Just over a week ago I posted a prologue to today’s garapa paneled bathroom update. I apologize if it felt a little half baked.
For just a little longer, I’ll keep you in suspense before I share photos of the now completed garapa installation. Remember, anticipation is half the pleasure! (Source: Garapa Paneled Bathroom, Pt. 1)
I wasn’t teasing out the update for the sake of suspense. I promise. And today’s post will hopefully offer some recompense for your patience. But there was a lot — a LOT — to pack into a single post, so I felt it more reasonable to subdivide it into a couple of installments.
I’m dividing this… update into two posts to fairly review and showcase a project that has taken the better part of a year from beginning to finish… (Source: Garapa Paneled Bathroom, Pt. 1)
Besides, I was about to head into the Gila Wilderness when Eric Crowningshield gave me the good news, and I simply couldn’t squeeze it all in before going off-line adventuring for a week sans connectivity, computer, etc.
But now it’s time to celebrate completion of the icehouse bathroom’s garapa paneling, to showcase the photos, and to sing praises for the carpenter behind this monumental accomplishment.
Eric Crowningshield Installing Garapa Paneling in Icehouse Bathroom (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Garapa Paneling the Bathroom
Upcycling Rosslyn’s deconstructed garapa decking into interior paneling has occupied many members of the icehouse rehab team for months. It’s been a challenge. Every. Single. Step. From demo’ing the old deck (while painstakingly deconstructing, selecting, and grading the most reusable and aesthetically pleasing garapa) to troubleshooting, iterating, and finally re-fabricating the decrepit, timeworn decking into elegant interior finish material, this upcycling endeavor has been an epic quest. And the exacting preparation demanded even more exacting installation.
Garapa Paneling Progress in Icehouse Bathroom (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Today we celebrate Eric’s conscientious carpentry and dogged determination, shepherding the garapa paneling to its exquisite completion! (It’s worth noting that Matt Sayward assisted in the early stages of installation, but Eric soon took ownership of the project to ensure 100% consistency.)
Garapa Paneling Progress in Icehouse Bathroom (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
The following excerpts and photos offer an interesting perspective as Eric worked through installation of the garapa paneling.
Garapa Paneling Progress in Icehouse Bathroom (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
It should go a little quicker now with the breaks in the runs [and] not needing to lineup 4 miters in one location. Nothing about this is easy but my gosh probably one of the most rewarding project thus far… — Eric Crowningshield
Garapa Paneling Progress in Icehouse Bathroom (Photo: Eric Crowningshield)
On the left side of this door it is 3-1/8” from the inside of the door jam to the tile. Do we not put garapa and run a 3” trim around the jam leaving a 1/8” reveal? On the other side we only have about 2”, so I’m guessing it may look odd with wider trim on the left and top. — Eric Crowningshield
The best way to handle the garapa around the door is difficult to determine from afar. My suggestion is that you and Peter look at it together and come up with the best solution. We have some asymmetry to deal with. Tricky. — Geo Davis
I’m going to put horizontal pieces on the left side before trim because the trim on the other side is around 1 3/4” so I think it would look better keeping the same size around the door. — Eric Crowningshield
Garapa Paneling Progress in Icehouse Bathroom (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
I went down tonight for a few hours and ripped some [garapa] down to the same width so the last 4 rows will be the same. Otherwise we were going to end up with a 1” or so piece around the ceiling. I put another row of that up so only 3 rows left. — Eric Crowningshield
How much did you have to takeoff of each of the boards for the last four courses? Or, better question, how different will they be from the rest of the words? — Geo Davis
About 3/8 of an inch. The boards I put up throughout the whole wall ranged from 4” down to 3-5/8” and a few at 3-1/2”. I had 13” left so I was doing 3-1/4” for the last 4 rows. — Eric Crowningshield
Garapa Paneling Progress in Icehouse Bathroom (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
It is completed!!! I love saying that. — Eric Crowningshield
Superb! Congratulations, Erik. It really looks amazing. I hope you’re proud of the results. I know this has been an almost endless process from demoing the deck to installing the paneling, but a worthwhile adventure. Well done. Is everything wrapped up around the door as well? — Geo Davis
No, we are going to adjust the casing so it is the same size trim on each side. Yes, super excited about it and everything it means to you and the story behind it all! — Eric Crowningshield
Garapa Paneling Progress in Icehouse Bathroom (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Bravo, Eric Crowningshield, for completing installation of the glorious garapa paneling in the icehouse bathroom. What a tour de force! It’s hard to believe that this is the same decking your team deconstructed from Rosslyn’s deck a year ago. Many months of brainstorming, experimenting, re-milling, oiling, and installing later this masterpiece is born. Hurrah! — Geo Davis
Garapa Paneled Bathroom (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
It was a task for sure, but the end result more than makes it worth the struggles. It is a must see in person although the pictures capture how amazing it looks, [though] it’s even more impressive in person! — Eric Crowningshield
Garapa Paneled Bathroom (Photo: Eric Crowningshield)
I forgot to tell you. I found one board with plugs still in it, so if you look close it is about midway up the wall between the utility and niche. A couple small ones in the niche as well. I thought that would be pretty cool to help tell the story about it being old decking. Wish I found more. — Eric Crowningshield
Garapa Paneled Bathroom (Photo: Eric Crowningshield)
Thanks for letting me know. I will hunt for them next time I’m back. Although you should’ve left it to see if I noticed! — Geo Davis
Garapa Paneled Bathroom (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
This subtle upcycling/repurposing souvenir isn’t quite discernible in the photo above, but it thrills me. Can’t wait to inspect in person!
Garapa Paneled Bathroom (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
I look forward to sharing more photographs of the icehouse bathroom as it approaches completion. It’s so close… Until then, I’d like to express my profound gratitude to Eric for transforming this vision into reality. What an extraordinary accomplishment!
Eureka! After many months of brainstorming, experimentation, painstakingly protracted preparation, troubleshooting, oiling, and meticulous installation, the garapa paneling in Rosslyn’s icehouse bathroom is complete. What a remarkable journey it’s been, and the final results are breathtaking.
Wayne Oiling Deck in 2009 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Garapa Backstory
Our garapa backstory has its beginning waaayyy back when we built the original garapa deck on the west side of Rosslyn’s ell.
Let’s start by rewinding the timeline to 2008-9. Building the new deck and installing garapa decking was the proverbial caboose in a virtually endless train of construction that started in the summer of 2006. (Source: Garapa Decking 2008-2009)
A touch melodramatic, but the metaphor was (and is) 100% appropriate. It was nothing short of triumphant to finally complete the deck, a real and symbolic final frontier between construction site and comfortable home. It was a much anticipated extension of our indoor living space, a convenient way to access three entrances to the home, and a private exterior zone to dine and relax and entertain.
Carley & Bentley on Old Deck (Photo: Geo Davis)
Fast forward a couple of years, and the triumph began to tarnish.
Long story short, the original deck failed. Not the garapa decking which performed admirably year-after-year. But the substructure.
[…]
Rather than dwelling on the achilles heal that lamentably undermined the integrity of three critical substructures — Rosslyn’s house deck, boathouse gangway, and waterfront stairs — I’ll just say that all three experienced premature decay and rot of the structural lumber…
[…]
Because the substructures began rotting virtually immediately after construction, we spent a decade and a half chasing the problem, scabbing in new lumber, etc. But within the last few years the failure was beginning to outpace our ability to provide bandaids and we scheduled replacement. (Source: Deck Rebuild)
Carley Overseeing Demo of Old Deck (Photo: Geo Davis)
Eric Crowningshield’s team deconstructed much of the deck during the late spring of 2022. When Hroth Ottosen and David McCabe joined them at the beginning of the summer they determined that it was necessary to fully replace rather than repair the existing deck.
Old Deck Demolition (Photo: Geo Davis)
The deconstructed garapa was separated from the structural demolition debris, the highest grade (ergo most salvageable) material was graded, and the best preserved and most character-rich garapa was stored for repurposing in the icehouse rehab project. Then began a lengthy, painstaking upcycling journey.
