Rosslyn Redux

Tag: Summer

  • Cedar-Apple Rust on Pixie Crunch Apple Trees

    Cedar-Apple Rust on Pixie Crunch Apple Trees

    Over the last two weeks I’ve observed two young Pixie Crunch apple trees in our orchard succumbing to cedar-apple rust. Or so I suspect.

    I’m no plant pathology expert. And I’m an eager but admittedly amateur pomologist. So my hypothesis that dread cedar-apple rust has infiltrated Rosslyn’s orchard may be premature and far off target. (Do you detect my optimism?) Perhaps one of my astute readers will be able to help sort this one out.

    Is this cedar-apple rust on Rosslyn's apple trees?
    Is this cedar-apple rust on Rosslyn’s apple trees?

    July delivered the heaviest pressure from Japanese beetles that we have experienced since arriving in Essex, and some of the fruit trees have been largely defoliated by the hungry visitors. (The iridescent buggers are especially fond of stone fruit.) But they don’t seem to be the culprits in the case of the colorfully mottled apple trees.

    It’s worth noting that the Pixie Crunch are the only apple trees affected. I plant a diverse mix of fruit trees with usually no more than a couple of each individual variety. This seems to be a blessing because none of the other orchard trees appear to be affected. So far.

    It’s also worth noting that the affliction doesn’t seem to kill the trees. It damages the lower leaves but allows new growth higher on the trees. While it is possible that the blight is slowly advancing upward, it does not appear to have spread further up the trees, only to have become more pronounced on the lower portions.

    I’m hoping that the condition is not terminal, that it will not spread to other trees in the orchard, and – this is my my most ambitious pipe dream – that I’ve misdiagnosed the affliction as cedar-apple rust. After all, it is actually quite a beautiful coloring. Multicolored polka-dots, yellows and oranges against summer green. A new fashion trend?

    But Pollyanna fancies aside, I’d like to identify it as soon as possible so that I can attempt to treat it so that the apple trees can recover and focus their energy on new growth instead of combating the disease. Or, worst case scenario, if it turns out to be something that is slowly killing the trees (and may infect other apple trees,) I’m inclined to remove the Pixie Crunch trees now and replace them this fall.

    I welcome your feedback, and I will do my best to keep you posted as I learn more and try to resolve the problem.

    So what do you think? Cedar-apple rust? Something else? Although I dread admitting it, I’m fairly convinced that we’re battling a light invasion of cedar-apple rust which has undoubtedly evolved quite happily, unimpeded in the old meadows, volleying back and forth between the native cedars and old abandoned apple trees.

    To brace myself, I’m digging into the nitty-gritty details. Anticipate a more in-depth look at cedar-apple rust soon as it appears the most likely suspect, especially since we have several Eastern Red Cedars (Juniperus virginiana) nearby upon which I’ve frequently witnessed (and photographed) the telltale galls…

  • Orchard Rumination

    Apple Blossom
    Apple Blossom (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

    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.

    Apple Orchard Ladder
    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
    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!

  • Haying with Draft Horses at Full and By Farm

    Haying with Draft Horses at Full and By Farm

    Another spectacular day in Essex! Perfect summer days mean great gardens, and soon enough I’ll be posting a garden update to show you how well the tomatoes, eggplants, peppers and Brussels sprouts are doing. But first I’d like to introduce you to one of the lifestyle luxuries we’re able to enjoy as Essex residents. Please meet Sara Kurak and James Graves of Full and By Farm.

    We pick up our farm share every Thursday evening, and Sara emails the farm members in the morning to let us know what to expect. I’m including last week’s note in its earthy entirety below, and the video tells a little piece of the haying story described in in her note. I hope you enjoy both! Here’s the Full and By Farm note for June 17, 2011.

    We are trucking right along this week—moving animals, planting crops, harvesting, weeding, cutting hay, cutting soap, building wagons, enjoying the moderately warm sunshine. This is our first year cutting our own hay and the learning and preparation curves have been steep. Given the uncertain weather predictions for the week and all of our new-to-us equipment we decided to cut one small field on Tuesday and get the process down before going for it whole hog. We took Abby and Lightning out on the horse-drawn mower, selecting the smallest field, but coincidentally the steepest and least rectangular. They took it on like champs, despite several problems with the mower, and the sneaking suspicion that lots of sharp scissors are following right at one’s heels. James is out now tedding the field, we plan to rake, bale, pick-up and unload all TODAY. Hay wagon building has largely been a late night activity. If we seem a little shell-shocked at pick-up tonight, please be nice, it’s been a long day and week.

