Steamboat Landing at Westport, NY circa 1907 (Source: vintage postcard)
Perhaps some of my North Country readers recognize this sylvan scene along the Adirondack shore of Lake Champlain?
It is the site of present day Westport Marina in Westport, NY. Seen here in an earlier incarnation as a steamboat landing circa 1907, there are several notable differences with more contemporary photographs of this same waterfront.
Most notable is the veritable absence of buildings. A few are visible, mostly in the distance, but it seems that turn-of-the-century Westport (aka Bessboro) was a much more treed village — at least along the lakeshore — than it is today.
Another absence is the Westport Yacht Club. Standing south of the Westport Marina and separated by present day Ballard Park, this historic yachting landmark (rebuilt in the 1980s after it was destroyed by fire) has been home to several top-tier restaurants in recent decades. A clue might be hidden in the bottom/foreground of this photographs. Notice the crumbling crib dock? I suspect that the Westport Yacht Club may have been constructed on a previous pier (one used for mercantile shipping, perhaps?) and that the photographer may have set up his tripod amid the rocks and logs to capture this evocative image. What do you think?
I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. ~ Henry David Thoreau
I’ve never successfully grown sweet corn at Rosslyn. Not until this summer, and the reward has been as much psychological as gastronomical.
One of those trademark tastes of summer. Corn on the cob. Fresh out of the garden!
As a boy my family grew sweet corn. I don’t recall it being a challenge. I do recall the splendor of towering stalks and flowing silks. Mostly I remember the joy of walking through the sweet corn “forest” and choosing the ripest ears. I remember sitting in our “stone sitting room” (and area of our front lawn with sofa-style bench seats made out of stone arranged within a rectangle of stone walls) husking corn, growing excited each time I started a new ear, witnessing the shiny kernels, their size, their rows. Sometimes I nibbled uncooked corn as I worked, sweet, crunchy and cool despite the summer sun.
Most of all I remember the taste of eating something delicious – closer in my young mind to a dessert than a vegetable – a taste that had taken months to transform from a withered and lifeless kernel into a delicious treat. Magic. Every time.
But since coming to Essex and gradually revitalizing Rosslyn’s gardens and meadows I’ve shied away from growing sweet corn.
Gardening at Rosslyn
During the first couple of summers, the garden was still too small to accommodate a corn patch. And my gardening hours were too rationed to undertake more than the essentials: tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchini, lettuce, spinach, carrots, and radishes (French Breakfast Radishes!) But each summer the garden grew and the variety of vegetables we planted increased. Sweet peppers and hot peppers. Eggplant. Peas. Green beans. Watermelons. Cantaloupe. Brussels sprouts. Leeks. Onions. Cabbage. Artichokes. Beets. Kale. Swiss chard.
But no corn. Not until last summer.
Rosslyn Sweet Corn
In the spring of 2012 I decided that we finally had enough space and time to plant sweet corn.
I remembered that staggering the planting was helpful to avoid having the entire crop ready to eat at the same time, so I planted a couple of rows.
Within a couple of days the squirrels and chipmunks and crows had picked every last corn kernel out of the ground. So I replanted a single row, and this time I lay boards on top of the seeded row. I planned to lift the board daily, inspecting for sprouts, and when they began to emerge I’d move the boards and plant another row, proceeding gradually until all of the corn was planted.
The sprouts emerged, and I rolled back the boards. Unfortunately they were near enough to the edge of the garden that an overly hungry lawnmower savaged the entire row!
I gave up. Until this year.
Rosslyn Sweet Corn, Round #2
When I returned to Rosslyn in May from a Santa Fe roadtrip, I discovered that the generous neighbor who accidentally mowed the corn down last summer had grown and delivered several flats of 12″ to 15″ tall sweet corn plants. I counted almost five dozen plants ready for me to transplant into the garden. Which I did.
And despite June’s incessant rains, every single plant survived. Most were stunted from the water volume, but all have produced sweet corn. And for about a week now I’ve been eating corn on the cob.
Each bite is a gift. But all gifts come to an end sooner or later.
Racoons Love Sweet Corn
The first sign that racoons had gotten into our sweet corn.
A couple of nights ago a family (perhaps an entire clan, considering their impact) of raccoons held a late-night picnic in our sweet corn patch. The images capture the mess, but overlook their efficiency. At first I was stung by the injustice of it all, after sooo many attempts to grow and eat corn.
