Sundown Surf, August 10, 2022 (Source: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Slightly less than two months ago, celebrating a peak-of-summer day with a sensational sundown surf. Actually, concluding a wake surf (closer to sunset than normal or advisable).
Sundown Surf Haiku
Wake lifting, cresting, board surging and legs pumping, surfing into dusk. — Geo Davis
Champlaining Relived
Today we start the first day of October. So much change from that photo, and in so little time. We are undeniably, falling, falling, falling into autumn. I try for a moment to relive the sublime moment after a sundown surf in one of world’s the most spectacular spots. Perfection then. Perfection now. This is Champlaining!
An autumn aura is descending upon the Adirondack Coast. Autumn colors, autumn lighting, autumn sounds (think southward-flying Canada Geese), autumn textures (think crisp leaves eddying and frosted grass underfoot), autumn smells, and autumn flavors…
Autumn Aura: Rosslyn’s shifts into her rustic autumn wardrobe… (Source: Doug Decker)
Thanks, Doug, for snapping that photo above. And for swapping out summer’s lime green sweet potato vines with golden (poetic license?) corn stalks. We’re autumnified! My bride is thrilled.
Here’s a glimpse of the intermediate phase a couple of weeks ago. The pumpkins, freshly harvest from our vegetable garden, complement those practically fluorescent sweet potato vines.
Autumn Aura: Rosslyn’s initial transition from summer to fall wardrobe. (Source: Geo Davis)
Have you noticed that distinctive shift in the North Country atmosphere? It happens every year as the vestiges of summer yield to the advance of winter. There’s a palpable change in the ambience, the mood, the character of the very same facade and yard and early evening that only weeks ago flaunted summery bravado. The tone has shifted. Harvest season. Halloween…
Autumn Aura: Rosslyn’s initial transition from summer to fall wardrobe. (Source: Geo Davis)
Starting today, Epiphany will be Shirley Bacot Shamel Day.
Susan chuckled this morning after reminding me that her family hadn’t celebrated Epiphany when she was growing. I had reminded her that my family had, and for some reason she considers it slightly droll. It’s true that we did celebrate some holidays that my peers did not. I’m not certain why. In addition to Epiphany, we celebrated Saint Nicholas Day (aka Saint Nick’s Day) a month ago on December 6.
We celebrated all sorts of holidays that my friends did not. Christmas, yes. But also Epiphany (Three Kings Day) and another near-to-Christmas night when we placed our shoes at the top of the stairs and St. Nick (I think) came and filled them with treats. Pistachios. Chocolates. Silver dollars. (Source: Rabbit, Rabbit « virtualDavis)
Other Davis family habits and traditions make her chuckle as well, including rabbit-rabbit-ing the end and beginning of months; using “Christmas crackers“ to celebrate not only Christmas, but New Years, Thanksgiving, and just about any other festive meal; and corn cakes and turkey gravy as a customary follow-on meal after Christmas and Thanksgiving.
Although Susan thinks some of these observances amusing, it’s worth noting that she has embraced year-round crackers with gusto. Any excuse for miniature fireworks and crown-wearing appeals to her!
It was encouraging to hear Susan start the morning today with a chuckle. Today, of all days. Her spontaneous laughter instantly lifted the ominous if unspoken heaviness that had settled upon her, settled upon us, over the last 24 hours.
In addition to Epiphany, January 6 marks a more painful anniversary. Susan‘s mother, Shirley Bacot Shamel, passed away three years ago today. The loss remains palpable, and grieving is ongoing, intermittent, and usually unanticipated, triggered by a song, a memento, a photograph,…
Today’s melancholy was anticipated, and by yesterday memories were being shared. I knew that today would be difficult, but I hadn’t come up with any clever ways to support my beautiful bride.
But Susan’s early morning laughter lifted my hopes and prompted an epiphany! (Sorry, I couldn’t resist.) Suddenly I had an idea how to transform this solemn day into a more joyful remembrance. Let’s start a new tradition of our own.
Starting today, Epiphany will be Shirley Bacot Shamel Day.
Epiphany2
To follow my logic, if there is any (and I’d venture a suggestion that epiphanies needn’t follow the laws of logic), we might first take a look at capital “E”, Epiphany.
