Poppies aplenty summer through early autumn (Source: Geo Davis)
Poppies aplenty! A gardener can never grow too many poppies in my estimation. Biased? Yes, unabashedly biased when it comes to Papavers, I’m afraid. (The oriental poppies that we plant at Rosslyn are in the genus Papaver in the subfamily Papaveroideae of the family Papaveraceae. No worries, you won’t be quizzed later.)
So smitten am I with this almost impossibly perfect pairing of sensuous and carefree, delicate and robust, that I’ve gathered a passel of poppy poems as a rainy day elixir. Feel free to avail yourself of this sure cure if you’re stuck in the doldrums and need a boost. I can’t guarantee that the poems pack the euphoric punch of actual poppies, but they just might remind your heart and soul how to conjure these beguiling beauties out of your own memory.
If I could grow poppies year round, I would! (Source: Geo Davis)
Bloom Where You’re Planted
The advice, “bloom where you are planted,” apparently owes it’s pithy endurance to the Bishop of Geneva, Saint Francis de Sales (1567-1622), but my first point of reference was different. It was 1999, and I had just relocated from Santa Fe, New Mexico to Paris, France. I received a book in my workplace welcome packet that had been compiled by the FACCP Franco-American Community Center of Paris. The title was Bloom Where You’re Planted: Tips for Living and Thriving in Paris.
Although I grew up admiring poppies that my mother grew in the Adirondack’s Champlain Valley, there’s no doubt that visits to Normandy where poppies still dot green fields, and teaching John McCrae’s “In Flanders Fields” to my students at the American School of Paris deepened my connection to Papavers. Somehow the helpful manual provided to me in my late twenties became connected with the poppies in my memory and in my gardens.
This morning’s poppies and the lovely reminder from Saint Francis de Sales and the good folks at the FACCP Franco-American Community Center of Paris coalesced for a fleeting moment, and the first semblance of a new poppy poem unfurled its still wrinkled petals. Not sure where it’s headed, if anywhere, but here’s where it stands today.
Bloom where you’re planted, where the wind blows you, where you are needed. Bloom when conditions are perfect and when they are not. Bloom.
Might need to let it rest a bit, and possibly, hopefully resurface anon. After all, I surround myself with poppies aplenty, so perhaps this poetry seed will germinate some day in the future, a reminder that preservation by neglect applies not just to orphaned buildings and blog posts, but also poems.
Call it a 184-day streak. Or call it dogged determination. Either way I have 181 days to go until I reach my goal. And with each new post, each small victory, I am growing more and more confident that I will accomplish my mission of 365 posts, one complete year of daily updates beginning on August 1, 2022 and concluding on July 31, 2023.
So how to commemorate this midpoint milestone? With 6 months down and 6 months to go, it feels momentous enough to pause and praise my good fortune. But should this benchmark be acknowledged with a celebratory salute? A solemn ceremony? A toast, my first spirited sip after 31 days of teetotaling? (Yesterday marked the conclusion of my 7th or 8th, maybe even my 9th “dry January”.) Or perhaps a decadent dessert after a sugar free month? (For some sadomasochistic reason I’ve decided in recent years to add a sugar fast to alcohol abstention during the month of January, a timely recovery after the excesses of Thanksgiving-through-New Years…) A new month (ie. rabbit-rabbit) ritual transcending the delicious dinner I shared with Jim and Mark two nights ago at Juniper?
Slow Cooked Whole Rabbit: cumin, blood orange and smoked paprika glazed, corn tortillas, chimichurri, salsa fresca, refried beans (Source: Juniper at Hotel Vermont)
Maybe a romantic romp with my bride who suggested, upon retrieving me from the airport yesterday, that we celebrate a belated anniversary to compensate for the one we missed this past autumn when she was unwell. 17 years of marriage and 21 years together. I’m incredulous even as I type these numbers. Neither seems remotely possible. But my 50th birthday seemed similarly inaccurate this past spring, and I’m obliged to accept it.
Or how about we honor the 200th anniversary of Rosslyn’s front façade, ostensibly completed in 1823? (Apparently 3/5 of the building — the two window portion to the north of the entrance, as well as the entrance itself — was completed in 1820. The remaining 2/5, including the two windows to the south of the entrance and comprising the dining room downstairs, a guest bedroom and Susan’s study on the second floor, and another guest bedroom on the third floor, was most likely finished three years later in 1823, fulfilling the the architectural promise of this classic Federal home with Georgian and Greek Revival elements.
An auspicious confluence of milestones and anniversaries. I’m choosing to interpret this is a good omen even as I nevertheless acknowledge that I’ve meandered from my original mark, hoisting the flag at my halfway point, mid-journey in my post-a-day quest. I recall an earlier waypoint in this quest, an update I published on October 10, 2022 when I was still just shy of halfway to where I am today.
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. (Source: Old House Journaling)
Then as now my emphasis on everyday journaling remains a top priority.
Over the last few years, Susan and I have scrutinized our hopes and expectations with Rosslyn. We have reevaluated our plans as they originally were in 2006 when we embarked on this adventure and as those plans evolved during the decade and a half since. It’s been an extended period of introspection, evaluating our current wants and needs, endeavoring to align our future expectations and goals with respect to one another and with respect to Rosslyn, and challenging one another to brainstorm beyond the present.
There’s no question but that our impromptu quarantine at Rosslyn during the spring and summer of 2021 catalyzed some of this soul-searching. But so too have the many life changes in recent years. Our gradual shift toward Santa Fe as our base and Essex as our getaway rather than the other way around. The loss of Susan’s mother. My parents’ retirement near us in Santa Fe. Our nephews and nieces growing up and expanding their orbits far beyond Rosslyn. A perennially postponed but driving desire to collaborate on a smaller, efficient, creative lakeside home of a different DNA altogether, an unrepressable will to imagine into existence the sort of slow cooked (albeit shapeshifting) and highly experimental homestead we originally envisioned in 2003-5 when we first began to explore our Adirondack Coast homecoming. And there is that hiccup in our 2006 original timeline, our 2-4 year vision for homing at Rosslyn until we’d managed to reboot and reground, until we were ready for our next adventure. Those naive expectations were eclipsed — willingly and joyfully — within the first year or two.