But then I began to notice how meticulous the racoons had been. They selected only the ripest ears, plucked them from the towering stocks, feeling perhaps a bit like I did as a child. Thrilled with anticipation in the linear corn forest. The peeled the husks down expertly, and then ate the kernels off of the cob directly as we do. I imagined their little hands and eager mouths. And my disappointed waned. After all, they didn’t take all the corn. And these meadows had belonged to them for half a century. I suppose they still do.
They ate 37 ears of corn.
And last night they came back for me. Only a couple dwarfish ears of sweet corn remain.
Perhaps next summer I’ll skip planting sweet corn. For now I’m mostly hoping that our neighborhood raccoons don’t develop an appetite for tomatoes. Or melons…
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. (Rosslyn Redux)
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.
Cedar-apple rust (Photo: photoholic1)
To brace myself, I’m digging into the nitty-gritty details, learning what I can about organic cedar-apple rust treatments, and culling the Eastern Red Cedars (Juniperus virginiana) growing nearby, the very ones upon which I’ve detected the telltale galls and gelatinous orange horns ever since we started landscaping, gardening and recovering the back meadows.
When I have time to thumb through old photos from the spring/summer of 2008 or 2009 I’ll dig out some of the photographs I took. At the time I was fascinated with the colorful fungi that emerged after wet periods. I snapped images to help me identify what I took for an innocuous parasite.
Symptoms of Cedar-Apple Rust
In my opinion, the symptoms of cedar-apple rust are most evident on the cedar trees, especially during the brightly colored phase visible in the photo on the right.
On the Eastern Red Cedar host, the fungus produces reddish-brown galls from 1/4 to 1 inch in diameter. These galls can be mistaken for cone structures by the uninitiated. After reaching a diameter of about 1/2 inch, they show many small circular depressions. In the center of each depression is a small, pimple-like structure. In the spring these structures elongate into orange gelatinous protrusions or horns. The spore-bearing horns swell during rainy periods in April and May. The wind carries the microscopic spores to infect apple leaves, fruit and young twigs on trees within a radius of several miles of the infected tree. (Wikipedia)
[pullquote]In midsummer, these rust lesions develop hairlike, cylindrical tubes (hyphae), which release spores into the air that are blown to the juniper host.[/pullquote]
Perhaps because my apple trees afflicted with cedar-apple rust are still small, the fungus is less apparent. But closer examination of the leaves (no fruit have set on the pair of young Pixie Crunch apple trees yet) reveal the signature markings.
The most conspicuous symptoms on apple are bright orange, glistening lesions on the leaves. Lesions which are not inhibited chemically may form small tufts of spore-producing structures (aecia) on the lower surface of the leaf by July or August. Cedar-apple rust appears on fruit first as bright orange, slightly raised lesions, but may take on a more brown and cracked appearance as the fruit enlarges. Usually some of the orange color remains at harvest as evidence of the early season infection… Stem infection causes a slight swelling of the stem and may result in abscission of the young fruit. (West Virginia University, Kearneysville)
Bright yellow/orange spots develop on the upper surface of the leaves in late spring. These spots gradually enlarge, becoming evident on the undersurface of the leaves as small bulges. In midsummer, these rust lesions develop hairlike, cylindrical tubes (hyphae), which release spores into the air that are blown to the juniper host. Infected leaves of apples and crabapples may drop, with defoliation more severe in dry summers. (The Morton Arboretum)
Disease Cycle of Cedar-Apple Rust
Cedar-apple rust (Photo: photoholic1)
I’d like to dive a little deeper into the complex relationship between cedar-apple rust (Gymnosporangium juniperi-virginianae) and the two host species – apple trees and eastern red cedar trees – that sustain it.
Operating well out of my arena of even nominal knowledge, I’ll continue to defer to the experts as we examine the 2-season life cycle of cedar-apple rust.
I apologize for redundancies, but as a non-expert I feel better include too much rather than too little information, even at the risk of overemphasizing some aspects of the condition. If you’re a quick study, scan and move on.
