At the outset of this sprawling experiment I call Rosslyn Redux I needed a way to describe the vision (as much for myself as for visitors to the About page.) So, in the springtime of this journey I settled on the only real point of clarity: Rosslyn Redux would be the story of a house. I anticipated some of the interwoven elements (my still new marriage, our lifestyle changes, NYC-to-Essex pivot, etc.) that inevitably would find their way into the pages.
Rosslyn, November 8, 2004 (Photos: Jason McNulty)
Here’s a snippet from that early attempt to define my intentions.
Rosslyn Redux is the story of a house and the idiosyncrasies (and absurdities) of renovation, marriage and North Country life…
With 20/20 hindsight I’d likely replace “house” with “home” or “historic home”. Or even “homestead”. But in those naive early days I did not yet understand how profoundly my notion of home and “homeness” would evolve through my relationship, indeed Susan and my relationship, with Rosslyn.
In fact, with the benefit of time and perspective, there’s plenty that I would change in this preliminary vision, but for the moment let’s just dig a little deeper into the relationship and distinction between house and home.
Rosslyn, November 8, 2004 (Photos: Jason McNulty)
Old House, New Home
Per various accounts it looks as if the first phase of Rosslyn’s construction was completed and the property was occupied circa 1820. Records vary, and the succession of additions and alterations likely accounts for some of the confusion. But however you look at it this historic house and property is a couple of centuries old. at the heart of our journey was an effort to transform this old house into a new home.
Actually, in rereading that last sentence, I’m feeling uncomfortable with the idea that we have transformed Rosslyn. Certainly there is/was an element of transformation, but one of the lessons that we’ve learned with and through Rosslyn is the importance of reawakening a home rather than turning into something different from what it already was.
Rosslyn, November 8, 2004 (Photos: Jason McNulty)
Reawakening Home
Much of our early design and architectural brainstorming involved identifying and removing previous owners’ attempts at transforming Rosslyn. Layers of makeovers and alterations were carefully, slowly peeled away until we could simplify and integrate the design back into a cohesive whole. Cohesion and integration. Guiding principles for us even now as we undertake the adaptive reuse of the icehouse.
Aside from the somewhat arrogant and hubristic potential in setting out to transform Rosslyn, we’ve discovered that attempting to overlay newness, fashion, trends, and so forth onto four impressive buildings that have withstood the tests and temper tantrums of time misses many opportunities to learn from (and through) Rosslyn’s. It also preempts the potential for us to change and grow, allowing Rosslyn to inform and broaden and deepen our understanding of homeness.
Rosslyn, November 8, 2004 (Photos: Jason McNulty)
In other words, reawakening Rosslyn has been an opportunity to reawaken ourselves. (Still working on this idea, so I’m hoping for your forbearance as I learn how to better articulate this.)
In closing, I recommend a short film by Ann Magee Coughlin that I rewatched recently. Her story of a house is different from ours, but the richness and texture of history that can coalesce within an old home resonates with me in the context of our efforts to reawaken an old house as a new home.
Once upon a time—starting in about 2005 or 2006 and concluding about a dozen years ago, if memory serves—I was on the board on Historic Essex (formerly Essex Community Heritage Organization, ECHO). Todd Goff, a fellow director, Essex neighbor, and friend, took it upon himself to correct me, differentiating for me “historic preservation” from ” from “historic rehabilitation”. I no longer remember the context, but I expect I was updating him in 2006 or 2007 on our progress in the early days of our mushrooming renovation project. Armed with a keen mind (and master’s degree in preservation), I respected Todd’s knowledge and appreciated his clarification. I expect that I used renovation, restoration, and preservation interchangeably in those days, never stopping to consider the profoundly important differences.
I most likely had not used the historic rehabilitation at all prior to that point, and learning more about it opened my eyes, ignited my curiosity, and kindled my imagination. More on fanciful end of the spectrum anon. For now I’d like to delineate for you historic rehabilitation as I understand it. (And please note that if you, like Mr. Goff, are able to advance my instruction, please advise in the comments below. Thanks in advance.)
