April showers bring spring aeration. Soggy conditions May not make for the postcard perfect moments conjured by the imagination, but they certainly make for more efficient lawn maintenance. Powerful core drills sink into the supple soil pulling earthy plugs up onto the surface where they will dissolve in the coming days. And perforated ground improves air circulation which fortifies root growth, holistically invigorating the health of the turf.
In keeping with our holistic approach to gardening, orcharding, and landscaping, we’ve come to rely upon… [aeration] to ensure robust lawns. Experience has shown us that a healthy diet of organic fertilizer, zero pesticide, and aeration nurtures not only an attractive ground cover, but a resilient heterogenous sod that rebounds quickly after drought, etc. (Source: Autumn Aeration – Rosslyn Redux)
After Aerating Lawn at ADK Oasis Lakeside (Source: Tony Foster)
In the photograph above Tony Foster captured a “portrait” of the lawn aerator (DR Power) posing proudly in front of ADK Oasis Lakeside. He had just completed spring aeration of all three properties, marking another noteworthy accomplishment. Hurrah, Tony! Thank you.
Holistic Lawn Care
Upon arriving at Susan’s parents’ home in Montclair, New Jersey one afternoon about a decade ago we found the lawn perimeter marked with small “Beware poison!” flags.
A passionate but shortlived skirmish about lawn pesticides later my bride and my mother-in-law yielded in deténte. Susan reminded her mother that we’ve never once used pesticides at Rosslyn. Shirley countered, “And that’s why your lawn’s covered in weeds!” I guess that they both one?
The fact of the matter is that our holistic approach to lawn care — from fall and spring aeration to biennial organic fertilizer (mostly bat guano), from hand weeding thistles and any other especially disagreeable invaders to resisting the urge to trim grass super close to the ground — have gradually evolved our lawns into a robust heterogeneous turf that feels comfortable underfoot, appears pleasant to the eye, endures and/or rebounds from fluctuations in weather conditions, and requires no irrigation or synthetic supplements.
Yep, that was a hypoxic run-on sentence bristling with braggadocio. Apologies!
Long story short, holistic gardening works. Especially when the inimitable Tony Foster is piloting the aerator!
A day after my bride’s “polar plunge” in still frigid Lake Champlain, I’m swimming and drifting in the warm waters of Antigua, enjoying a free ranging conversation with one of my nephews, allowing salt and surf and steel band sounds (drifting intermittently from further up the shore) to exercise the sort of deep relinquishing that comes from knowing a vacation has only just begun.
Before departing Rosslyn I handed off germinating spring starts (broccoli and cucumbers) to Pam along with various vegetable and flower seeds that will be sown before long. Among the latter, thousands of poppy seeds. Always plenty of Red Corn Poppy (Papaver rhoeas aka Flanders Poppy) seeds as well as Shirley Poppy seeds, a cultivar of Papaver rhoeas that reminds me of my mother-in-law, Shirley Bacot Shamel. As my affection for poppies has long since escaped the restraint of manly propriety, I’ll concede that one of my spring fever symptoms is an infatuation with poppy plants, poppy blooms, poppy seed pods. And, in the case of the Shirley Poppy blooms, there’s always the added excitement since variations allow for intriguing surprises.
So a sunset soak with Christoph, gazing back at the oasis that we’ve been fortunate to enjoy as a family for eight years, curiously preoccupied with poppies, and looking forward to wandering the grounds in the days ahead to inspect the vast array of tropical orchids cultivated at Curtain Bluff, it struck me that I needed to explore these connections in a poem. Perhaps a Shirley Poppy poem?
Perhaps, but not today, as it turns out. The words that wanted to be written were driven in large part by a connection to place. This section seems to be headed in an interesting direction, for example.
Upon arriving,
a warm Wadadli welcome,
a breeze mellowed sun,
familiar phrases,
cadence, laughter
lilting,
lulling,
returning us
to the leeward lap
of ease and comfort,
a simple sanctuary
bursting with blooms
and recollections.
A bit decadent and overwrought still probably, but I am pleased to read it aloud.
But where am I hoping to go with this?!?! I can’t seem to see my way from tropical orchids to Shirley Poppy blooms. Nor am I certain that allowing my perennial passion for place, indeed for the poetry of place, to kidnap this still evolving verse is advisable.
Instead I’m curious how place, right now this perfect place nestled unassumingly into the hilly shore of Old Road, as well as the memories conjured by returning here, especially memories of my late mother-in-law, somehow a little more present when we’re here, connect. And why are they bleeding into my anticipation of a bumper crop of poppies back at Rosslyn?
