As asparagus time begins yielding to rhubarb time (photo update soon!) I brainstorm asparagus recipes that I’ll lament overlooking once seasonality advances our homegrown ingredients. A vague recollection sends me filtering through old blog posts and then drafts of incomplete blog posts. I find notes started on May 14, 2014, and I know what my final garden-to-gullet asparagus recipe will be: green eggs and ham.
Asparagus Green Eggs
Although there are many tasty ways to concoct delicious green eggs (avocado, artichoke hearts, succulent spinach fresh from the garden,…) today I will alchemize the quintessential taste of spring — delicate asparagus spears bursting with their 100% unique tanginess — and hyperlocal, free range eggs from Full and By Farm.
Green Eggs and Ham: garden-fresh spring asparagus (Photo: Geo Davis)
Look at the brilliant yellow-orange color of the eggs! Almost too colorful to believe. And yet this is the signature of local, free range eggs. We consider ourselves fortunate indeed to enjoy a steady stream of organic eggs from Full and By Farm.
Green Eggs and Ham: farm-fresh eggs from Full and By Farm (Photo: Geo Davis)
Although at other times we might’ve been able to prepare pork from Full and By Farm (or another local farm) in this case I’ve used dulcedumbres, smoked ham from the Village Meat Market just up the road in Willsboro.
Green Eggs and Ham: deli sliced ham from Village Meat Market cut into strips (Photo: Geo Davis)
As the ingredients start to set up with a little heat, the yellow, green and pink are still distinct, three parts of a perfect medley.
Green Eggs and Ham: local ingredients and lots of love! (Photo: Geo Davis)
Cooked to perfection (overcooked, my bride would say), green eggs and ham, make the perfect breakfast, lunch, or dinner!
Dr. Seuss’ Green Eggs and Ham
I imagine that many of us, perhaps even most of us.) remember the book, Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss. If you’re needing a little blast from the past, enjoy this video.
Hillcrest Station in Essex, NY (Source: Vintage Postcard)
Do you remember the Hillcrest Station in Essex, NY? Three weeks ago I shared a new-to-me vintage postcard (Instagram / Facebook) featuring an Essex service station (with Socony gas) by the name of Hillcrest Station. After winning the eBay auction for this intriguing glimpse into hyperlocal yesteryears, I combed through my collection of Essex artifacts and discovered that I have another vintage postcard depicting the same business from a different location. Needless to say, the Hillcrest Station no longer exists, so my hope in sharing the image on IG+FB was an attempt to learn a little bit more.
Little by little this former Essex business depicted in a pair of postcards is (possibly) getting demystified which is to say that a little amateur sleuthing has turned up a few leads. Let’s start with the other postcard photograph I have in my collection.
Hillcrest Station / Hillcrest Cabins in Essex, NY (Source: Vintage Postcard)
Same service station from a different angle. It’s not clear in the photograph above whether or not cabins were part of the mix, but this second image captures a sprawling enterprise including service/gas station, dining room, and travel accommodations. And the caption across the top of the card, “Hillcrest Cabins, one mile south of Essex, N.Y. on Route 22”, helps locate the property. This tidbit was corroborated by an intriguing tip from newspaper-sleuth, Paul Harwood, who found the following newspaper clipping in the April 21, 1934 issue of the Plattsburgh Daily Press.
This Essex town notices section refers to Hillcrest Station being located on Roger Hill. I’ve never hear this reference before, but perhaps other have? Of note, a front page article in the May 05, 1927 Ticonderoga Sentinel listing a juror panel for Essex County Court lists George Murphy as being from Essex and working as a “garageman”. That makes sense.
Scott Brayden also found newspaper mentions reiterating the location: “…located on Route 22, 1 mile south of Essex”. Here are two clippings from newspaper notices (1949 and 1950) to that effect. (NB: full broadsides at end of post.)
Hillcrest Station Notice 1949 (Source: Essex County Republican, April 15, 1949, p4)
Hillcrest Station Notice 1950 (Source: Essex County Republican, May 05, 1950, p8)
If we head south out of Essex on NYS Route 22, my best guess is that Hillcrest Station was located at the intersection with Middle Road. Some will recall this as the location of JJ’s Terrace (I think I’ve got the name correct). Others may also remember that Lincoln’s Hardware was across the street (location of present day Hub on the Hill). Or am I conflating things? In any event, Mary Wade also confirmed memories of Hillcrest Station. “I remember it in the Early 40’s, I believe it was still in operation then, maybe as far as after the war.” Perhaps additional recollections and photographs will emerge? I sure hope so.