The rust organism spends one full year of its life cycle on junipers. During the second spring… the galls become rain soaked and swell, producing jelly-like tendrils (spore horns) that project out of the galls. As the spore horns begin to dry, the spores are released and carried by the wind to young, newly developing leaves of hawthorns and other susceptible plants. Dispersal of spores can range up to 5 miles from a juniper but most infections develop within several hundred feet. (The Morton Arboretum)
Cedar Apple Rust is most easily identified by the appearance of small yellow to orange lesions that will appear on the top of leaves, petioles, and even on young fruits. Depending on host susceptibility, these lesions can increase in size at varying rates, with faster enlargement on more susceptible cultivars. These lesions can occasionally be surrounded by a red band, but this is not the standard. After this, small brown pustules will develop that are no larger than 1mm in diameter. These will produce watery, orange drops. Next… comes yellow brown lesions up to 15mm in diameter on the underside of leaves. From these, dark tubular structures are produced; these will release red brown spores. (University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign)
Cedar apple rust is caused by the fungi… Gymnosporangium juniperi-virginianae that spend part of their life cycles on Eastern Red Cedars growing near orchards. The complex disease cycle of cedar apple rust, alternating between two host plants… [starts when] at the first warm rain of spring, the spore horns become gelatinous masses and produce their teliospores.
[pullquote]Wind carries the spores to apple leaves… [where they] attach themselves to the young leaves, germinate, and enter the leaf or fruit tissues.[/pullquote]
Wind carries the spores to apple leaves at about the time that apple buds are in the pink or early blossom stage. Upon reaching apple buds or leaves, the spores attach themselves to the young leaves, germinate, and enter the leaf or fruit tissues. Infection takes place in as little as four hours under favorable conditions. Yellow lesions develop in one to three weeks.
In July and August, spores from the apple leaves (Aeciospores) are produced. The wind carries the spores back to Eastern Red Cedars, completing the infectious cycle. The spores land on cedar needle bases or in cracks or crevices of twigs. There, they germinate and producing small, green-brown swellings about the size of a pea. Galls do not produce spores until the second spring. However, mature galls usually are present every year… (Wikipedia)
Plenty of overlap between these three sources (or should I say “millions of sources” since Wikipedia is a gargantuan, open source collaboration?) A pretty clear picture is emerging, and a none too enticing picture at that!
Prevention & Treatment of Cedar-Apple Rust
So for a gardener who avoids non-organic pest control, cedar-apple rust appears to be a rather formidable adversary. And yet, I’m hoping to bypass the threat without resorting to harmful chemicals. As I mentioned above, I’ve already begun to eliminate cedars within the immediate vicinity, and we’ll continue culling all withing a quarter mile or so of the orchard. This is an especially reasonable preventative measure because we can sue all of the cedar trees as naturally rot-resistant fence posts, and we can chip the branches into mulch. This is known as “cultural control”.
The easiest (or maybe just most successful) practice would be to remove all the galls from Eastern red cedar trees in the surrounding areas. This rust does not overwinter on any of the hosts mentioned in this article, and instead overwinters on nearby cedar. Midway through the growing season, the yellow orange spots release spores that will infect cedar to ensure the pathogens winter survival. The cedar galls are bright orange in color, and look like strange masses of jelly tendrils. These should be removed in early spring to prevent summer infection, and then removed once again in the three to four week blooming period.. (University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign)
Because this disease requires two hosts, the separation of the hosts for a distance of one mile will help reduce infection. Ideally, to minimize disease host availability, plant trees and shrubs that are resistant to rust diseases. (The Morton Arboretum)
Interruption of the disease cycle is the only effective method for control of the cedar apple rust. The recommended method of control is to “remove cedars located within a 1-mile radius” of the apples to interrupt the disease cycle, though this method is seldom practical… [Planting less susceptible apple tree varieties is prudent, because] resistant varieties are less susceptible to attack, but that does not mean that they are free from an aggressive attack. (Wikipedia)
While a mile radius is challenging, I am removing all red cedars with open lawn or meadows allowing easy spread of the cedar-apple rust spores. And I will ensure that all new apple trees planted this fall and next spring are not overly susceptible to the affliction.
Sometimes the simplest solution is best! I will follow this advice going forward, even though I am also hoping to eradicate the cedar host. And with a stroke of luck I’ll be able to avoid the most frequent treatment solution proposed: “chemical control”.
