My bride and I credit the vintage Adirondack lifestyle (and it’s 21st century progeny) for luring us away from Manhattan in 2006 to become North Country full-timers. But what exactly is the Adirondack lifestyle? And has the notion evolved from the time patinated vintage Adirondack stereotypes of yesteryear?
Still image from “Land of My Dreams”. (Source: Amateur Cinema)
Actually it’s not so easily defined, perhaps because there are so many different perspectives on what makes living (or even vacationing) in the Adirondacks desirable. High Peaks, Great Camps, cozy little lodges, Champlain Valley, agriculture, hunting, fly fishing, ice fishing, back country adventures, extreme sports, and the list goes on. Although a portrait of our Adirondack experience will evolve out of these blog posts, I won’t presently attempt to define the vintage Adirondack lifestyle. Though often attempted, any single face of of the Adirondack experience is an abstraction, often even a caricature or a stereotype. The real Adirondack experience is vast, rich and dynamic. It is precisely this richness and diversity which appeals to us. It is precisely this evolving character which inspires us to get involved with the people and organizations that have welcomed us.
Image by virtualDavis via Flickr
The video from which the still above was captured, the first in a series of three, is called Land of My Dreams and it was apparently created by Joseph J. Harley in the late 1940’s. It captures a nostalgic (if extremely dated) caricature of vintage Adirondack living, more precisely the rustic “camp” lifestyle popularized during the mid 1900s.
The story takes place on Bluff Island in the Adirondacks, Saranac Lake, New York. My great grandparents had a house that Joe built himself from scratch. The DEC took the house down after a law was made that people could only camp on certified islands in the lake. Joseph J. Harley was an amateur film maker who made many other movies and won awards for them. (YouTube.com)
Douglas Yu (@tourpro) over at Adirondack Base Camp put me onto this quirky vintage short, but he wasn’t able to share much more about the film or Harley. (Note: unfortunately these videos are now private, and no longer available.)
I couldn’t find much information about the filmographer, but at one point he was President of the American Cinema League.
Many of the artifacts that I’ve collected since purchasing Rosslyn fall into this hazy no-man’s land of vintage Adirondack collectibles (postcards, magazine advertisements, newspaper articles, brochures, videos, etc.) It’s challenging or impossible to determine the background for many of the artifacts, and they occasionally include dated or peculiar elements such as the “black face” character in the the second video. And yet, taken together they provide a context for the quirky tale I have to tell. I’ve decided that this blog is the perfect way to preserve and share these artifacts, characters and stories which don’t find their way into my Rosslyn Redux memoir or the Redacting Rosslyn monologues.
By collecting these artifacts into a “digital museum” I hope to showcase some of the esoteric ingredients of the vintage Adirondack lifestyle (and its contemporaneous offspring) which seduced us, aggravates us, intrigues us, perplexes us and inspires us in this new chapter of our lives.
A parting glimpse of the boathouse blurred beyond veil of soggy snowflakes. Southwestern sirens are calling me away — by ferry, airplane and rental jalopy — so I leave the homestead in the able care of my bride and my dog for a few days. I’m willing deep drifts of powdery snow upon my return!
By the way, if “snow falling on cedar…” rings a bell, there’s a reason why: an amazing novel, Snow Falling on Cedars, by David Guterson. Read it. You won’t regret it. But don’t waste too much time trying to decipher the similarity between the title I used for this snapshot and Guterson’s. No hidden meaning. Just a descriptive reference to Rosslyn’s boathouse roof which received a new shingle roof a couple of summers ago.
Sometimes the universe rhymes. Have you ever noticed that? As if there’s a poetry underneath our everyday lives, and sometimes — when we’re lucky — the poetry floats up to the surface.
“Dueling Banjos” à la Adirondacks
This morning I was lucky. My thanks go out to friend and North Country enthusiast Steve Malone who shared Mark Kroos‘s “Dueling Banjos” video on Facebook.
Inspired by Mark Kroos
I’ve loved “Dueling Banjos” since I was a boy, but there’s another less obvious reason that this song, synonymous for many people with John Boorman’s Deliverance, strikes a chord. (Forgive the pun!)
I was reared in the rural Adirondacks, and as an adult I returned to the Adirondacks with my bride. And while many express envy for our nature-centric, outdoorsy lifestyle, I’ve become accustomed to Deliverance jokes when people wonder aloud what it must be like to actually live and work “in the sticks“. Geographic disparity aside, whistling or humming a few bars of “Dueling Banjos” has become a sort of universal reference to back-country social backwardness.
I suspect that this may have bothered me when I was younger, away at summer camp or boarding school, but specific memories of feeling slighted haven’t stuck with me. I do recall feeling excited to come home to the Adirondacks, and I do remember how much visitors enjoyed playing in the Adirondack Mountains and Lake Champlain and the Boquet River. For me “Dueling Banjos” became a sort of insiders’ anthem to all that was good about rural living.