January 6 observed as a church festival in commemoration of the coming of the Magi as the first manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles or in the Eastern Church in commemoration of the baptism of Christ. (Source: Merriam-Webster)
For some readers this is familiar. For others, not, so here’s a slightly more expansive explanation.
After the 12th day of Christmas, believers take down their festive decor. But they don’t let January 6—or January 19 for many Orthodox Christians who still abide by the Julian calendar—pass by without another Christmas-connected celebration.
Tied to biblical accounts of Jesus Christ’s birth and baptism, the holiday of Epiphany is a chance for Christians to reflect on the nature of God’s physical manifestation on Earth and pay homage to three important visitors in the biblical account of Jesus’ birth. (Source: National Geographic)
The three important visitors in the second explanation and the Magi mentioned in the first are one and the same. Also known as the three wise men, the three kings (sometimes even by name: Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar), and sometimes more by association with the gifts they bore: gold, myrrh, and frankincense.
If you’re anywhere as keen a Christmas carol aficionado as I am, you’re familiar with these three gift bearing gentlemen, but if not, you’ve at least a basic understanding now.
So that’s capital “E”, Epiphany. What about this morning’s lowercase “e”, epiphany?
Again I need to reach back a little. I’m as keen on getting and decorating a Christmas tree as I am on Christmas carols, and given the anticipation it represents (and the beauty it adds to mornings and evenings) I prefer to jumpstart Christmas by finding a handsome evergreen and decorating it midway between Thanksgiving and Christmas. And that means I’m ready by New Year’s Eve for it to morph from crispy needle-dropping leftover to lush, colorful memory. But we rarely manage to get the tree down by New Year’s Eve or even New Year’s Day. So, in keeping with National Geographic’s observation, it had struck me that today might be the perfect time to un-decorate the Christmas tree.
But that’s not the epiphany. In trying to anticipate a way to brighten my bride’s morning on a particularly mournful morning, I thought wishing her a happy Epiphany and proposing that we start a new tradition of removing the Christmas tree each year on January 6 might shift her perspective and strike her innate sense of logic. But…
That chuckle.
Starting today, Epiphany will be Shirley Bacot Shamel Day.
Shirley Bacot Shamel Day
The eureka moment catalyzed by Susan’s superpower smile and laugh suddenly made it all clear. Yes, we needed to launch a new family tradition. From now on Epiphany should be a holiday to celebrate the legacy of Susan’s mother. Three years ago we lost Shirley. On this day. And on this day we recognize three kings bearing gifts. Loose logic? No logic?!?! But sometimes the universe rhymes, and in that moment I could hear the singing underneath, connecting these nominally connected dots into a perfect picture of Epiphany as Shirley Day. Sure, we could remove ornaments from the tree, and I could drag it out back for wood chipping. But maybe we should think bigger. A hooky day. No work. A day to remember and celebrate and show our love for the lady who blessed our union before it even existed. (That story for another day.)
And so today we started a new family tradition. We canceled commitments, bundled into our ski gear, and headed into the snowy mountains for some outdoor bliss. And you know what? It worked. It recalibrated our brains. It lifted our spirits. Whether or not the tree is going to get tackled is still uncertain. But a delicious dinner this evening; a hot tub soak as we were enjoying the night Shirley passed; and some time together gazing up at a bright star that guided three kings, a star that Susan named after her mother three years ago, a star that now helps guide us; this is 100% certain.
Autumn Landscape, October 27, 2015 (Photo: Geo Davis)
TGIF… time to put another log on the fire, pour yourself something refreshing, and unwind for a moment together. Busy-ness and a continuous cascade of commitments can gradually hypnotize us during the weekly hurly-burly, so let’s take a few minutes to exhale and redirect our attention at this dramatic time of year. Transformation all around us. Breathtaking beauty all around us. I invite you to round out your week by contemplating the autumn landscape.
As another week of icehouse rehab draws to a close, I’m shifted gears a little. I’ll post an update soon, however there’ve been several compelling-but-competing intrigues to pursue. Yesterday’s post about rehoming the “truckling” in exchange for an inspiring reuse/recycling story has elicited several compelling possibilities. (Hoping to make a decision soon, and I’ll share the winning story!) I’ve also been crowdsourcing (albeit quite limitedly among friends and family) perspectives on what makes a house a home. Can’t wait to share the riches tomorrow! For now, with this pair of jolly Jack-in-the-box updates about to spring out into the open, I’m recalibrating and refocusing on autumn landscape.