Until then, I’d like to tease out the idea that Hillcrest Station was located at the intersection of NYS Route 22 and Middle Road. My hunch is based on more than the two photographs above and he news clippings. It’s based on a recent visit to the approximate location. I paused during a recent bike ride and took a few photographs that appear to offer some similarities with the historic photos above. I’m especially interested in the roofs of the main building in the foreground and the small cottage/cabin in the background (looking from Middle Road) as well as the trees. Hhhmmm…
Formerly part of Hillcrest Station? (Source: Geo Davis)
Formerly part of Hillcrest Station? (Source: Geo Davis)
Formerly part of Hillcrest Station? (Source: Geo Davis)
Hillcrest Station Update
I’ve received some intriguing feedback from Sean Kelly:
That hill used to be called rogers hill and the intersection used to be called rogers four corners – my grandparents farm was the one by the railroad tracks with the dilapidated farm stand in front – my wife and I recently bought the brick house in bouquet at the top of the next hill (Orr’s Hill), which is where my great grandparents once lived. So I’ve been doing a lot of Bouquet research over the past two years!
There are some references to that intersection in the newspaper when they started paving route 22 in 1921/22 (it was highway 8063 then) and the steam shovel that was doing the grading got stuck. I think the easiest way to answer what you’re looking for is just to pull up the last deed transfer for that plot – it also references rogers four corners, and shows the transfer from George Murphy (who I think owned Hillcrest) to Ted and Aida burns in 1947. They ran it as a bar (not sure when it closed) called Ted and Aida’s.
Ted’s Terrace! That’s right, not JJ‘s Terrace as I’ve previously noted. Thanks for jiggling my memory, Sean, and for filling in these details with all of that history!
Hillcrest Station ’49 & ’50 Public Notices
If you’re interested in the 1949 and 1950 Essex County Republican broadsides excerpted above, you can access them here:
Call it a 184-day streak. Or call it dogged determination. Either way I have 181 days to go until I reach my goal. And with each new post, each small victory, I am growing more and more confident that I will accomplish my mission of 365 posts, one complete year of daily updates beginning on August 1, 2022 and concluding on July 31, 2023.
So how to commemorate this midpoint milestone? With 6 months down and 6 months to go, it feels momentous enough to pause and praise my good fortune. But should this benchmark be acknowledged with a celebratory salute? A solemn ceremony? A toast, my first spirited sip after 31 days of teetotaling? (Yesterday marked the conclusion of my 7th or 8th, maybe even my 9th “dry January”.) Or perhaps a decadent dessert after a sugar free month? (For some sadomasochistic reason I’ve decided in recent years to add a sugar fast to alcohol abstention during the month of January, a timely recovery after the excesses of Thanksgiving-through-New Years…) A new month (ie. rabbit-rabbit) ritual transcending the delicious dinner I shared with Jim and Mark two nights ago at Juniper?
Slow Cooked Whole Rabbit: cumin, blood orange and smoked paprika glazed, corn tortillas, chimichurri, salsa fresca, refried beans (Source: Juniper at Hotel Vermont)
Maybe a romantic romp with my bride who suggested, upon retrieving me from the airport yesterday, that we celebrate a belated anniversary to compensate for the one we missed this past autumn when she was unwell. 17 years of marriage and 21 years together. I’m incredulous even as I type these numbers. Neither seems remotely possible. But my 50th birthday seemed similarly inaccurate this past spring, and I’m obliged to accept it.
Or how about we honor the 200th anniversary of Rosslyn’s front façade, ostensibly completed in 1823? (Apparently 3/5 of the building — the two window portion to the north of the entrance, as well as the entrance itself — was completed in 1820. The remaining 2/5, including the two windows to the south of the entrance and comprising the dining room downstairs, a guest bedroom and Susan’s study on the second floor, and another guest bedroom on the third floor, was most likely finished three years later in 1823, fulfilling the the architectural promise of this classic Federal home with Georgian and Greek Revival elements.
An auspicious confluence of milestones and anniversaries. I’m choosing to interpret this is a good omen even as I nevertheless acknowledge that I’ve meandered from my original mark, hoisting the flag at my halfway point, mid-journey in my post-a-day quest. I recall an earlier waypoint in this quest, an update I published on October 10, 2022 when I was still just shy of halfway to where I am today.