So what does this have to do with my daily Rosslyn updates?
Everything.
In committing to this daily practice last summer I was acknowledging that I had some serious work to do. In order for us to constructively sort through out collective vision for the future, to determine whether we’re too fond of Rosslyn to proceed with plans for designing and building the lakeside retreat we’ve conjured over the years, to honestly assess our willingness and our readiness to hand this sanctuary over to another family, both Susan and I are undertaking the sort of “deep work” that will hopefully enable us to make some decisions. I’m talking about 100% honest, prolonged consideration. Rosslyn has quite literally been a part of our family, and not just our nuclear family. Can we untangle her? Are we willing to let her go? Can we joyfully pass the privilege on to new custodians? Or are we not yet ready?
For me this daily practice, digging deep into sixteen and a half years of living and loving Rosslyn, is my time and place to work through these questions. To sort it all out. To find peace and confidence in my convictions. And six months in, I believe that I’m on the right path. Not all the time. There have certainly been some tangles and tangents that got away from me before I realized what was happening and reined them in. But the constant conversation — *internal* as I study, reflect, and compose these installments as well as *external* as I share these updates and then interact with many of you — is reinvigorating and reawakening Rosslyn from her comfortable slumber (and me from mine!)
So this midpoint milestone is a profoundly significant benchmark for me personally. It’s the tangible representation of my germinating confidence and clarity. It’s the measurable mean between a conflicted outlook and the conviction I’m hoping to discover over the next six months. In a real sense, it’s a halfway point toward the sort of rehabilitation that we’ve been undertaking with Rosslyn’s buildings and grounds since 2006, only in this case the journey is profoundly personal. Instead of historic architectural rehabilitation, it is restoration of my innermost wonder, my romantic dreams, and my idealistic hopes. With passion reawakened and a map forward becoming more apparent each day, I’m tempted to see this benchmark as the sort of celebration enjoyed upon finally reaching a base camp, a lofty peak viewable in the distance foreshadows the ambitious ascent ahead but also offers a majestic affirmation of the reachability and proximity of the summit. Today marks just such a halfway point, an opportunity to appreciate the accomplishments so far, and an incentive to forge ahead.
With Saint Patrick’s Day upon us it strikes me as the perfect opportunity to update my venison green chile stew recipe with new stick-to-your-ribs dish that I prepared for friends last weekend. Why? Is today’s recipe Irish-influenced? Slow cooked in Guinness Stout? Neither! And the flavor profile is decidedly southwestern, not Irish. But how many opportunities are there to trot out an exceedingly *green* stew? And what better booze-buffer than Elk Green Chile Stew?!
Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Here’s how I introduced my venison green chili stew (aka “green chili stew”) recipe back February 25, 2014.
This time of year, green chile stew is an ideal core-warning, vitamin rich comfort food. If you’re only familiar with red chile, it’s time to try something new. The flavor is totally different, and you just might change your chile preferences. (Source: Venison Green Chile Stew)
My 25+ year connection to Santa Fe underpins a hankering for green chile stew whenever conditions call for comfort food. This St. Patrick’s Day — cold and blustery with intermittent rain and a surplus of snow, slush, ice, and mid — is precisely when I crave a steaming bowl! Fortunately, I had just enough leftover to sate my appetite. The recipe below, like all stars really, gets better each day!
Hatch Green Chile (Photo: Geo Davis)
Elk Green Chile Stew Recipe
Consider the following recipe a rough guide, not a set of rules. (Ditto for all recipes, mine or otherwise!)
Ingredients
4 tbsp. olive oil
3 medium/large onions, diced
6 garlic cloves, minced
3 lbs. elk, ground
16 fl. oz. chicken or beef stock
2-4 bay leaves
4-6 cups green chiles, fire roasted/peeled/chopped
4-5 medium potatoes, chopped
salt and pepper
Preparation
[I prepared this elk green chile stew recipe in an Instant Pot pressure cooker, but these directions can be adapted to crock and range cooking.]
Heat olive oil in pressure cooker with lid off on low sauté setting. Add onions and garlic, stirring over low heat until the onions become soft and translucent. Add venison, and break up any large lumps of meat. Continue stirring and heating until ground meat is fully cooked and mixed with onions and garlic. Add remaining ingredients (except salt and pepper) and mix thoroughly. Secure pressure cooker lid, and cook under high pressure for 20 minutes. Allow pressure to release slowly, and change to slow cooker mode. Set temperature and timer for three hours (high) or five hours (low). Stir and check for adequate moisture from time to time. Salt and pepper to taste. Enjoy!
Beck & Bulow Elk for Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Saint Patrick’s Day Stew
Let’s dedicate this special Saint Patrick’s day twist on traditional, New Mexican green chili stew to the legendary Irish elk (Megaloceros giganteus). Sadly, no longer with us, this handsome specimen seems an appropriate subject of celebration on this holiday. I have relied upon a unique Santa Fe butcher, Beck & Bulow, to source this 100% free range grass fed and grass finished ground elk that was quickly and conveniently shipped to me in Essex.
I should also mention that the Hatch green chile in the photograph above also originates in New Mexico. Although canned and jarred roasted green chile wouldn’t be our first choice if we were in Santa Fe right now, it certainly is convenient when we’re on the Adirondack Coast.