Autumn Streamscape
As wildlife crisscross
these riparian byways
scents, tracks, graffiti.
— Geo Davis
This haiku takes as its seed the layered narrative along Library Brook which meanders the western margin of Rosslyn’s back forests and fields. So much wildlife trafficking this vital corridor, and all of them communicating, carrying on a distributed dialogue, and creating artistic artifacts.
I spent some time flail mowing near a small portion of this riparian region last summer, eliminating some invasive that have clogged the stream, and encouraging native flora to thrive, ensuring a healthy habitat for our wild neighbors. I thought that I had taken photographs of a mesmerizingly beautiful glade thick with stream-side wildflowers, but I’m unable to find them. Perhaps these images were meant to remain wild, earned quietly on foot, cross country skies, snowshoes.
These contemplative places abound at Rosslyn. And my haiku doesn’t offer a sufficient snapshot. Perhaps I’ll be able to update this page with another poem that offers the scents and sounds of this this wild autumn landscape. For now I’d like to offer you a potent portrait by a Vietnamese poet, Hồ Xuân Hương (1772–1822), that hints at the intoxication I’m alluding to. If “the banana leaves” are overlooked, her poem feels as if it might be leaning against a stump beside burbling Library Brook.
Autumn Landscape
Drop by drop rain slaps the banana leaves.
Praise whoever sketched this desolate scene:
the lush, dark canopies of the gnarled trees,
the long river, sliding smooth and white.
I lift my wine flask, drunk with rivers and hills.
My backpack, breathing moonlight, sags with poems.
Look, and love everyone.
Whoever sees this landscape is stunned.
— Hồ Xuân Hương (Source: Narrative Magazine)
Let us all breathe some moonlight tonight, and let us all let go the of the week just lived and look at the autumn landscape, allow it to stun us, to remind us how to love. Everyone.
Bald eagle perches along Essex waterfront watching ducks.
I saw a young bald eagle recently flying over the lake just off from the hamlet. The ducks by the ferry dock ignored him but I bet they were keeping a close watch nevertheless. ~ Rob Ivy (Essex Column, Feb. 5, 2014)
I bundled up this morning – thermals and lots of fleecy layers – to brace against the subzero temperatures. After almost 24 hours of continuous snowfall I was excited with the prospect of an early morning skiing the fresh powder at Whiteface. But an even greater gift surprised me as I finished scraping the car and climbed in.
Bald Eagle Breakfasting?
My mobile phone buzzed to tell me a Facebook message had arrived.
“Bald eagle out there this morning!”
It was Willsboro neighbor, Beatrice Disogra, a daily Essex ferry commuter with a gift of spying bald eagles (and spectacular Lake Champlain views!) I parked at the end of our driveway, craning my neck to survey the trees. I didn’t see him at first. Our digital dialogue continued.
Look to the left of the boathouse up in the tall trees on the WATER’S EDGE. It came down and plucked a fish out between the boathouse and ferry dock last week. I’m at the ferry dock watching it right now. There’s a young one without white feathers that hangs out in front of your house. Should be easy to spot when the sun comes out.
I got out of my car and walked north, inspecting ash, maple, locust and cottonwood. Then I noticed a likely suspect.
Just walked toward Sandy Pt. Saw large blackish mass high in tree. Not certain it was eagle, but now gone.
It was. It flew past me at ferry dock. It will come back.
“Sitting ducks” enjoying the boathouse bubbler (while bald eagle watches.)
I had snapped the blurry photo above with my mobile phone in order to zoom in and take a closer look once I was back in the warmth of my car. And the eagle must have flown off as soon as I turned to walk away.
Bald Eagle and “Sitting Ducks”
I verified with Ms. Disogra that she’d witnessed the eagle catching a fish, not a duck. She assured me that she had been close enough to see it.
But bald eagles are also fond of ducks, and the area we keep bubbled in front of Rosslyn’s boathouse inevitably offers an inviting smorgasbord for hungry eagles. So far no photos of an eagle flying away with a duck in its talons!
It is worth noting, I am conflicted about this bald eagle and “sitting duck” situation. I am a big fan of the ducks. In fact, I want to raise a few ducklings myself one day, if only my bride would relent. And I am also awed by the magnificent bald eagles which frequent the Adirondack Coast in winter. But one could argue that we are effectively manipulating nature by creating open water which attracts the wild ducks, causing atypically high concentration which favors the bald eagles.