We’ve been upcycling garapa decking from Rosslyn’s 2008-9 deck that we salvaged and laid aside this past summer. Spanning half a year so far — from deconstructing and culling reusable material midsummer to multiple experiments determining optimal dimensions for adaptive reuse as bathroom paneling — we’re now scaling up production and the results are impressive. (Source: Upcycling Garapa Decking)
By “multiple experiments” I mean empirically evaluating the most aesthetically pleasing, most practical, most installable, and most structurally durable form for the Garapa decking-turned-paneling. Yes, that’s a lot of *mosts* to undertake, but it’s not even the full scope of the challenge.
In addition to devising a perfect product, we needed to coordinate an upcycling process that could be undertaken successfully on site. No loading, trucking, unloading, offsite milling and finishing, reloading, trucking, unloading, storing, etc. It might have been more affordable, and it certainly would’ve been less time consuming, to outsource this project. But that would’ve shifted several variables:
Increasing carbon inputs would have been inconsistent with our reuse objectives.
Transferring oversight to a third party would have reduced our design supervision (while necessitating excess production to ensure sufficient quality during installation.)
Undertaking the upcycling process at Rosslyn allowed for agility and flexibility during the fabrication process, enabling the team to repeatedly test samples in the icehouse, catching small details that might otherwise have been discovered too late, making small alterations, etc.
And despite the inevitable strain (as well as the potential for setbacks) that crept into the equation by committing to on-site fabrication, tackling this challenge in house ensured maximum creative control, significant learning opportunities, rewarding problem solving scenarios, a personalized sense of ownership for those who participated in this project, and a heightened sense of accomplishment upon completion.
In short, upcycling our old garapa deck into the paneling that now distinguishes our icehouse bathroom was a vital, integral component of this adaptive reuse adventure. It was important to me that our team of makers and re-makers have the opportunity to invest themselves fully in this rehabilitation project, that each individual who verily toiled and trusted our vision experience a profound pride of ownership and accomplishment, and that the hyperlocal DNA of this two century old property be honored by favoring ingenuity and endurance over convenience.
From the outset several were intrigued with the potential for this salvaged lumber.
Hroth was an especially good sport, planing board after board and trimming the edges to determine what would work best. (Source: Upcycling Garapa Decking)
Upcycling Garapa (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
As the wear and tear of a decade and a half— heavy foot traffic, enthusiastic labrador retrievers, hardy North Country winters, group grilling and furniture dragging, wine spills and miscellaneous mementos from lots and lots of living — was gradually milled away, the garapa’s handsome heart began to re-emerge.
We have begun re-milling and re-planing garapa decking salvaged from Rosslyn’s summer 2022 deck rebuild. These sample boards are among the many weathered specimens carefully removed this spring and summer prior to rebuilding Rosslyn’s deck substructure and re-decking with new garapa. Hroth’s patient exploratory experimentation is the first phase in our effort to adaptively reuse this character-rich material in the icehouse. (Source: Upcycling Decking Debris)
At last, Hroth perfected the prototype. He then developed a process, a repeatable protocol, for which we could standardize the results primarily relying upon a tablesaw and bench planer. Then he taught Tony how to reproduce the same results in sufficient quantity to panel the still unframed icehouse bathroom.
Tony Upcycling Garapa Decking (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Tony is beavering away industriously… upcycling garapa decking into pristine planks for paneling.
[…]
It’s a slow and painstaking process that demands plenty of patience and focus, but… transforming debris into beautiful finish paneling will prove rewarding, for sure… Tony is even beginning to appreciate what magnificence he is bringing into existence. (Source: Upcycling Garapa Decking)
And so began a winter quest to reinvent debris as functional design-decor.
Time for a progress report on the garapa paneling that will soon embellish the icehouse bathroom. We started out gently easing the edges, but several iterations later we’ve settled on a full roundover. (Source: Garapa Roundover: Easing the Edge)
Months into this painstaking re-manufacturing process, several others had helped Tony from time to time, but there was no illusion. Tony had taken ownership of the garapa upcycling quest!
I joke with Tony that he’s investing lots of love into transforming this material. From debris to centerpiece… he’s literally been working and reworking [this upcycled garapa] since last September or October. That’s a LOT of love! (Source: Garapa Roundover: Easing the Edge)
By late winter Tony had finished planing (down to 9/16”) and dimensioning (down to 4”) the garapa decking. At almost a thousand linear feet we paused and reevaluated the quantity to be certain we would have sufficient usable material for the entire interior of the icehouse bathroom (walls, niche, and mechanical room door).
We revisited options for joining the paneling. To be fastened horizontally to the studs with concealed fasteners, joining the boards would be an important way to stabilize and visually address the gaps between boards. We considered tight lap joints and nickel gap lap joints, eventually settling on a nickel gap T&G type joint. But how best to accomplish this?
Peter’s solution for the ash and elm flooring seemed like our best option for the garapa paneling. We would create garapa splines that would fit into grooves in the sides of the paneling boards. If expansion and contraction (think visible gaps, between boards, etc.) weren’t an issue it might have been viable to just but the boards up against each other. But it’s a bathroom, so fluctuating humidity levels definitely needed to be factored into the equation. The splined joint would be a perfect solution.
And finally there was the question of edging. I wanted to ease the edges just enough to accentuate horizontal shadow lines (which stylistically echo the T&G nickel gap in the rest of interior) while deemphasizing dimensional disparity between boards. So a router joined the production protocol as Tony uniformly finished the visible edges of the paneling.
Garapa Edge Profiles v2.0 (Photo: Geo Davis)
And then there was the final step, oiling the garapa. As often, we turned to Bioshield Hard Oil for a hand rubbed, ecologically responsible finish. Eric’s team tackled the oiling, and the photo above gives you a preview of the garapa, edged and oiled. This was the final sample that we greenlighted before installation began.
And, for just a little longer, I’ll keep you in suspense before I share photos of the now completed garapa installation. Remember, anticipation is half the pleasure!
Installation of Garapa Paneling
I’ve dividing this monumental update into two posts to fairly review and showcase a project that has taken the better part of a year from beginning to finish. Thanks for your patience. I promise you that the photos you’ll witness soon, the finished bathroom paneling, will be worth the wait.
Hyde Gate (aka Rosslyn) in Essex, New York (Illustration by Kate Boesser for All My Houses, By Sally Lesh)
Reinvention is woven intricately, inextricably into Rosslyn’s DNA. This home, this property, this history endure some two hundred years (and more) after W.D. Ross first built his home on the Champlain Valley’s fertile shore in no small part because of this legacy of renewal. It’s as if Rosslyn, in addition to historic buildings and generous grounds, is a nimble spirit distinguished by her imagination, her reimagination, a force that fuels her adaptability.
Every project is an opportunity to learn, to figure out problems and challenges, to invent and reinvent. — David Rockwell
Rosslyn is protean, evolving again and again, morphing and adapting, fulfilling diverse functions across two centuries. She is perhaps best defined by this tradition of perennial reinvention and renewal.
Sherwood Inn (Antique Postcard)
Reinventing Rosslyn
Although we knew virtually nothing about Rosslyn’s history when in 2006 we became her new homeowners, I have since discovered and learned to appreciate her long legacy of reinvention. This quality is in no small part responsible for her endurance and longevity, I suspect. Born a lakeside homestead for William Daniel Ross (aka W.D Ross), an Essex founding father, Rosslyn became the progenitor of Merchant Row followed in turn by Sunnyside and Greystone. Whether as residence, seasonal home, and vacation rental (see “Sally Lesh & Hyde Gate” and “Hyde Gate for Sale or Rent“) or for some decades as the Sherwood Inn (see “Vintage Sherwood Inn Advertisement” and “Sherwood Inn Brochure c. 1950s“). Rosslyn’s illustrious buildings and grounds have adapted again and again to the needs of her times and her owners.