J.C. Coatsworth Residence (Antique Postcard)
Preservation vs. Rehabilitation
Less stringent than historic preservation, historic rehabilitation emphasizes maintaining the historic integrity of architectural heritage while balancing its relevant functionality for modern day use.
Both preservation and rehabilitation are sensitive to the imperative of preserving the historic character and value of a resource, but modern functionality weighs more heavily in the case or the latter. When an architecturally significant resource is abandoned or in advanced stages of disrepair, both approaches are viable means of saving and revitalizing the resource. Likewise, both can be complex, painstaking, lengthy, and expensive processes. In fact, sometimes the scope exceeds the means and/or justification for revitalizing a property, and all too often valuable architectural and cultural heritage is indefinitely neglected and eventually lost.
The potential for integrating modern functionality (and therefor relevance) into an historic property can be the difference between its recovery or it neglect.
Sherwood Inn (Antique Postcard)
Defining Historic Rehabilitation
Rehabilitation is defined as the act or process of making possible a compatible use for a property through repair, alterations, and additions while preserving those portions or features which convey its historical, cultural, or architectural values. (Source: U.S. National Park Service)
In short, historic rehabilitation (rehab) is the process by which an historic property is returned to a state of usefulness while maintaining its historic character. Starting out with a comprehensive analysis of the cultural and/or architectural heritage ensures a solid foundation for planning the entire rehabilitation process. Drawing upon the collaborative expertise of diverse professionals, rehab must be tailored to the unique character and historic significance. Ranging from minimalist repairs and overdue maintenance to more involved intervention such as modification to ensure structural integrity, installation and/or removal of windows and doors, and even construction of non-historic additions.
Boathouse with Coal Bin on Pier (Antique Postcard)
Rosslyn’s Historic Rehabilitation
From those early days as Rosslyn’s newest stewards, when Susan and I were still running on dreams, optimism, and a totally unrealistic sense for the magnitude of the project we’d undertaken, our twin objectives were to preserve the immense heritage we’d inherited while ensuring that our new home was a functional, energy efficient modern home attuned to our needs and lifestyle. Todd helped me understand that what we were undertaking was indeed an historic rehabilitation, and that paradigm shift that he initiated catalyzed a shift in my thinking not only about our revitalization of these four historic buildings, but indeed the entire ethos underlying our pivot from Manhattan to Essex and own own personal reawakening. But I’m getting ahead of myself…
Boathouse with Ruins of Pier in Foreground (Antique Postcard)
Another peculiar — I prefer *idiosyncratic* — post this evening. Humor me? Yesterday I related an anecdotal jumble about gathering with friends, artificial intelligence, Essex, Westport, and a poem composed by ChatGPT. No clear takeaways. No conclusions. Just a voyeuristic glimpse into the overlap of buddies jawboning IRL and an AI chatbot weaving words into a midwinter mirage.
Here’s where I left off.
Perhaps like me, you’re a little wary of AI dabbling in the cultural and aesthetic arenas. An idea is percolating underneath my tangled mop, but I’m going to sleep on it. Morning might mature my perspective a few shades. And, so, without further ado, I’ll wrap up for the evening, inviting you to contemplate AI chat bots as fellow sojourners. Artificial intelligence offering us an ode to Essex. Thank you, ChatGPT. Thank you, Mark! (Source: A Place Where Stories are Told)
Roughly 24-hours later, I’m ready to revisit the percolating idea (not unlike inspecting the grape must or checking the airlock on a carboy of homemade wine.)
Today was an air travel day. Snowstorms, airports, airplanes,… So connectivity was limited. But, eager to engage ChatGPT a little further, and I managed to volley a few questions and answers between departure and arrival. I’m going to share our exchange verbatim.