    The vegetables are perking up and getting green out in the fields. Our current harvests however are still being hampered by the earlier mud season issues of poor germination and cloudy skies, followed by the really hot week which caused the soggy, stressed out plants to bolt. All this to say that we are starting to harvest a little bit of a lot of things. Great news on the variety front, but hard to divide up 40 ways. We’re getting creative though and offering up some fun stuff at the share tonight and as well as sweet things to nibble on while picking them up.

    Three important things to know today:

    1) We are having our spring farm tour and member dinner two weeks from tonight, on Thursday June 30th at 6pm. We’ll provide a farm-fresh dinner and solid wagon ride. You all bring the desserts, a place setting and drinks to share. Please rsvp by email or the list in the csa room. I’ve put in the rainbow request already, but they won’t guarantee a thing this far out.

    2) We are officially rolling out the Full and By Farm “Go Whole Hog” challenge tonight!!! The rules are simple: fill out a card for your household, this will live at the farm. Check off the boxes after you’ve used each of the cuts on the list**. When your card is completed you will get a hand printed “Go Whole Hog” shirt or grocery bag. **And don’t worry, we’ll help you out with some of the more challenging ones.

    3) Our last spring calf was born on Monday into a muddy puddle. It was a rough entry, but his long legs helped him out. We had originally named him Gus after the legendary Texas Ranger Augustus McCrae. But after getting to know him a little the name just doesn’t seem right, mostly due to his challenge with direction (i.e. his tendency to walk the opposite way when we move the cow herd). We’re considering Gonzo and Gulliver. Bring your vote tonight, write in’s are welcome.

    In the veggie share: lettuce, lettuce, lettuce, spicy lettuce mix, braising mix, stir-fry add-ins, spring onions, spinach, nettles (by popular demand) potatoes, celeriac, black and white beans. coming soon: garlic scapes, baby turnips and radishes.

    In the meat share: pork, chicken and ground beef, lard and leaf lard, lavender soap.

    See you all tonight between 4 and 6,
    Sara

  • Garter Snake in the Snow in Summer

    Garter snake gliding out of the Snow in Summer ground cover at Rosslyn in Essex, NY.
    Garter snake gliding out of the Snow in Summer ground cover at Rosslyn in Essex.

    That was one jumbo garter snake, friends! Even longer than the timber rattlesnake I witnessed a couple of weeks ago in a friends barn, though falling short in girth, rattles, and venom.

    Though this Common Garter Snake (Thamnophis sirtalis) was docile and quickly retreated into a crevice in the stone wall, it’s a common misconception that these familiar garden-variety snakes are not venomous. They are.

    According to Dr. Bryan Fry, a biologist from the University of Melbourne, garter snakes needn’t be feared, but the do use venom to subdue their prey.

    “Most of the snakes that we think of as nonvenomous are actually venomous,” he explained. Garter snakes and many other supposedly nonvenomous snakes actually produce tiny amounts of venom. Dr. Fry is quick to point out that this does not mean that garter snakes are dangerous. “All they need to do is stun a frog or slow it down a bit, and it’s enough to help them,” he said. (The New York Times)

    I recall being bitten by a testy garter snake multiple times as a young boy. Then, as now, I was intrigued with snakes. I was less than five years old, playing in the yard at “The Farm”. I no longer recall where or how I captured the small snake, but I knew enough to discern between dangerous snakes and the almost harmless garter snake.

    Each time I would pick up the increasingly angry snake, it would bite my hand. I would drop it into the grass and then stoop to pick it up again. Another bite. Drop. Pick up.

    I was a slow learner.

    Despite a collection of small nips, there was no lasting damage. Apparently no venom made its way into my young hand.

