Last Sunday my bride and I settled in for a post-lunch-tea-and-snooze in the parlor. The previous week’s unseasonably temperate spring-going-on-summer weather had yielded to cold and rain, so we weren’t feeling too guilty about playing hooky. No gardening or tidying up the waterfront for spring boating. No orchard pruning or apple tree grafting for us. Just a lazy afternoon on the dry side of our rain pelted windows…
Whaplumf!
That’s the noise of a dove crashing into a window pane.
Hawk Attacks Dove
We headed into the breakfast room where we discovered a fierce looking hawk pinning a dove to the ground on the lawn near the bird feeders, ripping beak-fulls of feather and flesh from the stunned dove’s back.
Did I mention that the dove was still alive? Despite the predator’s fierce talons and efficient beak, the dove periodically struggled and lifted its head to look around. The efforts were futile and only increased the hawk’s aggression.
It was a fascinating if deeply disturbing sight. A real world immersion in the sort of wild spectacle usually limited to the Discovery Channel. A Rosslyn safari sequel to the the Fox & Squirrel episodes.
Cooper’s Hawk on bird feeder (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
A dusty impression of the dove was still visible on the glass, and I surmised that the dove had crashed into the window while attempting to flee the hawk. I had seen a similar image about a week before on the kitchen window, as if a dove had been rolled in flour and then pressed against the glass, wings outstretched and head turned to the side revealing an eye and and the beak. Had this same drama played out then?
My bride was horrified. She raced outside flapping a pair of bright pink dishwashing gloves and shouting at the hawk. “Stop that! Get out of here. Go away!” The hawk looked at Susan flapping the pink gloves menacingly less than 10 feet away, then looked down at the dove, then up at me standing in the window, then back at Susan. The dove lifted it’s head, eyes wild with fright.
A standoff? A detente?
Suddenly the hawk flapped its wings lifting the still struggling dove from the ground. My fearless bride leaped toward the hawk, flailing her gloves and shouting angrily. The hawk settled briefly in front of the kitchen window and then flew away, abandoning the injured dove.
My bride pulled on her gloves and lifted the injured dove from the grass. It gazed up at her, struggling to breath. She carried the dying bird to the edge of our front lawn where placed it gently into a comfortable nest of leaves and twigs.
In recent weeks we’ve seen three of four piles of feathers near the bird feeder on different occasions, but I assumed the fox had switched from squirrels to doves. It turns out that we have two efficient predators who’ve discovered the benefits of dining on critters drawn to our birdfeeders.
Hawk Attack Dove “Research”
Never having witnessed this before I turned to the interwebs for assistance in deciphering what we witnessed. I found forums and blog posts documenting the exact same experience, in many cases even including the dove or pigeon smashing into a window before being nabbed by the hawk. And there’s a veritable glut of video footage online if your stomach is strong and your emotions are steely. (Note: If you are remotely squeamish, these videos are not for you.)
Are we contributing to the predation by overfeeding wildlife. I’m increasingly concerned that we are. Is there a better balance between feeding songbirds during the winter and over-concentrating/over-fattening the squirrel and dove populations? Certainly. But we haven’t quite figured out how to proceed.
I’ve recommended limiting bird feeding to the cold winter months, and my bride has reluctantly agreed. Verbally. When the food runs out. Which means that Rosslyn remains a fast food restaurant for foxes and hawks. And while my bride had repeatedly decreed our yard a safe haven for wildlife, we haven’t figure out how to communicate this to the predators. All advice welcome!
Hawk Attacks Dove Update
Half a year later I flash back to this experience.
It’s autumn, and we’ve just placed the bird feeders out for the winter. I’ve seen a fox slinking among the cedar hedge, spying on the squirrels, planning his next meal. The first pigeons arrive to peck the overspill sunflowers from the ground beneath the feeders.
Still no hawks.
And then, one crashes through the interwebs, plunges into my day, startles me, horrifies me, fascinates me. A hawk. A hare. An attack so familiar it seems as if I had watched the hawk attack the dove only yesterday.
A major upgrade to the Emmet Carter website incorporating recent green design projects prominently features Rosslyn. I’ll excerpt a few descriptions and some of photographer Nancie Battaglia’s interior images in the post below.