Susan and my Rosslyn reinvention (2006-present) has sought to reawaken the property as a welcoming sanctuary — a healthy, holistic homestead; an oasis for family and friends; and a safe haven for our wild neighbors — that will endure and thrive for at least another two centuries. From an unwavering commitment to non-toxic, ecologically responsible renovation, construction, and designas well as our 100% organic and holistic gardening practices to our habitat preservation and rewilding initiatives, we have embraced Rosslyn’s intrinsic inclination for renewal.
Rosslyn & Reinvention (Photo: Geo Davis)
As we endeavor to bring closure to the icehouse rehabilitation project, the newest chapter in our ongoing reinvention of Rosslyn’s historic buildings, I find myself considering the property’s future. What might future homeowners deem optimal for Rosslyn? How will she continue to evolve and adapt as future generations tap into her spirit of reinvention?
The past lives on in art and memory, but it is not static: it shifts and changes as the present throws its shadow backwards. — Margaret Drabble
I return today to a recurring theme, a preoccupation perhaps, that wends its way through my Rosslyn ruminations and my collections of photographs and artifacts. While the past lives on, the present riffs, repurposes, and reimagines the past. Adaptive reuse. Upcycling. Reinvention. Art.
Buckle up. Or pour yourself a cocktail…
The Past Lives On: NW Corner of Icehouse and Carriage Barn, September 21, 2021 (Photo: Geo Davis)
NW Corner of Icehouse
Before tripping too far into the wilds of my imagination, let’s root the present inquiry in something a little less abstract, a little more concrete. Like, for example, the northwest corner of the icehouse about a year and a half ago, September 21, 2021. That’s what you see in the photo above as well as those below.
I’ve titled this post, “The Past Lives On”, and if you’ve been with me for any time at all you’re well aware that Rosslyn, the property around which this multimodal inquiry circumnavigates like a drunken sailor, is rooted in the past. And the present. Starting out in the early 1800’s and spanning almost exactly two centuries.
I’ve pilfered the title from the quotation above, ostensibly the perspective of Virginia Woolf filtered through the mind of Margaret Drabble. The broader context for Drabble’s perspective is landscape. Let’s look a little further.
The past lives on in art and memory, but it is not static: it shifts and changes as the present throws its shadow backwards. The landscape also changes, but far more slowly; it is a living link between what we were and what we have become. This is one of the reasons why we feel such a profound and apparently disproportionate anguish when a loved landscape is altered out of recognition; we lose not only a place, but ourselves, a continuity between the shifting phases of our life. — Margaret Drabble, A Writer’s Britain: Landscape in Literature, Thames & Hudson, 1987 (Source: Ken Taylor, “Landscape: Memory and Identity”)
In the photo above I’ve recorded the exterior of the icehouse and adjoining lawn as it has looked since approximately the 1950s which is when we understand that a clay tennis court was built behind the icehouse and carriage barn for the pleasure of Sherwood Inn guests.
Actually, I’m slightly oversimplifying the contours of history. Given what I understand, the clay court was installed for Sherwood Inn patrons, but at some point in the decades since, the court was abandoned. Or at least *mostly* abandoned. The +/-10′ tall wooden posts for an enclosure along the northern end of the court remained until we removed them early in our rehabilitation. And one of the two steel tennis net posts will at long last be removed in about a week when Bob Kaleita returns to tune up the site for hardscaping and landscaping. But a long time ago the clay surface was abandoned and a perfectly flat lawn replaced it. We’ve enjoyed using it as a croquet, bocce, and volleyball court for years.
If you look at the bottom right of the photograph at the top of this post you can see that there’s a topographical bulge in the lawn, sort of a grassy hummock that is crowding the building(s). In the photo below you can again see how the ground is higher than the framing on both buildings.
The Past Lives On: NW Corner of Icehouse and Carriage Barn, September 21, 2021 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Not an ideal situation when organics (lawn, landscaping, etc.) crowd wooden buildings. Unfortunately the tennis court was built above the sills of both buildings, and inauspiciously close. Moisture, snow, and ice buid-up over the decades compromised the structures of both buildings because of this miscalculation.
Today, both buildings have had their framing rehabilitated, and their structural integrity is better than ever. In addition, significant site work last autumn (remember “The art of Dirt Work“?) and again next week is restoring the ground level adjacent to the icehouse and carriage barn to more closely resemble what it likely looked like in the 1800s when both buildings were originally sited and constructed.
A landscape altered. A landscape restored.
A memory recreated with the art of landscaping. The past made present. And yet, not. The new grade has been reimagined as an outdoor recreation and entertaining area not likely resembling the environs a couple hundred years ago. And so it is that the past “shifts and changes as the present throws its shadow backwards”…
The Past Lives On: NW Corner of Icehouse, September 21, 2021 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Present Shadowed Past
What if innocence, in a sense, is less unbiased naïveté than wonder-wander, curiosity, and experiment? Or kneading gray clay dug behind the barn, behind the garden, before the forest (but barely before) after summer rain forty years ago. Stiff and cold at first, loosening with touch, oozing through cupped palms and playful fingers, shapes suggest themselves. Contours and textures echo yesterdays unrecorded and likely forgotten but re-emergent, confections conjured of sodded clay, and curiosity.
The Past Lives On
Indeed, something endures, but rarely should we be confident that we are knowing the past as it was. As it once was. We are informed and perhaps sometimes misinformed by our perspective sometime subsequent to the archival echo we fixate upon. And yet, perhaps allowing for reimagination, adaptive reuse, and even ahistoric reinvention, drawing upon the artifacts and memories we inherit but investing them with whimsy and wonder is one of the best ways of rehabilitating the past. Art from artifacts…
Clearing Out Historic Icehouse (Source: R.P. Murphy)
Sixteen years after plunging into renovating Rosslyn we are… finally tackling the looong postponed icehouse rehabilitation. Sweet sixteen. (Source: Redacting Rosslyn v2.0 – Rosslyn Redux)
In the image above you can see a notable improvement from previous images of the interior of Rosslyn’s historic icehouse. This underutilized outbuilding had become a storage space in the 15-16 years since it was saved from inelegant rot and collapse. Over the last few days the icehouse is being purged by Pam and Tony so that we may at last begin rehabilitation and repurposing.
We entirely gutted the building in 2006 in order to structurally salvage the building. The northern and sorter facades had bowed at as the roof collapsed. The term used by the contractors at the time was “corn cribbing”. Once gutted, the north and south walls were gradually pulled back together over many months a little bit at a time, gradually restoring the structural integrity of the building so that new roof rafters could be milled and installed. That is what you see again today. But over the years the icehouse had become a lumber, architectural salvage, and woodworking space, gradually filling up so full that it was scarcely possibly to move around inside. That was still the case when the engineers from Engineering Ventures made a recent site visit.
Engineering the Icehouse (Source: Geo Davis)
Engineering the Icehouse (Source: Geo Davis)
I’d guess that there’s still about a day of decluttering and organizing before the historic icehouse is once again stripped bare and ready for the next phase of rehabilitation. All of the materials that were removed have been inventoried and relocated to the carriage barn and the new storage container we’ve rented for the duration of the project. Hhhmmm… I forgot to document that. Not fascinating, nor savory eye candy, but I’ll account for the extra storage area we decided to add into the mix to facilitate job site organization, especially when gentle autumn yields to blustery winter. Now, with many of our existing building materials inventoried we can begin to organize a repurposing strategy. That’s right, baked into our recipe for transforming this historic icehouse into a flex workspace, studio, and outdoor entertaining annex is an ambitious vision of creatively reusing and repurposing a decade and a half of leftover building materials, architectural salvage, and lumber grown, felled, milled, and cured on site. I’ll articulate my admittedly romantic vision for how all of this stuff will be reimagined into a charming addition to Rosslyn’s menagerie of old buildings.
For now, I’d like to celebrate the small victory of restoring Rosslyn’s historic outhouse to its metaphorical bones so that we can begin to prepare the interior for footings and crawlspace slab. Cheers to Tony and Pam for tackling the essential but unenviable task of cleaning [ice]house! Thank you.
