Tag: Icehouse

One of the four buildings still standing (if barely) when we purchased Rosslyn in 2006, rehabilitating the icehouse has long been a priority. And just as long — or almost as long — we’ve postponed all but its most critical preservation. As one of the extant bridges to Rosslyn’s past, we still hope/plan to tackle this utility building. The posts below will offer a glimpse into why, when, and maybe even how Rosslyn’s icehouse was, is, and will continue to be important.

  • Preservation by Neglect

    Preservation by Neglect

    Preservation by Neglect: Carriage barn and icehouse, 2006 (Source: Geo Davis)
    Preservation by Neglect: Carriage barn and icehouse, 2006 (Source: Geo Davis)

    I’ve flitted around the topic of preservation by neglect on this blog for too long. I suppose that I’ve felt less comfortable putting my thoughts into writing than gabbing with friends similarly drawn to old buildings and artifacts. There’s a question of humility toward a topic better left to more scholarly authorities on historic preservation. And, to be perfectly candid, my appetite for preservation by neglect is perhaps a little unorthodox.

    However, I’m currently resuscitating several blog post “orphans” — drafts initiated but left incomplete and unpublished over the years — that reveal some of the influences on my perspective of preservation by neglect, so it’s time to provide at least a perfunctory introduction to the idea. You may already have noted that many/most of my posts tend to tilt toward the lyrical and even the rhapsodic (i.e. “Icehouse On Ice“) rather than the historic, architectural, etc. Given this proclivity, how best to encapsulate and clearly communicate the idea of preservation by neglect? Why, defer to those better versed, of course!

    What is Preservation by Neglect?

    Time for me to get out of the way.

    “Preservation by neglect,” is a term used to describe the way an old building is preserved by disrepair, thus the building’s original or historic features aren’t marred by a building owner that looks to make changes to an old building that are perceived as insensitive. — Elizabeth Blasius (Source: Historic Preservaton is Dead)

    Pretty straightforward, right? Preservation by neglect generally refers to historic preservation of a building or area that happens accidentally, mostly because no active effort is made to alter, update, or demolish the structure(s).

    Neglect can lead to a measure of preservation by default when there is no active maintenance or development pressures, and the countryside persists with very little change. This neglect can occur as a result of little or no economic pressures that would otherwise cause land values to increase and properties to be renovated. But the problem with accidental preservation by neglect is that it is not true preservation; it does not permanently protect resources from changes… — Robert Stanford (Source: Reading Rural Landscapes: A Field Guide to New England’s Past)

    Limited economic means and population stasis or decline are frequently at the root of preservation by neglect, effectively reducing even eliminating the incentive to alter the existing built environment and potentially allowing for the possibility of permanent preservation in the future.

    While I certainly don’t advocate preservation by neglect and prefer actual preservation, I’d rather the neglected buildings remain than be demolished. Particularly in downtown areas, there is a constant reminder of the past, the building’s important contribution to the streetscape, and what could be if the building were restored. If you tear down every empty building, then what? […] most importantly, there’s a loss of character and a sense of place. At least with the buildings remaining, there’s hope. Hope that they’ll be restored. Hope that downtown can be revitalized. Hope that the community’s uniqueness and pride can be retained. — Terri Fisher (Source: T Squared’s 4 Square)

    Preservation by neglect is not necessarily a goal, nor is it a realistic solution for historic preservation, but in some cases it is a bridge from past to present that would have been lost given typical pressures from development, fashion, safety, etc.

    Although sometimes considered a conservation strategy, this invests it with a greater degree of intention than I suspect is usually the case. Often historic buildings deteriorate because they are no longer necessary or desirable, or they’ve become too difficult or expensive to maintain, or conditions have become too precarious or dangerous to attempt renovation. Entropy. In some cases this inevitable natural deterioration resulting from human inaction can help protect a building from alteration, demolition, etc. that might otherwise permanently alter, damage, or eliminate the underlying architectural or cultural heritage. In essence, these forgotten properties, are spared by virtue of being too far gone for convenient rehabilitation. Their neglect has in some (but certainly not all) cases lead to eventual preservation. (Source: The Farm in Cossayuna)

    In short, when active preservation (intervention with intent to historically preserve) is not a viable option for historic buildings and other architectural or cultural heritage, deliberate or inadvertant neglect, even when allowing the assets to continue deteriorating, is often an effective way to  maintain the historic integrity and character of the property. Sometimes he best way to preserve a property is to simply do nothing.

    Preservation by Neglect: Icehouse, 2006 (Source: Geo Davis)
    Preservation by Neglect: Icehouse, 2006 (Source: Geo Davis)

    Rosslyn’s Icehouse

    Although an argument might be made that at different points in time all four of Rosslyn’s still extant buildings were subjects of preservation by neglect, significant efforts were made to preserve the home and the boathouse. Fortune more than anything seems to have safeguarded the carriage barn while so many other outbuildings vanished over the last century. But the icehouse is in my estimation the best example of preservation by neglect as I’ve explained in a previous post. Here’s the most relevant excerpt.

    Although various reasons likely underpin the icehouse’s endurance, and the attentions of previous owners are no doubt high on this list, I would suggest that one of the reasons we’re now fortunate to undertake a purposeful re-imagination of this building is that it’s been preserved for more than a century, in large part, by neglect. First and foremost it wasn’t demolished to make way for other needs (such as the clay tennis court that adjoins its west and northwest flank). And it wasn’t adapted into a chicken coop or conjoined with the carriage barn or… It served a limited functional purpose for at least two previous owners that I’m aware of (one as part of honey-making accommodations and another as a woodworking shop), but the building wasn’t irretrievably bastardized to fulfill its temporary needs. (Source: Icehouse On Ice – Rosslyn Redux

    I’ll sidestep the temptation to dilate previous comments by offering a couple of tidy clarifications on the most obvious risk with preservation by neglect.

    Preservation vs. Demolition by Neglect

    Inevitably neglect, extended neglect flirts with loss of the building(s). For this reason it is not a suitable preservation objective except when no other alternative is viable.

    There is a fine line between preservation by neglect and demolition by neglect. A building that has been mothballed, or closed up with a tight roof and closed windows, locked doors, and a solid foundation, will remain a viable part of the streetscape through years of neglect. However, the minute the roof starts to leak, the windows are broken, or the doors are kicked in, demolition by neglect sets in. The building’s demise is heartbreaking to watch and is often the result of an equally sad situation such as bankruptcy or death of the owner or crime in the neighborhood. The final result is often a mandate from the municipality that the neglected building be demolished because it is hazardous to passerby. — Terri Fisher (Source: T Squared’s 4 Square)

    And in even more straightforward terms:

    In many urban areas, disinvestment has lead to the preservation by neglect of much of the historic fabric. When left for too long, this lack of interest becomes demolition by neglect and the structures are damaged beyond repair. — Rachel Royer (Source: Preserving Historic Character and Materials: An Analysis of Rehabilitation Projects of Habitat for Humanity)

    In short, if historic preservation is the objective, preservation by neglect is at best a highly risky means to the end, and the risk is slow, irreversible demolition.