Yesterday marked ten weeks of old house journaling. Every. Single. Day. Two months and ten days back at the helm of this wayward, meandering, sometimes unruly experiment I call Rosslyn Redux. I emphasize the daily component of this benchmark because it’s been an important part of the goal I committed to at the end of July. (Source: Old House Journaling)
Then as now my emphasis on everyday journaling remains a top priority.
Over the last few years, Susan and I have scrutinized our hopes and expectations with Rosslyn. We have reevaluated our plans as they originally were in 2006 when we embarked on this adventure and as those plans evolved during the decade and a half since. It’s been an extended period of introspection, evaluating our current wants and needs, endeavoring to align our future expectations and goals with respect to one another and with respect to Rosslyn, and challenging one another to brainstorm beyond the present.
There’s no question but that our impromptu quarantine at Rosslyn during the spring and summer of 2021 catalyzed some of this soul-searching. But so too have the many life changes in recent years. Our gradual shift toward Santa Fe as our base and Essex as our getaway rather than the other way around. The loss of Susan’s mother. My parents’ retirement near us in Santa Fe. Our nephews and nieces growing up and expanding their orbits far beyond Rosslyn. A perennially postponed but driving desire to collaborate on a smaller, efficient, creative lakeside home of a different DNA altogether, an unrepressable will to imagine into existence the sort of slow cooked (albeit shapeshifting) and highly experimental homestead we originally envisioned in 2003-5 when we first began to explore our Adirondack Coast homecoming. And there is that hiccup in our 2006 original timeline, our 2-4 year vision for homing at Rosslyn until we’d managed to reboot and reground, until we were ready for our next adventure. Those naive expectations were eclipsed — willingly and joyfully — within the first year or two.
So what does this have to do with my daily Rosslyn updates?
Everything.
In committing to this daily practice last summer I was acknowledging that I had some serious work to do. In order for us to constructively sort through out collective vision for the future, to determine whether we’re too fond of Rosslyn to proceed with plans for designing and building the lakeside retreat we’ve conjured over the years, to honestly assess our willingness and our readiness to hand this sanctuary over to another family, both Susan and I are undertaking the sort of “deep work” that will hopefully enable us to make some decisions. I’m talking about 100% honest, prolonged consideration. Rosslyn has quite literally been a part of our family, and not just our nuclear family. Can we untangle her? Are we willing to let her go? Can we joyfully pass the privilege on to new custodians? Or are we not yet ready?
For me this daily practice, digging deep into sixteen and a half years of living and loving Rosslyn, is my time and place to work through these questions. To sort it all out. To find peace and confidence in my convictions. And six months in, I believe that I’m on the right path. Not all the time. There have certainly been some tangles and tangents that got away from me before I realized what was happening and reined them in. But the constant conversation — *internal* as I study, reflect, and compose these installments as well as *external* as I share these updates and then interact with many of you — is reinvigorating and reawakening Rosslyn from her comfortable slumber (and me from mine!)
So this midpoint milestone is a profoundly significant benchmark for me personally. It’s the tangible representation of my germinating confidence and clarity. It’s the measurable mean between a conflicted outlook and the conviction I’m hoping to discover over the next six months. In a real sense, it’s a halfway point toward the sort of rehabilitation that we’ve been undertaking with Rosslyn’s buildings and grounds since 2006, only in this case the journey is profoundly personal. Instead of historic architectural rehabilitation, it is restoration of my innermost wonder, my romantic dreams, and my idealistic hopes. With passion reawakened and a map forward becoming more apparent each day, I’m tempted to see this benchmark as the sort of celebration enjoyed upon finally reaching a base camp, a lofty peak viewable in the distance foreshadows the ambitious ascent ahead but also offers a majestic affirmation of the reachability and proximity of the summit. Today marks just such a halfway point, an opportunity to appreciate the accomplishments so far, and an incentive to forge ahead.
Carley, Contemplating 33% Ahead (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
This is my 243rd Rosslyn update in daily succession. It completes an 8-month streak of daily old house journaling, the 2/3 mark in my quest to post every day for one year. I marked an earlier milestone — six months in and six months to go — with a summary of the aspirations guiding these posts.
With four months to go, I’d say this vision is still accurate, but the “mercurial transition / transformation we’re currently navigating” has received short shrift. The most psychologically probing (and the most elusive) of the subjects I’ve been exploring, it nevertheless gets sidestepped, dodged, abbreviated, and postponed.