It’s going to be an inspiring few months of creative reimaginination, collegial collaboration, and transformation as this handsome historic icehouse gets the loving attention of our rehabilitation dream team. I’ll be introducing the entire cast of characters in the weeks and months ahead, and you’ll have an opportunity to witness up close and personal an historic rehab effectively reinventing a 19th century utility building into a 21st century utility building. This unique collaboration aims not only to repurpose a no longer relevant purpose-built structure into a contemporaneously relevant, utilitarian addition to this remarkable property, but also to reimagine the discarded detritus, the sometimes-elegant-sometimes-eccentric artifacts, and homegrown lumber, the byproduct of reopening the long neglected meadows west of Rosslyn’s buildings. We’ll include you in the rehab to the extent viable, and we’ll enthusiastically consider all recommendations, advice, and ideas. Thanks in advance.
“Once upon a time,” begins the story, the fairytale, the adventure,… It opens a door into the past, gentling the listener or reader into a moment long enough ago to seem harmless but present enough to feel relevant right now. A timeless historic canvas upon which to experience (or compose) a compelling narrative.
Timeless Historic (Source: Geo Davis)
This opening sequence invites the audience to suspend disbelief. Old and new, past and present, actual and possible, historic and confabulatory.
Living History & Timeless Historic
I’m drawn to the juxtaposition of old and new. In many respects rehabilitating Rosslyn and making our life here has blurred past, present, and future. History is alive. And similarly much of our quotidian existence is timeless. There’s a whimsical simultaneity of lives and times that infiltrates our lakeside lifestyle. (Source: Boathouse Illustration Revisited)
Rosslyn invites reinvention. Re-imagination. Rehabilitation and playful, capricious, adaptation.
I’ve come to playfully experiment, sometimes renovating that which is vintage or antique. Others times I accelerate aging. Or agelessness. And sometimes these shifts in perspective yield surprising, often refreshing new experiences. (Source: Boathouse Illustration Revisited)
Within an historic home, design and lifestyle needn’t be frozen in antiquity. Both benefit from compatibility with the building’s historic architectural and aesthetic pedigree. But, I believe, an historic home likewise benefits when vitality and relevance today — contemporary livability, if you will — ensure that the home transcends the status of relic or museum.
At best, an historic home is ageless, not in so far as the authentic historic architecture and design are erased, diminished, or compromised, but the functionality and usability endure. Rosslyn is in so many respects a timeless historic residence because two centuries after construction she remains an optimal platform for our lifestyle.
How and why this is the case remain priority topics for me to explore in greater depth. And I suspect that my formative years at Deerfield Academy in Deerfield Historic Deerfield Massachusetts might underpin some of my instincts in this respect. But I’m meandering afield, so I’ll make a point of revisiting in a separate post.
In the vintage postcard above — faded, blurred, and stained with touch and time — the historic lighthouse located at Split Rock in Essex, NY reigns over a promontory bearing a curious resemblance to an arboretum, more landscaped and less wild than today. A copse of diverse specimen trees here, a granite outcrop there, a grassy bluff here,… I can’t help but see a sort of Split Rock botanical garden. But it wasn’t. I imagine the photographer and postcard publisher were likely thinking of the flora and topography as mere garlands for the centerpiece, the focus of the postcard: Split Rock Lighthouse.
There’s something comely about an old lighthouse, a spire of stone stacked skyward to secure a lofty perch for a sweeping beam of light. Bold, dependable, comforting. Or is it? Perhaps it’s just a tall tower like a barn with a silo? Is tall bold? Is a fortress-like column comforting? We ascribe much meaning to lighthouses because of their function. They are predictable and dependable because predictable, dependable lighthouse keepers ensured that they were. Today, I suppose, that’s mostly the work of technology. Bold and comforting likewise derive from function. Stormy night, navigating challenging seas, unreliable visibility, a valuable cargo, and the wellbeing, heck maybe even the lives of the boat’s captain and crew,… And then a navigational beam cutting through the blindness, showing the way to safe port. Or at least around a potentially dangerous obstacle that might otherwise have scattered ship and crew, reducing their industrious mission to memory and flotsam and jetsam.
In short, we think of lighthouses, so often portrayed in photographs and other artwork, as visually equivalent to the function they fulfill. We conflate the building with service it enables. We deploy references to lighthouses with confidence that our audience will understand what we mean. We think in metaphor. We speak in metaphor. And, by and large, the viewer, listener, or reader understands what we wish to imply.
This Is Not a Metaphor
Seven years ago, I was hit by a truck. This is not a metaphor. I was crossing the street two blocks from home when the driver, blinded by the sun, rammed into me. During my nine-month recovery, I began to reflect upon my life… I realized that for years, I had been stuck on an endless hamster wheel… I remembered the joke about the airline pilot who addressed his passengers over the intercom: “Attention: I have bad news and good news: Radar is down. We’re totally lost! But you’ll be glad to know we’re making very good time.” I knew I needed to make a change. — Susan Fassberg (Source: The Art of Looking – Reinventing Home)
The tragic accident, Fassberg assures us, is not a metaphor. Real truck, real sun, real collision, and real injuries. But the hamster wheel and the airplane trip? Metaphors. A pair of accessible and effective metaphors help Fassberg tidily convey her truth. She was stuck and needed to make a life change.
When Susan and I opted into the adventure of reawakening Rosslyn as our home, we knew that we needed to make a change. We were navigating disorienting liminal changes (personal, professional, financial, and even philosophical/ethical). In the midst of these tempestuous transitions, we latched onto a hope that Rosslyn would help us reboot. Rehab. Maybe reawakening a needy property would reawaken our own hopes, optimism, confidence. We were in need of a full system reboot. Unplug. Count to ten. Replug. And, in our infinite wisdom (read irony, ergo… our infinite folly?) we chose to believe that Rosslyn, in need of TLC (and possibly life support) herself, would be able to minister to us. Made perfect sense at the time!
We had not been hit by a truck. Not a literal truck at least. Perhaps a metaphorical truck. Or several metaphorical trucks. And the joke about the airline pilot? Really, really familiar. Only, purchasing Rosslyn didn’t exactly precipitate a safe landing. Not for a few years, at least. And, yes, we were lost before throwing ourselves at the feet of Rosslyn, and we were often quite lost during those first few years.
Sure, we needed change. But we basically leaped into the tumbling kaleidoscope of constant, unpredictable change, each juggle and bump triggering a dazzling aurora borealis of tumbling technicolor mystery. Mysteries. It was spectacular and intoxicating. And it was often disorienting. Sometimes it was debilitating.
Are you with me? Maybe 50-100% clear on what I’m trying to say?
No?
Me either.
Not a metaphor, I promised. And then, I dove into metaphor. Metaphors.
Sorry.
Sometimes what I want to say and what I think I want to say are like the nearly marooned boat captain and the fog-lancing lighthouse. Each reaching through the turmoil toward one another, but only occasionally, fleetingly connecting.
When in danger of becoming marooned, I tell myself, narrow the focus. Tack 90° or so in a different direction. Decrease distance to desired destination by abbreviating the current journey….
Projecting Passion & Lovestruck Infatuation
I’ve often used the words “smitten”, “seduced”, beguiled, enchanted… when referring to Rosslyn. I ought to be more specific. I used these fuzzy euphemisms when describing my personal relationship with Rosslyn. And, in an effort to be as candid as comfortable — hopefully catalyzing some sort of catharsis, some sort of eureka moment clarifying this sixteen year affair with a home — I insisted, especially early on after purchasing Rosslyn from Elizabeth and George McNulty, that he, George McNulty, seemed to have had an almost four decade long love affair with Rosslyn. I even once asked his son, Jason McNulty, what he thought of that observation. I don’t recollect him making too much of my peculiar characterization, but perhaps I’ll find the opportunity to revisit this over-the-top and totally unjustified hypothesis. I bring it up now because it strikes me as peculiar that I initially felt so certain, perhaps I even needed to understand the previous owner’s relationship with this property as being a sort of love affair, an enduring passion that ran parallel to his marriages. And peculiar that Susan and I adopted this anthropomorphic oddity in explaining our own relationship with Rosslyn.
