalize back in 2006. And, in this case, there’s a self-serving motive fueling my push. I perennially pine for a writer’s “garret”, and at last the icehouse loft will become that sanctuary just far enough removed to allow me to spread my stacks and sink into my writing projects. I. Can’t. Wait.
In addition to the icehouse rehab (and a writer’s hideaway), another biggy on the decade plus wishlist came tyre. In late winter off 2022 we finally invested in a high tunnel for the Rosslyn vegetable garden. It’s been a fascinating learning curve, and in a couple of months we’ll be getting it ready for another growing season with the benefit of one year already under our belts. Totally unrelated to gardening but similarly braided into the lakeside lifestyle that draws us to this remarkable property, we’ve made a change in our aquatic locomotion. You may recall that Errant, our 31′ sloop was sold in the hopes of replacing it with a slightly larger sailboat. Well, that plan was impacted by the attenuated pandemic which distorted the boat market and compelled us to stall long enough to deep-think our wants/needs. In short, our plans evolved significantly. Last summer we took delivery of a new 28′ Chris Craft launch that has become our entertaining and “picnic boat”, allowing our ski/surf boat to serve it’s proper purpose despite serving as our “everything boat” for years. This decision was part of sailboat shift as well. In a pretty significant reorientation we’ve been exploring the possibility of our future sailing adventures happening along the California, initially, and then possibly further north and south. This spring we’ll again sail on the west coast and continue to experiment with different iterations for our future sailing plans.
But I’m drifting of course, so I’d better tack back toward Rosslyn.
New Year’s Day: Writer’s Garret (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
Despite a disheartening debacle a year or so ago during our first foray into repairs on the Rosslyn’s boathouse gangway, the summer of 2022 marked a turning point. First came Patrick McAuliff‘s monumental transformation of Rosslyn’s front yard, replacing the overgrown, toppling arborvitae hedge with a handsome hemlock hedge. This quick summary oversimplifies (and leapfrogs a mysterious discovery), but I’ll unravel this yearn soon enough, I promise.
And then there was Rosslyn’s deck rebuild. This story had been evolving for a while (all the way back to TimberSIL). Most recently the same OPUD who cost us dearly on the boathouse gangway effectively hamstrung us on the deck as well. We retreated to Essex from Santa Fe earlier than normal to escape the worst forest fires in New Mexico history. With boathouse and deck in unsafe and unusable condition we began cancelling summer guests and plans…
But I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m sidestepping into the post-mortem that I intended to keep separate. Back to the deck rebuild which is complete, sturdy as can be, and stunningly beautiful (Hurrah, garapa decking!). And better yet, the ingredients for this rebuild included an outstanding team of friends and family and former collaborators on projects like the ADK Oasis Lakeside renovation who coalesced at the last minute and quickly became a skilled, collegial, productive, and fun loving team. In fact, much of this team is what has now evolved into the icehouse team.
After the boathouse gangway’s false start, there’s good news on Rosslyn’s waterfront as well. After the deeply discouraging setback inherited from the OPUD, after dismantling much of their work in order to rebuild correctly (the verdict of every single contractor who evaluated the miscarried first attempt), and after painstakingly recreating the original conditions instead of perpetuating the errors inherited from the OPUD, we’re back on track with a capable, experienced team. Fingers crossed that the boathouse gangway will be good as new next spring!
And there’s sooo much more. But I’ve waxed wordy, and my update has gotten too long. So I’ll abbreviate boldly with that list I promised earlier. Better late than never.
Trail building was advanced significantly with the hard work of Tony Foster, the guidance of John Davis, and the oversight of Pam Murphy. Rewilding progress was made, and thriving wildlife population documented. Tile and grout maintenance underway in bathrooms and kitchen by Clay Belzile. Stone wall reveal and landscaping at ADK Oasis Highlawn, and orchard restoration and stone wall rebuilding at ADK Oasis Lakeside. Too many contributors to these projects to list them all, but some notables were Bob Kaleita, Phil Valachovic, Patrick McAuliff, Roger King, Aaron Valachovic, and Tony Foster.