And so I’m hoping to recalibrate in the weeks ahead, offering more perspective on our current state(s) of liminality. Dig deeper. Increase transparency. Invite you into the considerations and conundrums that we’re weighing. Big decisions on the horizon, and sometimes complex, sometimes conflicting feelings and ideas. Time for an open book…
Champy spotted at Essex ferry dock?!?! Once upon a time…
Champy Spotted at Essex Ferry Dock (Photo: Kathryn Reinhardt)
I’m gambling that it was around 1980 for no reliable reasons except the look and condition of the Old Dock Restaurant, the presence of ice shanties on a throughly frozen lake with no ferry canal, and the incredibly well executed snow/ice sculpture just north of the Essex ferry dock. It’s this last one that triggered a cascade of memories and lead me to hope that the photograph was taken by Jan Peden around 1980. More on that in a moment.
I make no effort to disguise my enthusiasm for hyperlocalephemera and other artifacts, especially yesteryear photographs and other representations of our fair village. So you just might be able to imagine my excitement when I received this message from friend and neighbor, Kathryn “Kathy” Reinhardt.
Sorting papers and I found two Essex postcards you might like. One of the Split Rock lighthouse with a postmark and message from 1910. The other card was not used and shows the snow covered ferry dock with a frozen Champ swimming alongside. Photo is by Jan Peden; card was published by ECHO.” — Kathryn Reinhardt
I’ll get to the historic image of the Split Rock Lighthouse in a moment, but let’s pause a moment to appreciate the legendary Lake Champlain monster (aka “Champ”, “Champy”).
Champy & Nostalgia
I’m hoping that this post might rekindle community memory enough to learn who helped sculpt this superb likeness of our favorite surviving dinosaur. The uninitiated may remember Champy from the Sid Couchey painting/illustration of the friendly monster cavorting off the end of Rosslyn’s boathouse. I shared it waaayyy back on April 27, 2012, so it’s say it’s time for a resurface.
Champy in front of Rosslyn’s boathouse (Art: Sid Couchey)
Ostensibly a cousin to the Lock Ness monster, our Lake Champlain mystery monster is considered a myth by some, a fundamental fact by others. Happy hour sightings along the lake’s waterfront apparently offer particularly plausible viewing opportunities, though I’ll admit having never witnessed the friendly fellow (or is Champy a she?).
I suggested earlier that my instinct to date this postcard photograph sometime near 1980 derives from vivid memories of the years prior to and after the 1980 Winter Olympics which took place in Lake Placid. I was a boy, so my memories are likely ripened with nostalgia, but it seems that there was community-wide embrace of winter in those years. Likely catalyzed by preparations for the Olympics and then the afterglow, it seems that there were abundant winter happenings — toboggan runs, outdoor jogging contests, cross country ski races, skating rinks, fish fries with freshly caught smelt, and snow sculptures — that drew people outside into the out-of-doors from community revelry. I remember competing in a cross-country ski race on the Westport Country Club golf course, and “red nose runs” in Elizabethtown. I remember fish fries at the old Westport beach, and the most horrifyingly thrilling toboggan chute down the hill and out onto the frozen lake. I believe that much of these memories are clumped around an annual midwinter event that was called the Westport Outdoor Weekend (WOW). And one of my favorite parts of this annual festival was the snow sculpture contest. Homes throughout the area competed for the bet snow sculpture. We used to drive around and admire them all. I believe I recall the Valley News even showcasing winners some years. And so this flood of nostalgia underpins my suspicion that this handsome facsimile of Champy might date to those years.
It’s interesting to me that the postcards, produced by ECHO, drew attention to the Essex-Charlotte ferry pier and history of service without a more inclusive mention of the Essex waterfront or the handsome snow sculpture!
Back side of Champy at Essex ferry dock postcard (Photo: Kathryn Reinhardt)
Split Rock Light
Let’s turn now to the second postcard that Kathy sent me. Although I and others usually refer to the historic lighthouse presiding over the dramatic geographic promontory jutting out into Whallons Bay as the Split Rock Lighthouse, I’ve notice this older references, especially the further back into history they fall, refer to it as Split Rock Light. That’s neither here nor there, but I find those little linguistic shifts intriguing.
1910 postcard depicting Split Rock Lighthouse (Photo: Kathryn Reinhardt)
I recently shared an almost identical postcard of the Split Rock Light, likely created from the same source photograph. The coloring, layout, and captioning differs between the two, but I imagine both images were late at the end of the 19th or beginning of the 20th century and then repurposed. It’s a compelling angle, especially because this same view today is less open. Here’s the postcard that I published on November 21, 2022.