Waterfront Winterization: Pulling out the boat lift on September 22, 2016.
There comes a time each autumn when summer has faded and winter is whispering over the waves. Or when work, travel, something eclipses the languid stretch of fall boating and watersports. Sometimes earlier, sometimes later, and as inevitable and bittersweet as fall foliage, waterfront winterization is an annual ritual that braces us practically and emotionally for the North Country’s frosty November through February.
The photo above chronicles the slow process of dragging the boat lift ashore. We use an electric winch and plenty of manpower. The aluminum dock is next. Rolling it in is the easy part. Lifting it up the stone terracing to higher ground is our version of crossfit.
Special thanks to Doug Decker, Erick Decker, Matt Smith, Alex Shepard, and Jeff Bigelow for making today’s waterfront winterization the smoothest and most efficient to date.
Boats on the Hard
Waterfront Winterization: Pulling the ski boat on September 21, 2016.
Usually in October, we haul Errant, our 31′ sailboat and Racy Rosslyn, our ski boat. This year we had to advance our haul dates to accommodate a busy fall schedule. In the photo above Racy Rosslyn is being towed away for winterization and storage.
Waterfront Winterization 2016: Errant is on the hard at a nearby shipyard.
La Vie en Rose: Rosslyn boathouse during a late February sunset. (Credit: Kristen Eden)
Je vois la vie en rose
I see life through rose-colored glasses — Édith Piaf
Édith Piaf’s “La Vie En Rose” – usually translated as “Life Through Rose-Colored Glasses” – inevitably, joyfully came to mind when this sexy photograph was shared with me on Facebook by an Essex friend and neighbor, Janice Koenig. It turns out the photographer, Kristen Eden, is also an Essex neighbor and, if Facebook counts, a new friend.
Kristen’s photographs (see gallery below for a few more) capture warmth and tenderness, unusual characteristics for mid-winter images of icy Lake Champlain. Even on sunny days our North Country light in February tends to by harsh and severe, so these unlikely photos were a welcome sight. They lit up Facebook prompting “likes” and comments from many local and distant fans. My downsized, watermarked versions of her photos don’t fairly do the originals justice, but you can enjoy the image above, “Ducks swimmin’ in pink lemonade” (in larger, better format) on Kristen Eden Fine Art and Photography.
Sensuous & Harsh: La Vie En Rose
Piaf, France’s “Little Sparrow”, similarly blends the sensuous and the harsh. Perhaps it’s the scratchy old recordings. Or her crushed velvet sound. Or her swooping transitions and confident refrains. Who knows? A siren’s mystery. Listen and decide for yourself.
Piaf’s song wove itself inextricably into my already Pollyanna-prone psyche during my college years, and despite the lyrics’s unlikely resonance, they remain evocative and hypnotic half a lifetime later. Piaf’s sensuous sound makes me nostalgic for the years I lived in Paris even now as I type these words about photographs that remind me how much I am enchanted with Essex, a world away from The City of Light.
Thanks for your Rose-colored Glasses
Thanks, Kristen, for your stunning photographs. And thanks, Janice, for bringing them to my attention.
Pink Green Mountain sunset (Credit: Kristen Eden)
Lake Champlain sunset in February (Credit: Kristen Eden)
Essex-Charlotte ferry dock during late February sunset (Credit: Kristen Eden)
Undocking 2022: ready to remove the docks (Source: Geo Davis)
Once upon a time undocking referred to a boat pulling away from a dock, a ship disembarking from a pier. At Rosslyn we also use the term to describe the annual autumn removal of docks (and boat lift) from Lake Champlain once the boats have been hauled and we begin to prepare for the North Country wintry. There’s also a more modern conotation in recent decades that summons grainy video footage of a spaceship uncoupling from the space station, or in a more quotidian context disconnecting technological devices or applications. For me today, in this post, undocking is all of these and more, a sort of metaphorical undocking, uncoupling, disconnecting as well.