Here are some snapshots from my preparation of the ultimate Saint Patrick’s Day feast: elk green chile stew. Bon appétit. Buen provecho. Bain sult as do bhia. (Apparently Irish…)
Warming Olive Oil for Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Onions for Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Chopped Onions for Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Garlic for Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Garlic for Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Chop Garlic for Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Sautéing Chopped Onions for Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Beck & Bulow Elk for Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Sautéing Elk for Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Potatoes for Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Add Chopped Potatoes to Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Add Chopped Potatoes to Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Dried Bay Leaves for Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Add Bay Leaves to Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Hatch Green Chile for Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Add Green Chile! (Photo: Geo Davis)
Add Chicken Broth to Elk Green Chile Stew (Photo: Geo Davis)
Hope you were able to celebrate and take time for gratitude yesterday. And today. As with most holidays, I find myself thinking that we should dedicate longer than a day to giving thanks. Maybe a week? Even that seems too brief a time to honor everyone (wild neighbors included) who adds value and happiness, health and wisdom, balance and compassion, laughter and beauty, and so much more to our lives.
Today, the day after official Turkey Day, I send you a feast of Thanksgiving thanks, from our family to yours.
In the photo above we’re just about to come inside for a bountiful family feast. What? You say that doesn’t look like Rosslyn? True enough. This year our gratitude is being celebrated in Santa Fe. (But that turkey at the top of this post was celebrating his wild freedoms mere feet from Library Brook. As were those in the photo below, one year ago.)
The Eastern Coyote (Canis latrans var) is an omnipresent wild neighbor at Rosslyn. The tracks, the songs, and the holistic balance that the Eastern Coyote brings to our +/-70 acres are an everyday reminder that the wildway is healthy and that wild flora and fauna are thriving in our small slice of the Adirondack Coast.
Although I won’t pretend to present the most current science about a topic that is enjoying diverse debate among scholars and researchers far more learned than I, my understanding is that the eastern coyote which frequents our fields and forests is a relatively new hybrid (aka crossbreed) between coyotes, wolves, and domestic dogs.
“Eastern Coyotes are the largest wild canid in the Adirondack Park. They look something like a small German Shepherd Dog, with thick fur, bushy tails tipped with black, and large erect ears. Our Adirondack coyotes tend to be orange-gray or grayish brown above with paler underparts. The front surfaces of the lower legs are black, while the outsides of the legs are tan or rufous. The eyes are yellowish, with round pupils.” (Source: Wild Adirondacks)
In my firsthand anecdotal experience, the Eastern Coyotes we witness on our property are consistently larger than the coyotes we see on our property in Santa Fe, New Mexico. They are robust, confident, and healthy. While they’ve never threatened or even remotely intimidated us (or our dogs), I have more than once witnessed their curiosity. On the rare occasion when I’ve startled one on foot, it has fades into the forest almost immediately. But a couple of times I’ve come across a solitary Eastern Coyote while brush hogging, and it has lingered close enough to keep an eye on me, not so much following the tractor as keeping a wary distance but studying me. The experience has each time felt like a gift, a rare opportunity to observe this handsome canid up close without its immediate instinct to retreat.
This post, the latest installment in my friend or foe series, will endeavor to demystify Canis latrans var.
Eastern Coyote Family & Territory
A similar gift has been received on multiple occasions when we listen to coyotes yipping, calling, and howling. Often the voices merge from multiple directions, eventually gathering into a vast chorus. It can sound as if dozens of coyotes are fêting (and feasting) just beyond the veil of darkness, though I’m aware that the numbers are likely much fewer.
“The Eastern coyote does not form a true ‘pack’ with multiple adults living together like their relative the wolf. Instead they are organized as a ‘family unit’. Each family unit is made up of the adult pair and their pups from the current year. A family unit will defend a territory of 2 to 15 square miles against other coyotes. It is the territorial behavior of coyotes that limits their numbers in any one area.” (Source: NYS Dept. of Environmental Conservation)
In other words, the Eastern Coyote is an effective community organizer, dispersing its population according to the sustainability of the region within which it resides. And a healthy Eastern Coyote population significantly benefits the trophic dynamics within our broader community. Nevertheless, these charismatic canids are often misunderstood and persecuted. Efforts to extirpate coyotes are not only inhumane, they are also ineffective due to compensatory reproduction.
“Research suggests that when aggressively controlled, coyotes can increase their reproductive rate by breeding at an earlier age and having larger litters, with a higher survival rate among the young. This allows coyote populations to quickly bounce back, even when as much as 70 percent of their numbers are removed.” (Source: The Humane Society of the United States)
Eastern Coyote Concerns
Conversation about coyotes, coywolves, and most other apex predators inevitably incites worry among pet owners, farmers, and outdoor enthusiasts. Popular mythology has long touted the ferocity of our charismatic, carnivorous neighbors. While we are wise to respect their feral nature, wise to minimize risk to our domesticated animals, and wise to ensure that we not take undue risks or provoke wild animals of any sort, it’s also important to balance our concerns with a scientifically sound understanding. It’s even more important to adapt and embrace cohabitation; our ecosystem will pay dividends and our own health and pleasure will benefit immeasurably.
Frequent readers are aware that friend and Essex neighbor John Davis (Executive Director, The Rewilding Institute; Rewilding Advocate, Adirondack Council) serves as Rosslyn’s wildlife steward. He monitors the health of our land and the increasingly abundant flora and fauna that thrive in our small wildway along the Adirondack Coast. I reference here some of John’s advice on why it is wrong to kill Eastern Coyotes.
Killing these apex predators is wrong for several reasons:
1. It doesn’t work. If people are concerned about Coyotes or CoyWolves killing livestock or house pets, it is better to let the big dogs attain stable, self-regulating populations. Conflicts with domestic animals are most common in predator populations that are being persecuted, such that the young do not have mature role models to teach them to hunt and keep clear of people.