    Although garter snakes are not considered venomous, they have a gland above the upper jaw on either side (corresponding to the venom gland of vipers and other venomous snakes) that produces potentially toxic secretions. In general, bites from garter snakes are harmless because these snakes lack fangs and thus cannot efficiently inject the gland’s secretions. However, prolonged bites by western terrestrial and common garter snakes have caused swelling and localized bleeding in people, presumably because unusually large amounts of the secretions seeped into the victims. (Online Nevada Encyclopedia)

    I rarely pick up garter snakes these days. I’m not sure exactly why, but I don’t. Maybe I’m more sensitive to their plight, aware that being pulled out of your habitat by a clumsy giant just so he can get a closer look isn’t exactly what I’d wish for were in the serpent’s handsome black and yellow striped skin. Or scales…

    Nevertheless I enjoy finding them, especially when they’re as big and healthy as this one. I discovered him sunning in the Snow in Summer, a soft cushiony groundcover that must have felt pretty pleasant with the morning sun. Until a gawking giant and his nosy Labrador Retriever came along.

  • Midsummer Mementos

    This is the first sweetcorn I've harvested from our vegetable garden this summer. Delicious!
    The first sweetcorn I’ve harvested from our vegetable garden this summer. Crisp, sweet, fresh, delicious!

    It was chilly this morning, low 50s, having apparently hit 49 in the still-dark hours before I woke.

    Not unpleasant chilly, just a little reminder that a month from now this will begin to be normal. Days like today with sunny skies feathered with wispy clouds and puffs of crisp wind will whisper, “Ready for autumn?”

    But not yet. This midsummer morning is just a preview. And a reminder to soak up all that is vibrant about early August. The first sweetcorn harvested from our vegetable garden. So crisp, so sweet, so fresh.

    A pausing butterfly, black and white wings opening and closing as if the fragile creature is inhaling, exhaling, inhaling. Resting beneath a blueberry bush.

    Sea glass (lake glass?) from Rosslyn's Lake Champlain waterfront.
    Sea glass (or “lake glass”, perhaps?) from Rosslyn’s Lake Champlain waterfront in Essex, New York.

    The recently completed standing seam roof on the carriage barn, insurance against winters’ snowfalls and architectural parity with the ice house. At last.

    A collection of sea glass and pottery fragments piled on the stone retaining wall by our boathouse. A gift from Lake Champlain.

    The newest arrival in a parade of daylilies. A petite variety near the waterfront with centers as yellow as the sweetcorn, stretching decadently into the garnet petals.

    This is the bittersweet romance of early August. As midsummer’s bounty reaches its extravagant apex, we glimpse brief hints of autumn flitting in the distance like a mirage.

    I remember to take advantage of the present. Before it is gone.

    More Midsummer Mementos

    Here are a few additional midsummer mementos. I first typed, “Here are a few final midsummer mementos.” But I caught myself. Final? I suspect not… 😉

  • Hammock Days of Indian Summer

    Rosslyn Boathouse, Indian Summer (Photo by Eve Ticknor)
    Rosslyn Boathouse, Indian Summer (Photo by Eve Ticknor)

    A warm thank you to friend, photographer, and some time Essex neighbor Eve Ticknor for giving me these evocative images of Rosslyn’s boathouse.

    You will see in my photographs, ways to see water, not just to look at it. Honing your observation skills will open your eyes to other worlds. ~ Eve Ticknor (Aquavisions)

    Rosslyn Hammock, Indian Summer (Photo by Eve Ticknor)
    Rosslyn Hammock, Indian Summer (Photo by Eve Ticknor)

    Indeed. Eve’s photographs capture  dreamy abstractions that don’t easily reveal their source. Rarely does she share images as literal and representational as these. So I considered myself very fortunate when I received her email recently.

    The photos were accompanied with a question: Is that you in the hammock? She had shot the photographs from near the Belden Noble Memoiral Library on the Essex ferry dock. At first, she hadn’t noticed that someone was reading in the    hammock. It wasn’t until she saw my flip-flops on the deck that she realized someone was contentedly resting.

    She caught me!

    Image of Indian Summer

    Although we’ve already experienced some chilly days and nights this fall, we’re also enjoying frequent installments of Indian summer. I’ve taken advantage of a few such days to grab my tablet and work lakeside from the comfort of my “corner office”.

    Eve explores refracted and reflected images on the surface of water, never using Photoshop or filters to alter her images. What we see is what she saw. And yet she succeeds in capturing all sorts of whimsical illusions on the water surface.