    An Unorthodox Twist

    I mentioned at the outset a somewhat peculiar penchant for preservation by neglect. My time and energy are dwindling so I’ll again draw on the post cited above.

    The idea [of preservation by neglect] is baked into my love for and efforts toward rehabilitating old buildings, and it’s in many respects more compelling to me than the finished accomplishments of a preservation project. [Perhaps] it’s akin to my penchant for wabi-sabi. In my perspective there is profound beauty in the imperceptibly slow entropic forces revealed in aging, even failing, man-made artifacts. (Source: Icehouse On Ice – Rosslyn Redux

    Don’t misunderstand. Susan and I have dedicated an monumental effort to preserving (actually rehabilitating) Rosslyn over the last sixteen years. The last thing we wanted was entropic victory! But in general, in the world at large, I find myself absolutely fascinated with the inevitable lifecycle of human artifacts. And I am almost always in favor of celebrating the imperfection and patina of longevity rather than masking the passage of time with inauthentic, ersatz makeovers. More on this another day.

    Poetic Preservation by Neglect

    In closing, I touched on the idea of initiated-but-neglected posts in my introduction. The overlap with the focus of this post intrigues me.

    The earliest iteration of this originally somewhat melancholic reflection is nearly a decade old. Like many blog drafts it became an “orphan”, put aside for a day when my time was more abundant or my melancholy was less crowding or my thoughts were better gathered or… As with my poems, I frequently launch into a draft with the passion and clarity of purpose propelling me. And then, something stalls. And the initial foray falters. Or, at the very least, the seed for what I envision writing is cast aside indefinitely.

    Often enough I circle back, allowing the persistent relevance of the idea, the recurring urgency to undergird a certain confidence that I might be on to something. That I need to revisit the seed, germinate it, nurture it. (Source: Icehouse On Ice – Rosslyn Redux)

    And so it is that I fall back on my more poetic inclinations, more than content to leave the scholarly opining to my more academic peers. For me, the almost uncanny parallel between my creative drafts, too often neglected and often totally abandoned, and historic buildings kindles my curiosity. Hopefully yours, at least a little, as well.

  • Demolition: Rosslyn Dedux

    Demolition: Rosslyn Dedux

    Rosslyn Demolition
    Rosslyn Demolition, autumn 2006

    When it was built it was just right for the times. But it didn’t adapt… Rooms were shut off and fell out of use. Neglect left the paint chipped, with bare wood and brick showing through… rehabilitation fails with no sustainable plan for use. ~ Stef Noble (www.stef.net)

    I don’t recollect how I came across Demolition, a blog post by Stef Noble (@stefnoble). I don’t know her. I don’t even know about her. But somehow I stumbled across her reflection on what happens at the end of a building’s life. She ponders demolition, debris, salvage, sensitivity to neighbors and environment. And she wanders into wonders about the transition, preparedness, shelter…

    [pullquote]Like an enigmatic poem that continues to resonate long after that first encounter… Stef’s words have hooked me, drawn me back again and again.[/pullquote]

    The post moves from conviction and resolve to questions. From “sometimes you find that there is nothing left to save” and “It must be a salvage process” to “What does your shelter look like now?”

    It’s a poignant, provocative post despite its brevity and abstraction. I have no idea what or where the building is or even whether the building is a metaphor for something else that’s beyond rehabilitation, something else that must be dismantled sensitively and responsibly before moving on. But like an enigmatic poem that continues to resonate long after that first encounter, inspiring rereading upon rereading, Stef’s words have hooked me, drawn me back again and again.

    Noble Demolition & Rosslyn Rehabilitation

    At the risk of misappropriation (Sorry!) I have transposed Stef’s wonder to Rosslyn’s endless rehabilitation. Inadvertently. Inevitably.

    There are obvious differences. Rosslyn was repeatedly adapted across almost two centuries. From year-round residence to seasonal residence to inn, restaurant and tavern. From Georgian to Federal to Greek Revival to Victorian and back to Greek Revival/Georgian. From stately home and outbuildings to dilapidated, structurally failing buildings more readily, easily, and cost effectively demolished than rehabilitated. Rosslyn adapted.

    But rooms fell out of use, and rooms were shut off. A large portion of the rear ell (wing) was removed half a century ago. In fact the rear ell has undergone four or five, maybe even six significant rebuilds and alterations since the 1820s. And the front facade was dramatically altered early in the 1900s when a vast Victorian wraparound porch was added. This lake overlook was removed several decades before Rosslyn became our home.

    In short, Rosslyn’s story is first and foremost one of adaption. Repeat adaption. Her perseverance has been at least partly due to her perennial adaptability.

    Rosslyn Boathouse, circa 2006
    Rosslyn Boathouse, circa 2006

    Nevertheless when we were in the final pre-purchase days, the inspector opined that the boathouse and icehouse were probably unrecoverable. Use them while we could or demolish and replace them. There were other eleventh hour surprises that jeopardized the sale too, but demolition as a recommendation was unnerving.

    Rosslyn’s boathouse was precisely what I’d fallen for. Tear it down? No chance. And the ice house promised to be the perfect office/studio/playhouse. Think desk, aisle, pool table, bar!

    In both cases we forged ahead, prevailing upon the planning board, engineers, contractors (and detractors) that these buildings should be, could be, would be preserved. Underpinning our confidence and our persistence was the conviction articulated so well by Stef Noble:

    rehabilitation fails with no sustainable plan for use

    In order to ensure that Rosslyn’s iconic boathouse/dock house would continue to welcome ferry passengers to Essex long into the future, it needed to be more than an historic artifact. It needed to be relevant and useful. It needed to adapt.

    No longer serving the Kestrel as a boathouse and coal storage facility, the boathouse needed to evolve. It need to become our waterfront, useful and relevant to us. Rosslyn’s boathouse should accommodate our boating and water sports needs. We windsurf. We waterski. We sail. We entertain nieces and nephews and friends who enjoy fishing and playing on the beach and barbecuing…

    The sustainable plan for Rosslyn’s boathouse involved adapting the precarious building into a safe, inviting and attractive place of waterfront activity once again. And despite the odds, we prevailed. The boathouse remains the heart and soul of our Rosslyn lifestyle.