Welcome to Rosslyn
Rosslyn is a stately Federal home on the shore of Lake Champlain in Essex, NY. This circa 1823 property, includes a turn-of-the-century Eastlake inspired boat house, an expansive carriage house, an ice houe, and thirty acres of sprawling Adirondack gardens, orchards, meadows, forests and cross country ski trails. (Emmet Carter)
Living Room
Rosslyn Living Room (Credit: Nancie Battaglia)
The detailed trim work and built-ins throughout the room are all new, customized to match existing Federal wood patterns in the home, and comprised of FSC woods and with no toxic glues. Green design details throughout including: rugs are hand made wool from Tibet, the floors are new FSC beech wood, the couches are custom and entirely organic, the white upholstered chairs are sustainable from Lee, and the French chairs are antique and re-upholstered with natural linen and a cotton jute batting. The coffee table was handmade of walnut by the owner’s brother. All the fabrics in the room are natural and organic and all the wood and paint finishes are natural and non-toxic. Two original fireplaces transformed into gas stoves heat the room on demand for company and in-floor hydronic radiant heat stands by for additional warmth though even in frigid winters has never turned on because of the efficient and warm rooms that surround on all sides.
Rosslyn Living Room (Credit: Nancie Battaglia)
The west wall of the living room and the Xian Warrior replica from China look onto the screened porch addition. The paneling is new and inspired from the house’s existing trimwork and other historic Federal precedent. The windows and french doors are new, efficient, double glazed from Marvin. The sconces are antique from the Federal period, and the side chairs are antique french (from a Parisian flea market), re-upholstered in a french inspired cotton toile fabric. The floors are FSC beech with a non-toxic sealer. (Emmet Carter)
Dining Room
Rosslyn Dining Room (Credit: Nancie Battaglia)
Rosslyn’s dining room served as the previous owner’s wood working shop in the decades prior to our rehabilitation, but enough details remained (or were reconstructed from drawings and photographs) to return this elegant space to its former glory.
The custom built-in storage piece by a local craftsman was the perfect solution for a small space and a great need for barware storage beside the bar and dining room. It mimics the shape and detailing of the window opposite it, as does the new trim around the new door to the dining room. The lovely painting completmenting the area is by local artist Liz Wilson. The floor is new, local FSC cherry wood with a non-toxic finish. All the paints are non-toxic, no VOC. (Emmet Carter)
Parlor
Rosslyn Parlor (Credit: Nancie Battaglia)
The fireplace is original and the mantel was a reproduction of the original trimwork from 1823, finished with no-VOC paint. The painting above the fireplace is by local Adirondack artist, Paul Rossi. The curtains are inspired by Federal patterns, and comprised of an embroidered silk from Kravet and tassle trim by Samuel and Sons, and are doubly interlined with natural cotton for thermal barrier from lakefront wind. The chair is antique French from a Parisian flea market, upholstered in a green silk velvet. The corner piece of salvaged wood was handcrafted in the Adirondacks by the owner’s brother. It opens to reveal a mini bar, glassware and bottled spirits. (Emmet Carter)
Bar
Rosslyn’s bar and stairway to game room and wine cellar. (Credit: Nancie Battaglia)
This eight foot wide new addition, in the footprint of an historic porch, now mirrors the existing wing on the other side of the house to add symetry to the Federal house. Additionally, it offers space for a bar, half bath, mudroom and staircase to the finished basement. Green design features include the double paned Marvin windows which offer nice views of the lake and south yard, allow large amounts of sunlight to warm the house in winter, and large breezes to enter in the summer. The new addition also insulates the large, historic living room. The honed marble floors conceal efficient radiant heat, and the customized bar cabinet is recessed into the area where an exterior window once stood. Recycled PaperStone tops the bar area and half bath vanity down the hall. (Emmet Carter)
Breakfast Room
Rosslyn Breakfast Room (Credit: Nancie Battaglia)
This is our favorite place for meals during the day, with a view of the north lawn, stone walls, birdfeeder and lake. The table is antique, probably from a farm, complete with multiple knife indentations, the placemats are handmade from sea grass, the irregular ceramic dinnerwear is from Viva Terra and the glass candle holders that are continually used are made by the nearby and talented Vermont company, Simon Pierce.
Four framed art pieces depict the four seasons of China, and the Marvin double paned windows depict our four seasons of the Adirondacks. The seat cushions were custom made of organic cotton, the background bench was hand carved in the Adirondacks by the owner’s brother and organic fruit and drink complete the natural setting. (Emmet Carter)
Kitchen
Though the architect insisted that the existing kitchen be bumped out for a better lake view, and alternatively suggested putting it in the historic living room for an open kitchen, family space, we reminded him that we would not be disturbing the historic footprint of the Federal home and that our “family” consisted of the two of us and a dog. Therefore, though he thought the space entirely too small for a kitchen, we used it as such, as it had been for many years, and it is the perfect size for two people who do a great deal of cooking and entertaining.