Other highlights include excellent gardening assistance on all three properties by our incredibly hardworking Amish neighbors, re-homing the zero-turn and the truckling, and one of our best apple and pear seasons in the orchard.
I’ll close with an admission that I didn’t succeed 100% in restricting my retrospective to the celebratory highlights. I drifted into post-mortem territory a couple of times. But, for now at least, I’ve edited out our unfortunate encounter with Covid, my father’s health upset, and Susan’s miraculous recovery from a life threatening tragedy this autumn. Today is a day to embrace success and optimism. And from the vantage point of January 1st even the most difficult challenges of the last year give me cause for celebrating success and renewing optimism.
Starting today, Epiphany will be Shirley Bacot Shamel Day.
Susan chuckled this morning after reminding me that her family hadn’t celebrated Epiphany when she was growing. I had reminded her that my family had, and for some reason she considers it slightly droll. It’s true that we did celebrate some holidays that my peers did not. I’m not certain why. In addition to Epiphany, we celebrated Saint Nicholas Day (aka Saint Nick’s Day) a month ago on December 6.
We celebrated all sorts of holidays that my friends did not. Christmas, yes. But also Epiphany (Three Kings Day) and another near-to-Christmas night when we placed our shoes at the top of the stairs and St. Nick (I think) came and filled them with treats. Pistachios. Chocolates. Silver dollars. (Source: Rabbit, Rabbit « virtualDavis)
Other Davis family habits and traditions make her chuckle as well, including rabbit-rabbit-ing the end and beginning of months; using “Christmas crackers“ to celebrate not only Christmas, but New Years, Thanksgiving, and just about any other festive meal; and corn cakes and turkey gravy as a customary follow-on meal after Christmas and Thanksgiving.
Although Susan thinks some of these observances amusing, it’s worth noting that she has embraced year-round crackers with gusto. Any excuse for miniature fireworks and crown-wearing appeals to her!
It was encouraging to hear Susan start the morning today with a chuckle. Today, of all days. Her spontaneous laughter instantly lifted the ominous if unspoken heaviness that had settled upon her, settled upon us, over the last 24 hours.
In addition to Epiphany, January 6 marks a more painful anniversary. Susan‘s mother, Shirley Bacot Shamel, passed away three years ago today. The loss remains palpable, and grieving is ongoing, intermittent, and usually unanticipated, triggered by a song, a memento, a photograph,…
Today’s melancholy was anticipated, and by yesterday memories were being shared. I knew that today would be difficult, but I hadn’t come up with any clever ways to support my beautiful bride.
But Susan’s early morning laughter lifted my hopes and prompted an epiphany! (Sorry, I couldn’t resist.) Suddenly I had an idea how to transform this solemn day into a more joyful remembrance. Let’s start a new tradition of our own.
Starting today, Epiphany will be Shirley Bacot Shamel Day.
Epiphany2
To follow my logic, if there is any (and I’d venture a suggestion that epiphanies needn’t follow the laws of logic), we might first take a look at capital “E”, Epiphany.
January 6 observed as a church festival in commemoration of the coming of the Magi as the first manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles or in the Eastern Church in commemoration of the baptism of Christ. (Source: Merriam-Webster)
For some readers this is familiar. For others, not, so here’s a slightly more expansive explanation.
After the 12th day of Christmas, believers take down their festive decor. But they don’t let January 6—or January 19 for many Orthodox Christians who still abide by the Julian calendar—pass by without another Christmas-connected celebration.
Tied to biblical accounts of Jesus Christ’s birth and baptism, the holiday of Epiphany is a chance for Christians to reflect on the nature of God’s physical manifestation on Earth and pay homage to three important visitors in the biblical account of Jesus’ birth. (Source: National Geographic)
The three important visitors in the second explanation and the Magi mentioned in the first are one and the same. Also known as the three wise men, the three kings (sometimes even by name: Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar), and sometimes more by association with the gifts they bore: gold, myrrh, and frankincense.
If you’re anywhere as keen a Christmas carol aficionado as I am, you’re familiar with these three gift bearing gentlemen, but if not, you’ve at least a basic understanding now.
So that’s capital “E”, Epiphany. What about this morning’s lowercase “e”, epiphany?