    And some day — in the still unknown future — I hope that the boathouse will evolve again to satisfy and inspire Rosslyn’s future stewards.

    Rosslyn Ice House 2006
    Rosslyn Ice House 2006

    The ice house is another story.

    We stabilized the failing structure, replaced the failed roof, repaired the crumbling stone foundation and upgraded the mechanicals. But then we mothballed the project, deferring the next phase indefinitely until circumstances warranted moving forward. For several years we’ve used the ice house as a storage and maintenance annex for the carriage barn, but recently we’ve begun to address a sustainable plan for use. I hope to address this in more depth over the course of the next year. But for now, I’ll just say that we understand that simply stabilizing the building is not enough. Successful rehab demands a sustainable plan for use. And we’re working on it!

    The carriage barn and house have been rehabilitated and are serving the modern iteration of the original purposes for which they were built. The house is a home. We live and work and entertain at Rosslyn. I genuinely hope that the future is bright for this structure remaining a year-round residence for a long time. And while horses and carriages no longer come and go, the carriage barn is a handsome but utilitarian space for cars and tractors and a colorful parade of property maintenance equipment. There are bicycles and winter storage for kayaks and windsurfers. In a real sense the building has been rehabilitated into a modern “carriage barn”.

    If you’re still with me, I apologize for getting carried away. My mind was wandered. And I’ve still fallen short of conveying why exactly Stef Noble’s post continues to resonate for me. I suppose I’m still not 100% certain. But it seems to share some DNA with the adventure my bride and I undertook in the summer of 2006 when we pulled up roots in Manhattan and set down roots in the Adirondacks with the dream of rehabilitating Rosslyn…

  • Teeter-Tottering

    Teeter-Tottering

    Teeter-Tottering: Should I stay or should I go? (Source: Geo Davis)
    Teeter-Tottering: Should I stay or should I go? (Source: Geo Davis)

    To borrow a turn of phrase from Shaye Elliott, “I’m teeter tottering between” being fully present in Essex and departing for Santa Fe, betwixt summer’s curtain call and autumn’s debut, between and betwixt scores of less-than-precisely delineated transitions.

    Should I stay or should I go now? — The Clash

    Fair warning: I’m mixing metaphors today. Like fusion cooking and creative cocktail concocting, I’m hoping that purists will forgive my transgression(s) and sample the experiment with an open mind.

    I’ve already shared a couple of quick riffs on the push-and-pull of seasonality, wrapping up the re-decking project, re-starting the boathouse gangway project, launching the exciting new icehouse project, and recovering from August 30 storm damage. I need to flesh out all of those transitions in fuller detail soon, but today instead I’ll touch on our autumn changeover from the Adirondack Coast to the high desert southwest with an unanticipated delay for COVID and a perhaps peculiarly drawn out rumination on teeter-tottering. Fair warning!

    Teeter-Tottering: Should I stay or should I go? (Source: Geo Davis)
    Teeter-Tottering: Should I stay or should I go? (Source: Geo Davis)

    Teasing Out Teeter-Tottering Metaphor

    I’m struck, I might add, by the strength of this teeter-tottering metaphor. The teeter-totter, a seesaw, with someone sitting on the other end, riding the teeter-totter seat down to the ground, close enough to toe-touch. When fortunate, bringing the soles of both feet to rest on the ground and bending knees to squat and push off, sending teeter-totter up into the air as a friend on the other end returns to the earth.

    I recollect that there’s another challenge (and distinct pleasure) to teeter-tottering as well. Sure, it’s exciting to tip one another up and down, but balancing is also appealing, both friends suspended in mid air, neither touching the ground, neither rising, neither falling. Equilibrium. Balance. A quivering stasis that requires focus and collaboration between both friends.

    Obviously the principal thrill of balancing on a teeter totter is that it’s incredibly difficult. And just as obvious is the indisputable fact that teeter-totter equilibrium is it best temporary. Eventually one or the other person will come back down to the earth, planting their feet on the ground, while the other will lift skyward. It’s impossible to postpone indefinitely.

    So if it’s obvious, why am I explaining it this way? I think that the allure of the teeter-tottering metaphor — at least for me, right now — is that it so perfectly conjoins otherwise dissimilar sentiments.

    I’m thrilled, exhilarated, and yet anxious about the abundance of thresholds upon which we are currently balancing. Certainly there’s a very real exuberance in the moments where we shed some gravity and float high. There are butterflies in the belly (and whirlwinds of worry in the belfry) when lofty ambitions come plunging down. But like that teeter-tottering youth of my memory, I often find that we’re endeavoring to maintain some fragile equilibrium, knowing full well that we can’t maintain it forever, and yet hoping to stabilize the teeter-totter for a moment, just another moment,… Or maybe a day? A week? This is not to say that we’re in denial about the inevitability of some pretty major transitions, but it speaks honestly about our hesitance in at least some cases.

    You’ve possibly noticed a parade of posts recently addressing the transitions and transformations that we’re navigating. I apologize for too often talking obliquely, speaking around the issue rather than addressing it directly. Sometimes that’s part of the process, I’m afraid. Sometimes the prologue serves the needs of the storyteller even more than the reader.

    In short, please bear with me. I recognize that not everybody enjoys teeter-tottering, so thank you for your patience, and in many cases, thank you for your generosity and advice and coaching.

    Know then that this curiously kaleidoscopic time and space we’re teeter-tottering through (I warned you about mixing my metaphors!) will yield to more candid sharing when the time is right, with updates aplenty including:

    • The exceedingly handsome garapa deck rebuild that was completed a few weeks ago.
    • The boathouse gangway rebuild v2.0 which we’ll be relaunching soon (or at least as soon as the new team can demo the dangerously misguided fiasco left behind when TFG finally admitted defeat and quit.)
    • The long anticipated icehouse rehabilitation and repurposing project that will get underway by the end of the month.

    With those considerably more interesting transformations in the offing soon, I’ll conclude this post with a slightly more personal teeter-tottering anecdote.

    Susan and I had prepared to depart Essex for Santa Fe considerably earlier this year than we habitually do. We’d invited some friends together for a last hurrah, and Susan had prepared impeccably as she does to enjoy a comfortable journey cross-country with our dog. And, given that our friend, Hroth Ottosen, would be mirroring our north-by-southwest migration as he returns from Santa Fe to Essex to take up residence at Rosslyn while we’re away (more on this including an introduction soon) our early departure was intended to allow comfortable breathing room between our departure and his arrival. But, as they say, the best laid plans…

    After exercising caution and safely eluding Covid for 2-1/2 years, Susan fell ill about a week prior to our departure. And within just under a week I followed suit. Although my recovery was fortunately quick, hers was not. In fact we were both startled with how much more pronounced her symptoms and how much longer the duration of her illness. If Covid affectively debilitated me for two days, it knocked her out for more than two weeks.