Me: Can you imagine writing a “Dear John” letter to a house?
ChatGPT: Yes, it’s possible to imagine writing a “Dear John” letter to a house, although it may not have a real impact as a house is inanimate and lacks the ability to understand or feel emotions.
Me: Perhaps it might have a real impact on the letter writer?
ChatGPT: Yes, writing a “Dear John” letter to a house could have a real emotional impact on the letter writer as a form of self-expression and catharsis, even though the house itself would not be affected by it.
Me: I’m not 100% certain about the house categorically being unaffected, but maybe that assessment should be postponed for now. However the possibility of a “Dear John” letter proving cathartic, possibly even catalytic, for the letter writer… now THAT is compelling, don’t you think?
The tidy text thread stalled, and then I received an error message: “Load failed”. Then another pause, and then a partial response.
ChatGPT: …could potentially be a therapeutic exercise for the writer. However, it’s important to keep in mind that everyone experiences and processes emotions differently, and what may be cathartic for one person may not be for another. 1/1
It surprised me how much I yearned to know what was in the lost portion of the message. And then I realized that I could refresh the bot’s response. I hoped that it would regenerate the missing phrase(s). I’ll indicate when I’ve refreshed with a numbering sequence (see 1/1 above) following the comment.
ChatGPT: Yes, the act of writing a “Dear John” letter can be a form of self-expression and catharsis for the writer, helping them process their emotions and potentially leading to personal growth and change. Whether writing to a house specifically is the most effective way to achieve this catharsis is subjective and can vary from person to person. 2/2
Intrigued by the discovery that I can refresh and get another answer, I decide to try again. It’s not that I’m dissatisfied with the response, but curiosity gets the best of me!
ChatGPT: Yes, it is possible for a “Dear John” letter to have a cathartic or even catalytic effect on the letter writer, serving as a form of self-expression and allowing them to process and release emotions related to their experience with the house. Writing can be a powerful therapeutic tool for individuals, helping them to process and make sense of their thoughts and feelings. 3/3
Bullseye!
And yet, I can’t help but feel simultaneously pleased and self conscious about this response. It’s as if I’ve manipulated and cherry-picked. I have. And it seems unhealthy somehow. I need to resist the temptation to manipulate the responses. I will accept the composite response, not picking and choosing. For an instant I imagine a conversation with Susan in which I discretely tap a refresh button and she overwrites her previous response. Slippery slope. Problematic. I’ll try to restrain myself.
Me: Identifying and seeking to understand emotions related to the house would be useful. Processing them, making sense of them, and then possibly letting go of them, at least some of them, might indeed prove to be a powerful therapeutic process.
ChatGPT: Yes, identifying and understanding emotions related to the house, and then processing and making sense of them through writing can be a therapeutic process that can help the letter writer gain insight and possibly let go of some of their emotions. Engaging in self-reflection and creative expression can be beneficial in promoting emotional healing and personal growth. 1/1
Hhhmmm… I feel only partly sated. Let’s try again.