Undocking 2022: docks removed (Source: Geo Davis)
Undocking v1.0
Let’s start with those first two photos above. Before and after autumn dock removal. In the first, an early morning photo, I sent the drone up for an end-of-season portrait of Rosslyn’s waterfront. A moody moment as if the lake and sky and the forces of nature were brooding, perhaps wavering, second guessing this seasonal transition. Less than a couple of hours later the boatlift sits high and dry (just barely visible north of the cottonwoods and west the multi stem maple) and the docks are lined up on the beach, their temporary home until late fall / early winter when they’ll be moved up onto the grassy terrace.
Undocking 2022: ready to remove the docks (Source: Geo Davis)
This third image, an aerial view directly above the boathouse, dock, and boatlift, offers a better perspective of the waterfront before undocking. And the photograph below offers virtually the same view except that the docks and boatlift have been stored on shore.
Undocking 2022: docks removed (Source: Geo Davis)
Of course, before proceeding with dock and boatlift removal, there’s an important prologue, disembarking in the Nautique ski/surf boat and the Chris Craft picnic boat for the final time of the season. So last Friday we hauled both boats for the winter, and today we removed the boatlift and the docks. Undocking complete, we’re —metaphorically speaking, at least — one step closer to our big seasonal transit. We’re temporarily unmoored. Unvesselled.
https://www.instagram.com/reel/CiCnGSnAgab/
Undocking v2.0
In the spring of 2021 I sold a 31’ sloop that I’d sailed around Lake Champlain for seven seasons. In retrospect, I suppose it was one of my pandemic pivots. Although I’d been considering selling it sooner rather than later, I had expected to hold onto the sailboat for at least another year or two. I was contemplating a move to a larger boat, and I was beginning to wonder aloud with Susan if it might be time to start thinking about coastal sailing, a step toward blue water sailing that has long beckoned me. I’ve explored my rather sudden decision to sell Errant elsewhere, so I’ll curtail that narrative here. But I’ve brought it up for two reasons.
For starters, selling Errant was part and parcel of an ongoing period of transition with roots well before — but catalyzed during — the pandemic. But there’s something more germane to the present context.
Usually when I headed out to sail it was for a span of hours. Maybe half a day. If lucky, maybe a day. But sometimes, when opportunity allowed, I would depart for days instead of hours. On occasion Susan would join me. More often I sailed solo. And whether heading out for a few hours of wind chasing or setting off on a multi day sailing adventure, I would experience a euphoric wave as I hoisted the sails. An exhilarating wave simultaneously deep in my gut, high in my heart, and even higher in my head would sweep over me. A sort of high that would fill me with enthusiasm and hope and a profound feeling of freedom.
Helming 6-tons of home, vessel, food, and plans into a stiff chop and a swift blow is one of my “happy places”, as the saying goes. A plan and an itinerary but also a comfortable awareness that circumstances and conditions could shift unexpectedly, that sailing by definition presupposes a state of fluidity and flux from undocking (or untethering) to setting anchor or returning to harbor.
To some degree this euphoric state is present every time I set out in any boat, any journey, any transition. Our seasonal migration between the lush shores of Lake Champlain and the high desert southwest is one of these undocking rituals. A setting out. An ending. A beginning. Closure. A fresh start. A new adventure. Another chapter. Seasonality writ large…
But I’m digressing and meandering. Back to the present, to removing the boats and storing them for the winter, to removing the docks and storing them for the winter, to winterizing the waterfront for the coming cold, the snow, the ice…
The present undocking is even more significant for us than usual. Or at least I have the sense that it is more significant. As we navigate a period of curated liminality, I am especially conscious of the uncoupling. The untethering. Sometimes a simple, familiar seasonal ritual — falling out of summer and into autumn, undocking vessels and the temporary means by which we secure them — turns out to be an integral constituent part of a larger, more profound transformation.
This is what I see when I look at the aerial photographs above. It is an awareness, a conscious yielding to the change(s) underway. I’m confident that Susan and I are both attuned to this liminality, that we’re aware and willing to embrace the shift, to immerse ourselves fully into what is feeling like a monumental shift in the proverbial seasons. I believe that we’re in the flow in a way that has eluded us in recent years. In many years really. This present undocking and its various rhizomic permutations feels more significant than its predecessors. In fact, this undocking is increasingly reminiscent of our transition from Manhattan to Essex 16 years ago. It’s still early. And it’s still unclear what exactly were moving through, moving toward. But we are journeying toward greater clarity each day.