Split Rock Light, Essex, NY (Vintage Postcard)
It’s fun to flip back and forth between the two images to see what’s similar and what differs. Back in November I was struck then as well by how thinly forested the Split Rock Light grounds were at the time.
The historic lighthouse located at Split Rock in Essex, NY reigns over a promontory bearing a curious resemblance to an arboretum, more landscaped and less wild than today. A copse of diverse specimen trees here, a granite outcrop there, a grassy bluff here,… I can’t help but see a sort of Split Rock botanical garden. (Source: This is Not a Metaphor)
That notable difference with the same location a century or so later vies for my attention, but so too does the message on the reverse of the postcard that Kathy sent.
In many respects this is the most formulaic, most universal postcard missive. We’ve all read (and possibly written) versions of this, right? But there’s a personal pleasure in the final two lines:
Having a delightful sail on this. — B.H.
As a boater in general, and a sailor in particular, this subtle sign-off hooks me. So often Susan and I spy this beautiful, historically significant spot by boat, and often by sailboat. So even though B.H. mostly went through the motions in the message area of the card, the fading memory of a sail on Lake Champlain, indeed on the enchanting broad-lake-to-narrows transition, appeals to my romantic imagination.
Back side of 1910 postcard depicting Split Rock Lighthouse (Photo: Kathryn Reinhardt)
I’d best conclude this post (definitively in need of an editor!) before I wander too much further afield. And yet I can’t resist acknowledging that one of the great satisfactions of these artifacts is not just the bridge across time, but the invitation to meander. To wonder and wander. And this post is proof that meandering is a favorite pastime for yours truly.
Thank You, Kathy!
This Rosslyn blog and the Essex community blog have been meaningful projects in large part because they have catalyzed a sort of community crowdsourcing, gathering all sorts of curious anecdotes, memories, stories, renderings, and relics from current and past members of Essex and environs. Any time I receive a message like the one that Kathy sent, my heart skips a beat. My anticipation builds and builds until the meeting or the phone call or the email or the letter completes the excitement provoked by the initial “teaser”. And so I close off this post with a holiday hug (stretched by distance but invested with bountiful gratitude) for Kathryn “Kathy” Reinhardt.
Kathryn Reinhardt preparing to “polar plunge” on May 1, 2016 (Photo: Geo Davis)
I hope she’ll chuckle good-naturedly at this fun photo that I took a half dozen years ago. It perfectly captures her perennial joy, her contagious laughter, and her warmth. I couldn’t resist mentioning this last 100% accurate description of Kathy’s character because she’s about to take an early springtime plunge into Lake Champlain in the photograph. Brrr…
I was recently accused, tenderly but definitively, of being obsessed with locale, and more precisely, with my connection to place. As a lifelong wanderer, this struck me as slightly ironic. And accurate.
By now my fixation on hyperlocality and placeness (aka the poetics of place) have become inextricably woven into the entirety of Rosslyn Redux, the robust and resilient fiber that holds it all together, or — as popularized in the parlance of contemporary talking heads — the “connective tissue” of this protracted inquiry into our decision to purchase and rehabilitate Rosslyn as a foundational platform for our small family’s life (and lifestyle) reboot.
From 1999 to 2003 I was living and working in Europe. Mostly Paris, France. But Rome, Italy had become a second base by the end of that exciting chapter, a period that started with teaching and coaching at the American School of Paris and evolved into co-founding and launching Maison Margaux, an exclusive vacation rental startup, and Margaux Europe Group, a boutique travel platform. My business partner and I had based these businesses in New York City, and this third base of my globetrotting existence became even more important in the summer of 2001 when Susan and I discovered one another and tumbled head over heals into an intoxicating transatlantic romance.
In those years I prided myself with what I had dubbed immersion travel rather than tourist travel. The Margaux Project was founded on this distinction. Deep travel. Authentic travel. Meaningful travel. Transformative travel. Human-centric vs. travel brochure scrapbook travel… My love affairs with Paris and Rome (indeed even with New York City) were complex and enriching and multifaceted. We wanted to provide a means for discerning clients to experience Paris, Rome, (and eventually Barcelona, intended at the time to become our third property) with the nuanced richness; genuine, unadulterated texture; and personal intimacy that we had both come to appreciate.
But I was a committed and unabashed global nomad. By choice. By conviction. The dissonance didn’t really phase me at the time!