Rosslyn Kitchen (Credit: Nancie Battaglia)
Our eight year old nephew chose the color, which reminded him of green apples and grapes. It worked, and around the green walls we added custom wheat board non-toxic cabinetry and trim with Federal details, and granite from India (Okay, the only green design aspect of these countertops is the color, considering the fossil fuels that it took to haul the stone here, but the surface is very practical, beautiful and resembles marble more than granite, and we’re big fans of India having recently visited there). The floor is new FSC beech wood, the fabric all linen from Schumacher and Zoffany, and the stove is a white Viking. We achieved the lake view after all by putting a second sink in the island which faces onto the adjoining rooms’s lakefront windows. (Emmet Carter)
Master Bedroom
Rosslyn Master Bedroom, East Elevation (Credit: Nancie Battaglia)
Rosslyn’s master bedroom spent several decades as a demo’ed-to-the-studs, leaky, uninsulated storage space for construction materials, firewood, tools, and miscellaneous household odds and ends. I’ll add a post eventually that chronicles the full evolution of our bedroom, from dismal dump into our favorite room in the house. With windows on three sides, matched fireplaces, elegant but functional built-ins, a private balcony and a magnificent morning and afternoon view this space has become an oasis of calm and privacy.
Rosslyn Master Bedroom, West Elevation (Credit: Nancie Battaglia)
And that sofa at the end of the bed? A cozy seat with a view, yes, but first and foremost it serves as throne for King Griffin, our Labrador Retriever. Although, as you can see in the photo above, why occupy the throne when the bed’s even softer and more spacious?!?!
The master bathroom is an indulgence. All of the bathrooms were well finished, but for our own private space we wanted to capture some of our favorite elements – voluminous, marble mosaic tiled shower, handsome soaking tub, paired sinks, radiant heat and towel bar, and a separate commode room – into a comfortable and minimalist bathroom. We also designed a custom cabinet that now stands between the two windows to store toiletries and balance the white massing. All told, we feel super pampered every time we brush our teeth or wash up.
Guest Bedroom
Rosslyn Guest Bedroom (Credit: Nancie Battaglia)
This room features all natural and organic fabrics, an antique Italian chair and English dresser, paired with a locally made Vermont bed and side tables (with no toxic finishes). The high bed allows guests to look out of the large windows to the enchanting Lake Champlain and Vermont Green mountains. Guests can adjust the window treatments to allow the flood of light at dawn into the room fully with the windows exposed, or to allow a filtered light with sheer linen roman shades, or to witness it at a later hour by closing the doubly insulated full length curtains. In the winter the insulated panels block any drafts from the lake. The matching bedside lamps are repurposed vases brought back by hand from China and inspired the room’s color scheme and the silk rug and curtains. (Emmet Carter)
Study Bathroom
Rosslyn: Study Bathroom (Credit: Nancie Battaglia)
This bathroom arrived as an afterthought, and was carved out of the room that housed the master bath. Though its adjoining room is a study, it might easily be used as a bedroom by the current or future owners, so it seemed prudent to add an adjoning bathroom for convenience and resale value. At the top of the stairs it also works well as an additional bathroom for overnight guests, dinner guests or party guests. The rich brown limestone and white ceramic subway tiles add contrast, warmth and pep to a small space, and the gentleman who occupies the office next door appreciates the definitively masculine room complete with some of his favorite artwork and reading materials. (Emmet Carter)
We removed the dropped ceiling in the attic guest bedroom, trimmed out the beams and added built-ins (with FSC wood and no toxic glues) for maximum storage and efficiency.
Green design elements include the solid wood bed and tables are were custom made nearby in Vermont with a non-toxic natural oil finish while the chair is a re-upholstered antique, and the decorative dresser was made in India.
All paints and finishes are non-toxic and VOC free, all the fabrics are from natural fibers and the wool rug is completely non-toxic as well.
Because the stairway to the attic is very narrow, a normal king mattress would not fit, so we purchased an organic natural rubber king that comes in pieces, enabling easy transport up to the room.