I relied on this fuzzy explanation for our outsized investment of energy, resources, and life into an old house because it was a way of avoiding the complexity of our true relationship. I figured that my love entanglement language would simply be heard as metaphorical exaggeration. And I hastened to contextualize my own infatuation with the previous owner’s alleged love affair as if to suggest that this property had a certain charm that could only be approximated with the language of love and passion. We all tend to speak in hyperbole, especially when asked to justify odd, uncharacteristic, or extreme behavior. Certainly our family and friends would have been justified in describing our all-in obsession with Rosslyn as reckless, foolhardy infatuation.
But I suspect that most who’ve heard me claim that we were beguiled or smitten, never really took me literally. Perhaps I didn’t take myself literally. I’ve come to wonder if this is not a metaphor at all. Or if we’re unable to navigate, to grapple with loss and hurt and confusion and hope and optimism without the medicine of metaphor.
Looking South from Split Rock Light (Vintage Postcard)
Why did I illustrate this post with Split Rock Lighthouse? Why did I borrow Susan Fassberg’s brave truth and then trip repeatedly over metaphor despite an sincere effort to come clean, to carve our some crystal clear truth? And why is it so comforting to include this second postcard above as I wander toward my conclusion-less conclusion to this post?
The vantage from the lighthouse, looking south, the postcard states (although its actually sort of southeast), across the northern end of the Split Rock Wildway, across Lake Champlain at the beginning of The Narrows, and then across Vermont toward the trailing end of the Green Mountain, this vantage is familiar. It is our metaphorical front yard. It is a significant reminder that our attraction to Rosslyn was, yes, a handsome old home and boathouse, but it was also this realm, this wild and overgrown invitation to let go… of so much. And to allow ourselves to gradually reawaken, to reinvigorate our hopes and dreams and to rediscover a future that had become stormy and confusing.
[I’ve just attempted to reread this post without hitting delete. What in the world am I wrestling with? And why is it so elusive? Damned if I know. Yet. But if you’ve made it this far, I apologize. Sometimes the captain navigates the ship. Other times the tempest itself seizes the helm!]
Mixed Species Flooring Experiment: character beech and jatoba, a.k.a. Brazilian cherry (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Repurposing Rosslyn’s icehouse is an ambitious project within a diminutive space. On the one hand, it’s an historic rehabilitation of an obsolescent utility building into a home office/studio with lifestyle perks like a hot tub and firepit. It’s also an experiment in adaptive reuse: reinventing this no-longer functionally relevant building with materials cherry picked from 17+ years of architectural salvage, surplus building materials from several renovations, and a a carriage barn full of lumber harvested, milled, and cured on site from a decade and a half of restoration work in Rosslyn’s fields and forests. There are even a couple of personal objectives woven into the present project, but I’ll hem them in for now do that I can reflect on the mixed species flooring photographed above and below.
You’re looking at two different hardwood species in these flooring samples: beech (this batch has been selected for its “character”, patterned grain) and jatoba (a.k.a. Brazilian cherry). Both of these are surplus remaining from our 2006-9 rehab of the house, and either/both of them *might* find their way into the icehouse. I’ll explain more in due course, but today I’d like to narrow our focus to our preliminary “research”, experimentation with enough whimsy and creative license that it almost feels like playing around.
I’m referring to a sort of exploratory brainstorming, decidedly unscientific experimentation but curiosity-fueled artistic experimentation. The question we’ve begun to explore is what might be possible if we combined dissimilar wood species in the same floor? Could the beechwood and the jatoba hardwood flooring merge into an appealing design element? Would this experiment in combinatorial creativity contribute meaningfully to a unique, cohesive design?
Wondering and wandering into this experiment was made possible by Pam and Tony who pulled stock from storage, arranged patterns playfully, and sent me the photographs to ponder. And while there’s still plenty of experimentation ahead in this little mixed species flooring experiment, the creative cogs have begun to spin…
Sometimes the singing underneath surfaces in a timely manner. Good fortune allows the insights of Kathleen Kralowec to help answer this question. All of the following excerpts are drawn from her article, a wise wander that opens as if I’d written it myself.
This article, I warn you, is itself an experiment: a conscious act of wandering.
Kathleen Kralowec, “Why Artists Must Experiment” (Source: Medium)
Let’s wander a bit with Kralowec.
Recognizing an act as an experiment releases it from a lot of… demands of perfection. The outcome of experimentation is knowledge, and failure is just as valuable as success, because one has expanded one’s awareness of one’s own abilities, one’s deeper ideas, the potential of a media, a process, a genre, an art-form.
And so we play with beech and jatoba, experimenting and exploring, yielding to our curiosity, risking failure, but also possibly failing our way toward success.
Flooring Experiment: character beech (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Artists must experiment in order to find their way… because there is no other road-map, no other way to discover how best to navigate…
As creatives we must grow comfortable with the prospect of forging our own way, navigating by trial-and-error. Kralowec goes on to propose the notion of a creative/artistic studio as a laboratory. Experimentation — and this encompasses failures as well as success — is fundamental to the creative process. And so Pam and Tony and I plunge headfirst into our laboratory, experimenting, mapping the unknown.
Practice, or rehearsal, is meant to increase precision on an existing pattern of action. Experimentation takes us outside those repetitions, to unexplored territory, untried actions… Experiment is an open door, an invitation to do things that might not work, and its necessary for what we may as well call innovation in the arts.
Jettisoning the familiar patterns, the customary solutions, and the “right way” is liberating, and sometimes a little unnerving. Welcome to the wilderness!
Experimentation allows one to explore the wilderness of one’s own talent and the wilderness of one’s own mind… Sometimes one must let go, enter into the experimental space, give oneself that permission to stumble, in order to advance to the next stage.
Mixed Species Flooring Experiment: character beech and jatoba, a.k.a. Brazilian cherry (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
And stumble, we will. Stumble, I do. Often. But every once in a while, wandering in this metaphorical wilderness of experimentation, we discover something singular, something remarkable.
Extending Kralowec’s notion of art studio as experimental laboratory to our creative practice(s) in general, then it’s incumbent upon us to untether from the familiar, the tried and true, the already discovered, in order to wonder and wander uninhibited, in order to explore and experiment without prejudice and confining assumptions. Not always, of course. And we must be willing to fail. Often. It is this vulnerability combined with curiosity, and with the courage to challenge our constraints and catalyze that curiosity through experimentation into the possibility of discovery.
At this stage we’re still early in our experimentation. Discovery is still eluding us. But our curiosity and our carefree experimentation are raring to go!
https://www.instagram.com/p/CmFsG48OEa4/
Now that we’ve experimented with the beech and jatoba flooring in their raw, unaltered state I have a couple of follow-on experiments I’m hoping to run. Stay tuned!
What wintery wonders shall I share with you today? How about a celebration (and showcase) of upcycled Christmas gifts dreamed into existence by three allstar members of our icehouse rehab team?
Upcycled Christmas Gifts from Pam, Hroth, and Tony (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
[pullquote]These upcycled Christmas gifts are a product and symbol of renewal.[/pullquote]
I talk and I type, but these three creative characters have reimagined and reinvented deconstruction debris into functional art and decor. They transformed a piece of old garapa decking and a handful of icehouse artifacts (uncovered during laborious hand excavation for the new foundation) into a handsome coatrack, and they transformed a gnarled piece of rusty steel back into a museum-worthy ice hook that turns the clock back 100+ years.
Let’s start with the photograph at the top of this post which Pam accompanied with the following note of explanation.
Hroth, Tony and I wanted to wish you both a very Merry Christmas. We came up with the idea to make a coat rack out of repurposed items. The wood is old garapa. I found the spikes in the icehouse during inventory and the hook was also discovered in the icehouse during excavation for the concrete floor/footers. Hroth custom made a handle for the ice hook. We also wanted to add a new hummingbird feeder to the garden outside of the breakfast area. Merry Christmas! — Pamuela Murphy
Perfection! Garapa upcycled from Rosslyn’s 2008-9 deck build and miscellaneous ice hauling artifacts reconciled and reborn as a new coat rack that will greet icehouse visitors upon entering the miniature foyer, and a restored antique ice hook that will be displayed prominently in the main room. Bravo, team.