2. Apex predators, particularly top carnivores, are essential members of healthy ecosystems. They help hold herbivores in check and prevent them from over-browsing plant communities…
Hunting by humans does not mimic hunting by native carnivores, for human hunters usually target the big strong “trophy” animals, whereas natural predators select out the weak. Plus, the mere presence of top predators keeps herbivores more alert and healthy and less prone to congregating in and over-browsing sensitive habitats. (Source: John Davis, Wrong to Kill Coyotes, Wolves and CoyWolves | Essex on Lake Champlain)
John’s full article warrants a read. Just use the link in the citation above. And I will sit down with him soon (soonish?) for a one-on-one “Coyote Q&A” in the hopes of fleshing out his perspective and following up on your feedback. Please reach out with questions, etc. in the comments below or via social media.
By way of ellipsis until I post the “Coyote Q&A”, my personal experience is one of wonder and gratitude for our resident coyotes. They keep the deer population healthy and balance the rodent and rabbit populations (effectively reducing Lyme disease risks). And their song is the Adirondack anthem I savor when I’m in Essex and miss when I’m away.
Coyote Haikus
Frequent photographs from our trail cams document the healthy population of wild canines calling our fields and forests home. Although abundant, the familiar faces greeting us in photos win us over again and again. And sometimes inspiration strikes in the form of a coyote haiku. Or two.
I admit to feeling a certain romance for these wild distant cousins to the Labrador retrievers we have owned. I’m not blind to the challenges they pose for farmers, but there is an increasingly robust and reliable body of scientific research that can help guide sustainable agriculture in concert with coyotes and other apex predators. It’s high time that we learn to live together with our wild neighbors.
Coyote Photos
The following photographs of Eastern Coyote were recorded with our trail cameras and have been shared over social media.
ADK Oasis Highlawn: Looking West (Source: Julia Rebecca Photography)
If you’ve ever wanted to visit the Adirondack Coast, I have some good news for you. Late last year we decided to purchase a new property north of Rosslyn, and as of last month we’ve launched an AirBnB that we’re calling ADK Oasis (www.adkoasis.com as well as www.airbnb.com and @adkoasis). (Updated in 2019 to ADK Oasis Highlawn to distinguish it from second adjoining vacation rental we’re calling ADK Oasis Lakeside.)
Susan and I have been variously involved in the vacation rental market for a few years. I developed a luxury property called Maison Margaux in Paris’s Faubourg Saint-Germain almost two decades ago, and Susan and I launched Adobe Oasis (www.adobeoasis.com) is Santa Fe, New Mexico’s Historic Eastside in 2013. We’ve come to believe that the distinctly authentic and immersive travel experience made possible with well designed, well located, and well maintained vacation rentals is one of the best concepts in travel accommodation. And given the somewhat slender “bed base” in our region, we’re hoping to provide an alternative for visitors eager to discover the Adirondack Coast lifestyle.
ADK Oasis Highlawn
Commanding a panoramic view of Lake Champlain and Vermont’s Green Mountains, this totally private vacation rental is nestled into into lush landscape on seven lakeside acres. Renters rave about the revitalizing rhythm as much as the view. And the fire pit in summer, fire pit in winter. With a well stock, open plan kitchen, you’ll love chef-ing up locally produced ingredients. With kayaks, paddleboard, snowshoes, and all sorts of revitalizing activities waiting for you, we’re hoping that you’ll fall in love with ADK Oasis, your very own Adirondack sanctuary on the Adirondack Coast.
Here’s a sneak peek at our ADK Oasis Highlawn vacation rental.
ADK Oasis Highlawn (Source: Julia Rebecca Photography)
ADK Oasis Highlawn Firepit (Source: Julia Rebecca Photography)
ADK Oasis Highlawn Pebble Beach (Source: Julia Rebecca Photography)
ADK Oasis Highlawn Pebble Beach (Source: Julia Rebecca Photography)
ADK Oasis Highlawn Living Room (Source: Julia Rebecca Photography)
ADK Oasis Highlawn: Deck View (Source: Julia Rebecca Photography)
ADK Oasis Highlawn Master Bedroom (Source: Julia Rebecca Photography)
ADK Oasis Highlawn: Workspace (Source: Julia Rebecca Photography)
ADK Oasis Highlawn: Looking West (Source: Julia Rebecca Photography)
ADK Oasis Highlawn: Looking West (Source: Julia Rebecca Photography)
Leaf Stain Art, Detail: up close and personal with the delicate leaf stain art that will add character to our new grape deck. (Source: Eric Crowningshield)
“Leaf stain” usually refers to unsightly dark marks on pool and house decks, sidewalks, patios, etc. caused when leaves that have fallen from trees are allowed to sit long enough to discolor the surface. However the delicate silhouette of a leaf or leaves is sometimes attractive and intriguing like a fossil discovered in a stone wall or patio. In this case leaf stain needn’t detract from the beauty of exterior surfaces. Sometimes the delicate silhouette of a leaf or leaves is so beautiful that it deftly sheds the nuisance mantle and assumes the found art mantle.
It’s a matter of perspective. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, right?
And so I was pleased with I received a message and photograph from Eric Crowningshield yesterday.
Leaf Stain Art, Detail: See the delicate leaf silhouette? (Source: Eric Crowningshield)
“Just wanted to check with you before sanding this off? […] This must have been a leaf that sat on the deck. Not sure if it would stay after staining or not but definitely cool if it did.”
Of course, we kept it. It’s exquisite!
We’re grateful to Eric for noticing and preserving the leaf stain, a subtle gift from nature that will hopefully remain visible after the new garapa decking is oiled. I presume that you see the leaf stain in the first photo in this post, but can you see it in the second photo? What about this larger perspective?
Leaf Stain Art, Location: Can you spy the delicate leaf silhouette several paces from the bottom of the stairs? (Source: Eric Crowningshield)
That’s a little trickier to discern. But if you look carefully, more-or-less in the middle of the photograph, you’ll see the leaf stain. It’s eight decking boards to the left of the black grate. See it? What about in this perspective?