ChatGPT: Exactly, exploring and understanding emotions related to the house through writing a “Dear John” letter could be a therapeutic process for the letter writer. It provides a creative outlet for the writer to process their emotions and gain insight into their experiences and feelings. This can lead to a sense of closure and even personal growth for the writer, as they work through and let go of any lingering emotions related to the house. 2/2
Me: Right. That would be super helpful. (Hypothetically, of course!) And, the insights gained, the personal growth you refer to, actually *might* bring the letter writer to a different conclusion. For example, writing the letter could show the “Dear John” letter writer that he or she isn’t actually ready to breakup with the house. Hypothetically, at least…
ChatGPT: Yes, that is possible. Writing a “Dear John” letter to a house can also serve as a way for the letter writer to gain clarity on their feelings and relationship with the house. It may help them realize that they are not ready to let go, and instead, they may want to explore ways to improve their relationship with the house. By examining their emotions and experiences through writing, the letter writer may gain a deeper understanding of themselves and their relationship with the house, which could potentially lead to a different outcome than they initially anticipated. 1/1
ChatGPT: Yes, that is possible. Writing a “Dear John” letter to a house can serve as a form of self-reflection and introspection for the letter writer. By exploring and processing their emotions related to the house, the writer may gain new insights and perspectives, and even come to a different conclusion about their relationship with the house. The process of writing the letter could reveal that they are not ready to let go of the house after all, and that they have a deeper emotional connection to it than they initially realized. 2/2
ChatGPT: Yes, that’s a possibility. Writing the “Dear John” letter could serve as a means of self-reflection and bring the writer to a new understanding or realization about their relationship with the house. It could even lead them to conclude that they are not ready to let go of the house and may want to continue the relationship in a positive way. The process of writing the letter and exploring one’s emotions can bring new insights and a deeper understanding of oneself and one’s experiences, potentially leading to a shift in perspective. 3/3
Not ready to let go. A shift in perspective. Differing conclusions. I’m trying not to lose sight of the fact that this is an algorithm barebacking a mountain of data. But this exchange is engaging and intriguing.
Recent days at Rosslyn have stirred up all sorts of questions. I’m brimming with wonder, both the wayward wandering variety and the introspective variety. And still-fresh conversations with friends have helped crystallize considerations that I’m tempted to share with ChatGPT. Matters that Susan and I navigate pragmatically whenever we’re away from Rosslyn become considerably less clear, for me at least, when I’m home in Essex. Three pairs of friends, three variations of the question: are you seriously considering selling Rosslyn? Years ago we conjured a metric for evaluating when we might be ready to offer our home to a new homeowner. Time to revisit. Perhaps with the assistance of artificial intelligence.
I’ve lived much, perhaps even *most* of my life in old houses. With the exception of late middle and high school, 3/4 of college, briefly in Santa Fe (1996-9), and briefly in Paris and Rome, my homes have been within old houses. And, come to think of it, some of my boarding school years were in old homes too. And yet each new home was revitalized — and revitalizing — when it became my personal (or familial) residential oasis. Old house, new home.
Hyde Gate, Essex, New York (Illustration by Kate Boesser for All My Houses, By Sally Lesh)
With Rosslyn becoming our place of residence, starting in 2006 and fully by 2008, this old house, new home combination took on new levels of significance. The oldness of the house wasn’t just evident in the architecture and design, the building materials and dated/failing mechanicals, and the time-earned gravity that many enduring old buildings exude. All of these were in evidence with Rosslyn, for sure. But there was something more.
Rosslyn’s history included a notable human legacy: lives lived and recorded; stories told and retold; images made, circulated, and collected. Rosslyn’s backstory as a prominent presence along Merchants Row; built by one of the two founding families in Essex; plus the iconic boathouse attracting the eyes of generations of photographers, artists, travelers; the years spent as a local enterprise (restaurant and watering hole, vacation accommodation, and boating regatta hub); and well documented home and preservation subject of George McNulty who helped catalyze Essex’s recognition in the historic register;… Rosslyn was an old house, new home with an outsized history. This was new to Susan and me.
The questions. The advice. The judgement. The memories and stories and artifacts. The responsibility. The stewardship. The pride… It’s been an adjustment. A learning curve. A deeply formative journey. A privilege.
Once upon a time this handsome old house became our new home, and along with it almost two hundred years of backstory, lives, styles, and lifestyles. I try to gather into a basket or a tapestry, a moving picture or a singalong, the colorful threads, the adventures, and the text textured tunes.
I would love/hate to renovate an old house because…
When Rosslyn Redux comes up in conversation with new acquaintances, I’m reminded again and again that home renovation is a universal theme. Whether folks have firsthand experience renovating an old house or have always dreamed of turning a tumble-down into a work of art, whether they’ve watched a friend’s marriage come unraveled while trying to renovate an old house or simply know viscerally, instinctively that they would never voluntarily undertake a home renovation, everyone has strong feelings on the subject. Everyone!