“Dueling Banjos” à la Mark Kroos
That belly-button gazing aside, the merits of Mark Kroos‘s solo rendition of “Dueling Banjos” need no propping up from me. This guy’s a genius! I headed off to his website to learn a little more.
Mark Kroos plays 2 guitar necks at the same time… His primarily instrumental style is characterized by open harmonies, polyphonic textures, incredible tapping technique, and is as entertaining to watch as it is to listen to…
In May of 2010, Mark embarked a sparsely-booked road trip, giving up his apartment in Williamsburg to play coffee shops and bars, relying on donations, human kindness and the grace of God. This road trip blossomed into a year-long concert tour filled with performances, clinics, and a multitude of new friends. (Mark Kroos)
If his gifted plucking, strumming and finger tapping weren’t already enough to earn him place of honor in my personal pantheon, his quixotic adventure turned success story confirmed my admiration for Mark Kroos.
Follow your dream, even when it means turning your back on the safe and familiar, and plunging into risk and uncertainty. Create beauty and share it with those who appreciate beauty. A great start to this early spring week! Thanks, Mark Kroos. Thanks, Steve Malone.
Dino Dogan will present at #ADK827 in Essex, New York on Saturday, August 27.
I have a surprise addition to the #ADK827 Adirondack Region Social Media Meetup taking place in Essex, New York tomorrow:
Dino Dogan (@dino_dogan), the founder of Triberr (@Triberr), will be presenting at 1:30 PM in the Essex Inn dining room following the luncheon. Whether you’re new to social media or a seasoned veteran, Dino will stretch your skills and inspire your dreams! Dino’s DIY Blogger NET is a favorite go-to blog for online marketing, creative technology applications, social media pointers, creative web design tips and cutting edge social media resources and commentary. Triberr is an innovative platform for dilating the breadth and impact of your social media message.
In addition to social media wonk, Dino describes himself as a “lousy mixed martial artist and a recovering network engineer, a pretty good singer/songwriter, trainer of dogs, and a blogger of biz…” In short, Dino’s just a regular guy who happens to understand the value and tools of social media a whole lot better than most regular guys. This is part of what makes him a great teacher and an inspiring speaker.
If you’re hoping to supercharge your social media skillset or if you’re still confused but curious about blogging, Facebook, Twitter, Google+, Triberr, etc. you won’t want to miss Dino Dogan’s presentation. I look forward to seeing/meeting you tomorrow for the #ADK827 Adirondack Region Social Media Meetup taking place in Essex, New York. View the full schedule here.
Venison Green Chile Stew: looks like dog food, tastes like bliss!
He that strikes the venison first shall be the lord o’ the feast. ~ Shakespeare, King Lear
I admitted to the butcher at the Village Meat Market in Willsboro the other day that I could easily give up beef for game. I enjoy meat of all sorts, but my pallet is especially charmed by seasonal wild game including duck, rabbit, venison, antelope, elk, boar, pheasant and even goose which many people consider too rich or greasy. So you can imagine my pleasure when I received this text message from our caretaker, Doug, earlier today.
Hey, George, I have some venison sausage. Do you want it in the fridge or the freezer?
Thanks! Freezer would be great. I just cooked up the last of my venison sausage yesterday to make green chile stew. Perfect timing. Thank you, Doug.
I’ve been fortunate to receive gifts of venison from Doug and other local hunters ever since moving to Essex. North Country gourmets (and gourmands) tout the merits of tenderloins – the venison equivalent of filet mignon, small strips of meat located along the spine inside a deer’s cavity – and backstraps – larger strips of meat located along the spine outside a deers’s cavity – but ground venison and venison sausage are often overlooked. Not delicacies, perhaps, but unfairly neglected, especially considering how much more ground meat than tender steaks is produced when a deer is butchered.
One of the easiest preparations for ground venison is a grilled burger.
Ground venison makes the tastiest burgers, though the trick is to cook the meat to medium for six to eight minutes total, preserving the texture and juices. ~ Elizabeth Folwell (Adirondack Life)
Because venison is very lean, you may wish to add olive oil, butter or lard when preparing and seasoning the burger.
My favorite way to cook ground venison is to mix it with pork sausage as the protein base for Green Chile Stew, a dish that seduced me when I lived in Santa Fe, New Mexico during my twenties.
Venison Green Chile Stew.
It looks like dog food,
But it tastes like bliss!
Here’s the most current version of my perennially evolving venison green chile stew recipe.
Venison Green Chile Stew Recipe
Utensils reconnoitering with Amaryllis. (Credit: virtualDavis)
This time of year, green chile stew is an ideal core-warning, vitamin rich comfort food. If you’re only familiar with red chile, it’s time to try something new. The flavor is totally different, and you just might change your chile preferences.