Upcycled Christmas Gifts from Pam, Hroth, and Tony (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
I was curious how Hroth had fabricated the garapa handle for the ice hook out of old decking boards. It’s so round/cylindrical that it looks as if he’d used a lathe.
Two pieces of garapa laminated together. Started out about a 16 inch because it was easier to run through the table saw. I made an octagon out of it on the table saw, then used the big belt sander… I roughed it up a little bit. Didn’t want it to look too perfect. Then Pam suggested that we take a propane torch to it. Made it look older.
It was a fun project. I still need to seal the wood and the metal. Penetrating sealer works well on metal. It’s sharp… We were thinking you might want to put some corks on the ends… or garapa balls. That was the first thing I thought of. We can certainly do that. — Ottosen Hroth
Carving tiny garapa orbs to install on the spikes strikes me as the perfect way to complete the coat rack so that jackets can be hung without getting spikes. It’ll be a difficult-but-intriguing challenge! There must be some technique for creating a small wooden sphere out of a block of wood. Hhhmmm…
I can’t imagine more perfect Christmas gifts. Their collaboration has rendered layers of Rosslyn history — from the late 1800s and early 1900s when the icehouse was in use, through 2008 when we built the deck that yielded this garapa, to 2022 when the old deck was deconstructed and the icehouse rehabilitation was initiated — into timeless beauty that will adorn the icehouse when it is introduced/revealed next summer. These upcycled Christmas gifts are a product and symbol of renewal. Our gratitude is exceeded only by Hroth’s, Pam’s, and Tony’s collaborative accomplishment.
Upcycled Christmas Gifts (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Upcycled Christmas Gifts (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Upcycled Christmas Gift 2022: antique ice hook with handmade handle (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
The flip-through gallery above offers a few more details, and all three (as the two featured photographs above) are documented inside the icehouse with mid-construction backdrops: old studs with new spray foam insulation and new subfloor ready for interior framing and hardwood flooring. It’s tempting to offer tidier or even fancier backdrops, but authenticity prevails. Future decor created from old materials, documented midstream the icehouse’s transformation. Future, past, and present. Concurrent history and hope, a timeless present, an artistic representation of this liminal moment.
Backstory to Upcycled Christmas Gifts
Susan and my gratitude to Pam, Hroth, and Tony is (and obviously should be) the focus of today’s Rosslyn Redux installment, but I can’t conclude without first considering a slightly more amplified retrospective, the backstory, if you will, to the new coat rack and restored ice hook.
Let’s start by rewinding the timeline to 2008-9. Building the new deck and installing garapa decking was the proverbial caboose in a virtually endless train of construction that started in the summer of 2006. (Source: Garapa Decking 2008-2009)
In the photograph below, taken exactly fourteen years ago today, Warren Cross is putting the finishing touches on our first deck build. Although the perspective may be misleading given the still unbuilt garbage and recycling “shed” which today stands directly behind Warren, this is the northernmost extension of Rosslyn’s deck. The stone step (actually a repurposed hitching post chiseled from Chazy and Trenton limestone (aka “Essex stone”) and the rhododendron shrubs are not yet in place either.
But it you imagine the perspective as if you were standing just north of the morning room, looking back toward the carriage barn and icehouse, you’ll be oriented in no time. Oriented, yes, but nevertheless a bit disoriented too, I imagine, as you look upon a carpenter laboring in the snow to scribe and affix the garapa deck skirting / apron that will complete the installation that had began in the autumn with far more hospitable conditions.
Warren Cross completing garapa decking installation on December 22, 2008 (Photo: Geo Davis)
It’s worth noting that Warren, already in his mature years when he worked on Rosslyn with us, not only threw himself into difficult endeavors like the one above, he contributed decades’ of experience and an unsurpassed work ethic that inspired everyone with whom he worked in 2008 and 2009. But there’s an even more notable memory that describes Warren. He was a gentleman. And he was a gentle man. It was a privilege to witness Warren’s collegiality, and Rosslyn profited enduringly from his expertise. But it was his disposition, his consideration, and his kindness that make me nostalgic when I hear him mentioned or when I catch sight of him in photographs.
In terms of memories conjured by this repurposed garapa decking, I should include Hroth’s “research” this past autumn into how best we might reuse the lumber. There was such anticipation and excitement in the hours he experimented and explored. The image below perfectly illustrates the hidden gold just waiting to reemerge from the deconstructed decking material.
Hroth is continuing to experiment with the garapa decking we salvaged from our summer 2022 deck rebuild. I’m hoping to repurpose this honey toned Brazilian hardwood as paneling in the icehouse bathroom. (Source: Upcycling Decking Debris)
Hroth’s discoveries underpin our plan to panel the interior of the new icehouse bathroom with what for a decade and a half withstood the Adirondack Coast elements season after season, and a rambunctious parade of footfalls, barbecues, dog paws, wetsuits, etc. It’s as if the new coat rack exudes the anticipation and optimism that many of us brought to the journey of upcycling the old decking into the new paneling.
And there is an aside that I’m unable to resist mentioning. Pam’s late husband, Bob Murphy, who worked as our property caretaker and became an admired and dearly respected friend, several times removed and reinstalled Rosslyn’s garapa decking over the years — monitoring, triaging, and compensating for the failing TimberSIL substructure. He knew that we would need to rebuild the entire deck soon, and yet he waged a relentless campaign to extend the useful life of the deck as long as possible. I think he’d be proud of the work accomplished by the team this summer, and he sure would have loved being part of that team! And the icehouse rehab would have thrilled him. Needless to say, these upcycled Christmas gifts from Pam and Hroth and Tony also exude Bob’s smile, familiar chuckle, and that mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
And what about that antique ice hook?
I mentioned above an antique ice hook, and the photograph below illustrates exactly what I was referring to. Disinterred by Tony while cleaning out and grading the dirt floor of the icehouse, this badly corroded artifact bears an uncanny resemblsnce to a common tool of yesteryear: the handheld hook. This implement was most often used for 1) grabbing and hauling ice blocks and/or 2) carrying hay bales. The location where this relic was discovered (as well as plenty of examples uncovered by quick research online) strongly suggest that this is an antique ice hook. (Source: Icehouse Rehab 01: The Ice Hook)
Isn’t a beauty? Well, rusty and corroded, but a beauty nonetheless, I think.
Antique Ice Hook, artifact unearthed during the icehouse rehabilitation, 2022 (Source: R.P. Murphy)
The prospect of restoring that ice hook crossed my mind at the time. But it struck me as a challenging proposition given the advanced state of decay. What a surreal transformation from rust-crusted phantom to display-ready relic! It too is marinated in memories, some recent and personal, others vague and distant. In the near rearview mirror are the painstaking efforts made by our team to secure the historic stone foundation beneath the icehouse while ensuring the structural integrity demanded by modern building codes. A labor of loves on the parts of so many. And today we can look back from the proud side of accomplishment. As for the more distant rearview, the antique mirror has succumbed to the influence of time, the glass crazed and hazy, the metallic silver chipped and flaking. And yet we can detect traces of laughter and gossip as blocks of ice were cut from the lake, hooked and hauled up to the icehouse, and stacked in tidy tiers for cooling and consumption during temperate times ahead.
A Glimmer of Springtime
In closing this runaway post, I would like to express my warmest gratitude for the upcycled Christmas gifts above, and for a new hummingbird feeder to welcome our exuberant avian friends back in the springtime. Taken together this medley of gifts excite in Susan and me the enthusiasm and optimism for the coming months of rehabilitation and mere months from now the opportunity to celebrate a project too long deferred and so often anticipated. With luck we’ll be rejoicing together in the newly completed icehouse by the time the hummingbirds return to Rosslyn.