Again I need to reach back a little. I’m as keen on getting and decorating a Christmas tree as I am on Christmas carols, and given the anticipation it represents (and the beauty it adds to mornings and evenings) I prefer to jumpstart Christmas by finding a handsome evergreen and decorating it midway between Thanksgiving and Christmas. And that means I’m ready by New Year’s Eve for it to morph from crispy needle-dropping leftover to lush, colorful memory. But we rarely manage to get the tree down by New Year’s Eve or even New Year’s Day. So, in keeping with National Geographic’s observation, it had struck me that today might be the perfect time to un-decorate the Christmas tree.
But that’s not the epiphany. In trying to anticipate a way to brighten my bride’s morning on a particularly mournful morning, I thought wishing her a happy Epiphany and proposing that we start a new tradition of removing the Christmas tree each year on January 6 might shift her perspective and strike her innate sense of logic. But…
That chuckle.
Starting today, Epiphany will be Shirley Bacot Shamel Day.
Shirley Bacot Shamel Day
The eureka moment catalyzed by Susan’s superpower smile and laugh suddenly made it all clear. Yes, we needed to launch a new family tradition. From now on Epiphany should be a holiday to celebrate the legacy of Susan’s mother. Three years ago we lost Shirley. On this day. And on this day we recognize three kings bearing gifts. Loose logic? No logic?!?! But sometimes the universe rhymes, and in that moment I could hear the singing underneath, connecting these nominally connected dots into a perfect picture of Epiphany as Shirley Day. Sure, we could remove ornaments from the tree, and I could drag it out back for wood chipping. But maybe we should think bigger. A hooky day. No work. A day to remember and celebrate and show our love for the lady who blessed our union before it even existed. (That story for another day.)
And so today we started a new family tradition. We canceled commitments, bundled into our ski gear, and headed into the snowy mountains for some outdoor bliss. And you know what? It worked. It recalibrated our brains. It lifted our spirits. Whether or not the tree is going to get tackled is still uncertain. But a delicious dinner this evening; a hot tub soak as we were enjoying the night Shirley passed; and some time together gazing up at a bright star that guided three kings, a star that Susan named after her mother three years ago, a star that now helps guide us; this is 100% certain.
Such a curious commemoration of love and romance, right? Remember those grade school Valentine’s Day rituals? Awkward… Jumbled memories of cards, candies, and eventually flowers, as if we were being trained for love, for romance. Those microscopic messages on sugar hearts, so much made of the colors — pink and reds vs oranges, purples, and yellows — an early lesson in color consciousness that would prove to be as regimented in candies as in carnations and later roses. Color, we learned, is critical.
Balderdash.
Fortunately, a benevolent universe allowed these two star crossed lovers to collide in Rock Harbor more than two decades ago, and we’ve been challenging color codes (and virtually all other expectations) ever since.
And so today I offer you a slightly irreverent twist on the annual celebration of love and romance. Decidedly unsaccharine vignettes with moody hues and mysterious shadows. And a microscopic poem unlikely to be cribbed for schmalzy Valentine’s Day cards. And an Instagram reel celebrating my Valentine, my bride, my everything. L
Let’s break the rules together and make EVERY day Valentine’s Day. Let’s celebrate love. Let’s celebrate romance. Let’s celebrate.
Valentine’s Day (Photo: Geo Davis)
Valentine’s Day Haiku
Never buttercup, honey dumpling, sugar pie. Ever beloved.
My Valentine Mashup
I hope you enjoy this IG remix of snapshots (and a couple super short videos) of my funny valentine across the last 22 years. Ever beloved.
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!
It’s New Year’s Eve 2022. I’ve just returned from a provocative exhibition by Shirin Neshat, with whom I originally became acquainted by way of Essex friend and photographer, Larry Barns, a dozen years or more ago.
New Year’s Eve: ephemeral folly (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
Land of Dreams is a solo exhibition by Shirin Neshat, an Iranian-born artist and filmmaker based in New York Comprising photography, film, and video, the exhibition brings together two bodies of work, Land of Dreams (2019), and Dreamers (2013-16), a trilogy of video installations.