This quiet bedroom, surrounded by in-wall sugar beet foam insulation and the inviting bed, wrapped in soft organic fabrics ensure that guests never want to leave. (Emmet Carter)
The attic guest bathroom is popular with guests. The inspiration, from the owner’s love of the Caribbean and the Lake Champlain waters that lie beyond its walls, led to a waterlike color scheme with recycled glass tiles and nautical fixtures. The deep tub, hand friendly fixtures and large tiled surrounding allow easy bathing for visiting children and luxurious soaks for visiting adults (the floor features a suite of kid and adult guest rooms). The large surrounding also distributed the weight of the tub over a larger area in the third floor of an old home. The double sink vanity features a clean white marble. A seperate third sink and toilet are down the hall allowing multiple guests access to sinks at the same time. Everyone’s favorite feature is the recycled floor tiles, which, with rounded edges feel delightful under bare feet. (Emmet Carter)
What Did I Miss?
There are other spaces (like a small gym, a pantry/laundry and a “bunk room” for visiting children) that aren’t included in this post. I’ll include a few additional interior photographs from this series below, and one of these days I’ll also add a post with all of Nancie Battaglia’s exterior photographs of the house plus her images of the outbuildings. But for now, I’ve already maxed out the page load time, right? Onward!
Rosslyn Screen Porch (Credit: Nancie Battaglia)
Rosslyn Stairway to Wine Cellar and Game Room (Credit: Nancie Battaglia)
“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 )
Daybreak: Lake Champlain sunrise through “wavy glass” in late August, summertime slipping through the hourglass. (Source: Geo Davis)
Since my earliest Rosslyn intrigue, wondering if the house and property might one day become a home for us, daybreak was my fixation. Perhaps it was just my lifelong affinity for early morning. As an early riser dawn has long been my favorite time of time, a world of possibility… Perhaps it was just curiosity what Rosslyn would feel like, look like, wandering room-to-room early in the morning. Although the front hallway was still in decidedly unfinished condition when we first visited, I imagined the walls painted a pale yellow, transporting the sunrise inside, warming the house with the brightening day.
Daybreak Discernment
This summer has been marked with singularly spectacular sunrises (and sunsets), and I’ve written much and often about these liminal states. This morning, however, catching sight of daybreak through wavy glass in the front parlor, I was struck concurrently with two thoughts.
The wave-rippled surface of Lake Champlain was refracting dawn’s beacon, distorting the beam of fiery orange sunlight into a row of burning “puddles” that wavy glass in the parlor windows was further altering into a dancing mirage. Searing reality transformed into a optical illusion. I was reminded that Rosslyn has often altered my way of seeing and experiencing.
These summer days are filtering faster and faster from anticipation to happening to memories. Just as the fleeting illusion of fiery puddles or bonfires or — pushing possibility to it’s breaking point — fiery cairns guided my eye to the rising sun, wobbling up out of Vermont’s Green Mountains like some hallucination, almost as quickly mellowing to a buttery yellow before vanishing altogether in the cloud bank above, just as quickly this summer is reaching its conclusion.
And these bittersweet realizations, as if coupling and procreating, gave birth to a daybreak haiku.
A window view early on a Sunday morning. A blazing daybreak. Wavy lake and wavy glass. Near, familiar silhouettes framing a veritable mirage. Dawn within. Dawn without.
Rosslyn boathouse at sunrise (Digital doodle: virtualDavis)
“Coffee? You don’t even drink coffee,” Susan said.
“I know. I know it doesn’t make any sense. But I’m walking through Rosslyn early in the morning with a steaming cup of coffee…”
I hadn’t drunk coffee since college, and I’d obviously never wandered around Rosslyn at the crack of dawn either. But I kept having this vision.
“It’s just barely sunrise. You’re still sleeping. I’m up, drifting from room-to-room, slowly, haltingly, studying the way the sunlight illuminates each room. And those green walls in the parlor? They vibrate in the morning light, like new maple leaves in the springtime.”
I described the shaft of sunlight stretching across the workshop floor. I described the calm, the quiet except for an occasional creaky floorboard. I described Tasha, our Labrador Retriever, padding along with me, anxious for breakfast.
“Tasha sighs and lies down each time I stop. And I stop a lot… to watch the morning unfolding, to watch the sunlight shimmering on the rippled lake, to watch the boathouse clapboards glowing yellow orange for a few minutes as the sun rises above the Green Mountains.”