    Needless to say, our pre-departure fête and our travel plans were scuttled. Throw in Labor Day travel challenges, and we ended up postponing our departure even further. Perhaps this was the universe’s way of reminding us not to become overconfident in our planning, not to assume that we can orchestrate our way out of unpredictability, setbacks, and topsy-turvy crisis management that these times of transition typically engender. All this to say, the teeter totter tumbled!

  • Icehouse v2.0

    Icehouse v2.0

    Ice House v2.0 Future Loft: Looking east from within the icehouse as of June 30, 2022 while fine tuning remodel proposal for the Town of Essex Planning Board. (Source: Geo Davis)
    Icehouse v2.0: Looking east toward future loft inside the icehouse while fine tuning remodel proposal for the Town of Essex Planning Board. (Source: Geo Davis)

    At long last it’s time to move forward with Rosslyn’s icehouse v2.0 which I’ve been alluding to for a couple of months (including in the July 2 Instagram photo of icehouse interior above.) If this is your first sneak peek inside the icehouse, rest assured that the project is still percolating. When the sweet siren songs of reimagination, rehabilitation, and repurposing merge into a mellifluous melody, I’ve learned to slow down and listen…

    In the weeks and months ahead I’ll share with you the reason(s) and vision for this project as well as the cast of characters and the plan. I’m hoping to take you inside this rehabilitation project, joining the team who will transform a 19th century utility building (purpose built to store ice and preserve food) into a 21st century utility building (repurposed as a flexible studio, office, meeting, and entertaining space.) Although the icehouse won’t become the “game room” we once imagined, it will share some overlaps with that early vision.

    But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start in our early days at Rosslyn.

    Icehouse v1.0

    In 2006/7 during rehabilitation of our home, we began renovating Rosslyn’s circa 1889 icehouse (existing outbuilding located north of existing carriage barn). Top priority was structural stabilization including remediating a collapsing roof and “corn cribbing” of north and south walls by removing most windows to improve structural integrity and simplify reframing and drawing walls back together with cables. The existing stone foundation was repaired and repointed, and roof was rebuilt from within with rough hewn hemlock beams that we had milled locally complement the existing structure. A standing seam steel roof was installed to match our home and carriage barn, and the existing mechanicals were upgraded in conjunction with the other buildings. New electrical supply and subpanel, water supply, propane gas, and septic system were installed and inspected in 2006/7.

    And then, the icehouse rehab stalled. Indefinitely.

    We mothballed the project, deferring the next phase indefinitely until circumstances warranted moving forward. (Source: Demolition Dedux)

    Until recently, circumstances distracted us, and time whistled past without returning to the question of whether or not (and how and when and why) to tackle the conversion of this unique outbuilding.

    But the spring of 2020, coronavirus quarantining at Rosslyn, Susan and I spent many afternoons and evenings next to a fire pit just northwest of the icehouse enjoying the sunsets. We’d never really done this before. And it got us thinking…

    Reimagination, Repurposing, Rehabilitation

    I recount this curious time in other posts, but for now I’ll simply acknowledge that the early weeks and months of the pandemic allowed for a long overdue pause, an extended period of introspection. We were profoundly grateful to be able to quarantine at Rosslyn. It was truly an oasis in many respects. And this time of sequestration and slowing down and introspection opened up lots of interesting conversations.

    Long story short, we began to reimagine the icehouse rehab as a slightly different sort of conversion than we’d originally imagined. For one thing, the western views in the afternoon through early evening were spectacular and distinct from one we associate with the property. We became slightly obsessed. And so we pondered ideas for some outside living space, a fire pit, a deck, maybe even a hot tub?

    What if we repurposed this outbuilding to meet several of the needs not present in our home? What if the work-from-home model meant embracing the notion of a highly effective dedicated workspace but that could also double as an outdoor, socially distanced socializing hub?

    As we courted the siren song our imaginations ran wild. And two years later we’re finally ready to focus the vision and get started.

    Icehouse v2.0

    We are at last planning to complete the rehabilitation of the ice house, adapting it from a workshop and storage space to a studio office and workshop. Minimalist open plan but integrating a full bath including shower (and possibly a hot tub on exterior deck) creates a threefold benefit: on-site restroom for workspace; a post-swim and soak restroom for visiting friends; and a restroom and wash area for gardening, etc.

    Paramount in our plan is repurposing and recycling. We’re hoping to utilize sixteen years of architectural salvage, building materials, and on-property milled lumber to complete this project. I’ll try to document some of the materials we’ll be repurposing soon. And there will be some modern, non-repurposed accommodations as well including modern, energy efficient wood windows and doors that match the historic windows of the barn, foam insulation, and high efficiency mechanicals.

    And because the eastern façade of this historic icehouse is visible from the road/sidewalk, we propose minimal alteration to this public viewshed. I’ll be posting some images soon.

  • Renderings for Icehouse Rehabilitation 2022-2023

    Renderings for Icehouse Rehabilitation 2022-2023

    If you’ve been following along over the last couple of months, observing from afar as we rehabilitate and repurpose Rosslyn’s icehouse, then perhaps a vision is beginning to take shape in your imagination? Or maybe you’re struggling to envision the future of this handsome but understated utility building? I’ll be sharing design and structural plans piecemeal in the months ahead, but today I’d like to show you a couple of slightly whimsical renderings of the icehouse as it *might* (see note below) appear when rehabilitation is complete. The work of friend and frequent architectural design collaborator, Tiho Dimitrov, these illustrative previews are an enjoyable way to fertilize the team’s imagination as they progress.

    Rendering for Icehouse Rehabilitation, East Elevation (Source: Tiho Dimitrov)
    Rendering for Icehouse Rehabilitation, East Elevation (Source: Tiho Dimitrov)

    The image above depicts the east elevation, the most visible to passersby who happen to glance west, beyond the house, past the stone wall and the linden tree, to where a pair of “barns” —actually a carriage barn and an icehouse — are backlit by the setting sun. This east-facing icehouse façade was the primary focus in our meetings with the Town of Essex Planning Board. Because of the impact it has on the historic viewshed, we have endeavored to minimize changes, even repurposing/recreating the former icehouse door as a storm door per the encouragement of several board members.