Consider the following recipe a rough guide, not a set of rules. (Ditto for all recipes, mine or otherwise!)
Ingredients
4 tbsp. olive oil
2 medium/large onions, diced
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 lb. venison, ground
1 lb. pork sausage
2 bay leaves
16 fl. oz. chicken or beef stock
16 fl. oz. white wine or beer
3-4 cups green chiles, fire roasted/peeled/chopped
2-3 large potatoes, chopped
salt and pepper
Preparation
[Note: I prefer a slow cooker to cook green chile stew, but these directions can be adapted to crock and range cooking.]
Heat olive oil in a large skillet (or range-safe slow cooker liner/crock). Add onions and garlic, stirring over low-to-medium heat until the onions become soft and translucent. Add venison and pork. Break up any large lumps of meat and continue stirring and heating until ground meat is fully cooked and mixed with onions and garlic. Add remaining ingredients (except salt and pepper) and mix thoroughly before transferring to slow cooker. Set temperature and timer for four hours (high) or eight hours (low). Stir and check for adequate moisture from time to time. Salt and pepper to taste. Enjoy!
Over the last two weeks I’ve observed two young Pixie Crunch apple trees in our orchard succumbing to cedar-apple rust. Or so I suspect. (Rosslyn Redux)
So what do you think? Cedar-apple rust? Something else? Although I dread admitting it, I’m fairly convinced that we’re battling a light invasion of cedar-apple rust which has undoubtedly evolved quite happily, unimpeded in the old meadows, volleying back and forth between the native cedars and old abandoned apple trees.
Cedar-apple rust (Photo: photoholic1)
To brace myself, I’m digging into the nitty-gritty details, learning what I can about organic cedar-apple rust treatments, and culling the Eastern Red Cedars (Juniperus virginiana) growing nearby, the very ones upon which I’ve detected the telltale galls and gelatinous orange horns ever since we started landscaping, gardening and recovering the back meadows.
When I have time to thumb through old photos from the spring/summer of 2008 or 2009 I’ll dig out some of the photographs I took. At the time I was fascinated with the colorful fungi that emerged after wet periods. I snapped images to help me identify what I took for an innocuous parasite.
Symptoms of Cedar-Apple Rust
In my opinion, the symptoms of cedar-apple rust are most evident on the cedar trees, especially during the brightly colored phase visible in the photo on the right.
On the Eastern Red Cedar host, the fungus produces reddish-brown galls from 1/4 to 1 inch in diameter. These galls can be mistaken for cone structures by the uninitiated. After reaching a diameter of about 1/2 inch, they show many small circular depressions. In the center of each depression is a small, pimple-like structure. In the spring these structures elongate into orange gelatinous protrusions or horns. The spore-bearing horns swell during rainy periods in April and May. The wind carries the microscopic spores to infect apple leaves, fruit and young twigs on trees within a radius of several miles of the infected tree. (Wikipedia)
[pullquote]In midsummer, these rust lesions develop hairlike, cylindrical tubes (hyphae), which release spores into the air that are blown to the juniper host.[/pullquote]
Perhaps because my apple trees afflicted with cedar-apple rust are still small, the fungus is less apparent. But closer examination of the leaves (no fruit have set on the pair of young Pixie Crunch apple trees yet) reveal the signature markings.
The most conspicuous symptoms on apple are bright orange, glistening lesions on the leaves. Lesions which are not inhibited chemically may form small tufts of spore-producing structures (aecia) on the lower surface of the leaf by July or August. Cedar-apple rust appears on fruit first as bright orange, slightly raised lesions, but may take on a more brown and cracked appearance as the fruit enlarges. Usually some of the orange color remains at harvest as evidence of the early season infection… Stem infection causes a slight swelling of the stem and may result in abscission of the young fruit. (West Virginia University, Kearneysville)
Bright yellow/orange spots develop on the upper surface of the leaves in late spring. These spots gradually enlarge, becoming evident on the undersurface of the leaves as small bulges. In midsummer, these rust lesions develop hairlike, cylindrical tubes (hyphae), which release spores into the air that are blown to the juniper host. Infected leaves of apples and crabapples may drop, with defoliation more severe in dry summers. (The Morton Arboretum)
Disease Cycle of Cedar-Apple Rust
Cedar-apple rust (Photo: photoholic1)
I’d like to dive a little deeper into the complex relationship between cedar-apple rust (Gymnosporangium juniperi-virginianae) and the two host species – apple trees and eastern red cedar trees – that sustain it.
Operating well out of my arena of even nominal knowledge, I’ll continue to defer to the experts as we examine the 2-season life cycle of cedar-apple rust.