Leaf Stain Art, Location: Can you spy the delicate leaf silhouette several paces from the bottom of the stairs? (Source: Eric Crowningshield)
From this perspective the location of the leaf stain is eight garapa decking boards to the right of the black grate about 2/3 up from the bottom of the photo. It’s pretty well camouflaged, but I love the idea that somebody, some time will notice it. A little surprise. Like the many fossils that are hidden (in plain site) in our stone walls, it will be be fun when friends and family happen to note the natural art.
Oiling the Grape Decking
Although Hroth Ottosen finished installing the of the garapa decking a couple of weeks ago and Eric’s team wrapped up installing and sanding plugs more recently, the final step of this project is to seal the garapa decking with oil. Here’s the progress so far.
Oiling Garapa Decking: sealing progress is being made on the new deck, and the color/grain are popping dramatically. (Source: Eric Crowningshield)
What magnificent color and grain the oil brings out! That is almost exactly how the decking looks after a soaking rain, so we’ve been able to get a preview several times during installation. And this is actually a sort of IRL déjà vu from the winter of 2008 when the deck was installed for the first time. In fact, despite the exciting freshness of the redecking project, this is actually a repeat of the installation that marked the final significant project in our original Rosslyn rehabilitation. I’m planning to compose another post soon that highlights the original decking project, and another that showcases this summer’s 2022 redo. (If you’re wondering why the first deck only lasted about fourteen years, you’re asking the right question. Answer will be forthcoming soon, I promise.)
Redecking Gratitude
This is the third project that Eric Crowningshield has worked on for us, the most ambitious of which was his first, a 9-10 month epic remodel of ADK Oasis Lakeside. When we decided to purchase and remodel a second vacation rental adjoining ADK Oasis Highlawn in the middle of the pandemic, everyone thought we were nuts. How in the world did we expect to transform this property during such challenging times, especially given that we’d be in Santa Fe for many of the most challenging months of the remodel?
No sense revisiting that monumental undertaking here, but suffice to say that it never would have happened without the able leadership of Eric Crowningshield and Pam Murphy. Underpromise. Overdeliver. Every time. These two are a formidable team in and of themselves, but this summer we were even more fortunate to bring in three close friends to transform this overdue, languishing, pain in the @$$ project into a success story. Susan’s cousin, David McCabe, a carpenter/contractor in the DC-area brought decades of experience. Ed Conlin, a high school friend of Susan’s who quickly became a close friend to me (and everybody else he’s ever met) over two decades ago brought decades of construction experience. Our friend, Hroth Ottosen, a skilled carpenter who has worked for us on some singularly unique projects at our home in Santa Fe, signed on to captain this crew through the redecking project. Tony Foster, who joined our team during the ADK Oasis Lakeside project, brought his perennially flexible, impervious-to-hard-work-and-scorching-heat endurance, and upbeat demeanor to the redecking project. And Brandon, our savvy problem solving electrician rounded out the team. Actually, I’ve failed to mention some of the hardest working members of the team, the carpenters that work for Eric: Matt, Justin, Jarrett, Jason, and Andrew. But I’m getting ahead of myself…
I didn’t mean to get in so deep on the re-decking crew, not yet, but my enthusiasm got the better of me. I’ll be dedicating a full post to this dream team soon, so I’ll abbreviate this postmortem for now by acknowledging that we’re profoundly grateful to work with such conscientious, communicative, creative people. Such GOOD people. Great work ethics, but also just decent, caring, people with integrity and positive demeanors. Thank you, all!
Rosslyn’s deck has been the spring, summer, and autumn epicenter of sooo much living and laughter. This was the vision when we developed the original design program back in 2006-7, and it’s proven to be one of our best choices. A huge deck on the private west side of the house, imagined as an extension of the living room, screen porch, bar, and basically the downstairs living areas. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Grilling. Cocktails. Working under the umbrella. Hanging out, socially distanced during the pandemic. Dumping wetsuits and bathings suits to dry in the sun. Hanging out with friends, dogs, birds,…
We completed construction of the deck just shy of Christmas 2008, and it symbolically concluded the most significant phase of our Rosslyn rehabilitation project. It wasn’t the finish line, not by a long shot. But after two and a half years of major salvaging, preserving, rebuilding, and rehabilitating, the house was *mostly* livable (if not 100% complete).
Demo complete! (Source: Geo Davis)
So, if completing the original deck less than sixteen years ago was so momentous, why rebuild?
Long story short, the original deck failed. Not the garapa decking which performed admirably year-after-year. But the substructure. Given our proximity to the lake, we opted to use an *innovative alternative* to pressure treated lumber that promised weather resistance and longevity without releasing noxious chemicals into the water we drink, swim in, etc. Innovative in theory, but not in reality. The lumber started to check, shake, and twist before we even installed it, and it suffered premature rot within the first couple of years. (NB: I’ll be posting an update soon-ish about repurposing the original garapa decking!)
Lumber delivery (Source: Geo Davis)
Deck Framing Culprit
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. And all three began to fail within a few years of construction. I’ll defer to other perspectives rather than bogging down in bad news.
And the following is actually the supplier who supplied the lumber to us.
“It’s totally rotted out within four years. I’m talking rot. Total rot.” The lumber retailer in this case—Vermont’s Planet Hardwood—indicated that it stopped selling TimberSIL over increasing customer complaints and issues dealing with Timber Treatment Technologies. “… it became problematic,” said one of Planet Hardwood’s co-owners. “… we were starting to hear complaints that it was splitting in the field.” Of the firm, she said, “It was a nightmare dealing with them (Timber Treatment Technologies) and we ended up losing tons of money,” she added, according to The Daily Hampshire Gazette. (Source: TimberSIL Wood Product Tied To Allegations – Parker Waichman)
And from the same source:
A 2009 study conducted by the Oregon State University’s Department of Wood Science Engineering found that TimberSIL was “only slightly resistant to decay and would not be suitable for exterior exposures.” (Source: TimberSIL Wood Product Tied To Allegations – Parker Waichman)
Starting to get the picture?