Protective fungicides can be applied to help minimize infection. A minimum of three applications should be done. These applications protect the new leaves from spores that are dispersed from the juniper host in mid-spring. Spraying apple… foliage after symptoms develop has no controlling effect… Begin spraying when new growth appears and flower buds show color but are not yet open (balloon stage). Repeat three to four times at 10 to 14 day intervals. (The Morton Arboretum)
Fungicide sprays applied in a timely manner are highly effective against the rust diseases during the apple cycle… If cedar apple rust disease is diagnosed on apple fruits and leaves it is far too late to spray.
Application of fungicides to the junipers before and while they are in the infectious orange gelatinous state seems to reduce the severity of the outbreak. (Wikipedia)
To date I’ve been unable to identify any truly organic fungicides guaranteed to treat cedar-apple rust. They may exist, and despite my optimism that I’ll overcome the threat posed by this fungus, I would be interested in hearing from you if you’re aware of a proven organic treatment. Thank in advance for your assistance.
Moonrise over Lake Champlain with Rosslyn boathouse in foreground
Last night’s moonrise over the Vermont foothills (south of the Green Mountains) was absolutely sensational! The moon started out fat and orange as it made a dramatic appearance. My bride and I first spied the moon over Lake Champlain while driving home to Essex from Willsboro after dining at Johnny’s Smokehouse. Breathtaking. And elusive because it kept disappearing behind the trees.
Filming the Moon over Lake Champlain
Once we arrived home, I grabbed a camera and headed down to the waterfront where I tried to capture — albeit in blurry facsimile — the less orange and smaller but still exquisite orb shimmering across Lake Champlain. The view in this video was shot from the flood damaged but finally dry waterfront of our home in Essex, New York. You can see the Essex ferry dock where the Essex-Charlotte ferry delivers and picks up passengers, and the Old Dock Restaurant is even slightly visible beyond the illuminated ferry gallows. Rosslyn’s boathouse is silhouetted in the foreground with a Lake Champlain moon beam inviting you to begin enjoying summer after Lake Champlain floods put such a damper on the first half of June.
Lake Champlain Flood Update
As of this morning, the USGS website reports that the Lake Champlain water level has fallen to 100.33 feet. Most of the bottom terrace of the waterfront is now water free, except for where flooding damaged the stone retaining wall and eroded the lawn. This weekend we’ll remove the remaining debris and begin to repair the damage. We’re still waiting to hear what New York State has decided about stabilizing the embankment and repairing the road, so we’ll need to hold off on significant repairs in the area where NYS Route 22 (aka Essex Road or Lakeshore Road) collapsed at the end of May. But hopefully by next week we’ll be able to start windsurfing and possibly even install the boat lift and docks so that our ski boat can be launched. A late start to summer, but hard won!
Can’t do it! Redneck, city slicker, suburbanite, exurbanite, whatever… If you give this energetic summer anthem a second or two you’ll be hooked. Scoff if you need to. Turn up your nose if your tastes are too refined for the Redneck Yacht Club. But I’m gambling that the next time you hear it pumping out the window of a slow-passing pickup truck you’ll smile. And hum the chorus. And admit to yourself that it’s a pretty catchy tune.
Here’s a little taste of the chorus. Try to read it without singing/humming the melody. Just try!
Basstrackers, Bayliners and a party barge, strung together like a floating trailer park, anchored out and gettin loud. All summer long, side by side, there’s five houseboat, front porches astroturf, lawn chairs and tiki torches, regular Joes rocking the boat. That’s us, the redneck yacht club.
(CowboyLyrics.com)
See what I mean? So, your Chris Craft tastes don’t feel comfy with a song about Bayliners and party barges… So what? Stop judging and start bobbing your head!
I did.
You see, for the first year (or two?) that my bride and I were renovating/rehabilitating Rosslyn, Redneck Yacht Club played on always-on WOKO again and again. I don’t remember for sure, but I may have scoffed outwardly (and hummed inwardly) the first time I heard the song. But not the second. I laughed. I sang along. I went out and bought the album! Several years later, WOKO is no longer the default radio channel at Rosslyn, but I still hear the song from time to time. And when I do, it transports me instantly to the days of demolition, of surprises (mold, rot, bad electric, bad plumbing) and a mushrooming scope of work. It also takes me back to a house full of laughing contractors, rambling stories, off-color jokes and meals shared on sawhorses and upturned compound buckets.