I apologize for redundancies, but as a non-expert I feel better include too much rather than too little information, even at the risk of overemphasizing some aspects of the condition. If you’re a quick study, scan and move on.
The rust organism spends one full year of its life cycle on junipers. During the second spring… the galls become rain soaked and swell, producing jelly-like tendrils (spore horns) that project out of the galls. As the spore horns begin to dry, the spores are released and carried by the wind to young, newly developing leaves of hawthorns and other susceptible plants. Dispersal of spores can range up to 5 miles from a juniper but most infections develop within several hundred feet. (The Morton Arboretum)
Cedar Apple Rust is most easily identified by the appearance of small yellow to orange lesions that will appear on the top of leaves, petioles, and even on young fruits. Depending on host susceptibility, these lesions can increase in size at varying rates, with faster enlargement on more susceptible cultivars. These lesions can occasionally be surrounded by a red band, but this is not the standard. After this, small brown pustules will develop that are no larger than 1mm in diameter. These will produce watery, orange drops. Next… comes yellow brown lesions up to 15mm in diameter on the underside of leaves. From these, dark tubular structures are produced; these will release red brown spores. (University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign)
Cedar apple rust is caused by the fungi… Gymnosporangium juniperi-virginianae that spend part of their life cycles on Eastern Red Cedars growing near orchards. The complex disease cycle of cedar apple rust, alternating between two host plants… [starts when] at the first warm rain of spring, the spore horns become gelatinous masses and produce their teliospores.
[pullquote]Wind carries the spores to apple leaves… [where they] attach themselves to the young leaves, germinate, and enter the leaf or fruit tissues.[/pullquote]
Wind carries the spores to apple leaves at about the time that apple buds are in the pink or early blossom stage. Upon reaching apple buds or leaves, the spores attach themselves to the young leaves, germinate, and enter the leaf or fruit tissues. Infection takes place in as little as four hours under favorable conditions. Yellow lesions develop in one to three weeks.
In July and August, spores from the apple leaves (Aeciospores) are produced. The wind carries the spores back to Eastern Red Cedars, completing the infectious cycle. The spores land on cedar needle bases or in cracks or crevices of twigs. There, they germinate and producing small, green-brown swellings about the size of a pea. Galls do not produce spores until the second spring. However, mature galls usually are present every year… (Wikipedia)
Plenty of overlap between these three sources (or should I say “millions of sources” since Wikipedia is a gargantuan, open source collaboration?) A pretty clear picture is emerging, and a none too enticing picture at that!
Prevention & Treatment of Cedar-Apple Rust
So for a gardener who avoids non-organic pest control, cedar-apple rust appears to be a rather formidable adversary. And yet, I’m hoping to bypass the threat without resorting to harmful chemicals. As I mentioned above, I’ve already begun to eliminate cedars within the immediate vicinity, and we’ll continue culling all withing a quarter mile or so of the orchard. This is an especially reasonable preventative measure because we can sue all of the cedar trees as naturally rot-resistant fence posts, and we can chip the branches into mulch. This is known as “cultural control”.
The easiest (or maybe just most successful) practice would be to remove all the galls from Eastern red cedar trees in the surrounding areas. This rust does not overwinter on any of the hosts mentioned in this article, and instead overwinters on nearby cedar. Midway through the growing season, the yellow orange spots release spores that will infect cedar to ensure the pathogens winter survival. The cedar galls are bright orange in color, and look like strange masses of jelly tendrils. These should be removed in early spring to prevent summer infection, and then removed once again in the three to four week blooming period.. (University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign)
Because this disease requires two hosts, the separation of the hosts for a distance of one mile will help reduce infection. Ideally, to minimize disease host availability, plant trees and shrubs that are resistant to rust diseases. (The Morton Arboretum)
Interruption of the disease cycle is the only effective method for control of the cedar apple rust. The recommended method of control is to “remove cedars located within a 1-mile radius” of the apples to interrupt the disease cycle, though this method is seldom practical… [Planting less susceptible apple tree varieties is prudent, because] resistant varieties are less susceptible to attack, but that does not mean that they are free from an aggressive attack. (Wikipedia)
While a mile radius is challenging, I am removing all red cedars with open lawn or meadows allowing easy spread of the cedar-apple rust spores. And I will ensure that all new apple trees planted this fall and next spring are not overly susceptible to the affliction.
Sometimes the simplest solution is best! I will follow this advice going forward, even though I am also hoping to eradicate the cedar host. And with a stroke of luck I’ll be able to avoid the most frequent treatment solution proposed: “chemical control”.