    Rendering for Icehouse Rehabilitation, North Elevation (Source: Tiho Dimitrov)
    Rendering for Icehouse Rehabilitation, North Elevation (Source: Tiho Dimitrov)

    The second rendering of the icehouse as viewed from the north is notably absent the carriage barn (located directly south of the icehouse.) Although this might initially seem misleading, there’s potentially an intentional and beneficial consideration as explained below. Of note in this view (not visible from the public viewshed) is a change to the original fenestration. Only a single window, the one furthest to the left, likely dates to the building’s construction in the late 19th century. This 3-lite window, along with an identical window south side, have served as the template for three windows in the rehabilitation plan. When we purchased the property a massive window had been cut into this wall, but we removed it during the initial phase of structural rehabilitation in 2006-7. It is visible in the photo below, taken by the previous owners’ son, Jason McNulty.

    Icehouse, North Side (Source: Jason McNulty)
    Icehouse, North Side (Source: Jason McNulty)

    It’s also evident in the following photo taken by Jason McNulty. Both photographs were recorded on November 8, 2004.

    Icehouse, North Side (Source: Jason McNulty)
    Icehouse, North Side (Source: Jason McNulty)

    The three six-over-six double hung windows in Tiho’s rendering have been templated from the carriage barn, and the three small windows above are templated from similar windows in the carriage barn that were originally installed in rack of the horse stalls. They are visible in one of the photos I shared recently in the post, “Local Lumber& Fall Foliage”.

    As It Might Appear?

    I qualified my statement above about these renderings illustrating how Rosslyn’s icehouse will/might appear after rehabilitation is complete. Why, you ask? Architectural renderings are a powerful tool for visualizing designs and structural plans, but they are subjective. For example, in the renderings above, attention is focused on the icehouse to the exclusion of other conditions (ie. the carriage barn located mere feet to the south of the icehouse). There’s something romantic, even misleading when we isolate a specific subject from its broader context, and that is certainly the case with these delightful renderings. Colorful and capricious, they are extremely effective tools for catalyzing imagination for the future of this rehabilitation project. But there’s much more at stake as we adapt the northwest quadrant of Rosslyn’s public property (as opposed to the meadows and fields to the west of the gardens and orchard). I’ve chronicled in other recent posts concurrent site work to the north and west of the icehouse, removing some of the topographical changes introduced early in the 20th century when a clay tennis court was installed. We will be reintegrating the landscaping in the immediate vicinity of the icehouse with elements already present on the property in order to restore greater cohesion and balance to the landscape design.

  • Fall Foliage

    Fall Foliage

    Fall Foliage 2022 (Credit: R.P. Murphy)
    Fall Foliage 2022 (Credit: R.P. Murphy)

    Pam captured the boisterous drama of fall foliage currently at Rosslyn. The Adirondack Coast tends to lag the High Peaks and other more central regions of the Adirondacks. Many of those cooler interior zones are predicting peak fall foliage this weekend. Others have already peaked. But at Rosslyn we’re still straddling the verdant afterglow of summer and the brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows of mid autumn.

    [Fall foliage] leaf peeping in Essex trails the rest of the Adirondacks. The towering maple trees in front of Rosslyn remain vibrant green except for a slight blush on a few leaves. (Source: Leaf Peeping in the High Peaks – Rosslyn Redux)

    With Lake Champlain functioning as an immense heat sink, cooler temperatures are moderated, and fall foliage colors the canopy a little later.

    Icehouse with Fall Foliage 2022 (Credit: Hroth Ottosen)
    Icehouse with Fall Foliage 2022 (Credit: Hroth Ottosen)

    The perspective of Hroth’s icehouse rehab with fall foliage backdrop tied together two highlight of Rosslyn’s current transition. The gaping aperture’s in the icehouse, the ladder, and the blushing maple tree tell a story. If you listen, you may well discern the plot.

    Barns with Fall Foliage 2022 (Credit: Hroth Ottosen)
    Barns with Fall Foliage 2022 (Credit: Hroth Ottosen)

    Another perspective photographed reminds us that fall is here. Autumn vibes abound in this image made west of the barns, looking eat at the back of the carriage barn and the icehouse, still early in rehabilitation process.

    Fall Foliage 2022 (Credit: Hroth Ottosen)
    Fall Foliage 2022 (Credit: Hroth Ottosen)

    Walking further west, toward the setting sun, away from Rosslyn’s barns, Hroth took another photo combining the still blooming annuals beds with the maple trees. Layers ion layers of autumn colors…

    I close with a hat tip to Pam and Hroth for capturing the spirit of this transitional time. With peak foliage soon upon us, and then the steady journey toward winter, progress on the icehouse rehab, boathouse gangway, and waterfront stairway will be increasingly important. We’re racing against the elements! (But there’s always time to slow down and appreciate the magnificent world of change around us.)

  • Hammock Huddle Haiku

    Hammock Huddle Haiku

    Hammock Huddle (Source: Geo Davis)
    Hammock Huddle (Source: Geo Davis)

    Hankering for a hammock huddle this morning, so I’ll I revisit the photograph I shared on June 6 depicting a herd of hammocks near the orchard. Yes, the color is a little over juiced. And the shadows are dark almost to the point of feeling ominous. Or cozy? But this moment beckons this morning given yesterday’s storm damage. (I’ve included another image below capturing just how close one of the fallen trees came to both the icehouse and the hammock huddle.

    Hammock Huddle Haiku

    Together apart,
    plein air cocoons canopied
    beneath maple trees.
    — Geo Davis

    Pandemic Precursor

    While quarantining during the early months of the pandemic Susan and I spent time exploring and experimenting with aspects of our property that we’d never considered before. Or not recently, at least.

    Sixteen years have lulled us into habits, ways of living and looking at Rosslyn that have possibly become more confining than we’d realized prior to weeks-on-end of quarantine.

    We spent many afternoons and early evenings on the lawn of the abandoned clay tennis court (located west, northwest of the icehouse). It started because the early spring sunsets were best visible from here, but it continued because we discovered a fresh and inviting space and perspective that we’d previously overlooked. And this new vantage, this new ritual catalyzed a shift in our thinking. Wondering, really. We’d inadvertently stumbled upon a liminal space. And the longer we spent hammocking together near the glowing Solo stove fire pit gifted to us by our older nephew, bundling up as the evening grew chill, witnessing another pandemic sunset, the more our conversations and questions raced into exciting new places. Our wondering wandered further and further into liminality.