“I was imagining the boathouse too,” Susan said. “Not like today, but like it was ours, like we lived at Rosslyn. I was thinking, the boathouse’s just begging for a hammock. Don’t you think? A big, two-person hammock in the open-air part, under the roof. Can you imagine lying in a hammock in the evening, listening to the waves?” Susan paused, lost in the idea. “And think of the dinner parties,” she continued. “A table set for four. White linens and candles and sheer curtains billowing in the breeze…”
Nine years ago I sat in Rosslyn’s front parlor on Thanksgiving morning and started drafting a blog post.
I’m sitting in the front parlor (aka the “green room”), drinking coffee, scratching Griffin behind the ears, and allowing my mind drift to back to that first Thanksgiving we celebrated at Rosslyn. It was actually one day before the official Thanksgiving holiday, but we had decided to celebrate together as a crew. The team had been working on our Rosslyn rehabilitation project for over a year. And many had been working for us on a previous project as well, but we’d never celebrated a holiday together. But that year everyone wanted to add on a special pre-Thanksgiving celebration, and we loved the idea. After all, we were unbelievably grateful to everyone who was working long hours, often in challenging conditions, to help transform our ever-evolving vision into reality. The potluck was a fun mix of dishes contributed by everyone. The centerpiece was Mike “Dutchy” Ahrent’s turkey. He’s a keen hunter, and the wild turkey was a trophy from a hunting expedition. He spent all afternoon deep fat frying it, a technique that many of us hadn’t tasted before. We ate in the parlor, the only semi-finished space in the house, using lawn chairs and compound buckets as makeshift stools. The meal was delicious, and the various toasts and roasts filled the room with laughter. Lots of shared experiences and memories, and a delicious meal. As everyone was getting ready for desert, Dutchy asked Susan if she would try his turkey. He knew she was/is a vegetarian. So did everyone else. Susan looked startled. The room grew quiet. Dutchy explained that the turkey was as natural as you could get, and he just wanted to see if she would be willing to give it a small taste. She smiled and accepted a piece of Dutch’s turkey. She ate it, smiled, and complemented it. Dutchy was thrilled and everyone smiled. It was the first time Susan had tasted meat in about twenty years!
2007 Thanksgiving Remembered: Susan, Mike, and Dutchy (Photo: Geo Davis)
That was November 28, 2013. I never finished the post. I vaguely recollect digging through the old photographs, some of which are included in this post and in the Instagram video accompanying it. Looking through the photos — then and again this morning — I experienced a mix of nostalgia (mostly for how young we all looked then!) and profound gratitude. Most of the people in these photographs played enormous roles in Rosslyn’s rehabilitation and in our personal lives. The project began in the summer of 2006 and it wasn’t until the end of 2008, the beginning of 2009, really, that the majority of the rehab was complete. And to a real estate the project continued off-and-on right up through the present! We all got to know each other really well. Sometimes we quibbled and sometimes we struggled, but in 2013 as I sat looking through those photographs, it was the successes, the incredible accomplishments, the camaraderie, the laughter, the parade of positives that flooded my memory.
Today, I returned to the “orphaned” post from 2013. Once again, I returned to the photographs from November 21, 2007. Once again I was swept up in poignant recollections. I’m struck by the connections we’ve made over the years with the contractors, carpenters, masons, plumbers, electricians, tradespeople of all sorts with whom we’ve been fortunate to work. To be sure, not every project works out perfectly, but in hindsight it’s truly miraculous that most do. Susan and I have overseen about a dozen renovation projects together, and unlike most of our family and friends, we are 100% hands on every time. I’m sure some of the the people who’ve worked with us wished otherwise, but we run our own projects. And while that can create some challenges for contractors and subs unaccustomed to having the homeowner be the G.C., almost everyone we’ve ever worked with has adapted and exceeded our (or their own) expectations. So many enduring relationships, indeed so many close friendships, for Susan and for me germinated from construction projects.
2007 Thanksgiving Remembered: Larry, Jamie, and me (Photo: Geo Davis)
As we celebrate another Thanksgiving, November 24, 2022, we find ourselves once again midstream several simultaneous construction projects. I’ve updated Rosslyn Redux often in recent months celebrating the many remarkable accomplishments of the skilled craftsman once again transforming our dreams into reality. That said, the teams working diligently at Rosslyn (as well as our vacation rentals, ADK Oasis Highlawn and ADK Oasis Lakeside), prove day after day that our gratitude is only one small part of the puzzle. They earn our respect again and again. They amplify our knowledge and ensure our confidence. Their collegiality and respect and creativity augment and expand the vision with which we initially launched each project. They collaborate, and they co-create. And this, perhaps more than anything else, is the secret sauce that makes the projects succeed and the memories so poignant, even many years later.