Protective fungicides can be applied to help minimize infection. A minimum of three applications should be done. These applications protect the new leaves from spores that are dispersed from the juniper host in mid-spring. Spraying apple… foliage after symptoms develop has no controlling effect… Begin spraying when new growth appears and flower buds show color but are not yet open (balloon stage). Repeat three to four times at 10 to 14 day intervals. (The Morton Arboretum)
Fungicide sprays applied in a timely manner are highly effective against the rust diseases during the apple cycle… If cedar apple rust disease is diagnosed on apple fruits and leaves it is far too late to spray.
Application of fungicides to the junipers before and while they are in the infectious orange gelatinous state seems to reduce the severity of the outbreak. (Wikipedia)
To date I’ve been unable to identify any truly organic fungicides guaranteed to treat cedar-apple rust. They may exist, and despite my optimism that I’ll overcome the threat posed by this fungus, I would be interested in hearing from you if you’re aware of a proven organic treatment. Thank in advance for your assistance.
I’ve been back in the Adirondacks for a week after a six week “walkabout” with my bride and beast (Griffin, a 5 year old Labrador Retriever). And today is the first day that it hasn’t rained since we our return.
The sky is blue. The sun is warm. Robins are plucking worms from the soggy lawn. The purple lilacs are blooming. Spinach, radishes (French Breakfast Radish… Yum!), arugula and lettuce are reaching toward the sunny heavens. And Lake Champlain is wavy but not choppy. A postcard perfect day. But all is not perfect…
Remember these Lake Champlain water level graphs that I shared frequently during the 2011 Lake Champlain flood? Well, they’re back! And not because I love wonky diagrams.
Unfortunately I’m once again preoccupied with Lake Champlain’s rapidly rising waters. As you can see, the Lake Champlain water level is approaching 98 feet. While this isn’t an unusually high water level for spring, the rate at which the level is increasing concerns me.
You see how the lake gradually dropped a foot and a half over the last month? At the low, everyone was a little worried. Too low. Starting out the boating season with such low water levels would have been a concern in August and September. Boats find reefs and sandbars when the lake gets sooo low. Which isn’t fun for boat owners. Though full-service marinas tend to fare rather well…
Of course, low water levels are no longer a concern. We arrived home last Tuesday, and since then the rain has been falling and the lake level has been raising. Lake Champlain’s jumped almost two feet in a week. At 10:00 AM the current USGS Lake Champlain water level is 97.94 feet. And it’s continuing to go up, up, up.
And our dock is already at water level. Exactly. And while the boat lift still has almost a foot of reserve if we need to jack the runabout higher, the batteries are sitting on the dock. And they need to stay dry.
We might resort to putting the batteries in the boat to keep them dry. Especially if the water level continues to rise. Which I’m hoping it wont. I’m hoping that it’s cresting. That it’s about to start falling. Precipitously!
But hope and Mother Nature don’t always collaborate. Today, perhaps they will.
With September and October skulking away and November slithering in, I’m dishing up a photographic retrospective, a parade of annotated images gathered “on the fly” over the last few months.
Timber Rattlesnake killed on Lakeshore Road in Essex, NY on August 22, 2012.
This first photo was actually taken in August, but I couldn’t resist including this unsettling image. I came across this freshly killed three foot long Adirondack timber rattlesnake while cycling along Lakeshore Road near Essex. The blood was fresh and the rattle had been cut off.
Although I want to believe this near-black Crotalus horridus was accidentally hit and killed by a car, it prompted a serpentless September rattlesnake safari, and catalyzed much conversation with friends about our local population of timber rattlesnakes. How can we protect them?
I’ll share rattlesnake news if/when relevant. For now I’ll move over to the autumn harvest. Given our hot, dry summer it was been a phenomenal year for most locally grown produce.
While we began flirting with frost most nights in September (earlier than the previous two years), tender vegetables like tomatoes were still coming out of our own garden and our local CSA, Full and By Farm, owned by Sara Kurak and James Graves.
These “ugly but delicious” heirloom tomatoes from Full and By Farm tempted me despite the fact that we’d been giving away and composting excess tomatoes since August. Too many, too fast. I’d been eating 2-3 tomatoes every day for lunch and dinner. Literally. I’m not exaggerating.
When I posted the picture of these yellowish orange tomatoes on Twitter and Facebook, several friends insisted that these tomatoes weren’t ugly. True. They were voluptuous and vibrant and even a quick glance discloses the explosion of flavor they pack.
But many of the heirloom varieties that we grow in our vegetable garden and the Full and By farmers grow are often referred to as “ugly” simply because they lack the uniformity of color and the blemish-free skin of the hybrid varieties usually sold in stores. In fact, the “uglier” the variety, the better they usually taste. One of my favorites, Black Krim is a perfect example. I wish I had posted a photo when they were still producing…
These hot, hot, hot peppers (early Adirondack autumn colors?) were part of our farm share pickup for several weeks.