Wanderlust vs. Connection to Place
This fundamental duality — a peripatetic wanderer drawn to unique locales and connection to place — is at the heart of the thread I call Wanderlust to Houselust. I’ve learned through our Rosslyn years that I am both migratory and rooted. For many years I understood myself as a perennial vagabond, and I celebrated the carefreedom and independence that my work/life amalgam allowed.
But building a loving family and a profoundly fulfilling lifestyle around placeness (Rosslyn, Essex, Lake Champlain, the Adirondacks, the North Country,..) has taught me how important community and connection to place are to me. It’s also helped me understand that I’m not either/or… not nomad OR potted plant.
Life, my life, is more complex than I’d understood despite developing Maison Margaux and Margaux Europe Group around the philosophy of immersion travel — journeying more authentically and meaningfully, interacting rather than travel-skimming. Certainly my need for connection to place was there, but I didn’t recognize what it was. Now I do. And I understand that the meaningful authenticity, the human-to-human interaction, the belonging that had drawn me to a specific type of travel was precisely what fueled my early enthusiasm for living in Essex. It was connection to place that had always enticed me. I just didn’t know it.
Sherwood Inn advertisement from 1949 Adirondack Guide. (Source: Adirondack Guide via David Brayden)
Many thanks to David Brayden for discovering and sharing a 1949 Adirondack Guide that showcased Essex, NY alongside a vintage Sherwood Inn advertisement (above), the only Essex ad included in the book.
It turns out that David Brayden is not only a talented doodler. He turns out to be as skilled an Essex artifact hunter as his son, Scott Brayden (Scott Brayden Digs Essex History), who recently made his second exploration of Rosslyn’s subterranean treasures. (More on what he disinterred soon!)
[Note: If you missed David Brayden’s August 3, 2013 Old Dock House doodle here’s a quick recap.]
Essex Dock House doodle by David Brayden (Source: essexonlakechamplain.com)
[During Downtown Essex Day 2013 we presented passers-by with a doodle challenge.] “What’s the first thing that comes to your mind when you think of Essex, New York?” David Brayden… quickly sketched out this simple building and labeled it “Dock House.” The Old Dock Restaurant is a prominent Essex building that is one of the most recognizable to passengers coming in on the Essex-Charlotte ferry with it’s red exterior, so it’s no surprise to see that as a response! (Source: essexonlakechamplain.com)
Taproom, Beach, Lawn Sports & More
On July 28, 2016 I received an email from David explaining that he’d come across the vintage Sherwood Inn advertisement (above), and he believed that it was Rosslyn.
Indeed it was. He was 100% correct.
I’ve touched on Rosslyn’s lodging/dining past previously (see Sherwood Inn Remembered and Sherwood Inn Landing on Lake Champlain), but details continue to emerge. Like the initials and last name of the proprietor and manager, C. W. Sherwood and F. S. Sherwood. I’d love to learn more about the Sherwoods. So far, the trail is faint…
Before taking a look at the rest of the Adirondack Guide lent to me by David Brayden, I’ll recap the information from the advert.
While the vintage Sherwood Inn advertisement initially grabbed my attention, the entire book was interesting. The full title is Adirondack Guide: Vacationland In Picture, Story and History, and it is a comprehensive town-by-town tourist guide to the Adirondacks. A prior edition was published between 1945 and 1947, and then revised in 1949 resulting in the edition that David loaned to me.
Here’s the write-up for Essex, NY.
The charming little village of Essex is located directly on the shores of Lake Champlain. Essex is rich in historical lore and was the route of explorers and missionaries as far back as 1609. During the Revolutionary war 1776-1784 it was the scene of many an exciting battle in the region of naval engagements and the War of 1812.
On Route 22 (the scenic lakeshores route and one of the main highways from New York to Montreal) it is served by the Delaware and Hudson Railroad. Among the innumerable summer sports the principal ones are swimming, boating, canoeing, fishing, all in Lake Champlain. The chief sport in winter is fishing through the ice for delicious Lake Champlain ice-fish.
The natural beauty of it setting is unexcelled, situated as it as it is on beautiful Lake Champlain in the foothills of the Adirondacks. Mts. Marcy (highest in New York) Whiteface and Hurricane form an impressive backdrop and across the Lake are the Green Mountains of Vermont with Mts. Mansfield, Camel’s Hump and Lincoln predominating the panorama. Essex is indeed deserving of the description which so many people have given it as “One of the Most Beautiful Spots on Lake Champlain.” (Source: Page 171, Adirondack Guide: Vacationland In Picture, Story and History, edited by Arthur S. Knight, 1945-1947, Revised 1949, published and printed by Adirondack Resorts Press, Inc. Lake George, New York)
1949 Adirondack Guide: Gallery
It’s challenging to narrow down the many local-ish vignettes, but present context leads me to include the write-up for Willsboro, NY in the gallery below. I’ve also included a full page advertisement for Camp-of-the-Pines that appears on the page preceding the Willsboro description. I’ve never before heard mention of Camp-of-the-Pines, but I instantly recognized the property from my frequent Willsboro Point bike rides.