With the last sands of August slipping through the hourglass, the winds of September have already arrived in full force. And this afternoon, following an alarm on my phone by only a very few minutes — enough for me to rush around the house battening down windows and doors, and enough to quickly hustle Carley out for a pre-downpour potty break — the sky darkened dramatically and an end-of-summer weather burst blasted through Essex. Although the entire dramatic affair last only minutes, the storm damage was significant.
The photograph above and the next one below capture the startling aftermath of a large, old maple tree growing just west of the old tennis court. I was aware that fairly significant rot had begun to compromise the tree, but I grossly underestimated how little unrotten trunk the grand old tree was relying upon to stay upright.
Storm Damage, August 30, 2022 (Source: Geo Davis)
Pushing my fingers into the spongy interior I was struck by what a miracle nature has been performing maintaining this towering maple, and I now know how fortunate we’ve been. And how fortunate we were this afternoon. I’ve included the second photograph from the perspective of the hammock huddle because it shows that a similar storm arriving from the northwest would have likely crushed the icehouse. Spared by fate!
Storm Damage, August 30, 2022 (Source: Geo Davis)
The vengeful blast also snapped this large ash tree, slamming it so suddenly that it lifted part of the root system right out of the ground.
Storm Damage, August 30, 2022 (Source: Geo Davis)
This immense stem from the ornamental maple in our front yard was unceremoniously trimmed from her high perch as were countless branches and limbs from many of the trees on our lawns. Tomorrow we’ll venture into the back meadows and forests to see how they fared.
Storm Damage, August 30, 2022 (Source: Geo Davis)
Adding a dose of drama to the storm damage, another large ash (I’ll confirm variety tomorrow after the power lines have been addressed) came down, this one across the power lines, and indeed partially across NYS Route 22. It’s difficult to see in the photo, but the tree caught fire, several times flaring up quite fiercely. Then a series of small explosions, starting at the hung tree and then popping down toward the ferry dock in a dramatic series of bangs appear to have deactivated the wire. No more fire. Just smoke.
Fortunately we received virtually damage to buildings. And — the consolation prize, I suppose — it looks like we will have a whole lot of firewood soon!
It’s always a treat to discover Rosslyn artifacts. Can you just barely spy our boathouse beyond the moored boats?
This intriguing photograph was received from part-time Essex neighbor, Christine Herrmann. This generous Sandy Beach friend has allowed us to traverse her Lake Champlain waterfront with our tractor to rebuild and maintain our seawall during autumn’s low-water levels. And – as if that weren’t enough to qualify her for neighbor superstardom — she periodically shares patinaed glimpses into the sometimes recent, sometimes distant history of our home, waterfront, and village.
“Here’s another photo I found of a long ago summer. Not sure what year but probably early 1950’s. I’m pretty sure it’s of the Essex Regatta, but I do not know any of the boats. Maybe someone will know more.” ~ Christine Herrmann
I am long fond of vintage boats and especially keen on vintage photographs of the summer celebrations that drew boaters and spectators from many miles away to the north shore of Essex Village half a century ago. Although I never experienced the Essex Regattas, I can almost summon up the excited cheers, the starting horns, the healing sailboats, the grinning water skiers, and the roaring speedboats from photographs and newsclippings. I keep hoping that I will stumble across an old home movie if the Essex Regattas, but until then imagination and the generosity of others will serve me well.
Rosslyn Boathouse, Circa 1907 (Source: vintage postcard with note)
It’s time travel Tuesday! Gazing through the time-hazed patina of this vintage postcard I’m unable to resist the seductive pull of bygone days. Whoosh!
I tumble backward through a sepia wormhole, settling into the first decade of the 20th century. It’s 1907 according to the postal stamp on the rear of this postcard.
Back of Rosslyn Boathouse Postcard
Eleven decades ago a man rowed a boat past Rosslyn’s boathouse, from north to south, through waves larger than ripples and smaller than white caps. It was a sunny day in mid-to-late summer, judging by the shoreline water level. A photographer, hooded beneath a dark cloth focusing hood, leans over behind his wooden tripod, adjusting pleated leather bellows, focus, framing. And just as the rower slumps slightly, pausing to catch his breath, the shutter clicks and the moment is captured.
Perhaps this is the photographer who memorialized Rosslyn boathouse more than a century ago?
Albumen print of a photographer with Conley Folding Camera circa 1900. (Source: Antique and Classic Cameras)
There’s so much to admire in this photograph-turned-postcard. Rosslyn boathouse stands plumb, level, and proud. Probably almost two decades had elapsed since her construction, but she looks like an unrumpled debutante. In fact, aside from the pier, coal bin, and gangway, Rosslyn boathouse looks almost identical today. Remarkable for a structure perched in the flood zone, ice flow zone, etc.
I’m also fond of the sailboat drifting just south of Rosslyn boathouse. Raised a sailor, one my greatest joys in recent years has been owning and sailing a 31′ sloop named Errant that spends the summer moored just slightly north of its forebear recorded in this photo.
Although the pier and the massive coal bin in front of the boathouse are no longer there, they offer a nod to Samuel Keyser‘s stately ship, the Kestrel, for many summers associated with Rosslyn boathouse.
Kestrel at Rosslyn boathouse in Essex, NY
Other intriguing details in this 1907 photo postcard of Rosslyn boathouse include the large white sign mounted on the shore north of the boathouse (what important message adorned this billboard?); the presence of a bathhouse upslope and north of the boathouse (today known as the Green Frog and located on Whallons Bay); and the slightly smudged marginalia referring to a small white skiff pulled ashore slightly south of the boathouse (what is the back story?).
This faded photograph kindles nostalgia and wonder, revealing a glimpse into the history of Rosslyn boathouse while dangling further mysteries to compell me deeper into the narrative of our home. Kindred sleuths are welcome!
It’s Tanglefoot time again. Actually, we’re late — really late! — due to this rainy, soggy summer. But better late than never, especially since I’ve begun to spy the first tent caterpillars of the 2017 season.
First a quick refresher. A little over a year ago I explained how to use Tanglefoot and I explained why holistic orcharding benefits from this goopy ritual.
It’s a messy installation process, but it seems to work pretty well… Applying Tanglefoot to fruit trees a messy but relatively straightforward task. Better instructors have already explained application, so I’ll defer to their able guidance rather than overlook something important. (Source: How to Use Tanglefoot (And Why Fruit Trees Need It))
That post includes the excellent advice of “better instructors”, but I wanted to follow up with a quick visual instructional to show you how to apply Tanglefoot. Consider it a supplement. Quick tips.
How to Apply Tanglefoot
In the previous post I discuss using plastic film to wrap the tree trunk, but four years into our Tanglefoot adventure, we’re still using paper/cardboard wraps.
Following is a quick video / slide show intended for orchardists, fruit tree hobbyists, or basically anybody who wants quick and easy instruction for how to apply Tanglefoot on young (i.e. slender trunk) trees. Many thanks to Jacob for letting me photograph his hands during installation.
I hope you find the video helpful. We’ve been extremely satisfied with the results year-after-year, and we’re happy to recommend Tanglefoot (and confident in our recommendation) for other fruit tree growers. Good luck!
Not-so-formidable fence bludgeoned by maple limb, but mostly intact.
Early evening, maybe 6:00 pm or so the skies darkened prematurely. I mean, really darkened. And the wind whistled then whipped. I blasted around the house battening windows and doors, cranked the shade umbrella contraption (what’s the proper name for those?) over the dining table on the back deck, and lowered the roman shades in the room where Griffin was napping in the hopes that he wouldn’t notice the rapidly approaching storm. Thunderstorms are enemy number one for our sensitive hound.
Boom! The skies opened up and the rain lashed vertically at the house. I literally couldn’t see out the windows. Like being in a carwash that’s gone totally berserk.
Lightning strobed and thunder exploded almost concurrently. Again. And again. Still nothing visible outside the windows, so I surveyed the house room-to-room for any windows I’d overlooked. None.
In the good news department, Rosslyn was incredibly fortunate. All buildings escaped the merciful wrath. Well, almost. Upon entering our master bedroom, I discovered water cascading from the ceiling. So that wasn’t ideal.
Once the storm passed over Essex and out onto Lake Champlain I headed outside to survey the damage. Those photos destruction/debris photos were taken then (except for the one post cleanup photo in the Twitter post.) It was clear that some of the roof slate had been damaged and two areas of the roof allowed rain water to enter the building. I’m sure there’ll be more to say on this in the near future, but for now I’m chalking it up to, “It could’ve been worse!”