I don’t tend to use many hot peppers in my cooking (and I grow several varieties in our own garden) so I haven’t been loading up on these, but I find them beautiful. Beautiful! I’m always amazed how naturally glossy and polished peppers and eggplant are. And the green/red mottling is exquisite.
If you scratch and sniff the photo, you just might understand why the farmers remind us again and again, “Those are hot!”
And what better complement to those exotic peppers than a not often witnessed artichoke blossom.
We grew Imperial Star Artichokes for the second time this summer. Last year we successfully propagated and matured a half dozen plants. But the result was only a few smallish artichokes. Lots of effort for negligible reward, but I was encouraged to try again. I’d never even known that we could successfully grow artichokes in the Adirondacks.
The discovery was made in the fall of 2010 while visiting the gardens of Château Ramezay in Montreal. I was astonished to see the thriving plants, and immediately began researching. It turned out that Imperial Star Artichokes are productively grown as annuals in Maine and other parts of the Northeast. We vowed to try to our luck.
This summer we had nine plants of which two never produced artichokes but the other seven each produced multiple artichokes. Several plants produced five to ten artichokes apiece. We’ve felt truly fortunate each time we’ve harvested artichokes for lunch or dinner. Can believe that artichokes are yet another highlight of Adirondack autumn?
In fact, so abundant were the artichokes during August and September that several began to bloom before we could harvest them. The photograph above nicely conveys the part-sea-anemone-part-fireworks blossom of an Imperial Star Artichoke. A favorite of our Rosslyn honeybees.
Adirondack autumn is also the perfect time for sailing on Lake Champlain. Although my bride and I have mostly concentrated on windsurfing in recent years, I often find myself gazing longingly at larger sailboats gliding gracefully across the water.
For most of my life I’ve dreamed of a swift sailing vessel large enough to live aboard and wander from port to port, slowly gunkholing my way around the world with occasional blue water crossings between continents. I even have a name for my ship. And her dinghy. But I’ll keep them under wraps until the time is right.
This handsome navy blue sloop was in the neighborhood for a few days, repeatedly cautching my eye because of its minimalist but handsome design. Elegant when drifting in a light breeze and even more so when scudding through whitecaps riding a stiff blow!
Although I’m aware that my critics may justifiably accuse me of bellybutton gazing each time I post a new image of Rosslyn’s boathouse, I simply can’t resist it. This architectural folly has enchanted me since childhood, and now that I have the opportunity (and responsibility) to care for her, I’m all the more smitten.
This photo was taken at dawn after a forceful windstorm (an unwelcome hand-me-down from Hurricane Isaac) that loosed one of the Adirondack chairs from the deck and dumped it into the shallow water of the beach. We were relieved to recover the chair because it was a handmade wedding gift from a close friend. Though one armrest was shattered, we will repair and repaint it this winter so that it will be ready to enjoy again next spring.
And, as if hurricanes weren’t enough, a short time later we were warned that a tornado threatened! A tornado? It does seem that extreme weather is becoming more and more common.
Only a couple of days before, Camp Dudley, a boys camp in Westport, NY where I spent a couple of memorable summers as a boy, was hit by an destructive windstorm that damaged roofs and snapped trees.
This moody black and white photo of the dockhouse was taken in the hours awaiting the tornado. Anxious hours.
Fortunately we were spared the worst of the tornado, but our good friends who own a home north of us near Valcour Island were not so lucky. They lost a towering old growth tree and their boat docks were tossed and somersaulted out into Lake Champlain. Fortunately nobody was hurt and the docks were able to be recovered.
In a similarly ominous vein, this photograph of Rosslyn’s waterfront not only conveys the foreboding of stormy weather but also of summer passing. Or at least that was my hope. You’ll have to be the judge.
The lighting and the shading suggest an antique photograph (thanks to a handy iPhone app which allows limitless technical control over the image elements) while the angle and unpopulated Adirondack chairs and beach add an eerie, abandoned feel. As if a seasonal camp or resort is about to be mothballed for the winter.
There’s irony in this, of course, because Rosslyn is our home. Once our summer guests depart and Essex village slows down, we experience a second wind. We are revitalized. But that story for another day…
Although we have several times hunkered down in anticipation of severe weather this fall, we’ve been been spared each time. And each time the skies have cleared to reveal blue skies and sunshine enough to warm our optimism. And even the occasional wild turkey feather. Check out this bumpy but fun video of twenty turkeys in Rosslyn orchard.
I’ve walked the property after these storms to survey fallen limbs and other damage. Each time I’ve been relieved with the minimal damage. We’ve lost many branches and leaves, but few trees. Perhaps this is due to some sort of cosmic payback for the damage to our fruit trees this spring when a powerful hailstorm destroyed an ancient crab apple and killed seven young fruit trees in our orchard.
Chief among my concerns when the winds howl (or the snowstorms dump, dump, dump) is our carriage barn which is overdue for a new roof.