30 homes in New Orleans’ Lower 9th Ward constructed by the Make It Right Foundation—perhaps most well-known as Brad Pitt’s rebuilding effort in the wake of Hurricane Katrina—need to have wood replaced to the tune of $150,000 over six months, as some of the homes are rotting on their outdoor steps and front porches. The product in question, TimberSIL, was specified as a chemical-free alternative to conventional treated lumber, and it came with a 40-year performance guarantee. According to TimberSIL’s website, the treated wood is a fusion of southern yellow pine and sodium silicate that is a “Class A Fire Retardant, insulator, unaffected by seawater, unaffected by heat, [and] barrier to rot, decay or insects.”
The problem at hand is that just three to five years after installation in homes constructed between 2008 and 2010, the TimberSIL is showing signs of rot… “It was unable to withstand moisture, which obviously is a big problem in New Orleans,” Royle said. (Source: When Good Intentions Go Bad | ProSales Online)
The concept of a chemical-free, glass infused alternative to conventional pressure treated lumber won us over. And regrettably it accelerated failure on all three locations that we used it.
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. And then rescheduled due to unforeseen circumstances. By last summer we’d scheduled complete demo and replacement.
Starting the new framing, July 2022 (Source: Geo Davis)
Deck Rebuild 2021
The adage “best laid plans” comes to mind. And since this chapter of Rosslyn’s deck rebuild story is shrouded in disappointment, I’ll offer only a tidy, relatively benign abstract and then get on to the good news (as there’s much more positive progress to celebrate!)
During the summer of 2021 we allowed a carpenter to sweet talk us into entrusting him with the three previously mentioned problems. Although we initially informed him that our confidence was wavering given his subpar communication and organizational record during the planning and scheduling phase, we ignored our misgivings (and the warnings of many) and allowed him to persuade us that we had nothing to worry about. He planned to start by tackling the boathouse gangway and waterfront stairway in September/October, and then he’d move on to the house deck. We’d be so impressed, he assured us, that we’d then hire him to rehabilitate the icehouse. If only he built as well as he talked!
The waterfront project was supposed to get underway last September and be finished by the end of October. Unfortunately, the contractor’s repeat mistakes, delays, unkept promises, non-communication, etc. rendered the boathouse virtually inaccessible and dangerous, but no closer to completion. Despite repeatedly reassuring us that the project would be complete on or before May 1 — yes, many months after the original deadline — he AWOL’ed in late April. After months of strained relations, the carpenter threw a temper tantrum with our property manager via telephone and then unceremoniously quit. Zero communication with us. And he never responded to my request for clarification on whether or not he was in fact abandoning his commitment or honoring the May 1 deadline that he’d repeatedly promised in recent weeks/months that he would “meet or beat”…
Multiple contractors reviewed the abandoned project, but they all concluded that he’d made so many mistakes that they’d have to undo most of his work before they could continue. And, of course, everybody was absolutely slammed. Finally, a couple of weeks from now (and smack-dab in the middle of the original project timeline one year ago) a new team will begin to undo his damage and complete the project properly.
Live and learn…
But what about the deck? As explained that stalled because the preceding project stalled. So in late spring we asked Eric Crowningshield to have his team undertake a partial demo of the worst area to see if we could shore it up for the summer and then rebuild it in the autumn. Unfortunately, exploratory demo proved how pervasive the rot.
Deck framing July, 2022 (Source: Geo Davis)
Deck Rebuild 2022
With this lengthy prologue behind, let’s look at the good news.
Once we concluded that shoring up the deck temporarily (to get through summer 2022) wasn’t an option, Susan and I weighed disrupting our short summer in Essex with construction against putting everything on ice until autumn. We decided to wait. Minimize risky summer entertaining, avoid the gaping hole in the deck, and keep our fingers crossed that we would have better luck in the fall.
That was our decision. At first. Until it changed.
Deck framing July, 2022 (Source: Geo Davis)
In a peculiar twist of fate that I’ll relate separately, our friend, Hroth Ottosen, a skilled carpenter with whom we’ve worked in Santa Fe decided to come east to discover life on Lake Champlain while tackling the deck rebuild. There is much to say about Hroth and about how this “crazy idea” came together, that really deserves its own space. Stay tuned.
Deck framing July, 2022 (Source: Geo Davis)
And in another twist of good fortune Susan’s cousin, David McCabe, slotted for a weeklong family visit mid summer opted to extend his stay for about a month to join the deck rebuild team. David’s worked as a carpenter/contractor in the DC-area for decades, so you can you see where this is going.
David McCabe framing (Source: Geo Davis)
Susan’s high school friend, Ed Conlin, has been a frequent presence for sixteen years as we’ve rehabilitated Rosslyn and lived, laughed, and celebrated at Rosslyn. He decided to head up to the Adirondack Coast to join the burgeoning deck rebuild team, bringing to bear several decades of his own construction experience.
Deck framing complete (Source: Geo Davis)
When these three decided to make it a work holiday, we knew we needed to be all-in to make this deck rebuild a success. Fortunately we were able to coordinate several of our local all stars into the mix.
Suffice to say that it never would have happened without the able leadership of Eric Crowningshield and Pam Murphy. Underpromise. Overdeliver. Every time. These two are a formidable team in and of themselves. (Source: Leaf Stain Art – Rosslyn Redux)
Add to the mix Eric’s reliable, skilled, and hardworking team: Matt, Justin, Andrew, Jarrett, and Jason. Several of these guys had already helped with the early exploratory demo, and now they were ready for a full deck rebuild.
And, last but definitely not least, Tony and Brandon Dumas.