    Transitions. Flux. Liminality. Interstices. Inflection. Evolving… We are awash in transitions! (Source: Transitions)

    Three years later we’re navigating a tempest of transformation. But I’m tickling a tangent, so best to stick with our hammock huddle for now.

    Ensemble Hammocking

    Our earliest ensemble hammocking in this location, back in March or April 2020, was nestled up together in this wooden arc stand.

    Pandemic Hammocking 2020 (Source: Geo Davis)
    Pandemic Hammocking 2020 (Source: Geo Davis)

    Needless to say, no side-by-side reveal since we were quarantined, and we weren’t super swift with selfies…

    We’ve long loved hammocks, stringing them up throughout our property, so it occured to me that it would be fun to create a group of hammocks hanging together in the hopes that soon we’d be able to be joined by friends once again. Recumbent social distancing!

    The hammock huddle shown at the top of this post was born. The same is shown here, minus the giant maple tree that used to tower nearby.

    Hammock Huddle (Source: Geo Davis)
    Hammock Huddle (Source: Geo Davis)

    As it turns out, the hammock roundup has been a hit. For the third season in a row we’ve enjoyed group hammocking among the still adolescent stand of maple trees growing between the tennis court and the orchard.

    Yesterday‘s storm damage was distributed throughout our property, and the immense maple that succumbed in the photo stood right next to the hammock huddle. Guided through the forceful blow by some benevolent force, the towering tree exploded onto the ground without damaging the hammocks, the maple trees in which they are suspended, or for that matter any of the adjoining trees save a few branches here and there. It’s remarkable really. Even the gate through which we drive the tractor was unscathed. And, as I pointed out yesterday, if the wind been blowing in the opposite direction, the maple would likely have destroyed the icehouse that we are just beginning to rehabilitate. Instead, we have a new aperture of visible sky this morning and a year’s worth of firewood.

  • Icehouse Haiku

    Icehouse Haiku

    Icehouse Brainstorm: What if we lifted?!?! (Source: Geo Davis)
    Icehouse Haiku or Sketchy Brainstorm?!?! A once pondered (and discarded) concept for lifting the icehouse… (Source: Geo Davis)

    Recent months have been busy with rebuilding and advancing plans for further rebuilding. Soon I’ll share an update on our summer 2022 deck rebuild, and I promise that it’ll be worth the wait. Until then, I’ll tease out another potential rebuild on the horizon. But first, by way of introduction, I offer you an icehouse haiku.

    Icehouse Haiku

    Once sanctuary
    for winter ice in summer,
    so insulated.

    Sometimes a morsel is all we need. And for some of you this may be plenty. A glimpse into my recent ruminations on Rosslyn’s historic icehouse.

    If a poem is way of repurposing an experience, a subject, an idea, then drifting into recent evolution of our icehouse vision via an icehouse haiku seems appropriate. We are, after all, returning to the many times delayed and postponed notion of completing the icehouse rehabilitation initiated back in 2006 and 2007. By the end of this week we may — fingers crossed — be able to offer an exciting update. For now a few brief sketches will suffice, minimalist asides underpinning the idea of repurposing this circa 1889 utility building in a way that is relevant and useful to us today.

    Intrinsic to the Icehouse Haiku

    Underlying the ultra compact words of the icehouse haiku above (and the composited photo and sketch above) are sixteen years of brainstorming and iterating (and repeatedly postponing) plans for rehabilitating the icehouse.

    Rehabilitation fails with no sustainable plan for use. — Stef Noble (Source: Demolition Dedux)

    Our earliest plans for revitalizing Rosslyn rested on this idea that use, usability, contemporary relevance is fundamental to successful historic rehabilitation. Sensitive, responsible, historically and architecturally accurate, yes. But most important, the building must have a functional reason to endure.

    More on this anon, but for now a few glimpses backward in time…

    My earliest inkling about icehouse-ness hearkens back about four and a half decades to Homeport, the Wadhams, New York property that my parents restored when I was young. Although already removed prior to my parents’ purchase of Homeport in the mid/late 1970s, I grew up aware that there had been an icehouse just beyond the “sunporch”, my parents’ summer bedroom. The idea fascinated me. A house full of ice. My youthful imagination conjured up all sorts of fanciful possibilities that history fated to exist in my imagination only.

    Before tripping further down memory lane, let’s get onto an equal footing with respect to icehouses in general. What exactly were they?

    An ice house, or icehouse, is a building used to store ice throughout the year, commonly used prior to the invention of the refrigerator…

    During the winter, ice and snow would be cut from lakes or rivers, taken into the ice house, and packed with insulation (often straw or sawdust). It would remain frozen for many months, often until the following winter, and could be used as a source of ice during the summer months. The main application of the ice was the storage of foods, but it could also be used simply to cool drinks… (Source: Wikipedia)

    Ingenious!

    Ever since my Homeport days I’ve been intrigued by life in the era of icehouses. And so inheriting one when we purchased Rosslyn was a particular pleasure. All the more so when I came across Sally Lesh’s personal recollection of the icehouse at Rosslyn (aka Hyde Gate).

    Directly across the road, ice was cut every winter from the frozen lake surface. All these years later, I can picture the huge square hole full of dark water where the big blocks of ice had been cut by men using long saws. Each block was then hauled out. I have no idea how the block of ice was carried up the steep rocky bank and across the road, up the sloping driveway past the house, past the big barn that houses the carriage and the car, and finally to the icehouse, where it was buried in sawdust. We had iceboxes then, no refrigerators. The ice was broken into square chunks that fit neatly into the tin-lined top compartment of the icebox. I do clearly recall picking tiny bits of sawdust out of my summertime lemonade throughout my childhood. — Sally Lesh, All My Houses: a Memoir (Source: Sally Lesh & the story of Hyde Gate | Rosslyn Redux)

    Sawdust in lemonade seems a small price to pay for frosty beverages and safely preserved perishables long before refrigeration came to Essex. I imagine that somewhere, some day, I’ll come across some historic photographs documenting this very practice Lesh brings to life, but until then I’ll dwell in my imagination.

    As a final sketch before wrapping up this icehouse haiku rumination, let’s revisit these words from an older post.

    The inspector opined that the boathouse and icehouse were probably unrecoverable. Use them while we could or demolish and replace them. There were other eleventh hour surprises that jeopardized the sale too, but demolition as a recommendation was unnerving. Rosslyn’s boathouse was precisely what I’d fallen for. Tear it down? No chance. And the icehouse promised to be the perfect office/studio/playhouse. Think desk, easel, pool table, bar! (Source: Demolition: Rosslyn Dedux)

    Okay, it’s long past the point that I should have abbreviated this runaway reflection. Go figure, I started with a microscopic poem, but then the words just came tumbling out. Sorry!