    Illusion of Indian Summer

    And yet these fun photos are no illusion. I was busted midafternoon playing hooky. Can you blame me?

  • Summer 2019 Flashback

    Summer 2019 Flashback

    Historic Essex offers plenty of Instagram-able views and vignettes, don’t you think? And it’s always a fun surprise to see familiar facades pop up in other shutterbugs’ feeds.

    From midwinter’s snowy vantage, this sunny moment offers a sweet if slightly sultry siren call to the dog days of summer.

  • Seasonality

    Seasonality

    Seasonality: Autumn
    Seasonality: Autumn (Source: Geo Davis)

    Seasonality might strike you as a strange menu for organizing a blog (and an even stranger way to navigate a narrative.) But in many respects it may well be the *only* useful way to structure a circular story that’s slim on plot, chronically achronological, and deeply immersed in the poetics of place.

    Summer’s End

    As if on cue, rain,
    frost, acrimonious wind
    summon summer’s end.
                        — Geo Davis

    I often romance sunrise and to a lesser degree, sunset, powerful circadian rhythm markers. There are likewise singularly potent seasonal markers along our Adirondack shore of Lake Champlain that punctuate notable transitions, from summer-to-autumn, for example. Some are relatively fluid such as hauling and winterizing the boats, removing the docks, and the colorful drama of our much anticipated fall foliage. Each of these examples are determined approximately by the calendar but more precisely by weather changes, prevailing temperatures, the scheduling particularities of our protean paths through life, etc. Less fluid examples of seasonality during this same period include harvesting ripe apples in the orchard, first hard frost of the autumn, and the mysteriously consistent Labor Day weekend meteorological shift. With respect to this last marker, most years we enjoy a lengthy “Indian summer”, but Labor Day — with startling predictability — plunges us into chilly, usually rainy weather as if on cue.

    Seasonality: Winter (Source: Geo Davis)
    Seasonality: Winter (Source: Geo Davis)

    What Is Seasonality?

    The concept of seasonality is often cited in the context of business (i.e. financial market and sales forecasting) and healthcare (i.e. patient and virus fluctuations), but let’s consider the idea of seasonality in a less confined context. Let’s look at the root of the word, for starts. Season. I imagine we’re all pretty clear what we mean when referencing the annual rhythm of the seasons, the periodic ebb and flow of monthly rituals, and even their fluctuations in variations. Seasonality is those periodic patterns, variations that recur at predictable or semi predictable intervals year after year.

    Seasonality: Spring
    Seasonality: Spring (Source: Geo Davis)

    Rosslyn Seasonality

    Our mind easily conceives of seasonality’s periodic points, references for rhythm and repetition, but I think we might need to do a little more work to grok the idea of seasonally recurring events and transitions at Rosslyn, so let’s push a little further.

    In keeping with my goal to curate and convey the narrative of our Rosslyn years I’m essaying to distill and disentangle, gather cohesive collections, often thematically tied, sometimes chronologically structured, and often enough coalescing around seasonality. Excuse the clunkiness. It’s a work in progress. 

    I have remarked elsewhere that Susan and I aspired to recalibrate our lives when we moved from Manhattan to Essex. It was a desire to embrace the art of a slow living. Part intentionality and part immersion in the here and now. We yearned to savor the unique gifts of each passing period of the year. It was a comprehensive paradigm shift away from our habitual efficiency and productivity and busyness, and it wasn’t an easy shift. It was a paradigm shift toward creativity not only in the most active sense of making, but also in the embrace of essentialism. A mindfulness focused on learning and appreciating and investing ourselves in the many microscopic moments of homeownership and rehabilitation and adaptation and outdoor living and gardening and sporting recreation and… living fully and intentionally all of the magnificent processes of our new existence. Yielding to seasonality meant rebooting our lives and our work from New York City to upstate New York, from the quintessential metropolitan hub to its veritable antithesis. It meant homemaking in the North Country, only 5+ hours away by car but a world away in terms of the rhythms and rituals, and even many of the values.

    So, what sorts of seasonality, what specific rhythms help punctuate our Rosslyn lifestyle?