Lately I’ve been reflecting on all the trees I wish I’d planted in the fall of 2006 and the spring of 2007. We’ve been adding new trees for a year now — a half dozen or so each spring and fall — and yet I can’t help but imagine what might be today if I’d started earlier. Fruit trees ten or twelve feet tall would still be blooming. We would have been harvesting apples and pears and plums and apricots and peaches for a couple of seasons by now.
In fact, we have harvested some apples and pears during the last two years, but they didn’t come from newly planted trees. I’ve been restoring a couple dozen gnarly, long neglected apple trees (and two pear trees) scattered throughout the meadows behind our barns. Whittling a third of their old growth away each season, I’ve begun to nurse the old trees back to health, and several have begun to produce palatable fruit.
I’ve wiled away many beautiful hours lopping and sawing from the top of a ladder or winding my way through the limbs like a monkey. I’ve loved every minute of it and not just for the promise of future fruit.
It’s a funny thing, an orchard. So many functions wrapped up in one little plot of land, one little grid of fruit trees. Obviously one of the most important is also the most self evident: an orchard is a neighborhood “market”, if you will. A fresh fruit grocery less than a minute from the kitchen. An organic grocery where I can be 100% confident that no pesticide and no unwholesome ripening techniques have sullied the fresh fruit.
Doug carrying orchard ladder
And then there are the flowers. Gardeners, landscapers, poets and painters have romanced the seasonal blossoms of fruit trees for hundreds of years. I am no exception despite my utilitarian, upcountry ways. An orchard is a geometric bouquet of blooms, an annual riot against leafless canopies and gray, drizzly spring days. And even when blossoms flutter earthward and the boughs fill with thick plumes of adolescent foliage, there remains a subtle nobility in the orchard’s orderly procession.
During hot summer days the orchard becomes contemplative, concentrating on nurturing promises into bounty. The fruit trees reach deep into the cool earth for water and high into the sky for sunshine. They brace their increasingly heavy load against winds and thunderstorms.
And then it’s time for the harvest. Whether a crisp apple plucked during a mid-day walk with Griffin or a pear sauce cooked down with vanilla, cloves and a jigger of maple syrup, I’ve already begun to enjoy the fruits of my labors. This August through October should offer up an even more robust crop of apples and pears. And someday soon I hope to acquire a cider press and invite friends and neighbors for a weekend of fruit gathering and cidering. A potluck. Music in the meadows. And by then, with luck, the apricots and peaches and plums will have begun to produce as well. What fruity feasting we’ll do!
Old Apple Tree; New Chapter (Photo credit: virtualDavis)
During the winter months another often overlooked function of the orchard reveals itself. In order to maintain healthy fruit trees while improving their physical architecture and productivity it’s necessary to prune the trees during the period of winter dormancy. This is a chore, and the bigger the orchard grows, the bigger the chore. But unlike most chores, pruning an orchard is far more than a line item on a To Do list.
There’s a creative element, shaping and guiding the trees’ growth habit year after year. And there is a serotonin inducing pick-me-up triggered by dedicating yourself to an activity during the winter doldrums which will increase summer abundance. An investment in future harvests.
But for me, the single greatest reward of fruit tree orcharding occurs during the off-season. My bride is an avid and dedicated practitioner of yoga. Not I. For me it’s fruit tree pruning. I don’t think it’s a reach to suggest that pruning fruit trees in the late winter and early spring is my yoga. It’s my mindfulness meditation.
And then there’s grafting… But that alchemist’s hobby for another day, another post.
Now I’m off to sleep to dream of the orchards we might have had today if we could have initiated our orchard yoga sooner!
Rosslyn boathouse, January 8, 2012 (Photo credit: Glenn Estus)
It’s time for another Rosslyn Roundup to share everything Rosslyn-related that I didn’t get a chance to post over the last few weeks. Champlain Valleysprings are unpredictable and exciting, sometimes arriving early (this year) and other times hiding behind rain, rain, rain (last year).
We’ve been celebrating our good fortune (quietly, with fingers crossed, while chewing on garlic cloves) that Spring 2012 has been considerably drier than Spring 2011. Remember the devastating Lake Champlain floods last year? For the better part of two months we experienced history making high water levels which inundated the Town of Essex and swamped Rosslyn boathouse under three feet of water for weeks on end. But we were lucky. Damage was minimal, and we recovered. Actually… we’re still recovering. Rebuilding the stone walls along the waterfront is ongoing, but that story for another blog post!