Hhhmmm… Sometimes it’s wiser to admit defeat. For now. But stay tuned; I’ll try again.
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.
Rosslyn Boathouse, by Essex artist and cartoonist, Sid Couchey.
Yesterday I mentioned that the day was “an especially significant milestone for me“, but I postponed further explanation. Today, I’ll touch on this personal achievement by way of revisiting another previously postponed promise. Both obliquely reveal themselves in this excerpt from my October 10, 2022 update, “Old House Journaling“.
Yesterday marked ten weeks of old house journaling. Every. Single. Day. Two months and ten days back at the helm of this wayward, meandering, sometimes unruly experiment I call Rosslyn Redux. I emphasize the daily component of this benchmark because it’s been an important part of the goal I committed to at the end of July. Starting on August first I would resuscitate Rosslyn Redux. The why part of this equation is important, but I intend to tackle that separately. For now I’ll touch on the how… (Source: Old House Journaling)
At the time, I introduced how I was reinvigorating the Rosslyn Redux project. Today I’m ready to explain why rebooting and revitalizing this decade and a half old initiative has taken on new significance for me. But first, that momentous milestone!
100 Days of Journaling
Yesterday marked a new benchmark on my quest to post… every… single… day for one year. One hundred days, so far. No skips. At least one Rosslyn update each day. Quite a few late night, last minute posts, but so far I’ve managed to squeak it out every time. Phew!
This means that I’m more than a quarter of the way to my goal of 365 straight days. A year in the life of Rosslyn! And with over three months of consistent posting I’m cautiously growing more confident that I can reach my goal. There have been some unanticipated challenges (such as Susan falling gravely ill and landing in the hospital), but the truth is that bringing fresh vision and vigor to Rosslyn Redux has invigorated me beyond all expectations. My mission is 100% clear. My timeline and deadlines and expectations? All clear.
Each new reflection, poem, photo essay, artifact, etc. is driving me deeper into a profoundly curious conversation with Rosslyn, compelling me to explore Susan and my passionate relationship with this property (and even our family’s and friends’ connections to this property), inspiring me to wonder how a brick-and-mortar home mysteriously became a member of our family, and challenging me to try and gather the dots into a constellation that makes some sort of sense…
Why Reboot Rosslyn Redux?
Once upon a time a pair of newlyweds decided to move from Manhattan to Essex because they’d fallen head over heals in love with an old home on the Adirondack shore of Lake Champlain (cue “In Old Champlain“…). They imagined a wholesome new life. A chance to reawaken Rosslyn, a dilapidated historic property, while reinvigorating themselves. They wanted to start a new chapter together. Maybe they actually needed to start a new chapter together. The last chapter had been thrilling. Passionate. Fulfilling. But also tragic. The ache of recent loss — plus the sort of soul searching and recalibration catalyzed by bereavement and unanticipated endings — stirred their new adventure no less than their capricious optimism. A couple of years to rehab Rosslyn’s house, boathouse, carriage barn, icehouse, and grounds, they surmised. Then a couple more years to enjoy the fruits of their labor while rebooting and plotting their next escapade.
This was the plan.
But time stretches. Reality meanders. Plans change.
Our original timeline extended exponentially without our even realizing it. So much living. A decade. More… Our orbit was widening to include Santa Fe where I’d first lived in my twenties. We moved fluidly between the lush Adirondack Coast and the high desert southwest, happy homecomings at both. A pendulum path between two sanctuaries.
And then tragedy struck. Susan’s mother, Shirley, unexpectedly passed away. While we were still reeling, the pandemic eclipsed everything. We hastened home and hunkered. A week. Two weeks. All spring. All summer… Rosslyn nurtured us. A sanctuary in the storm. As we grew through the loss of a mother, the loss of a mother-in-law, and the flagging morale of a nation struggling through the lingering malaise of the Covid-19 pandemic, we began to understand our relationship with Rosslyn. Although we had set out to rehabilitate her, time and again she had rehabilitated us.
This past summer, sixteen years after Rosslyn became our home (exactly four times the number of years we’d originally envisioned living here!) Susan and I — no longer newlyweds — began to plot our next chapter. A new adventure. The details are still coalescing, but we’ve begun to reimagine our relationship with Rosslyn. Navigating this transition, growing through this bittersweet liminality is precisely why I decided to reboot Rosslyn Redux. Disciplining myself daily to relive this chapter, to ask questions and struggle with answers, to laugh and cry, to figure out if and how we have been shaped by this curious character called Rosslyn, and to begin mapping the future for her and for us. This is why I am rebooting Rosslyn Redux. And I am humbled and grateful to you for embarking on this journey with me. Thank you.