When an old barn collapsed at Full and By Farm a couple of winters ago I started looking more critically at our historic carriage barn. Although it is in surprisingly good shape for its 100-200 years, the structural elements of the post and beam construction are under-built by modern standards. There are several areas where settling and sagging cause concern, and we’ve been moving forward with plans to secure the building and replace the roof.
If all goes as planned, construction will begin soon and we will be spared another anxious winter worrying that the snow load will overcome the proud old building. I will post updates if/when this project advances.
The perils and challenges of severe weather for homeowners with aging property are plenty, but there’s little pleasure in fretting. And there’s ample pleasure in celebrating the harvest, so I’d like to return to the topic of harvesting, preparing and preserving the vegetables of our labors.
But I’ve already droned on ad nauseum, so I’ll save further harvest updates for your next installment… Stay tuned for Adirondack Autumn 2012: Part II.
“You’re right. We both could have careers,” she said. I nodded. “But could we really live full time in the boonies? Where the closest healthy supermarket is in Vermont, a ferry ride away?”
“I could. I have.”
“Maybe I could… Our friends here lead great lives, right?”
“Right.”
“They have so much more to talk about than work and kids,” Susan said. She described conversations with our friends in the city and suburbs inevitably veering onto the strains, calamities and milestones of parenting. “Nannies, babysitters, nutrition, education, play dates… I mean, I do love our friends’ kids. I love seeing their personalities and their interests and their abilities changing, but I’m so tired of the perpetual kid chatter. I’m sick of everyone griping that their lifestyles have been kidnapped by childbearing and then – in the same breadth – imploring us to have children, assuring us that it’s the best decision they ever made.”
We enjoyed spending time with children. I had taught middle school and high school students for a half dozen years and genuinely missed the daily interaction with teenagers. But long before we were even married Susan and I had decided that we would not have any children. Our insatiable appetites for wandering the globe and our tendency to hyper fixate on each new personal and professional endeavor, comprised less than ideal ingredients for child rearing.
“Our friends here are different.” Susan had the spirit now. “Even the ones who have children have so much more to talk about…” Her words came fast and excited. I turned on the hot water to warm up the tub. “They’re passionate about politics, the environment, the health and viability of the community. They’re enthusiastic about improving the world around them. They’re so much less concerned about financial success, about how big their homes are, how green their lawns are, how stylish their wardrobes are. They’re cultured. They’re well educated. They’re well informed. They love animals. They’re athletic. They’re outdoorsy… Can you turn that off? It’s burning my leg.” I turned off the hot water, and Susan resumed her monologue about the merits of our North Country friends and their lifestyles. Smaller communities resulted in greater civic involvement, she opined. “They join the boards of local non-profits. Or they start their own organizations. They participate in local government…”
“Susan?”
“They’re environmentalists, writers, doctors, teachers, lawyers, artists, realtors, yoga instructors. They’re entrepreneurs and architects, camp directors and farmers…”
“Susan, I’m with you. I understand. I agree.” She stopped talking and smiled. “You don’t need to lecture me on why we admire our friends’ passion or their choices to live intentionally. Or their abilities to balance meaningful work with quality of life. I’m on board. It’s admirable. We’re on the same page.”
“It’s just, the more I think about it, the more I realize I’d love to move here.”
“And the more you talk about it, the more I worry that your perspective’s a wee bit idealistic. No? A little too saccharine? A little too much MSG?”
Susan laughed. “Maybe.”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love the North Country tableau you’re describing, but I don’t want to…”
“I know.”
“You do? What?”
“You don’t want me to be disappointed if it doesn’t measure up.”
“Partly, and I… Listen, I really do like the idea of living up here, for a while, at least. But I don’t want you later to feel like you did it for me, like I talked you into it, like I misrepresented it or something. Does that make any sense?”
We’ve had good luck with using Earth Friendly Products’ Furniture Polish on unsealed wood such as cherry and walnut furniture that hasn’t been varnished, lacquered, etc. Because the grain is open and receptive to oil, the furniture polish works nicely to brighten the natural pigments and grain while maintaining the requisite moisture in the wood. But this product is decidedly unsuitable for our mahogany dining room table, leaving behind unsightly smears and swirls from the applicator.
My current quest to source a green furniture wax connected me with Betsy at Farmhouse Wares, a user-friendly online purveyor of the sort of essentials you might have found at a general store in the distant, slightly idealized past. Betsy’s goal complements our own ideals nicely: the marriage of classical elegance and healthy, ecologically responsible design. So the website was an obvious match for me this morning when I was dredging the web for a non-toxic wax to maintain our French polished and lacquered antiques.