Hummingbird Feeder 2022 Christmas Gift from Pam, Tony, and Hroth (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Thank you, Pam, Hroth, and Tony for these perfect presents. And thank you to everyone else I’ve mentioned above for enriching this home and our lives. I look forward to rekindling these memories when I hang my coat or my cap up each time I enter the icehouse. Merry Christmas to all!
Stair framing to the loft is complete! (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
First phase of interior framing (walls for bathroom, mechanical room, coffee bar, and loft floor) was an invigorating milestone in Rosslyn’s icehouse rehabilitation project. And then, installing the loft subfloor helped complete the transformation, visually defining the new spaces. But the most notable triumph during the interior framing phase is the stairway which has dramatically transformed—both visually and functionally—the construction site into a prototypical preview of Rosslyn’s icehouse reinvention.
Stringers level for stair framing to the icehouse loft. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
An avalanche of accolades on Hroth and Matt for successfully completing the stair framing to the icehouse loft. Bravo!
Stringers level for stair framing to the icehouse loft. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
Of course, skilled carpentry is the foundational ingredient for framing a staircase, but there’s a fair bit of mathematics and geometry as well. And then there’s the question of codes compliance. Lots of precise and inflexible dimensions enduring the safety of stairs!
Stringers cut for stair framing to the icehouse loft. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
And all of these ingredients need to be carefully coordinated to ensure successful staircase framing.
Stringers cut for stair framing to the icehouse loft. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
In the days prior to framing the loft stairs, confirmations were ironed out with the inspector; three-way meetings between Hroth, Pam, and yours truly reviewed plans, verified field conditions against the plans, checked and double checked everything to ensure that we were all on the same page; and then Pam and I stepped aside to let the carpenters perform their alchemy.
Stringers cut for stair framing to the icehouse loft. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
I’ve juggled my photo sequence a bit in this post to keep things interesting, but it’s worth noting that the first photo at the top of the post actually shows the staircase. And then the next for photographs document the process of installing the stringers.
Mid-story landing 100% level for new stair framing. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
In addition to the stringers, Hroth reconfirmed that the landing is 100% level, eliminating problems down the road.
Stair Framing to the Loft (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
Throughout stair framing verifying everything for level and plumb is critical so that micro adjustments can be made as needed.
Stair Framing to the Loft Complete! (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
Once stringers are secured and sun-treads installed, stair framing is ready for for further structural integration.
Stair Framing to the Loft Complete! (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
And then, Hroth moved on to framing the tops of the stringers where railing balusters will land. And he’s even begun framing in the built-in shelves.
New bookshelves integrated into stair framing. (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
Consider that word parade fair warning for where I’m headed. From dovetails to team dynamics, in the twinkling of an eye. At least, that was my plan in revisiting a flood of field notes. Instead my errand evolved into a meandering meditation on admittedly abstract, fairly freestyle associations between durable joinery and team dynamics.
So, if you’re the A-to-Z git-r-done type, this is a good post for you to skip. Probably. Unless you’ve already burned a cord of calories and you’re surfing a dopamine-endorphin wave, in which case this might be just the departure from your daily that the doctor ordered. (The proverbial doctor, not the real doctor.)
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s rewind a few weeks to my sudden and unanticipated decampment from Santa Fe to Essex.
Durable Joinery (Photo: Geo Davis)
Icehouse Intermission
Mission interrupted, more to the point. Icehouse rehab back on ice for a week or two while we regrouped and remapped and, eventually, rebooted. Upon approaching Rosslyn by water — steely skies and surreal snowflakes fluttering occasionally (as if the special effects team had been downsized), an almost empty ferry, a mostly hibernating hamlet hunkering lakeside — mixed emotions roiled within me.
There was a wellspring of anticipation upon returning to inspect firsthand the team’s progress on the icehouse rehab, boathouse gangway, and some painting and tiling maintenance inside our home. There was also the poignant pique of a visit precipitated not by plan or passion but by infelicitous necessity. (Source: Snow Falling on Homecoming)
Three weeks ago this past Wednesday. The following days were invigorating. Encouraging.
By in large, this impromptu return to Rosslyn has been profoundly positive…
[“On the Level“, a poem drafted during my visit, reflects] the reassurance that I’m encountering, the confidence and conviction that are flowing back in after ebbing…
[…]
On the level, there’s plenty of optimism, despite inevitable setbacks. (Source: On the Level)
The progress was grounding, familiarizing myself physically with what I’d been living virtually, witnessing in person the dramatic transformation of this long-held vision into tangible, well built, inviting spaces and floors and walls and stairs and windows and doors. The volumes and the vessel that contains them, defines them, that had been gestating for almost two decades, was at last becoming believable due to the collaboration and teamwork of many.
Durable Joinery (Photo: Geo Davis)
A furtive foray into the curious coalescence of still tender fractures and ruptures that drew me back to Rosslyn (and that continue to disclose themselves each day of my stay, reminders of quaking in recent weeks) but also the durable bonds and the abiding beauty that hold it all together. (Source: Bowtie & Broken Memento)
While it is indeed Rosslyn’s abiding beauty that beckoned us to this property in the first place and her abiding beauty that has buoyed us through years of historic rehabilitation (and personal rehab!), there are times when the border between broken and unbroken blurs and faultiness become fractures. In such cases it is the durable bonds that prevail, that steady the proverbial ship, that hold it all together.
Rarely, I find, does the journey tidily delineate between clear victories and clear setbacks. Ours is a nonbinary and highly subjective adventure, and this midwinter, mid-project hiatus is no exception. Disheartening and challenging, yes, but also an opportunity to acknowledge and to celebrate accomplishment, a notable benchmark on the quest to reinvent a 19th century utility building as a 21st century lifestyle hub on a par with Rosslyn’s gracious home, waterfront, and generous grounds.
In short, there was — and there is — far more to fête than to lament at this juncture.
Durable Joinery (Photo: Geo Davis)
Back to Work & Field Notes
In what’s become a familiar pattern, today’s post was an orphaned draft, initiated as field notes during my recent Essex sojourn, and then adapted into a readout for the team to catalyze our onsite meetings into an actionable scope of work. That part happened. Practical. Necessary. Timely. Now, with the benefit of sufficient remove (for tempering tone and shifting perspective) I’m revisiting those field notes from a more meditative perspective. And yes, my reflection has been fueled in no small part by an obsession with joinery.
Before I go there, guiding you into the mesmerizing maze of my imagination (bread crumbs advised), let’s ground this soon-to-be-ungrounded stream of conscious in the days we spent together as a team. Here are a few excerpts recapping my extended site visit.
We met as a big group and as multiple smaller groups over more than a week. Much was rehashed, brainstormed, problematized, and decided during these encounters, so I’d like to follow up with a readout from our main meeting as well as some of the items that came out independently in my one-on-one followups. Please understand that some of what I’m including may feel like micromanaging or second-guessing skills, expertise, experience, etc. Please accept my apologies in advance, and understand that neither are among my objectives. However the last month has illustrated the downside to having direction and decision-making silo’ed up. By “flattening” the team, I am hoping to shift the focus toward a more collegial, more ensemble oriented approach. We have ample resources in our team (an almost embarrassing abundance of skill, passion, and work ethic!), and I want to make sure that everyone has an opportunity to contribute, to catch problems before they materialize, to learn from one another, and to avoid the bottlenecks and logjams that we can’t afford at this halfway point.
We will continue to rely on Pam, Peter, and Eric as the three leads or “co-captains” with the objective of streamlining on-site decision-making and progress. But I strongly encourage everyone to study the plans, to ask questions, to make suggestions, and to contribute to the collaborative success of the icehouse rehabilitation as we cartwheel toward the finish line.
Although we covered an expansive scope of work during our meetings, I gathered the gist into a detailed outline for everyone to review, edit, and augment prior to our team meeting the following week. In addition to onboarding everyone as a contributing and valuable member of the team while reaffirming a commitment to transparency as we move forward, I also hope to encourage the sort of cross pollination that has consistently defined the high point of this and previous projects.