It’s a bit hard to believe that I launched the Rosslyn Redux blog just over a year ago. I’ve been finding my feet, trying to decide what goes into the book, what goes into the performance and what goes into the blog. I’m still filtering through artifacts and unadopted stories, but the most everything has fallen into place. The book (books? booklings?) are nearing their inevitable (and looong awaited) right of passage. And the blog, evolving in fits and starts has nevertheless averaged almost one post per week. Expect that rate to increase now that I’m in the homestretch with manuscripts.
Okay, enough bellybutton gazing. Well, almost enough. A couple of other interesting items to relay before plunging into the Rosslyn Roundup.
May Day was the busiest day on the blog ever! In addition to “Reawakening Rosslyn” which drew record readers, there were many people who showed up a day late to read “Old Glory & Mud Season“. The combination of these two posts included a magic elixir… If only I knew what it was! Please don’t hesitate to share your preferences for future posts, and I’ll do my best to honor your wishes.
I have to admit that I was pretty thrilled with the reception that “Reawakening Rosslyn” received. You may have already figured that it’s a central theme in the story of our epic home and property rehabilitation.
Less surprising, my post about cartoonist Sid Couchey was also well received. Proof that whether we all admit it or not, we all love cartoons! And if you ever met my Essex friend and neighbor, you’d love Couchey too. He will remain a local legend for many years to come. I feel fortunate each time I pass Couchey’s painting of Rosslyn boathouse which hangs in our morning room. I’ve decided that the fellow chatting with Champy — the Lake Champlain monster — at the end of the boathouse pier is the cartoonist himself. I’m listening carefully and hoping to hear the joke that they’re sharing.
Okay, about that roundup… Did you see that spooky photograph of Rosslyn boathouse at the top of this post? Spectacular. Eerie. The image is called “Essex, NY Boathouse #3” and it was shot on January 8, 2012 by local photographer, Glenn Estus. We have several of his photographs hanging on the walls at Rosslyn, and you can see plenty more in his Flickr feed if your interested.
Speaking of photographs, check out the new Rosslyn Redux board on Pinterest to see a growing collection of Rosslyn photographs shared by people all over the globe. Add your own photos, and I’ll heap praise and accolades upon you.
And you’ll find more photographs by me and others on the Rosslyn Redux Facebook page which has grown steadily in membership over the last year. If you’re not already a friend of the forthcoming Rosslyn Redux memoir, now’s the time. Please friend the page and feel free to share your thoughts. I look forward to hearing from you.
Adirondack autumn is sliding stealthily into winter. I’d better accelerate my fall iPhonography retrospective so that I’m ready to chronicle Rosslyn’s soon-to-be-snowy winter. In order to fast track the process, I’ll [almost] skip the textual annotations that I included in Adirondack Autumn 2012: Part I and Adirondack Autumn 2012: Part II.
The video slide show above is story enough, I think, but there are a few images that beg explanation. There are several photos related to boating because me bride and I stretch the season as much as “comfortably” possible in the autumn. In fact, we stretch the whole season, starting early and ending late. Most years we are able to enjoy a six month sailing, windsurfing, waterskiing, wakesurfing season starting at the beginning of May and ending in the final days of October. So these images are a watersports swansong of sorts.
A more rigorous editor would have eliminated the “live simply” snapshot, but I love this t-shirt given to me by my sister-in-law. Sure, the graphic’s great, but it’s the reminder that I value each time I come across it on my t-shirt shelf. I’m hoping to play with the idea in a cartoon soon, a sequence of the simple pleasures of rural Adirondack living with the slightly ironic banner, “Live simply!” Stay tuned…
Veteran RR readers will know that the squirrels occupy a dramatic place in our Rosslyn lifestyle, so I won’t get into that here, but those images capture the quirks and charms of our “Adirondack monkeys”. Squirrel-proof birdfeeders? We’ve tried five varieties so far, but the squirrels always succeed. And the squirrel perched on the edge of the stone water trough? Just try to convince me he’s not peeing in the drinking water!