And so today, when there are so many things for which to be grateful, I’m moved to finally complete the post I initiated so long ago. An orphaned blog post, a flashback “film” composed of those 2007 photographs from our team Thanksgiving dinner, and a fresh round of thanks for everyone in these photos: Doug, Jamie, Larry, “Dutchy”, Dick, Randy, Travis, “Chico”, Mike, and “Boulder”.
Here’s a quick mashup of some more photos from that long-ago Thanksgiving. Cheers!
Columns in previous owner’s workshop, present day dining room (Photo: Geo Davis)
It’s time for another architectural salvage update, this time focusing on the Greek Revival columns that we salvaged from Rosslyn’s future dining room back in 2006 in the early days or our renovation project. Let’s dive right in with that photograph above, but first a quick semantic note. For the sake of this post (and others) let’s assume that “adaptive reuse” and “repurposing” are sufficiently equivalent to be used interchangeably. There are those who restrict use of the former for buildings and use the latter for both buildings and materials, design elements, etc. I use the two interchangeably, not limiting “adaptive reuse” to buildings.
Some of you may recognize the photograph at the top of this post as the workshop of Rosslyn’s previous owner, George McNulty. Others of you know this same space — originally a pair of parlors and later dining rooms when the property was operated as the Sherwood Inn — as Susan and my principal dining room. (To avoid confusion, the qualifier is intended to distinguish the space from our front parlor which we use as a smaller dining room and the morning room or north porch which we use as our informal dining room.)
Deconstruction & Salvage
Although similar to the photograph above, this next set of visual benchmarks were made about half a year later. In the first photo the well equipped wood shop was still ready for creative carpentry and historic preservation, active pursuits of the previous owner for decades. But in the photograph below renovations are well underway and this room is virtually empty and deconstructed to the studs and brick.
Soon-to-be repurposed column during September 2006 deconstruction in Rosslyn’s future dining room (Photo: Geo Davis)
All of the trim in this room had already been meticulously documented by McNulty, but we salvaged everything that we could for reuse and to template from in order to bring this room back to its previous condition. It’s worth noting that we originally had hoped to be able to minimize repairs to this room, but it turned out to be a sifting sand trap. Each element we tackled revealed two underlying problems and so on. The floor was failing, the ceiling was failing, the fireplace was failing, the columns and beam which separated the space into two rooms was not original, and there was a window — bricked up and concealed within a closet — that was begging to be opened. Needless to say this room, our future dining room, was one of many that mushroomed in deconstruction and rehabilitation. The scope of work dilated day after day after day for weeks and then months and eventually years. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.
To refocus on the columns, lets start by taking a good look at the southern column (above) and the northern column (below) and then let’s get a little boost from the good folks at Britannica on the anatomy of a Greek column.
Soon-to-be repurposed column during September 2006 deconstruction in Rosslyn’s future dining room (Photo: Geo Davis)
The simplicity of these columns, only minimally embellished, lead me to consider them of the Doric order. And the following overview serves us well with one subtle revision. Both in their original location and in their future icehouse location, these repurposed columns will rest on the floor. In other words, the floor serves as the stylobate.
There are many separate elements that make up a complete column and entablature. At the bottom of the column is the stylobate; this is a continuous flat pavement on which a row of columns is supported. Rising out of the stylobate is the plinth, a square or circular block that is the lowest part of the base. Atop the plinth and forming the remainder of the base are one or more circular moldings that have varying profiles; these may include a torus (a convex molding that is semicircular in profile), a scotia (with a concave profile), and one or more fillets, or narrow bands.
The shaft, which rests upon the base, is a long, narrow, vertical cylinder that in some orders is articulated with fluting (vertical grooves). The shaft may also taper inward slightly so that it is wider at the bottom than at the top.
Atop the shaft is the capital, which serves to concentrate the weight of the entablature on the shaft and also acts as an aesthetic transition between those two elements. In its simplest form (the Doric), the capital consists (in ascending order) of three parts; the necking, which is a continuation of the shaft but which is set off from it visually by one or more narrow grooves; the echinus, a circular block that bulges outward at its uppermost portion in order to better support the abacus; and the abacus itself, a square block that directly supports the entablature above and transmits its weight to the rest of the column below. (Source: Britannica)
You’ll be quizzed on this later. Maybe. Or not.