Cover of 1949 Adirondack Guide that feature Essex and Willsboro, and that includes a Sherwood Inn advertisement. (Source: Adirondack Guide via David Brayden)
Title page of 1949 Adirondack Guide that feature Essex and Willsboro, and that includes a Sherwood Inn advertisement. (Source: Adirondack Guide via David Brayden)
Feature on Essex, NY in 1949 Adirondack Guide. (Source: Adirondack Guide via David Brayden)
Camp-of-the-Pines advertisement from 1949 Adirondack Guide. (Source: Adirondack Guide via David Brayden)
Feature on Willsboro, NY in 1949 Adirondack Guide. (Source: Adirondack Guide via David Brayden)
If you’re lucky enough to find a copy of this long out-of-print treasure, take a moment to leaf through its nostalgic pages. It offers an enchanting time capsule of the Adirondacks half a century ago.
Crib Dock more and more exposed in front of Rosslyn boathouse. (September 12, 2016)
Whether you call it climate change, “nature’s sense of humor”, or something else, Lake Champlain’s water level is raising eyebrows. Back in 2011 we experienced the highest lake levels in recorded history. Five years later lake levels are flirting with the lowest record.
The highest recorded level at the gage in Burlington was 103.27 feet above mean sea level on May 6, 2011.The minimum lake level observed in Burlington was 92.61 feet above mean sea level on December 4, 1908. (Source: USGS Lake Gage at ECHO)
As of today (September 14, 2016) Lake Champlain is 94.07 feet above see level. Lake Champlain has dropped just over four feet since this spring’s not-so-high high, and an annual drop of about five feet (from spring to late autumn) is normal.
In other words, we’re unlikely to break the all time record for Lake Champlain’s lowest recorded water level, but it’s not impossible. And yet, record-busting aside, this is by far the lowest lake levels we’ve witnessed since purchasing Rosslyn, and by far our best chance to study the old crib dock extending out into the lake from Rosslyn’s boathouse.
Crib Dock Brainstorms
When we first imagined ourselves living at Rosslyn, we mostly daydreamed about the waterfront. And while the boathouse was the most enticing component of the waterfront, the former docks/piers interested us as well. We’re avid boaters, and we hoped that one or the other of the old crib docks would be recoverable so that we could enjoy convenient access to our boats.
Although neither of us can quite believe it, a decade has already snuck past since we first took ownership of Rosslyn. Ten years of gradual renovation, revitalization, rehabilitation,… And yet, many of the projects on our original punch list continue to be deferred.
For a variety of reasons restoring one of Rosslyn’s historic docks has eluded us so far. But this summer’s incredibly low water level has resuscitated our hopes that one day we’ll be able to transition from the aluminum docks we’ve been using to a refurbished crib dock pier. In recent weeks my imagination has been running wild, scheming up simple, practical solutions to the challenge of repairing a failing/failed crib dock.
I’ll post again with more detailed photographs of the crib dock in front of boathouse since it’s the most recently extant of the historic piers, and I will also find older photographs of the dock to better show what it used to look like. Until then I’d like to share some intriguing excerpts from a story produced by Brian Mann for NCPR back in December 1, 2014, How a North Country family harnessed an Adirondack river. Mann took an insightful look at a dam on the St. Regis River that was rebuilt by Wadhams resident and hydropower guru, Matt Foley, along with his brother-in-law, and nephew.
While the St. Regis crib dam is an altogether different beast than the crib dock in front of our boathouse, both are simple but sound timber and stone structures that post similar reconstruction challenges. I’ll share my current idea anon, but first I offer you several relevant riffs from Mann’s story.
Historic, Hyperlocal Crib Dam Rebuild
With the temporary coffer dam (on the left) diverting the St. Regis River, a local crew laid in a crib of tamarack logs stuffed and weighted with rock and boulders. (Source: NCPR)
This summer [2014], a family that owns hydro-dams in Essex and Franklin counties rebuilt the historic log dam [in St. Regis Falls] using local labor and materials. Using 19th century techniques, the Smiths and the Foleys preserved a dam that generates power and creates an important impoundment on the St. Regis River…
“We went to old books [Emmett Smith said]. We went to books from the turn of the century about how you build wooden timber crib dams.”