Update: Time for a re-order! It’s been eight months since I first posted, and I’ve just placed another order for more Farmhouse Furniture Wax, and this time we’re trying the lilac as well as the lemon scent. Lavendar is not likely to be a big hit with Susan’s who’s sensitivity to fragrance tends to rule out lavendar. A shame since I love the smell; reminds me of Provence…
Verdict is that this product is a good, reliable hard wax for highly finished wood furniture. We’ve been using on finicky antiques with great results!
Morning Meander, June 12, 2018 (Source: Geo Davis)
My best days at Rosslyn start with a mellow morning meander to the waterfront to watch the sun rise up out of the Green Mountains. Or to the vegetable gardens and orchard to pick fresh fruit while sipping my tea. Or around the property inspecting flower beds and deadheading peonies or whatever else has bloomed and withered.
And by my side, my Labrador Retriever. In our early days at Rosslyn, our dog (and my early-morning companion) was Tasha, an almost snow white Lab who passed away as we neared the final significant phase of Rosslyn’s rehabilitation. Tasha was buried beneath a maple tree that she frequented for, well, shall we say, her morning and evening rituals.
Griffin joined our family after Tasha, and he turned ten years old this spring. It hardly seems possible. How did a puppy who so recently chewed up the trim (just as soon as the finish carpenters and painters finished) rocket into the early weeks of his second decade?!?!
Griffin was with me during my morning meander this past Tuesday, June 12. He too loves early morning but for different reasons than I, so my sunrise saunter was brief enough for me to get back inside and make his breakfast before he fainted from starvation…
I’ll change gears from Rosslyn boathouse and waterfront snapshots to a few garden harvest memories.
We had enormous luck with melons this season despite a slow start. Actually, our luck was mixed. We grew about thirty medium sized cantaloups, but the squirrels (and raccoons?) devoured them as they ripened, successfully gobbling up every fruit before we could harvest it.
We had better luck with watermelons which either enticed the wild critters less or were better protected by virtue of their hard, thick rinds.
And a half dozen heirloom varieties of eggplant (eighteen plants) produced a bumper crop. Although we’ve grown eggplant for three or four years with decent luck, this summer was something else. The plants exploded up out of the drought cracked soil, quickly rising above my knees and in many cases reaching all the way to my waist.
We harvested literally hundreds of huge, glossy, delicious eggplant for over three months. We ate them every day. We gave them away. We even learned how to preserve them for mid-winer enjoyment.
I grilled and froze eggplant and blanched and froze tomatoes. I even cooked up (and froze) a sizable batch of Khoresht-e Bademjan, a Persian eggplant stew which we’ll devour this winter when the garden is three feet deep in snow!
The “skinny eggplant” photo was taken before slicing and baking them for the Khoresht-e Bademjan. In addition to several long, slender varieties, we grew several large purplish black varieties and pale purple striped varieties. (I’ve previously grown white eggplants, but skipped them this year.)
The eggplant were added to the tomato sauce which I stewed down from these yellow tomatoes, white wine, garlic and minced onion. The house smelled divine!
It was a challenging exercise in restraint to prepare Khoresht-e Bademjan to freeze and eat several months later without allowing “taste tests” to become “chow time”! But most of the eggplant stew is now frozen and ready for a snowy day.
During the same post-workshop burst of enthusiasm for food preservation I explored preparing and freezing stuffed peppers. Turns out they’re better eaten right away. So I picked a half dozen of the biggest sweet peppers; stuffed them with minced chopped/sauteed mushrooms, onions, garlic, piñon nuts and quinoa; and slow-baked them for a delicious dinner. Ah, the harvest…
Of course, Adirondack Autumn isn’t all stormy weather and culinary experimentation. The same chill which revitalizes the heat-stupored mind and sweetens the apples, pears and grapes chills the ankles.
That’s right, fall is marked by a return to socks.
For the first time in months the end of September found me sliding my paws into foot mittens each morning, a subtle reminder, day after day, that retrains the brain into cold weather survival mode after a summer of wild abandon. A small detail you say?
Perhaps.
For you. But not for me.
This Adirondack autumn has remained relatively mild and dry, though we did have a rainy stretch in October that caused Lake Champlain‘s water level to rise rapidly. The rising water posed some challenges for the stone retaining wall we’ve been rebuilding along the northern half of our waterfront, ongoing repairs to damage caused by the 2011 spring floods. We raced to complete the most critical stone and mortar work while the water was still low enough for the tractor to operate on the beach. Given the massive stones used to build the stone wall in the 1800s, a tractor loader and backhoe are a big help! Unfortunately the rapidly rising water reduced the time we could rely on the tractor, and the crew finished the work by hand, relying on levers and pulleys and winches instead of steel and hydraulics and diesel to perform the feats of brawn.
Next week I’ll feature a few snapshots that capture the natural lighting change that is part of Adirondack autumn.