     

  • Icehouse Door

    Icehouse Door

    Icehouse Door (Source: Geo Davis)
    Icehouse Door (Source: Geo Davis)

    I’d like to shift your focus for a moment to the almost-ready-for-groundbreaking rehabilitation of Rosslyn’s historic icehouse situated just north of the carriage barn. Has your focus shifted? Good. Now let’s zoom in a little tighter to the icehouse door. Perhaps imagine yourself walking south on the sidewalk in front of Rosslyn, looking across the front lawn past the stone wall, toward the setting sun. Can you see the west facade of the icehouse? Can you see the door?

    Icehouse Door Haiku

    Sightlines and viewsheds
    in the historic district
    hinge upon a door.
    — Geo Davis

    As I’ve remarked in the past, there are times when a tidy haiku might accomplish more than a verbose dissertation. If in your estimation my mission is accomplished in the seventeen syllables ahead, I invite you to abbreviate your read here.

    If you’re inclined to probe a little deeper, or simply have no clue what I’m getting at, please read on. But, note that a dissertation isn’t in the offing. I’ll take a reasonable run at the idea(s) in the haiku above, but the bottom line is this. The west facade of Rosslyn’s icehouse is within the public viewshed and various sightlines reveal the icehouse door from sidewalk, road, etc. What does that mean, and why is it important?

    Sightlines & Viewsheds

    In architecture, design, and urban planning “sightlines” is a relatively self-explanatory term combining perspective and line-of-sight visibility within built and unbuilt environments. Hhhmmm… I’m pretty certain that armchair definition wouldn’t pass muster with the AIA, so let’s try a different approach. Within a building or any space, really, what you can see and the relationships between what you can see are your sightlines. What is visible? What is partially or completely obscured? How do visible elements relate to one another? Is the relationship between visible elements visually appealing?

    Okay, so what about “viewshed”?

    The good folks at Merriam-Webster define viewshed as “the natural environment that is visible from one or more viewing points”. Sounds a little bit like the way I’ve tried to explain sightlines. Let’s see if I can muddle things even further by dipping into the collective genius of Wikipedia.

    A viewshed is the geographical area that is visible from a location. It includes all surrounding points that are in line-of-sight with that location and excludes points that are beyond the horizon or obstructed by terrain and other features (e.g., buildings, trees). Conversely, it can also refer to area from which an object can be seen. A viewshed is not necessarily “visible” to humans… (Source: Wikipedia, September 18, 2022)

    All cleared up? No? Hhhmmm… Let’s tap a few other resources.

    Viewsheds are visualizations of what is visible from a given point and are often used in urban planning. (Source: ArcGIS CityEngine Resources)

    When I was 5 years old, I used to play hide-and-seek with my friends. Just like any kid, I’d always try to find the best hiding spots. I used to wonder: If I hide in this spot, what is visible from the observer’s point of view all around them (viewsheds)? Or if the observer looks in a straight line, what is obstructed or not (line of sight)? (Source: Line of Sight vs Viewshed: Visibility Analysis – GIS Geography)

    Assessing what’s visible in a straight line from an observer’s specific location involves consideration for obstructions, topographical/elevation change, etc. This, as I understand it, is the sightline. Whereas the viewshed encompasses all visible objects and areas from the observer’s point of view.

    In the case of our about-to-start icehouse rehabilitation, both the public viewshed (from the road, the sidewalk, even the lake which is a public thoroughfare) and the various sightlines (all three I’ve mentioned not only offer multiple perspective and multiple lines-of-sight on a spectrum from roughly north-to-south, but they also represent different elevations ergo unique topographical angles) are relevant, and they loosely informed the considerations of the Town of Essex Planning Board (and general public) when we presented our proposal this past July and August.

    Essex Village Historic District

    Because Rosslyn is a prominent part of the Essex Village Historic District, and because the historic icehouse is deemed important within the historic district’s public viewshed, the icehouse door became a point of discussion during our Planning Board approval process. The discourse and consideration is actually quite interesting. Historic icehouse. Historic icehouse doors. Historic District. Public viewshed. Public sightlines.

    I’m going to treat this as a two-part post, this first installment to introduce the relevant considerations, and a follow-up once design decisions are finalized. For now, I’ll withhold the drawings as originally presented, in order to stimulate your own contemplation…

  • Carrier Beams Installed for Icehouse Deck

    Carrier Beams Installed for Icehouse Deck

    Most of our icehouse rehab updates have focused on the historic building itself, but today we look at progress on the new deck being constructed west of the icehouse and north of the carriage barn. First we carved out the new grade changes, and then we installed the helical piers. Today hefty carrier beams (aka girders) were installed on top of the steel piles.

    Icehouse Deck Girder Installation (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
    Icehouse Deck Girder Installation (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)

    In the photo above Tony and Jarrett are securing an adjustable steel base to the top of the helical pier. They’re tightening a 1” bolt down through a slotted hole (allowing for alignment adjustability) into the steel post. Once the base is aligned and torqued tight, a 1″ steel standoff is added, lifting the carrier beam above the bolt, allowing for air circulation, and reducing the likelihood of rot.

    Icehouse Deck Girder Installation (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
    Icehouse Deck Girder Installation (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)

    In the photograph above the carrier beam has been installed and secured to the base/bracket.

    Icehouse Deck Girder Installation (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
    Icehouse Deck Girder Installation (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)

    All of the beams have been cut to size and laid out for alignment, leveling, and installation.

    Icehouse Deck Girder Installation (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
    Icehouse Deck Girder Installation (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)

    While Garrett (background) secures carrier beams, Tony (foreground) heats the wood to facilitate installation of adhesive flashing that will isolate joists from beams and — most importantly given our weather extremes along the Adirondack Coat — will reduce the deleterious effects of moisture, snow, and ice in the coming years.

    Carrier Beam Installation Mashup

    In the spirit of previous progress reports, here’s a quick zip through the day’s carrier beam installation.

    https://www.instagram.com/reel/ClSVKTggyQt/

  • Removing Clapboard Siding from Icehouse

    Removing Clapboard Siding from Icehouse

    Removing Clapboard Siding from Icehouse (Source: Hroth Ottosen)
    Removing Clapboard Siding from Icehouse (Source: Hroth Ottosen)

    Preparation for historic rehabilitation of Rosslyn’s icehouse is underway, and the photo above captures progress as of this afternoon. On the third day of removing clapboard siding from the icehouse we are now officially 3/4 of complete. And top of the good news list was confirming that the old cladding is in excellent condition except for a little dry rot on NW corner. Per Hroth, “Overall everything looks really good!”