Repurposed Columns
Now armed with some targeted vocabulary we can fast forward to about a week ago when Pam, Hroth, and Tony extracted the columns from the hay loft of the carriage barn where they’ve been stored for about sixteen years. I won’t pretend they’re tidy, but they’re intact, well preserved and ready for repurposing as a whimsical-but-structural design element supporting the new icehouse loft.
Hroth surveying soon-to-be repurposed columns from carriage barn hayloft to icehouse (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
In the photo above we’re looking over Hroth’s shoulder at the soon-to-be repurposed columns. Yes. Big. Eight feet from the bottom of the plinth to the top of the capital. Hroth’s a tall fellow, but these stately columns tower above him. I’m bringing this up to allow for critics to suggest that these columns just *might* be out of scale with the diminutive icehouse. It’s a reasonable suggestion. But we’re not undertaking an historic preservation. Instead we’re rehabilitating a utility space, a once-upon-a-time storage barn for ice, into a contemporary mixed-use office, studio, lifestyle space. Relevance is driving the program and adaptive reuse with a whimsical nod to the past is guiding the design choices. There are some incongruities baked into the vision for sure, but we’re gambling that they’ll prove charming rather than unsettling. Fingers crossed!
Hroth transporting repurposed columns from carriage barn hayloft to icehouse. (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
After a decade and a half of dusty hibernation in the carriage barn’s hayloft, these artifacts of once again seeing the light of day. Tony (upstairs, inside) and Hroth (outside) tenderly liberated the columns from the veritable warehouse of architectural salvage — windows, doors, moldings, trims, shutters, fireplace surrounds, mantlepieces, and various miscellanea — to begin rehabilitating them.
Hroth and Tony transporting repurposed columns from carriage barn hayloft to icehouse. (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
It’s worth noting that I played with the perspective on the photo above in order to best view the column emerging from the carriage barn. Hoth’s face and figure suffered slightly Silly Putty disfigurement in the process. Please forgive me, Hroth!
Capital from column that will be reused in the icehouse rehab (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
The capitals are not connected to the columns, perhaps because installation is more convenient. Or perhaps as a casualty of our 2006 deconstruction (or sixteen years of getting bumped into while in storage?) But the elements are intact and ready for cleanup and reassembly. I’ll update the repurposed column progress as they move forward on their journey toward installation.
Capital from column that will be reused in the icehouse rehab (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Although it’s still a little premature to photograph the columns inside the icehouse, and since we have some long overdue cleaning and refinishing to undertake before these towering twins are ready to preside over their new environment, it’s helpful to imagine where we’re headed. To that end I’ll conclude with the most recent interior elevations that include the columns. There are inevitably tweaks that will emerge in the weeks and even months ahead and we massage the icehouse rehab into shape, but these drawings might sate your curiosity for a while.
Icehouse interior elevations including repurposed columns, as of November 11, 2022 (Credit: Tiho Dimitrov)
In closing, thank you Hroth and Tony for recovering the repurposed columns with such care. Thank you, Pam, for months of dimension documentation and photographs to ensure that Tiho was able to integrate these into the plan. Thank you, Tiho, for your perennial willingness to accommodate our sometimes challenging guidance and requests. And thank you, Rosslyn, for providing and supporting and nurturing our vision(s). Your gifts are without end.
Much of the North Country is still recovering from the devastation wrought by Hurricane/Tropical Storm Irene. Four weeks on, I return to the notes I jotted during and shortly after Irene passed through Essex, New York.
A sheet of water cascades in front of the parlor windows. I’ve sunk into an armchair to watch the white caps rolling into our stone seawall. Into the dock beneath Rosslyn boathouse. Wind surges, thrashing and straining the leafy limbs of the gnarled old maple tree on the front lawn, violently snapping the boathouse flag.
Hurricane Irene has been delivering a less devastating blow to the Northeast than originally anticipated, and yet our lawn is littered with branches, entire tree limbs and even the top half of an Aspen which snapped off next to the carriage barn. Lake Champlain‘s water level has risen dramatically, gobbling up the sand beach and lapping at the stone seawalls currently being rebuilt north of our boat dock.
I initiated this post during the worst of Irene’s wind and water, however I quickly abbreviated my commentary. My mind flashed back to Lake Champlain’s destructive spring flood. I grew superstitious, my premature relief that Irene had taken it easy on us replaced by dread that I was underestimating her impact.