    I will try to jumpstart your navigation through Rosslyn seasonality with prior posts that offer glimpses into precise instances of seasonality. I will continue to update this post as I revisit and revise older posts and as I compose new ones. If you’re inclined to seasonality as a way of organizing your own experiences, please bookmark this post and reference it in the future as a window into our Rosslyn adventure. (And if you find the idea too contrived or too procrustean for your taste, rest assured, there are a great many other ways for you to navigate this mosaic-memoir.)

    Seasonality: Summer
    Seasonality: Summer (Source: Geo Davis)

    Try These Posts

    Consider this an evolving outline of my posts explicitly or implicitly treating the topic of seasonality. I will revisit and update when helpful.

    • December 2014: “In recent years December has given us our first real blast of winter. A premature blast usually because early December snows have usually melted by Christmas…”
    • De-Icing the Duck Pond: “Let me start by saying that we don’t have a duck pond. We have a lake. Lake Champlain. And although it pains me slightly to say it, we also don’t have any ducks. Not personally, at least. Lake Champlain, on the other hand, has plenty of ducks. And when the lake freezes and the ducks run out of water to swim and eat, we offer them a small “duck pond” in front of Rosslyn boathouse to tide them over until spring.”
    • Winter Wonderland 2019: “Winter storm warnings wander across our radar often enough this time of year that we become a little meteorology skeptical. Not cynical. Just suspicious that promised snowstorms won’t quite measure up to the hype. Sort of a wait-and-see approach to meteorological forecasting…”
    • February Swim in Lake Champlain: “February swim, anyone? In Lake Champlain?!?! Griffin, our now almost nine year old Labrador Retriever, was thrilled to chase some throw-toys in the chilly lake today despite the fact that it’s February 19 and the water temperature is exactly three days above freezing… 35° of mid-winter swimming bliss!”
    • Spring Dance: Coyotes and White Tail Deer: “One trail cam. One location. Three months, give or take. Deer. Coyotes. And the transition from winter to spring in the Adirondacks’ Champlain Valley.”
    • Spring Meditation 2018: “Welcome to springtime in the Champlain Valley, a glorious but slightly schizophrenic transition — sun, rain, wind, hot, snow, sleet, etc. — when springtails make way for dandelions.”
    • Moist May 2017: “The Lake Champlain water level is ever-so-slowly dropping, but it’s premature to rule out the possibility of hitting (or even exceeding) flood stage. At present, there’s about a foot of clearance between the bottom of Rosslyn boathouse’s cantilevered deck and the glass-flat water surface. Windy, wavy days are another story altogether.”
    • Spring Soggies & Blooms: “The rain has stopped. At last! It’s a misty, moody morning, but the sun is coming out, and the rhododendrons are blooming. Life is good.”
    • First Peaches: “It’s but a month and a day after Independence Day and we’re eating our first peaches of the season. Eureka! So memorable a moment each summer when I savor the first bites of the first peaches of the season that I’ve begun to wonder if we might need to create a floating holiday. It’s hard to conceive of a better cause for celebration.”
    • Septembering: “September 1 should logically be indistinguishable from August 31. But it’s not. Seasonality along the Adirondack Coast is irrefutable, and possibly no season-to-season transition more apparent than the one we’re now experiencing. “Septembering” is neither sly nor subtle.”
    • Undocking: “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…”
    • Waterfront Winterization: “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.”
    • Autumn Aura on the Adirondack Coast: “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…”
    • October Wind, Canada Geese and Essex DNA: “Despite the on-again-off-again Indian Summer that we’ve enjoyed this autumn, there have been some bracing days, many like the one captured in these photos. Picture perfect. Bluebird skies and sunshine. But crisp. And windy.”

     

  • Walking Stick Haiku I

    Walking Stick on Fence Post (Source: RP Murphy)
    Walking Stick on Fence Post (Source: RP Murphy)

    A couple of weeks ago I shared another walking stick photograph on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter with this accompanying haiku.

    A walking stick and
    miniature companion
    gossip in the shade.

    My walking stick haiku makes more sense if you actually look closely at the photograph.

    https://www.instagram.com/p/CDogBYJpIs8/

    Can you discern the walking stick’s miniature companion? Is it a spider. Definitely not a yellow garden spider, but I’m not certain if it’s another arachnid or another spidery insect.