While there’s much to say about Neshat’s work, that will wait for another time as this day’s, this year’s minutes are too quickly sifting through my fingers and falling into a new year. It’s New Year’s Eve. An ending. And a fresh start.
Instead of responding to Neshat’s portraits and films, I’ll allow this post to follow the footfalls of my afternoon, out of Neshat’s Land of Dreams and into Max Cole’s Endless Journey. This New Mexico-based painter’s meticulous meditations slowed my senses and my sensibility. Cole’s “Thoughts on Art” leapt from the wall and into my dream-addled skull, tickling the tattered leaves of my inquiry these last five months.
And “knowing how way leads on to way”, one fragment falling upon another, and another, and another,… I’ve decided to resist looking back — for now at least — for answers and assurance that this afternoon’s wisps and tatters and excerpts are what they appear to be. I’ll trust the “singing underneath” and trace my index finger aling this newfound map, starting with a few snippets from Max Cole’s “Thoughts on Art”.
There is nothing to say without first knowing yourself.
Choices have to be made and parameters established. All that remains should be only essential means. This process of definition occurs over years.
Art is something that must be lived. It is long and there are no shortcuts.
As in life, in art nothing exists removed from the past or separated from the present.
Most of reality is not visible. Art makes perceptible the indefinable quality of presence. It is content which is the soul of art.
[…]
The motivation for making art is art and its insights into that which transcends the material. Nothing else. There can be no compromise.
[…]
All creativity draws from the same source regardless of discipline and eventually merges at a common point which is philosophical.
It’s New Year’s Eve. An ending. A fresh start. An interstitial moment, part conclusion and part beginning. The common point where deconstruction couples with construction, the philosophical rebirth. Death. Birth. Phoenix from ashes.
And that photograph above, a folly fabricated by Hroth, temporarily framing my future desk view, is in fact a fleeting and false perspective. Delightful. Whimsical. An old window and frame repurposed from the historic icehouse’s former life, propped in an incongruous aperture in the icehouse’s future life. A meeting of of past and future in the present. Ephemeral. Art rendering for a moment the invisible visible. “Art makes perceptible the indefinable quality of presence.”
Nine years ago I sat in Rosslyn’s front parlor on Thanksgiving morning and started drafting a blog post.
I’m sitting in the front parlor (aka the “green room”), drinking coffee, scratching Griffin behind the ears, and allowing my mind drift to back to that first Thanksgiving we celebrated at Rosslyn. It was actually one day before the official Thanksgiving holiday, but we had decided to celebrate together as a crew. The team had been working on our Rosslyn rehabilitation project for over a year. And many had been working for us on a previous project as well, but we’d never celebrated a holiday together. But that year everyone wanted to add on a special pre-Thanksgiving celebration, and we loved the idea. After all, we were unbelievably grateful to everyone who was working long hours, often in challenging conditions, to help transform our ever-evolving vision into reality. The potluck was a fun mix of dishes contributed by everyone. The centerpiece was Mike “Dutchy” Ahrent’s turkey. He’s a keen hunter, and the wild turkey was a trophy from a hunting expedition. He spent all afternoon deep fat frying it, a technique that many of us hadn’t tasted before. We ate in the parlor, the only semi-finished space in the house, using lawn chairs and compound buckets as makeshift stools. The meal was delicious, and the various toasts and roasts filled the room with laughter. Lots of shared experiences and memories, and a delicious meal. As everyone was getting ready for desert, Dutchy asked Susan if she would try his turkey. He knew she was/is a vegetarian. So did everyone else. Susan looked startled. The room grew quiet. Dutchy explained that the turkey was as natural as you could get, and he just wanted to see if she would be willing to give it a small taste. She smiled and accepted a piece of Dutch’s turkey. She ate it, smiled, and complemented it. Dutchy was thrilled and everyone smiled. It was the first time Susan had tasted meat in about twenty years!
2007 Thanksgiving Remembered: Susan, Mike, and Dutchy (Photo: Geo Davis)
That was November 28, 2013. I never finished the post. I vaguely recollect digging through the old photographs, some of which are included in this post and in the Instagram video accompanying it. Looking through the photos — then and again this morning — I experienced a mix of nostalgia (mostly for how young we all looked then!) and profound gratitude. Most of the people in these photographs played enormous roles in Rosslyn’s rehabilitation and in our personal lives. The project began in the summer of 2006 and it wasn’t until the end of 2008, the beginning of 2009, really, that the majority of the rehab was complete. And to a real estate the project continued off-and-on right up through the present! We all got to know each other really well. Sometimes we quibbled and sometimes we struggled, but in 2013 as I sat looking through those photographs, it was the successes, the incredible accomplishments, the camaraderie, the laughter, the parade of positives that flooded my memory.
Today, I returned to the “orphaned” post from 2013. Once again, I returned to the photographs from November 21, 2007. Once again I was swept up in poignant recollections. I’m struck by the connections we’ve made over the years with the contractors, carpenters, masons, plumbers, electricians, tradespeople of all sorts with whom we’ve been fortunate to work. To be sure, not every project works out perfectly, but in hindsight it’s truly miraculous that most do. Susan and I have overseen about a dozen renovation projects together, and unlike most of our family and friends, we are 100% hands on every time. I’m sure some of the the people who’ve worked with us wished otherwise, but we run our own projects. And while that can create some challenges for contractors and subs unaccustomed to having the homeowner be the G.C., almost everyone we’ve ever worked with has adapted and exceeded our (or their own) expectations. So many enduring relationships, indeed so many close friendships, for Susan and for me germinated from construction projects.
2007 Thanksgiving Remembered: Larry, Jamie, and me (Photo: Geo Davis)
As we celebrate another Thanksgiving, November 24, 2022, we find ourselves once again midstream several simultaneous construction projects. I’ve updated Rosslyn Redux often in recent months celebrating the many remarkable accomplishments of the skilled craftsman once again transforming our dreams into reality. That said, the teams working diligently at Rosslyn (as well as our vacation rentals, ADK Oasis Highlawn and ADK Oasis Lakeside), prove day after day that our gratitude is only one small part of the puzzle. They earn our respect again and again. They amplify our knowledge and ensure our confidence. Their collegiality and respect and creativity augment and expand the vision with which we initially launched each project. They collaborate, and they co-create. And this, perhaps more than anything else, is the secret sauce that makes the projects succeed and the memories so poignant, even many years later.
And so today, when there are so many things for which to be grateful, I’m moved to finally complete the post I initiated so long ago. An orphaned blog post, a flashback “film” composed of those 2007 photographs from our team Thanksgiving dinner, and a fresh round of thanks for everyone in these photos: Doug, Jamie, Larry, “Dutchy”, Dick, Randy, Travis, “Chico”, Mike, and “Boulder”.
Here’s a quick mashup of some more photos from that long-ago Thanksgiving. Cheers!
At the time it looked as if his gruesome pumpkin (at left in photo above) would win uncontested. But my haste inspired a fierce 11th hour contest from Pam who carved up a sinister Jack-o’-lantern (at right in photo above and in video below) that is especially eye-catching after dark.
https://www.instagram.com/reel/Cka_dH6Azuw/
So, just when you thought Halloween was safely behind you, when you hoped spooky and haunted would give way to joyful gratitude and Thanksgiving, when you wished the season of tricks and treats would surender to the steady crescendo toward Christmas and New Year’s Eve, I’m backsliding briefly to the height of Halloween haunting with a Jack-o’-lantern post mortem.
Pam’s Jack-o’-lantern (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
With two cleverly crafted Halloween Jack-o’-lanterns contending for 1st place, I knew I needed another judge to assist me. Fortunately Susan was quick to volunteer and quick to judge.
Best Jack-o’-lantern 2022
And the winner is… Both!
No, Susan didn’t deem the contest a tie. She awarded Hroth’s Jack-o’-lantern (closeup below) the daytime win and Pam’s Jack-o’-lantern the nighttime win. So there you have it. Straddling the light/dark divide, Susan has awarded both winners!
Hroth’s Jack-o’-lantern (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
In closing, it is worth noting that Hroth further embellished his Jack-o’-lantern after sending me the photograph this weekend. Perhaps he was feeling a little heat?