Nobody ever died of optimism.
In closing, a few more photos including a fence that literally blew over, snapping the fence posts, and a gate that yielded to the mighty winds.
Mighty winds and tree damage, June 2019
Mighty winds and tree damage, June 2019
Mighty winds and gate damage, June 2019
Mighty winds and gate damage, June 2019
Mighty winds and fence damage, June 2019
Mighty winds and fence damage, June 2019
Mighty winds and tree damage, June 2019
Testing twitter account
Angry thunderstorm? Microburst? It reminded Rosslyn (and the three of us) that nature’s powerful, really, REALLY powerful. And her motives are mysterious. Still recovering from damage around the property, but tree debris mostly cleaned up. Now it’s time to rebuild the fence… pic.twitter.com/68mkDHTreT
Lake Champlain sunrise. Still mostly dark. Then an explosion of fiery day over the silhouetted Green Mountains in Vermont, over the slightly refracting waters of the lake…
When Your A-Roll Becomes Your B-Roll (Source: Geo Davis)
It’s mornings like this when your B-roll becomes your A-roll! It’s mornings like this that I pinch myself. Gently. But enough to startle myself into reassessing my day’s priorities.
Today I caught myself just in time to juggle priorities. Here’s what convinced me to recalibrate the agenda.
I few evenings ago I remembered that I’d left my iPhone on the runabout, so I headed down to the waterfront before dinner to grab it.
As I stepped out onto the dock, I noticed an energetic mink playing around on the rocks. I froze.
Would he vanish if he saw me?
He continued to explore the rock pile undisturbed. If only I had my phone I could take a photo or shoot a video. But it was in the boat.
For several minutes I stood motionless, and then I started taking slow steps toward the boat whenever he turned away. Eventually I realized that he wasn’t concerned with me at all. I unsnapped the boat cover and fumbled around in the failing light for my camera. The mink continued to play.
This is the video sequence I shot with most of the repetitive stuff edited out. Sorry it’s still a bit long, but couldn’t bring myself to erase his antics after he’d tolerated mine…
American Mink
From what I can ascertain, this was an American mink (Neovison vison), a semiaquatic carnivore which is inclined to dine on fish, frogs and crustaceans like crayfish. And, yes, it is the source of the fabled fur more valuable globally even than sable and silver fox.
I’d first titled this post “Summer Evening Mink” because it conjured up all sorts of dramatic (if slightly misleading) images. It sounded like a scene from a Merchant Ivory film. Too much. Besides, I knew it would ruffle my bride’s animal-centric feathers.
“Are you suggesting that someone should turn that beautiful wild creature into a collar?”
“Nope. Just liked the sound and imagery…”
“The imagery? Of slaughtering defenseless animals?”
Rosslyn’s American Mink
I know how this conversation goes. And besides, “Rosslyn’s American Mink” — although a bit presumptuous since this sleek fellow no more belongs to Rosslyn than Lake Champlain or that handsome moon does — gets right to the point of the matter. My bride likes that.
And my bride does not like mink coats. Not American mink or sable or silver fox or any other fur. She’s a big advocate for the critters. No eating or wearing critters for her. For me? I’m a carnivore, a bit like the American mink, I suppose, though my tastes are perhaps a bit more diverse. Oh, and I wear fur. Not American mink fur, but my own fuzzy pelt. Fortunately there’s little demand globally for my fur.
Update:
Leanne Hobbs Bula contacted me via Facebook to share a pair of mink photos that she took near Isle la Motte, Vermont.
Minks, by Leanne Hobbs Bula
“I also have an American mink at my home. She has 6 babies too! Scared the heck out of me the first time I saw her. She doesn’t like my dog… They are a bit far away because I ran away screaming bloody murder… we haven’t seen the babies in a few weeks, only the mom. We now have a pair of bald eagles and an eaglet? … We suspect the bald eagles may have snacked on the baby mink. Nature can be cruel but it certainly makes me less nervous when I am tanning myself lakeside!” ~ Leanne Hobbs Bula
Great photos, Leanne! Thanks for passing them along. I wonder if Rosslyn’s American mink has babies hiding away somewhere. I’ll keep my eyes peeled, but judging from all of the healthy ducklings growing into ducks along our waterfront, I suspect that there may only be the one lonely American mink I spied.