    Tabula Rasa

    But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s rewind about a week, back before our priority shifted to removing clapboard siding.

    Rosslyn’s ice House was chockablock, not with ice, but with a decade and a half of architectural salvage, building supplies, woodworking projects, etc. Step one was emptying everything from the interior of the icehouse, inventorying the materials, transporting them to the rental storage container, sorting and storing the materials in a secure and orderly fashion do that we can retrieve as needed in the months ahead.

    Mission accomplished! Pam and Tony moved mountains of material, and this is what the inside of Rosslyn’s icehouse looks like now: a true tabula rasa ready for reimagining.

    100% Empty Icehouse (Source: BP Murphy)
    100% Empty Icehouse (Source: BP Murphy)

    Removing Clapboard Siding

    With the icehouse now 100% empty, attention turned to the exterior. When we purchased Rosslyn back in 2006 the icehouse was in pretty rough shape. The north and south walls were “corn cribbing“ (falling outward, top plates literally leaning away from each other), and the roof was collapsing in. I posted a recap of our structural stabilization of the icehouse that will get you up to the present.

    In some respects, the way the icehouse looked when we purchased the property was pretty similar to the Jason McNulty’s photos that zip posted in “Icehouse on Ice”. We patched in clapboards where windows had been, where a large section of the Southwest wall had been cut open, where animals had compromised the walls, where rot had damaged the structure, etc. The result was a charming patchwork of clapboard siding that resolved itself a bit once we primed and painted the building. Remember, that this was a temporary measure, intended to last long enough for us to stabilize the structure and complete the majority of the house and boathouse rehab. but months turn into years, turned into a decade and a half. At last we’re ready yo resume the project yoo long deferred.

    Starting Clapboard Removal (Source: Hroth Ottosen)
    Starting Clapboard Removal (Source: Hroth Ottosen)

    Hroth and Justin began removing clapboard siding from the west facade of the icehouse first (see the later new installation here). Since this side of the building is not within the public viewshed it made sense to experiment, troubleshoot, and fine-tune the process here first. The photo above is early in the process, and the photo below is after completion.

    Justin finishing up siding demo on west facade (Source: Hroth Ottosen)
    Justin finishing up siding demo on west facade (Source: Hroth Ottosen)

    So, yes, I fumbled the chronological sequence be featuring that first photo at the top of this post. I really should have been here at the bottom since it’s the most recent update, but it looked too dramatic to bury at the bottom!

    As for the black-and-white images in this post, chock it up to experimenting with “ways of seeing” and ways of redacting (ie. culling and crating the story). If you prefer glorious technicolor, or you’re just curious, here are the color versions.

  • Is Home a Place, a Feeling, or a Relationship? ⁣

    Is Home a Place, a Feeling, or a Relationship? ⁣

    Is Home a Place, a Feeling, or a Relationship? ⁣(Source: Geo Davis)
    Is Home a Place, a Feeling, or a Relationship? ⁣(Source: Geo Davis)

    In the days since publishing “What Makes a House a Home?” I’ve been fortunate to enjoy follow up exchanges with many of you. It seems that we all have some compelling notions of homeness! Thank you for reaching out and sharing your often personal stories. I’ve mentioned to several of you that I’d like to dive in a little deeper if/when you’re inclined. This inquiry is foundational to Rosslyn Redux, and I believe that the objective is less to answer the question and more to propagate more questions, to seed wonder and reflection.

    There are so many little forays into this residential quest, that I’ve decided to follow up with three follow-ups posts that intrigue me and that have been percolating with renewed vigor since sharing the previous post. I’ll jumpstart the three with a preliminary introduction of sorts, maybe more of a welcome, today in seeding the three questions as one. Is home a place, a feeling, or a relationship? ⁣I’m hoping to intersperse more narrowly focused posts on each of the three questions with progress reports on the icehouse rehab (It was a big day today!) and the boathouse gangway. And I’m hoping to hear from you if you feel moved to share your thoughts on any of the three. I suspect that many of us consider all three to be connected in some way to our ideas of home. More one than another?

    Is Home a Place?

    Obviously Rosslyn is very much a place. It’s an historic property in Essex, New York, on the Adirondack Coast of Lake Champlain. Pretty specific, right. Place, place, place. And to be sure much of what I showcase in these posts is a reflection on place, even the poetics of place.

    Two weeks ago I shared a tickler for this post on Instagram, a short reel offering an aerial view of Rosslyn that I filmed with my drone last summer. It feels meditative to me. Like a soaring seagull wondering, wandering…

    https://www.instagram.com/reel/ClB-1F8AFiK/

    I think for now, I’ll leave the question of home as place gently gyring in the updraft to be picked up again soon in another post.

    Is Home a Relationship?

    In the digital sketch / watercolor at the top of this post, the almost abstract blue green wash hopefully feels a little bit like a dream. Maybe a memory. Something fuzzy and abstract in my memory. It’s a barn, actually a barn quite near Rosslyn in the hamlet of Boquet. But it’s not necessarily that barn I’m depicting. It’s many barns including the barns at Rosslyn (carriage barn and icehouse) the barns at The Farm where I spent a few formative early years, and the barn(s) that I hope to one day, same day build or rebuild. In short, for reasons I’m still unraveling, homeness for me includes a feeling of an old, perhaps even an abandoned farm, with barns. More at that anon.

    Is Home a Place, a Feeling, or a Relationship? ⁣(Source: Geo Davis)
    Is Home a Place, a Feeling, or a Relationship? ⁣(Source: Geo Davis)

    Is Home a Feeling?

    Sticking with digital sketches / watercolors for a moment, that black and white image above was actually made a few years ago to represent Griffin, our Labrador Retriever before Carley. But like the barn, my rudimentary skills at representation allow it to merge into all of our dogs including Tasha, who we had before Griffin, and even Griffin-the-1st, a long ago predecessor and the namesake for our more recent Griffin. That’s a bit jumbled, but it’ll do for now.

    Why dogness as a way to explore homeness? Well, frankly, for me, part of the feeling of home is that it’s where my dog is. And when we’re migratory between the Adirondacks and the Southwest seasonally, our dog is with us, maintaining a sense of home even though we’re temporarily nomadic. More on that now soon.

    Is Home a Point of Overlap Place, Relationship, and Feeling?

    I’ll leave you with this follow-on because I find that it’s surprisingly challenging to tease apart the elements of homeness. Intrinsic to all three, is my beautiful bride, Susan. She is my home in a way that embodies place, relationship, and feeling. What about you?