I included my ever growing collection of gardening books because I was reminded again this fall that gardening occupies my imagination even as the gardening season is ending. One might expect their enthusiasm for planting and weeding and landscaping and harvesting to flag after many months of spring-summer-fall gardening. But instead, my mind turns to next season. Adirondack autumn means fall planting. Maintenance. Changes. It’s been a busy fall for Rosslyn landscaping and gardening projects, but I’ll postpone these updates until later. And once the snow begins to fall I pull out the books again and begin to sketch plans for next spring, make lists and schedules, order seeds for indoor forcing,… By late winter when my seedlings are well underway in our basement under lamps, I’ll begin pruning fruit trees. In short, even in the Adirondacks gardening is a year round passion.
The shots of tempting chalkboard menus come from the Essex Ice Cream Cafe which for the first time (ever?) is open year-round for breakfast and lunch. And, soon, they’ll be launching a turn-back-the-clock delicacy that not only tastes sensational, but carries some personal satisfaction as well. More on that once the secret is no longer a secret and the most delicious maple-derived confection in the world is available again, more than a century after it was first produced in Essex. Okay, I’m teasing you. Details soon!
Perfect transition to that odd photo at about 1:02 in the slide show. What’s that?!?! Dog food, perhaps? Actually that was a memorable venison stew with spinach. Deer hunting is an important part of North Country culture and though I do not partake (I’m a poor gunner, and I find it difficult to shoot anything that can bat an eyelash at me,) I love venison. Several generous friends share with me each fall, and this stew was the best I’ve ever made. Lots of onions and wine get cooked down with the venison, and lentils and wild rice are added toward then end. The spinach was a last minute stir-in. So, it’s a feast for the belly, not the eyes.
The next picture, a step closer to eye candy, is broiled cabbage. Sounds unpromising. Try it. Delicious. I’ve made it several times, and it I can manage, I’ll share the ultra simple recipe soon. Even non-cabbage stalwarts love it!
I think that everything is self-explanatory. If not, let me know. Thanks for sharing our Adirondack autumn.
Almost orderly rows of zinnias, eggplants and tomatoes.
Deep purple (almost black) eggplant enjoying the shade.
I skipped the hot peppers this season and focused on several varieties of sweet peppers.
These slender, curving Asian eggplants are beautiful and delicious on the grill or in stews.
The foliage on the Brussels sprout plants looks like lace. Full of holes!
We’re enjoying a heavy melon crop including cantaloupe, musk melon and watermelon.
We overproduced artichokes last season, but this season’s been disappointing. Still no chokes!
Gangbuster cuke season! They’re getting too big too fast…
It’s been getting considerably cooler at night lately, and feeling fall-like much earlier than the last few years. We’ve already had two nights that broke forty degrees! But still no killing frost.
The vegetable garden is still thick with produce. We’ve been eating cantaloupes and musk melons just as quickly as we can. The same goes for eggplant and tomatoes. We’ve lost the battle with cucumbers which are getting so big they’re almost obscene. I have to apologize before giving them away as a gifts lest I offend someone with tender sensibilities. Fortunately they still taste good. The key is to slice them the long way and scoop out all of the seeds the same way you do with melons.
Several varieties of tomatoes have succumbed to blights. Fortunately the affliction hasn’t really damaged many tomatoes themselves, just the plants. It seems to primarily be an issue with the determinate varieties. 75% of the indeterminate plants are still growing like gangbusters, pumping out large, delicious heirloom tomatoes.
The zucchini seem to have gone dormant, although they’re still producing lots of blossoms. I would love to cook up some squash blossoms before the season ends, but haven’t managed to do it yet.
Lots and lots of sweet peppers too. And a full crop of green beans, spinach, lettuce, Swiss chard, and baby kale coming online soon. I grew a small quantity of beets with the intention of harvesting their “greens” (actually, their deep purple/red). We ate about half of the crop in our salads this summer, but at this point many of them have grown into full grown beets. So we’ll end up harvesting those as well this fall.
What else? The Brussels sprouts are just beginning to set, so I need to snap off most of the foliage to concentrate their energy into sprouts. We pulled up all the corn stocks and composted them. The leaks will be ready to start harvesting in about a month, and only the artichokes have failed to produce. After last summer’s bumper crop, it’s a mystery. Half of the plants succumbed to root rot during the rainy month of June. And the half dozen plants that lived are runty and unproductive. To date none have set even the smallest of chokes. Not giving up yet though…