Our follow-up team meeting fleshed out the scope of work and cemented the near term benchmarks and timeline. We will be able to revisit weekly with an eye to efficient project management, clear expectations, and an emphasis on incubating the sort of collaborative environment that yields the best results and ensures the most enthusiastic comradely. Goals set. Updates as we advance upon these goals.
So that sets the stage in a dry, rearview mirror sort of way.
What it overlooks is the morale, outlook ,and commitment of everyone with whom I met. Shuffling the team and shifting responsibilities midstream is unsettling and disruptive at best. The way this team came together, processed the change, stepped up to new responsibilities, and immediately, resolutely refocused on the new map and timelines was astounding. Confident and optimistic, proud of their accomplishments heretofore, eager to restore forward motion, and laser focused on the tight timeline, elevated expectation, and bountiful challenges. Unwavering. And hopeful that the full team might be reconstituted in the home stretch to finish up strong together, and to collectively commemorate their accomplishments come June.
And this is part of what takes me to the woodworking, and specifically joinery, as a metaphor. Heck, it’s not even just the sorts of joining and conjunction that are foundational to joinery and even carpentry. It’s the millennia old art and artisanry committed to joining, conjoining, and even mending that fascinates me. I’ve waxed on aplenty about wab-sabi, so I’ll sidestep a tangential deep dive now (ditto for Kintsugi.) A tidy touchstone will suffice.
Wabi-sabi (侘寂) is a world view centered on the acceptance of transience and imperfection. The aesthetic is sometimes described as one of appreciating beauty that is “imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete” in nature. (Source: Wikipedia)
Joining, conjoining, and reconjoining. No false disguise, no pretense, no faux facade. Bringing together. Bringing back together. I’m clearly still ill equipped to wordsmith my ideas into articulate or persuasive prose. But I’m working on it. And I’m hurling this half-baked post into the world with the unrestrained wish that it will settle on fertile soil, that it will germinate, and that I will be able to observe and learn how to communicate what it is that I’m discovering, this groundswell of insight that I’m experiencing without yet fully comprehending what it is. Bear with me, and I’ll do my best to interpret the lessons as they are learned.
In the mean time, I will draw in two compelling perspectives that may well shed some light.
Durable Joinery (Photo: Geo Davis)
Joinery as Metaphor
Allow me a moment to weave in a consideration that deftly approaches the idea of woodworking as metaphor.
I am building a file cabinet for my office. It strikes me an apt metaphor for what we do as teachers in the classroom. I begin with a vision, followed by making a clearly developed plan. I gather the materials I will need – examining them for grain, quality, and fit. Each piece is cut just over the requisite length. I use a variety of joinery techniques to assemble the parts. The finished piece begins to take form. From the rough construction, wood is slowly and strategically removed, rounding edges and corners, sanding rough edges and surfaces, slowly revealing the finished shape. I stand back to see what continues to require attention. Final details are attended. Stain is gently rubbed in; varnish is brushed on – rubbed smooth between coats. I stand back and smile, satisfied with a pleasing, useful piece of furniture. — Bill Lindquist, January 3, 2012 (Source: The Purple Crayon)
Teaching. Yes. And team building. Team rebuilding.
Perhaps the following is only tangentially related, though it feels germane.
But I know full well that many woodworkers don’t want to hear about philosophy. What practical value can there possibly be in sitting around thinking about work? Isn’t it better just to roll up your sleeves and get to it?
I believe that this temptation to leave our brains at the door of the shop is rooted in a fundamental misunderstanding of human nature that separates our thinking from our doing…
We are whole beings, and although we have inner and outer aspects (mind/soul and body), we are essentially unities, not dualities… you cannot separate your mind from your body. You can’t put your thoughts and beliefs in one category and your practices in another.
So, why so much thinking and theory from a woodworking publication? Because, reader, you have a mind inextricably connected to those hands. And I am convinced that if we want our work to reflect the fullness of who we are, the why will be just as important as the how. — Joshua A. Klein, September 28, 2021 (Source: What’s With This Woodworking Philosophy Stuff? – Mortise & Tenon Magazine)
Absolutely. (And, as an aside, this reminds me that I’ve been ignoring another orphaned draft about Rosslyn’s 5w’s. Back on the punch list!)
Durable Joinery (Photo: Geo Davis)
At present I’m endeavoring to unweave our recent Rosslyn narrative just enough to re-braid the threads that anew, mending the challenges that have arisen, as if braiding a bridge over troubled water… (Or a bridge graft at the base of a partially girdled tree in Rosslyn’s orchard… Yikes! Mixed metaphors. And so long as I’m hoarding metaphors, what about kintsugi?)
Kintsugi is an ancient Japanese art in which broken pottery is mended with glue and gold honoring and highlighting the cracks rather than hiding them. The belief is the pottery is stronger and more valuable after the breakage and mending. Kintsugi is a powerful metaphor and physical art practice to explore layers of meaning of broken, to look at the pieces in new ways, and notice the ‘glue’ in our lives that assist us to mend, navigate challenging times and keep on going. — Kristin Pedemonti (Source: Mending What’s Broken | Steer Your Story)
The writhing winds are pulling my mind hither and yon, and I find myself too, too deep into this meandering meditation to abandon it. If I’ve lost you, I apologize. Know that we are lost together. But as fellow sojourners we are not idle, waiting for the illumination of morning. Perhaps we’ll stumble upon or quarry in the darkness.
In closing, and I promise you I am, allow me to apologize for this untethered and unedited runaway. More soon, I hope, on mortise and tenons and dovetails, joyful joinery, rejoinery and durable bonds. My imagination is conjuring an intricate scarf joint that conjoins by gathering, by honoring, by encouraging, a meticulously crafted union where stresses are distributed in all directions and resilient when forces challenge. My imagination is ringing with the melody of strengthen, even repairing a strained or failing joint. Join, conjoin, reconjoin…
What if? Wondering what life would be like living full-time in the Champlain Valley…
Within minutes we were tripping over each other, drunk with excitement, imagining one whimsical “What if…” scenario after another. No filter, no caution. Our reveries flitted from one idyllic snapshot to another.
“What if I finally sat down and finished my novel?” After dawdling self indulgently for a dozen years – writing, rewriting, discarding, rewriting, shuffling, reinventing – my novel had evolved from failed poetry collection to short story collection to novel to a tangle of interconnecting narratives that loosely paralleled my life since graduating from college. Too much evolution. Too little focus. But what if I made time to sit down and knock it out? Reboot. Start over. Find the story. Write it down. Move on.
“What if you weren’t sitting in front of your computer all day? Every day?” Susan asked, returning to a common theme. “What if you went outside and played with Tasha? Took her swimming or hiking or skiing every day?”
“What if all three of us went swimming or hiking or skiing every day? What if Tasha and I went jogging along Lakeshore Road instead of the East River?”
We could waterski and windsurf for half the year instead of just two or three months, starting in May with drysuits and finishing in the end of October. We could sail the Hobie Cat more instead of letting it collect spider webs on the Rock Harbor beach. I could fly fish the Boquet and Ausable Rivers in the afternoon while Tasha snoozed on the bank. We could join Essex Farm, the local CSA, supporting a local startup while eating healthy, locally grown and raised food. I could grow a vegetable garden, an herb garden, an orchard. Susan could work for an architecture firm in Burlington and volunteer at the animal shelter. We could buy season passes to Whiteface and downhill ski several days a week. We could cross country ski and snowshoe and bike and rollerblade and kayak and canoe and hike, and maybe I would start rock climbing again. And how much more smoothly the Lapine House renovation would be if we were on-site every day answering questions, catching mistakes before it was too late.
“I could interview candidates for Hamilton!” Susan said. She had recently become an alumni trustee for her alma mater, and her already high enthusiasm had skyrocketed. She had become a walking-talking billboard for the college. “You know how much more valuable it would be to interview candidates up here? There are tons of alumni interviewers in Manhattan, but in Westport? In Essex? In Elizabethtown?”
Suspended in lukewarm bathwater, our collective brainstorm leap frogging forward, it all started to make a strange sort of sense, to seem almost logical.