Tony Foster, who joined our team during the ADK Oasis Lakeside project, brought his perennially flexible, impervious-to-hard-work-and-scorching-heat endurance, and upbeat demeanor to the redecking project. And Brandon, our savvy problem solving electrician rounded out the team. (Source: Leaf Stain Art – Rosslyn Redux)
I’ve blathered on pretty long already, so let’s change things up and showcase some of the photos and videos I’ve posted during the deck rebuild. (Note: I’ll publish another post soon that just focuses on the garapa decking since that’s a whole different adventure…)
Garapa decking delivery (Source: Geo Davis)
Photo / Video Essay
The following Instagram posts offer a glimpse into the deck rebuild process. I’ll try to add a few more videos soon.
https://www.instagram.com/reel/Cf9pOJ4A4T0/
That little video betrays my exuberance in the early days of this project!
https://www.instagram.com/p/CgJ1KioufYE/
A little further progress, although the early steps were gradual, taking time for precise measurements and sound structure since it effects everything that comes afterward.
Teeter-Tottering: Should I stay or should I go? (Source: Geo Davis)
To borrow a turn of phrase from Shaye Elliott, “I’m teeter tottering between” being fully present in Essex and departing for Santa Fe, betwixt summer’s curtain call and autumn’s debut, between and betwixt scores of less-than-precisely delineated transitions.
Should I stay or should I go now? — The Clash
Fair warning: I’m mixing metaphors today. Like fusion cooking and creative cocktail concocting, I’m hoping that purists will forgive my transgression(s) and sample the experiment with an open mind.
I’ve already shared a couple of quick riffs on the push-and-pull of seasonality, wrapping up the re-decking project, re-starting the boathouse gangway project, launching the exciting new icehouse project, and recovering from August 30 storm damage. I need to flesh out all of those transitions in fuller detail soon, but today instead I’ll touch on our autumn changeover from the Adirondack Coast to the high desert southwest with an unanticipated delay for COVID and a perhaps peculiarly drawn out rumination on teeter-tottering. Fair warning!
Teeter-Tottering: Should I stay or should I go? (Source: Geo Davis)
Teasing Out Teeter-Tottering Metaphor
I’m struck, I might add, by the strength of this teeter-tottering metaphor. The teeter-totter, a seesaw, with someone sitting on the other end, riding the teeter-totter seat down to the ground, close enough to toe-touch. When fortunate, bringing the soles of both feet to rest on the ground and bending knees to squat and push off, sending teeter-totter up into the air as a friend on the other end returns to the earth.
I recollect that there’s another challenge (and distinct pleasure) to teeter-tottering as well. Sure, it’s exciting to tip one another up and down, but balancing is also appealing, both friends suspended in mid air, neither touching the ground, neither rising, neither falling. Equilibrium. Balance. A quivering stasis that requires focus and collaboration between both friends.
Obviously the principal thrill of balancing on a teeter totter is that it’s incredibly difficult. And just as obvious is the indisputable fact that teeter-totter equilibrium is it best temporary. Eventually one or the other person will come back down to the earth, planting their feet on the ground, while the other will lift skyward. It’s impossible to postpone indefinitely.
So if it’s obvious, why am I explaining it this way? I think that the allure of the teeter-tottering metaphor — at least for me, right now — is that it so perfectly conjoins otherwise dissimilar sentiments.
I’m thrilled, exhilarated, and yet anxious about the abundance of thresholds upon which we are currently balancing. Certainly there’s a very real exuberance in the moments where we shed some gravity and float high. There are butterflies in the belly (and whirlwinds of worry in the belfry) when lofty ambitions come plunging down. But like that teeter-tottering youth of my memory, I often find that we’re endeavoring to maintain some fragile equilibrium, knowing full well that we can’t maintain it forever, and yet hoping to stabilize the teeter-totter for a moment, just another moment,… Or maybe a day? A week? This is not to say that we’re in denial about the inevitability of some pretty major transitions, but it speaks honestly about our hesitance in at least some cases.
You’ve possibly noticed a parade of posts recently addressing the transitions and transformations that we’re navigating. I apologize for too often talking obliquely, speaking around the issue rather than addressing it directly. Sometimes that’s part of the process, I’m afraid. Sometimes the prologue serves the needs of the storyteller even more than the reader.
In short, please bear with me. I recognize that not everybody enjoys teeter-tottering, so thank you for your patience, and in many cases, thank you for your generosity and advice and coaching.
Know then that this curiously kaleidoscopic time and space we’re teeter-tottering through (I warned you about mixing my metaphors!) will yield to more candid sharing when the time is right, with updates aplenty including:
The exceedingly handsome garapa deck rebuild that was completed a few weeks ago.
The boathouse gangway rebuild v2.0 which we’ll be relaunching soon (or at least as soon as the new team can demo the dangerously misguided fiasco left behind when TFG finally admitted defeat and quit.)
With those considerably more interesting transformations in the offing soon, I’ll conclude this post with a slightly more personal teeter-tottering anecdote.
Susan and I had prepared to depart Essex for Santa Fe considerably earlier this year than we habitually do. We’d invited some friends together for a last hurrah, and Susan had prepared impeccably as she does to enjoy a comfortable journey cross-country with our dog. And, given that our friend, Hroth Ottosen, would be mirroring our north-by-southwest migration as he returns from Santa Fe to Essex to take up residence at Rosslyn while we’re away (more on this including an introduction soon) our early departure was intended to allow comfortable breathing room between our departure and his arrival. But, as they say, the best laid plans…
After exercising caution and safely eluding Covid for 2-1/2 years, Susan fell ill about a week prior to our departure. And within just under a week I followed suit. Although my recovery was fortunately quick, hers was not. In fact we were both startled with how much more pronounced her symptoms and how much longer the duration of her illness. If Covid affectively debilitated me for two days, it knocked her out for more than two weeks.
Needless to say, our pre-departure fête and our travel plans were scuttled. Throw in Labor Day travel challenges, and we ended up postponing our departure even further. Perhaps this was the universe’s way of reminding us not to become overconfident in our planning, not to assume that we can orchestrate our way out of unpredictability, setbacks, and topsy-turvy crisis management that these times of transition typically engender. All this to say, the teeter totter tumbled!