The last couple of years it was clear this structure needed to be replaced entirely after decades of floods and ice, partial repairs just weren’t cutting it any more. The family tried to find financing for a concrete dam, but that would have cost three or four times as much and the money just wasn’t there. So they went back to tradition, using native wood and stone…
Building the dam this way meant they could use local materials. But they could also use local guys. Crews from the North Country built the big stone coffer dam to divert the river while the log dam was rebuilt. They milled the big tamarack logs and hauled the rock…
Emmett says building this way was necessity. “Us doing it together and building this log structure in a traditional way is pastoral, but we didn’t do it this way for the poetry of it. It was a question of cost. This is the only way we could do it. This was the cheapest way we could do it. It had to happen now and the price of power is so low that this was the only way it was going to get done.”
[…]
There was a time when they did consider letting this dam go. There were so many hurdles, so many risks, and so little certainty of reward. But Matt Foley says rebuilding was important for the family and for the community of St. Regis Falls.
“This dam has a pond that’s six miles long with twelve dozen houses on it and big wetlands,” he says. “So in addition to our generating plant, the town people here have a vested interest in having a dam here.” (Source: How a North Country family harnessed an Adirondack river | NCPR News)
Takeaways
I’ve promised to share my current thinking (as well as some past/present photos) soon, but for now I’d like to close by highlighting a few points that resonated with me.
a traditional (i.e. “old school”) repair/rebuild would be preferable to a new dock;
even a quasi-traditional hybrid would preferable to replacing historic crib dock with a modern alternative;
local lumber, stone, and labor would be more historic, more aesthetically pleasing, more affordable, more positively impactful to the community, etc.;
pastoral and practical are not mutually exclusive; and
we’ve almost been convinced to give up hope of rehabilitating Rosslyn’s crib dock because there are “so many hurdles, so many risks, and so little certainty of reward”, but we’re not ready to abandon the dream.
I’m still brainstorming, and each time I settle on a possible solution, I’m beset with further challenges. If clever ideas are swimming in your heard, chime in! I’d love to learn from you.
Boquet Brown Trout, courtesy of Tony (Source: Geo Davis)
Summer’s in full swing, and our CSA (Full and By Farm) has been diversifying our weekly farm share as each spring-into-summer week whizzes past. One of our favorite farm treats is curly garlic scapes. Delicious and versatile, this uniquely aromatic vegetable is a secondary edible “byproduct” produced during the garlic growing cycle.
Tony, a hardworking (and big hearted) jack-of-all-trades who’s been helping out this spring and summer, showed up with a surprise gift. Two exquisite brown trout that he and his young son caught in the Boquet River.
To celebrate our good fortune, I paired Tony’s brown trout with garlic scapes, bacon (you can’t ever go wrong with bacon!), a splash of sauvignon blank, a drizzle of olive oil, and a liberal blessing of salt and pepper. I sealed the fish into an aluminum foil “steamer” and baked them in the oven.
Here’s a glimpse at our Boquet brown trout.
https://www.instagram.com/p/CRFuAffrmmU/
Free range, foraged food is the best food! And friends who show up with hyperlocal game? That was the icing on the cake. Thanks, Tony.
Freshly milled, locally sourced dimensional 2×6 lumber matches the existing interior framing in the icehouse. In keeping with the historic preservation/rehabilitation objectives of this project we’ve eschewed standard factory-finished dimensional pine for locally harvested and milled hemlock to complement the same wood —albeit many generations removed — used to frame the icehouse back in the late 1800s.
Local Lumber Unloaded (Source: Hroth Ottosen)
Thanks, Team, for wrapping up a long day (and long week!) by unloading and stacking this new material.
In addition to the upsides of purchasing hyperlocal building supplies (supporting local business, minimizing carbon footprint, etc.) historic rehab challenges us to maintain consistent and cohesive construction when viable. This rough cut lumber provided by a local sawyer is old school in the best of ways. And it’s nominal and actual dimensions are identical!
https://www.instagram.com/reel/CkIEfslgp0f/
The omnipresent color this time of years, especially the brilliant fall foliage finds its way into every photo. In this one, a short video of Tony leaf blowing and aerating at the same time brilliant Yellowstone oranges steals the performance. Double duty: Explanation forthcoming. Soon. Maybe…