    The walking sticks were photographed while perching on lawn furniture and a fence posts. Different but not distant locations. There’s another notable difference. Or two. Can you spot it/them?

    Walking Stick Trivia

    Today’s snapshot (the one at the top of this post) appears to be the same variety of walking stick (maybe even the very same bug), but s/he appears to have lost a rear leg. And a green arm or half of a pair of Pinocchio proboscises?

    Unfortunate. Losing limbs unlikely offers a survival advantage. And yet this walking stick remains agile despite the impairment.

    I realize I’ve never shared a “Friend or Foe” post about walking sticks, so I’m adding it to the already endless punch list of future posts. It’ll be the perfect excuse to learn a little more about this bizarrely beautiful bug.

    Phasmids, Phasmatodea, Phasmatoptera…

    It turns our that walking sticks (aka “ghost insects”?!?!) are somewhat phantasmagorical, er, rather Phasmatodea. You with me?

    The Phasmatodea (also known as Phasmida, Phasmatoptera or Spectra) are an order of insects whose members are variously known as stick insects, stick-bugs, walking sticks, or bug sticks. They are generally referred to as phasmatodeans, phasmids, or ghost insects. (Source: Wikipedia)

    Walking sticks perplexing and intriguing. And, in a slightly bamboo way, they are beautiful. Well, at least the ones I’m sharing in this post. I admit that I know little about these quirky insects, so it’s a time to pursue curiosity down the proverbial rabbit hole (or bug hole?!?!) It’s time to learn more about the Phasmatodea…

    You can file this next tidbit in your quirky-to-the-point-of-being-cool folder. (You have one of those, right? Right!) If you think that walking sticks — as well as other “stick and leaf insects” in the phasmid species such as Chitoniscus sarrameaensis — are worth more than just a fleeting glance, I suggest you check out Phasmatodea.com.

    Phasmatodea.com is the world’s leading website about phasmids. (Source: Phasmatodea.com)
    The world’s leading website about phasmids. (Source: Phasmatodea.com)

    Phasmatodea.com… started as a project funded by the phasmid experts, Oskar Conle and Frank Hennemann, with the clear aim to provide an extensive source of information, photos and possibility for the identification of species of this fascinating insect order, not only for scientists but also for breeders and anyone interested in these insects. Now we’re the world’s leading website about phasmids, having the largest photographic gallery and the most comprehensive content about this insect order. (Source: www.phasmatodea.com)

    Welcome to the wacky, wonder-filled world of walking sticks. Off to learn more, maybe even enough to some day share a a “Friend or Foe: Walking Sticks” post. Stay tuned. Or, better yet, teach me what I need to know before I get gobbled up by a walking bamboo stick. Thanks.

  • Rainbow Resonance

    Rainbow Resonance

    Rainbow Resonance, August 18, 2020 (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Rainbow Resonance, August 18, 2020 (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Perhaps a purist will scoff, a musicologist for example, when I hitch a rainbow (a double rainbow) to resonance. But I’ll claim poetic license long enough to sneak past the physics police or whoever else patrols these matters. Rainbow resonance isn’t just a pleasantly alliterative title for this post. It’s an observation. Rainbows — witnessed in person, via image, or in words — resonate. They reverberate. Visual reverberation, visual resonance. I’ll defer to the more scientifically inclined to explain why this phenomenon is true. I’ll simply assert it. Rainbow resonance is real. Spy a rainbow, and you instantly want to convey it through some form of communication.

    “Hey, look. A rainbow!”

    Or you snap a photo, text it to your beloved.

    Maybe you pen a poem or paint a watercolor or compose a song…

    On August 18, 2020 I witnessed and romanced this rainbow from Rosslyn’s lawn and then from our waterfront. I snapped a photo and typed a quick haiku. And then I shared them. Rainbow resonance. It’s real.

    Rainbow Resonance: Haiku

    Here’s the arresting impossibility of a double rainbow distilled into as few words as possible, lest the words occlude the vibrant arcs.

    Iris arcing her
opulent salutation
‘tween earth and ether.

    Perhaps this is a nod to Pablo Neruda.

    Dónde termina el arco iris,
en tu alma o en el horizonte?

Where does the rainbow end,
in your soul or on the horizon?