I was recently accused, tenderly but definitively, of being obsessed with locale, and more precisely, with my connection to place. As a lifelong wanderer, this struck me as slightly ironic. And accurate.
By now my fixation on hyperlocality and placeness (aka the poetics of place) have become inextricably woven into the entirety of Rosslyn Redux, the robust and resilient fiber that holds it all together, or — as popularized in the parlance of contemporary talking heads — the “connective tissue” of this protracted inquiry into our decision to purchase and rehabilitate Rosslyn as a foundational platform for our small family’s life (and lifestyle) reboot.
From 1999 to 2003 I was living and working in Europe. Mostly Paris, France. But Rome, Italy had become a second base by the end of that exciting chapter, a period that started with teaching and coaching at the American School of Paris and evolved into co-founding and launching Maison Margaux, an exclusive vacation rental startup, and Margaux Europe Group, a boutique travel platform. My business partner and I had based these businesses in New York City, and this third base of my globetrotting existence became even more important in the summer of 2001 when Susan and I discovered one another and tumbled head over heals into an intoxicating transatlantic romance.
In those years I prided myself with what I had dubbed immersion travel rather than tourist travel. The Margaux Project was founded on this distinction. Deep travel. Authentic travel. Meaningful travel. Transformative travel. Human-centric vs. travel brochure scrapbook travel… My love affairs with Paris and Rome (indeed even with New York City) were complex and enriching and multifaceted. We wanted to provide a means for discerning clients to experience Paris, Rome, (and eventually Barcelona, intended at the time to become our third property) with the nuanced richness; genuine, unadulterated texture; and personal intimacy that we had both come to appreciate.
But I was a committed and unabashed global nomad. By choice. By conviction. The dissonance didn’t really phase me at the time!
Wanderlust vs. Connection to Place
This fundamental duality — a peripatetic wanderer drawn to unique locales and connection to place — is at the heart of the thread I call Wanderlust to Houselust. I’ve learned through our Rosslyn years that I am both migratory and rooted. For many years I understood myself as a perennial vagabond, and I celebrated the carefreedom and independence that my work/life amalgam allowed.
But building a loving family and a profoundly fulfilling lifestyle around placeness (Rosslyn, Essex, Lake Champlain, the Adirondacks, the North Country,..) has taught me how important community and connection to place are to me. It’s also helped me understand that I’m not either/or… not nomad OR potted plant.
Life, my life, is more complex than I’d understood despite developing Maison Margaux and Margaux Europe Group around the philosophy of immersion travel — journeying more authentically and meaningfully, interacting rather than travel-skimming. Certainly my need for connection to place was there, but I didn’t recognize what it was. Now I do. And I understand that the meaningful authenticity, the human-to-human interaction, the belonging that had drawn me to a specific type of travel was precisely what fueled my early enthusiasm for living in Essex. It was connection to place that had always enticed me. I just didn’t know it.
Drizzly Day Discovery #1 was this rain soaked vista that inspired an itty-bitty poem. (Source: @virtualdavis)
Drizzly day disappointment is real. It’s a sort of malaise. Perhaps not for all of us, but definitely for some of us.
And yet an inclement day needn’t always disappoint. Far from it, in fact. So — as much to convince myself as to convince you, patient reader — I’ll share a glimpse of two memorable aspects from Tuesday’s rainy washout.
Drizzly Day Haiku
I almost opted out of my morning bike ride because rain was threatening. From early morning “gray light” to sunrise around 5:45 AM to an overcast-but-brightening first hour of the day to… darkness. It was as if we’ve been plunged back into night.
But I pulled on my MAMIL clown suit and headed up to the carriage barn to get my bicycle. It was increasingly clear that raindrops would be falling. Soon. As I pushed my gravel bike outside it begin to drizzle.
Not the most inspiring conditions for a ride, but I decided to give it a go. Over the next 75 minutes the drizzle increased into a full-on rain, then back to drizzle, then a rain scarcely heavier than mist, then back to driving rain. I was drenched. My shoes slurped with each pedal stroke. Road spray blurred with the falling rain. Water up, water down. And from time to time I enjoyed thorough drenching from my flank as a vehicle thundered past. It occurred to me that taking a bicycle through a car wash might feel similar. I don’t advise trying it.
On the positive side, the morning’s temperature was cooler than recent days, and the rain was actually refreshing. Cycling in rainy conditions has the effect of shrinking the world a little bit, decreasing the rider’s focus to a relatively small bubble around him/her while pedaling down the road. This hunkering can sometimes catalyze some pretty useful thinking. Soggy but catalytic headspace!
When I was almost home, pedaling up the small hill at the intersection of NYS Route 22 and Middle Road (where I suspect we may soon confirm Hillcrest Station to have stood a century or so ago), I came across the enchanting view above. It’s a vista that I have appreciated often, but the rain transformed it. Something about the light, the softened edges, the muted palette, and the playful juxtaposition of depth. The tree in the semi-foreground and the Adirondack mountains in the semi-background, both silhouetted as a middle focal horizon between between lush green fields and tie-dyed skies. I stopped and stood awhile absorbing.
And then, as if the soggy haiku wasn’t enough, I also enjoyed another drizzly day discovery in the evening. Our Santa Fe friend and carpenter, Hroth Ottosen, who’s been visiting and helping rebuild Rosslyn’s deck captured a double rainbow over Lake Champlain. Certainly that is some sort of lucky! Although I missed the moment, he snapped some excellent images including the one shown below.
Drizzly Day Discovery #2 was a double rainbow that inspired a micro meditation video. (Source: Hroth Ottosen)
All things considered, this was a drizzly day to reset all expectations. From now on I’ll anticipate good discoveries no matter what sort of weather nature sends out way. And maybe you too have a drizzly day positive story? Hope so!