The next day I continued my observations after a demoralizing round trip to Plattsburgh. My suspicions had been confirmed. We were lucky; others unlucky…
The day started well enough. Clearing skies. Sunshine. Only a light breeze, virtually imperceptible after yesterday’s 65mph gusts.
I checked the waterfront, noted the dramatic rise in water level then celebrated the absence of damage to the boat house. I walked the lawn and counted about a dozen broken limbs strewn over the grass. The top third of an aspen tree had snapped off and lay crushed to the south of the carriage barn. But no serious, unrecoverable damage.
My sunny disposition clouded briefly upon finding 27 bags of ready-mix concrete that had been left uncovered by the fellow rebuilding the stone seawall. All had been soaked and were now petrified, unusable.
Nevertheless, I departed for Plattsburgh relieved that we’d escaped virtually unharmed.
This is where my notes end. The day would force me to recalculate my earlier conclusions. Yes, Susan and I had been fortunate. Rosslyn had been virtually unscathed by Irene. But many of our neighbors in Whallonsburg, Willsboro and Wadhams and throughout the Champlain Valley were underwater.
Normally I’d drive through Willsboro, up and over Willsboro Mountain and then pick up “The Northway” (NYS Route 87) north to Plattsburgh. But I’d already heard that roads were closed beyond Willsboro, so I turned south toward the ferry dock to try another route. Our Town Supervisor was directing traffic at a road block, so I stopped and rolled down my window.
“What a mess. Roads are closed everywhere.”
“Can I get to Plattsburgh?”
“Route 12 is the only access to The Northway.”
“Toward Lewis? That’s fine.”
“Would you show those folks how to get to Meadowmount?” she asked, pointing at a car with out-of-state tags that was parked across from the Masonic Hall.
“Sure.”
“Good luck!”
I pulled in front of the car and parked. I introduced myself to the driver and explained that they could follow me to Meadowmount. They were grateful.
With 20/20 hindsight I should have realized that I would need to take Route 12 to the Lewis exit on the Northway and then cross over and lead them into Meadowmount from Betty Beavers Truck Stop. But there are a half dozen local routes between Essex and Lewis that would be quicker. It never occurred to me that all of them could be flooded.
They were. And over the next thirty minutes I tried every one only to be stopped at road blocks or unmarked, submerged roads. Staggering. But most heart breaking of all was Whallonsburg, a hamlet of Essex a couple of miles inland from Lake Champlain. The Boquet River flows directly through the middle of Whallonsburg and it had flooded so high that five or six houses along the river were totally inundated. A couple of homes had water up the the second story windows! Emergency services had been set up at The Whallonsburg Grange, and volunteers were directing traffic and assisting displaced residents.
I would revisit this heartbreaking scene the following day during a bicycle ride assessing the damage all along the Boquet River corridor. By then the water had retreated and residents were dragging furniture and carpets and clothing and books and appliances out onto their yards. Over the next couple of days enormous dumpsters were filled with the destroyed possessions. During my most recent conversation with a friend who lives in Whallonsburg I learned that at least one and maybe more of the homes were condemned. Despite the devastation, it’s been heartening to experience the community spirit and volunteerism that have resulted. The community has pulled together to help the residents effected by Irene with a fundraiser (Good Night, Irene) and countless hours of volunteerism.
Still trying to absorb the depressing situation in Whallonsburg I proceeded to attempt one road after another. And it seemed that with each “dead end” our entourage collected another vehicle. In due course our entire caravan made it out to The Northway, hopefully in time for one of the cars to make it to the airport without missing their flight. At Betty Beavers I got out and explained to the first car how to get to Meadowmount and offered them my card in case they got stuck. Only a few days later I received a gracious email from them explaining that they made it safely to the music school where their son had studied some years prior.
I mention this detail for the same reason I explained the community recovery efforts in Whallonsburg. Irene’s proverbial silver lining may be the humanizing influence. People connecting and helping one another. This was also the case last spring when Lake Champlain flooded its banks for weeks on end. In both natural disasters the disruption and destruction were catastrophic, but in both cases effected communities rallied and supported one another. This civic responsibility, this community spirit underpins the attractive North Country lifestyle that has embraced us since moving from New York City to Essex in 2006.
In closing, the photograph at the top of this post was taken after Lake Champlain’s water level rapidly rose due to the runoff from Irene. Although it pales in comparison to the water levels last spring, it was surreal to watch our beach disappear as water levels returned to typical spring levels.