In fact, I’ve begun to wonder if the inherent value of recounting the Rosslyn Redux adventure might be that it invites others to share their own stories. On Friday I posted the following invitation on Facebook and Twitter:
Complete the phrase: “I would LOVE to (or would NEVER) renovate an old house because…”
The comments I received kept me smiling, laughing and cringing all weekend. On Sunday I gathered all of the responses and randomly drew one comment to win a Rosslyn Redux cap. The winner is John Sherdon who’s sage comment is included in the list of favorites I’ve quoted below. John, shoot me your mailing address and I’ll send you your cap. And thanks to everyone who submitted comments!
“I would love to renovate an old home because I have experience. My family has renovated 2 of our old homes. It can be a financially stressful project. The beauty of the renovation is keeping the character and charm of the original while creating something new. The fear is uncovering more and more to renovate – The worst phrase that often comes out: “Might as well re-do that too.”” ~ John Sherdon
“I would never renovate an old house because my wife would murder me, early in the process.” ~ David Diamantes
“I would love to renovate a house because during the process it tells you their story and when the home is restored to what it once was it is like a story told that remains with you for ever.” ~ Valasie August
“I would NEVER renovate an old house because I like my roofs and I like my marriage! I saw The Money Pit…”Two weeks… two weeks….”” ~ Lorca Damon
“I would LOVE to complete your phrase when we EVER complete the renovation of our old house…” ~ Kimberly Rielly
“Never! Ever! Again. Because I have, and you shouldn’t go broke twice!” ~ North Country & Hudson Valley Rambler
“I actually helped my parents renovate their old home when I was a kid, and had a blast. I also worked in a historic museum, and would love to have the chance to bring back an old home to life.” ~ Sherman Yazu
“I would never renovate a house because I still have the report card that reads “Sharon’s mechanical abilities are fascinating to watch.” Seriously. Do NOT ask me to build anything; it will just be bad.” ~ Sharon Cathcart
“I would renovate a house on a dime! I mean, change is like a holiday :)” ~ Kim Falconer
“I would love to renovate a house because I love to create. Unfortunately, I do not have carpentry skills.” ~ Mia T. Starr
“My parents bought and renovated an old home (built 1820). 45 years later, they’re ALMOST able to say that they’ve completed the process. (Time to start their second renovation?) Although I admire those who do – and definitely enjoy the funny/interesting stories that go along with the undertaking – I would never renovate an old home … which is precisely why I built a new one.” ~ Jane Hooper
“I would LOVE to renovate an old house because I grew up with a father who did exactly that. And when he would finish, we’d move so he could start over and do it again. It was amazing to see the transformations, and very rewarding to help make it happen.” ~ Kristy Ullman
“We already renovated an old house – time-consuming, money-draining, effort-taking… but so worth it!! Had some spooky goings-on as well…” ~ Mandy Cowley
“As an architect, my brother, chose twenty years ago to restore a run down mansion in Bernardsville, NJ. It’s been a long and never ending project and has also been financially taxing. I would never renovate an old house because I do not have the patience, determination, dedication and cash to devote to such a project.” ~ Rosamond Lincoln-Day
“I would LOVE to renovate an old house, because peeling back the layers is like revisiting periods of time… It’s amazing what you can find out about the people who lived there before.” ~ Rose Wall
“Hiya! My husband and I renovated an older house and I have to say, with time and financial constraints, it was a pain. We plan to do it again, minus the limitations. Creating that transformation and bringing a forgotten house back to life is AMAZING.” ~ Sarah Ballance
“I would love to renovate an old house because what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger; )~ I speak from personal experience having renovated a mid century mess into a beautiful house that I adore and that now feels like me…and Yes, I’d do it again in a heartbeat:)” ~Michelle Shell Rummel
What about you? Would you LOVE to renovate an old house? Or would you NEVER renovate an old house?
“Beguiled into Stewardship”, Old House Journal, June 2015 Issue (Page 1-2)
Exactly three years ago on June 3, 2015, Old House Journal published an article about Rosslyn. Time for a flashback! Regina Cole’s story and Carolyn Bates’s photographs are entitled, “Beguiled into Stewardship“, and you can find their original article here. (Note: the print edition and the online edition differ slightly.)
If you’re unfamiliar with Old House Journal, — and if you’re renovating or rehabilitating an older home — I recommend both the print magazine and the online website and resources.
This site is the ultimate resource for owners of old houses and period-style homes, gathering information from Old-House Journal, Old-House Interiors, Early Homes, and New Old House. You’ll find inspiration, how-to info and advice, stories and photos of old houses galore and sources for traditional products. Whether you’re restoring your old house or searching for period decor, you’ll find help here. (Source: Old-House Online)
An Insider’s Glimpse
It’s worth noting that the article fumbles a few points here and there, but the gist is mostly on target. And the photographs are amazing!
Like many owners of important old houses, this couple never intended to become stewards of a 2½-storey neoclassical manse that spreads over more than 6,000 square feet. The building was originally just a three-bay, side-hall dwelling, but Rosslyn was expanded between 1835 and 1840 into its symmetrical five-bay configuration. Other buildings on the grounds include several barns and a very adorable, Eastlake-style boathouse added in 1898. (Source: “Beguiled into Stewardship“)
Eek! Adorable? Though my bride and I fell head over heels in love with the Rosslyn’s boathouse (really a “dock house” more than a boathouse) long before we succumbed to the home’s beguiling pull, neither of us would likely describe the quirky lakeside structure as adorable. Too cute, me thinks, for this weathered folly. But I’ll leave that judgment up to you.
A significant rear wing had been added to Rosslyn in the 19th century for domestic services—a kitchen and pantry, etc.—and servants’ quarters. Early in the 20th century, when the house became a hostelry called The Sherwood Inn, that service wing was renovated to accommodate guest lodging, a restaurant, and a tavern. When the inn ceased operation by the early 1960s, most of the rear wing was removed.
George and Susan used its remnant to create a large new family room. For symmetry and better flow, they also added two new wings, one to house a screened porch and one to create circulation between old rooms and new. The boathouse, of course, was a later addition, but its late Victorian style is so charming, they never considered removing it. It has been restored inside and out.
[…]
The front of the house is historic, but the rear had undergone numerous additions and subtractions over the years. George and Susan updated the rear with sensitive additions and a patio surrounded by a stone wall. George rebuilt the old stone walls that surround the property. They built a new fence, basing its design on one found in a Federal pattern book. (Source: “Beguiled into Stewardship“)
Mostly accurate, except I’ll humbly concede credit to others for the handsome stone walls. I did design/redesign/adapt them and figure out how to repurpose old stone salvaged from failed walls and long buried foundations, but virtually all of the heavy lifting was done by others. And we remain extremely grateful for it!
Okay, enough revisionism… On to the article.
“Beguiled into Stewardship”, Old House Journal, June 2015 Issue (Page 3-4)
The opening spread showcases one of the handsome entrance gates designed and built by our friend, Tom Duca. And that interior shot of the front entrance door with side lites and fan lite? That challenging project was meticulously executed by Kevin Boyle.
“Beguiled into Stewardship”, Old House Journal, June 2015 Issue (Page 5-6)
The front parlor and the dining room offer pigmented nostalgia bridges.
The pea green paint in the parlor is a nod to the previous owner whose paint choice perplexed us at first, but grew on us gradually, imperceptibly during our endless renovation. My bride elected to preserve and refresh it while I was away. It was the perfect choice.
And the light blue walls in the dining room recollect the dining room in Maison Margaux, a top-to-bottom renovation I shepherded in Paris’ Faubourg St. Germain.
“Beguiled into Stewardship”, Old House Journal, June 2015 Issue (Page 7-8)
The kitchen and morning room (aka “the north porch”) are principle phases of our daily orbit. No finer way to start the day that breakfasting with songbirds!
“Beguiled into Stewardship”, Old House Journal, June 2015 Issue (Page 9-10)
Griffin, our Labrador Retriever, is the perennially proud protector of Rosslyn in general and our bedroom in particular. From his perch at the end of the bed he can monitor the deer and wild turkeys sneaking snacks from his vegetable garden and orchard. I suppose “protector” might be a mild overstatement.
Rosslyn’s Parlor (Source: Carolyn Bates, “Beguiled into Stewardship“, Old House Journal )
Yesterday marked ten weeks of old house journaling. Every. Single. Day. Two months and ten days back at the helm of this wayward, meandering, sometimes unruly experiment I call Rosslyn Redux. I emphasize the daily component of this benchmark because it’s been an important part of the goal I committed to at the end of July. Starting on August first I would resuscitate Rosslyn Redux. The why part of this equation is important, but I intend to tackle that separately. For now I’ll touch on the how and then take a blurry backward glance at my June 3, 2018 post, “Rosslyn Featured in Old House Journal“, and concurrently touch on the 2015 Old House Journal article about Rosslyn entitled,”Beguiled into Stewardship“, which inspired my post. Confused much? Me too!
Rosslyn’s Kitchen (Source: Carolyn Bates, “Beguiled into Stewardship“, Old House Journal )
So, sidestepping, for now, the question of why resuscitate Rosslyn Redux let’s focus on how to resuscitate Rosslyn Redux. First and foremost I’m looong overdue for completing and publishing a backlog of neglected drafts:
New updates of recent projects (hemlock hedge bordering north side of front lawn, rebuilding the deck, repairing the boathouse gangway and waterfront staircase, and transforming the icehouse into a studio / office / entertaining space)
Long overdue recaps of old projects (home rehab, boathouse rehab, carriage house rehab, post-flood waterfront rehab, holistic gardening and orcharding, trail building through fields and forests, protecting and restoring habitat for our wild neighbors — aka rewilding — to ensure an healthy, happy ecosystem for all, and expanding our guest capacity to include two Lake Champlain vacation rentals)
Revisiting all of these “orphaned” WIPs — come on, if I can’t toss in wonky, writerly jargon here then I might start using it IRL and freaking people out! — isn’t just because I’ve wanted to share this story forever, variously started to share this story forever, and want forever to figure out if it’s even possible to gather and trim-trim-trim all of this unruly mess into a story with an ending. Yes, an actual conclusion. Happily ever after…
Rosslyn’s Kitchen (Source: Carolyn Bates, “Beguiled into Stewardship“, Old House Journal )
This last urge is actually the most important. Sorry I buried the lede. On purpose. You see, it’s part of the why I mentioned earlier. And that, fair reader, is why I’m getting a little cagey. So for now I’ll focus on the two main how-to-resuscitate avenues I’ve outlined above.
Rosslyn’s Entry Hall (Source: Carolyn Bates, “Beguiled into Stewardship“, Old House Journal )
Old House Journal-ing
A little over seven years ago, Old House Journal published an article about Rosslyn entitled,”Beguiled into Stewardship“, written by Regina Cole with photographs taken by Carolyn Bates. You can read the full article online. Although the print edition (in the June 2015 issue) does have some differences from the article that appears online the bulk of the main text is the same.
In my 2018 response to the article I tried to gently correct the record on several points made by the author, so I’ll won’t retread those board now, but I’d like to weave in a couple of elements. The first is the photographs for this post. They are all taken directly from the Old House Journal as photographed by Carolyn Bates. At the time of the article, these photographs represented the years-long but finally complete (insofar as any property redo is ever truly, definitely complete, hence my preference for the term “rolling renovation” when talking about our projects) status of Rosslyn. At that point it would have been virtually impossible for us to conceive of any further changes. And yet, seven years later I’m tempted to add “circa 2015” to the captions beneath each image. Proof positive that entropy is forever contending for the upper hand, and our homes are for all practical purposes living, breathing entities that continue to evolve even once renovations are complete.
Rosslyn’s Dining Room Fireplace (Source: Carolyn Bates, “Beguiled into Stewardship“, Old House Journal )
So, in a subtly nostalgic way these photographs already feel a bit like time capsules.
And on a related note, the tone of the article sounds so confident, so accomplished, so finished. A wordy sigh of relief to have crossed the finish line.
“…at one point, 100 people were involved with restoring the house. The bulk of the project took three and a half years.” (Source: “Beguiled into Stewardship“)
I suspect we’ve long ago passed the threshold of one hundred generous contributors to this project. Hopefully we can still tabulate and update the figure one of these days. But that second sentence. Ha! Little did we know that we’d be rehabilitating ad infinitum! In the mean time, it’s become immensely important for me to credit everyone currently working on Rosslyn. On of the most profound discoveries over our seventeen years is that Rosslyn is first and foremost a vast ecosystem of stories, lives that have been woven together because of this property. Honoring this legacy and preserving it is an ambition I’ll unlikely succeed in achieving, but I’m trying to ensure that those people who I still can showcase, still can document recipe their rightful place in her story.
Rosslyn’s Dining Room (Source: Carolyn Bates, “Beguiled into Stewardship“, Old House Journal)
And there’s something more. Old house journaling. Sure, I’ve effectively pinched and adapted the term from the magazine, so I humbly submit this post as a derivative inspired by the original, not an imposter, not a sanctioned partner, just poetic language borrowing. For the longest time I used the term “daily munge” to describe the daybook entries I was scribbling, typing, and dictating during the busiest years (2006 through 2009) of demolition, design, rebuilding, landscaping, etc. I’ve riffed on the idea elsewhere, so I’ll crib my own words.
Daily Munge is a term I made up long enough ago that it’s no longer make-believe. It’s real.
Think of Daily Munge as a storyteller’s compost pile. Or a writer’s scrapbook. Or a voyeur’s over-the-shoulder glimpse at what’s on my mind…
Long before journals became weblogs became blogs, writers and storytellers kept fuzzy cornered, coffee stained notebooks and clutches of notes wrapped in string. Word people (my kind of word people, at least) are chronic collectors. We cling to our clutter because we are paranoid. Or maybe because we’re hoarders. We’ve learned that our best ideas may be yesterday’s mistakes. Notes become novels. Slapdash clouds of words becomes monumental poems. Not often, of course, but once is all it takes to convince us that we’d best hoard our verbal midden heaps. Just in case. My Daily Munge is my squalid midden heap. My compost pile. My scrapbook. And in some slightly esoteric way it is what made Rosslyn’s endless rehabilitation survivable, what kept me intrigued, note taking, documenting. After all, isn’t it possible that Odysseus’s almost endless homecoming might have had more to do with collecting and curating chronicles than obstacles? Possibly. (Source: Daily Munge Archives – Rosslyn Redux
I’ve explained this concept too many times to still think it’s a clever description. Nobody has a clue what I mean. And I can no longer locate the magazine article where I believe I borrowed the term “munge” as I use it. And in a recent effort to clarify, at least in the context or Rosslyn Redux, I stumbled upon “old house journaling” as a way to convert what I’m doing here. So maybe my newest push is also an effort to grow something from the munge-y old house journaling and scrapbooking and artifact hoarding and…
Rosslyn’s Morning Room (Source: Carolyn Bates, “Beguiled into Stewardship“, Old House Journal )