— Pablo Neruda, Libro de las Preguntas (Book of Questions)

    Or perhaps this is just a haiku nodding at a double rainbow…

    Rosslyn Rainbow Resonance, August 18, 2020 (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Rosslyn Rainbow Resonance, August 18, 2020 (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Rainbow Reverb: Social Media

    Sometimes a thought, image, or video posted onto social media drifts briefly and then vanishes. Short lived. A non event. A message whispered into the chasm, swallowed by the wind and water and a mesmerizing murmuration.

    Once in a while a message is timely or touching, a lucky capture, or for some other mysterious reason finds its target. Again and again. Reverberating. Resonant. These moments can be affirming and beautiful.

    When I shared the rainbow over Lake Champlain photograph at the top of this post (and below) on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter on August 18, 2020 I was pleasantly surprised with the feedback. I include all three posts as an effort to interweave some of the most compelling comments. Enjoy.

    https://www.instagram.com/p/CEDew4QJG4i/

    https://www.twitter.com/RosslynRedux/status/1295915240421502977

    Click on this Facebook link to view the original FB post (or add the following URL into your browser.)

    https://www.facebook.com/rosslynredux/photos/a.193160807397700/3188013817912369/

    Thanks!

  • Hazy Days Haiku

    Hazy Days Haiku

    I’d planned on getting the drone up in the air for some aerial photography of the waterfront and deck areas (where we’re planning some maintenance projects). As luck would have it the morning was misty. No, more like pea soup. So I waited. And waited. It burned off a little, but finally I realized it wasn’t going to clear up. I decided to find out what I could photograph despite the less-than-optimal conditions.

    The results were not as useful as I’d hoped, but also considerably more interesting than anticipated. More dreamy and evocative. More dramatic. More romantic. In short, a win!

    Sometimes it’s just a matter or pivoting priorities, right?

    Hazy Days Haiku

    Lazy, hazy days,
    midsummer lakeside mornings,
    deciduous daze.

    At moments like this that I surrender to poetics. To place. To the poetics of place.

    Sometimes poetry and artful images speak more clearly, even more truthfully, than all the analytic blather we’re want to rely upon. Sometimes it’s worth stepping aside and allowing the simplest of ideas and images to tell the story. 

    Here’s one of the photographs that speaks volumes to me. Hope it says a little something to you as well!

    https://www.instagram.com/p/CSWsTAdrIuU/

    I find that aerial photography (and drone imaging in general) often deliver surprising results. The perspective is often surprising. As is the beauty. The almost tannic inkyness of the foreground waters (where Rosslyn’s boathouse extends east into Blood’s Bay). The shoreline connection to Lake Champlain‘s Adirondack Coast is as compelling as the relationship to the Adirondack Mountains (and Boquet Mountain in particular) is this hazy midsummer “eye in the sky” snapshot.

  • Day Lily Daze

    Day Lily Daze

    An old foundation filled to brimming with day lily blossoms at Rosslyn.
    An old foundation filled to brimming with day lily blossoms at Rosslyn.

    Lest the glories of midsummer be eclipsed by boat lift blues and lemon generators, I’d like to dazzle you with blossoms. I’m hoping to follow up this day lily daze with another shortly, the next leaning more toward whites and pinks and purples. But today we start with more familiar hues and patterns.

    This summer has offered a king’s bounty in colorful flowers. Must be something about all that rain in May and June, and all of that humid heat in July. Lush foliage, quasi tropical growth and vibrant blooms. Many a day lily in our beds have rocketed as tall as I am! I’ve never witnessed a 6’2″ day lily before.

    Day Lily Exotica vs. Nostalgia

    I can’t resist the ever-more exotic color combinations available for hybrid lilies, but the oranges and reds and browns and yellows still win for me. Earthy. Rustic. And imbued with nostalgia for youth and meadows wandered. Hiking in the Adirondacks this time of year “wild” day lilies are reliable evidence that a now wooded in depression in the forest once once a homestead. A bridge across time. A gardener’s best friend. Mouse over (or click on) any of the day lily photographs below to read the caption. Enjoy…

    Day Lily Posts Across the Interwebs

    Turns out I’m not alone in my praise for the day lily. Especially at this peak of summer moment. Here are a few others’ looks at nature’s fireworks: