I’m a fan of train travel, so I’m especially joy-filled now that Amtrak service between Manhattan and Montreal has been restored to service. No finer way to travel between New York City and the Adirondack Coast. Actually, let me amend that opinion. There’s plenty of pleasure arriving at the train station in Westport, our closest passenger stop. But can you imagine for a moment being able to board and disembark from Amtrak’s Adirondack just up the road? That’s right, restoring service to the long ago discontinued Essex Railroad Station would indeed be the finest way to locomote between NYC and SX!
Before inspecting the photographs adorning the vintage postcards above and below, let’s familiarize ourselves with the above mentioned train know by Amtrak as the Adirondack.
The Adirondack travels from New York City, through the lush wine country of the Hudson Valley, into Montreal. Heading north, you’re scheduled to depart New York’s Moynihan Train Hall in the morning and arrive in Montreal in the evening. Board the southbound train anywhere along the line and arrive in mid-town Manhattan in time to enjoy dinner and nightlife in New York City. (Source: Amtrak)
While growing up in the Adirondacks — and more recently when Susan and I still volleyed back-and-forth between Manhattan and Westport then Essex) — the Adirondack was my go-to transportation by convenience and preference. Although the timing/schedule can be unpredictable, I’ve consistently opted for Amtrak to shuttle me between New York City and the Adirondack Coast for the better part of half a century. The brief blurb above does little justice to this spectacular journey skirting the Hudson River, Champlain Canal, and Lake Champlain.
Sadly the route was suspended during the pandemic and only resumed service a little over a month ago. Welcome back, Adirondack!
Amtrak, in conjunction with VIA Rail Canada (VIA Rail), New York State Department of Transportation (NYSDOT) and other federal agencies, is resuming train service between New York City and Montreal via the Adirondack train today, Monday, April 3. This milestone marks the return of all Amtrak and VIA Rail cross border service between the United States and Canada for the first time since 2020 and aligns with the growing demand of train travel in both countries. (Source: Amtrak)
After roughly three years’ absence, the restored service is long overdue and widely praised.
“The cultural riches and natural beauty along the Adirondack train route amount to an experience that is unlike anything else in the world, and it highlights the importance of this service – making it easy and fun for travelers to be able to enjoy the unique treasures of the Empire State,” said New York State Department of Transportation Commissioner Marie Therese Dominguez. (Source: Amtrak)
At this point my love for this train route is evident, but I’ve neglected the present postcards (and my hope that possibly, just possibly, one day we’ll again enjoy an Essex Railroad Station!)
Both of these sepia hued images of yesteryear document the former Essex Railroad Station. Not sure when or how the building was lost, but I’ll update if/when I find out.
And if you’re the curious sort, as I am, I’ve included the backsides of the postcards. Turning your device sidewise reveals the amusing note on the first card.
Hillcrest Station in Essex, NY (Source: Vintage Postcard)
Do you remember the Hillcrest Station in Essex, NY? Three weeks ago I shared a new-to-me vintage postcard (Instagram / Facebook) featuring an Essex service station (with Socony gas) by the name of Hillcrest Station. After winning the eBay auction for this intriguing glimpse into hyperlocal yesteryears, I combed through my collection of Essex artifacts and discovered that I have another vintage postcard depicting the same business from a different location. Needless to say, the Hillcrest Station no longer exists, so my hope in sharing the image on IG+FB was an attempt to learn a little bit more.
Little by little this former Essex business depicted in a pair of postcards is (possibly) getting demystified which is to say that a little amateur sleuthing has turned up a few leads. Let’s start with the other postcard photograph I have in my collection.
Hillcrest Station / Hillcrest Cabins in Essex, NY (Source: Vintage Postcard)
Same service station from a different angle. It’s not clear in the photograph above whether or not cabins were part of the mix, but this second image captures a sprawling enterprise including service/gas station, dining room, and travel accommodations. And the caption across the top of the card, “Hillcrest Cabins, one mile south of Essex, N.Y. on Route 22”, helps locate the property. This tidbit was corroborated by an intriguing tip from newspaper-sleuth, Paul Harwood, who found the following newspaper clipping in the April 21, 1934 issue of the Plattsburgh Daily Press.
This Essex town notices section refers to Hillcrest Station being located on Roger Hill. I’ve never hear this reference before, but perhaps other have? Of note, a front page article in the May 05, 1927 Ticonderoga Sentinel listing a juror panel for Essex County Court lists George Murphy as being from Essex and working as a “garageman”. That makes sense.
Scott Brayden also found newspaper mentions reiterating the location: “…located on Route 22, 1 mile south of Essex”. Here are two clippings from newspaper notices (1949 and 1950) to that effect. (NB: full broadsides at end of post.)
Hillcrest Station Notice 1949 (Source: Essex County Republican, April 15, 1949, p4)
Hillcrest Station Notice 1950 (Source: Essex County Republican, May 05, 1950, p8)
If we head south out of Essex on NYS Route 22, my best guess is that Hillcrest Station was located at the intersection with Middle Road. Some will recall this as the location of JJ’s Terrace (I think I’ve got the name correct). Others may also remember that Lincoln’s Hardware was across the street (location of present day Hub on the Hill). Or am I conflating things? In any event, Mary Wade also confirmed memories of Hillcrest Station. “I remember it in the Early 40’s, I believe it was still in operation then, maybe as far as after the war.” Perhaps additional recollections and photographs will emerge? I sure hope so.
Until then, I’d like to tease out the idea that Hillcrest Station was located at the intersection of NYS Route 22 and Middle Road. My hunch is based on more than the two photographs above and he news clippings. It’s based on a recent visit to the approximate location. I paused during a recent bike ride and took a few photographs that appear to offer some similarities with the historic photos above. I’m especially interested in the roofs of the main building in the foreground and the small cottage/cabin in the background (looking from Middle Road) as well as the trees. Hhhmmm…
Formerly part of Hillcrest Station? (Source: Geo Davis)
Formerly part of Hillcrest Station? (Source: Geo Davis)
Formerly part of Hillcrest Station? (Source: Geo Davis)
Hillcrest Station Update
I’ve received some intriguing feedback from Sean Kelly:
That hill used to be called rogers hill and the intersection used to be called rogers four corners – my grandparents farm was the one by the railroad tracks with the dilapidated farm stand in front – my wife and I recently bought the brick house in bouquet at the top of the next hill (Orr’s Hill), which is where my great grandparents once lived. So I’ve been doing a lot of Bouquet research over the past two years!
There are some references to that intersection in the newspaper when they started paving route 22 in 1921/22 (it was highway 8063 then) and the steam shovel that was doing the grading got stuck. I think the easiest way to answer what you’re looking for is just to pull up the last deed transfer for that plot – it also references rogers four corners, and shows the transfer from George Murphy (who I think owned Hillcrest) to Ted and Aida burns in 1947. They ran it as a bar (not sure when it closed) called Ted and Aida’s.
Ted’s Terrace! That’s right, not JJ‘s Terrace as I’ve previously noted. Thanks for jiggling my memory, Sean, and for filling in these details with all of that history!
Hillcrest Station ’49 & ’50 Public Notices
If you’re interested in the 1949 and 1950 Essex County Republican broadsides excerpted above, you can access them here:
Melancholy Boathouse (Source: Douglas Peden, Essex Studios)
Melancholy much? Yesterday I posted this achingly evocative image on the Rosslyn Redux Instagram feed with thanks to our neighbor, Emma, who gifted the vintage photograph postcard to us. It was a gift to her from Michael Peden who, in turn credited his father, Douglas Peden, as the photographer. Here’s an excerpt from my caption.
Sometime in the early days of the millennium, perhaps. The condition of the boathouse suggested it may have been a few years prior to 2005 when we purchased Rosslyn. Such ethereal longing and melancholy in this painterly rendering. Hoping to learn more about this evocative photograph…
It turns out that my conjecture may have been off by a significant margin. There’s still no definitive date for when this melancholy moment in Rosslyn’s history was captured, but some interesting insights have emerged.
I’d guess that it is much earlier than 2005 – probably before 1985. If nothing else, the front porch doesn’t have its roof, and I don’t remember it ever being missing. The lack of the dock doesn’t mean anything, because with the water that high you wouldn’t see it, anyway. — Jason McNulty
I don’t recall the porch roof ever being missing either. Quick check from photos I have shows the roof there in 1969 and again in 2004. — George McNulty
Jason and George McNulty, two of the previous owner’s sons, have suggested that I’m probably off in my estimate by at least two to four decades. And George McNulty also shared another photograph doubling the subjects of my inquiry: when were these photographs taken?
Rosslyn Boathouse (Source: George McNulty)
Melancholy Boathouse Revisited
I’m grateful to Emma, Jason, and George for kindling this inquiry. And, as it turns out, the initial photograph gifted to Emma by Michael Peden (and ostensibly photographed by his father, Douglas Peden) which was in turn re-gifted to me has catalyzed even more intriguing feedback and photographs from Jason McNulty.
Jason McNulty followed up on Douglas Peden’s photograph at the top of this post with some feedback from his father, George McNulty, Sr. from whom we purchased Rosslyn sixteen years ago.
Sorry, but I really do not remember about the date. A good guess would be about 30 years ago. The photograph was taken by Doug Peden. It shows the dock house after I had rebuilt the cribbing but had not started to replace the roof. — George McNulty
Jason amended his own thoughts and another truly unique photograph of the boathouse.
For what it’s worth, if you fudge some numbers a little, this roughly corresponds with a picture that you posted on your site showing the dock house with its roof nearly destroyed by flooding in 1983. Given my parents’ finances at the time, it could easily have taken a few years to replace that roof. I’ve also found a picture in my collection from roughly 1989 showing a clearly new roof. — Jason McNulty
Boathouse 1989, original un-enhanced photo (via Jason McNulty)
Spectacular cinematic image! I’ve taken the liberty of tweaking the levels, etc. to improve the detail of the boathouse, pier, etc. Here’s the adjusted and enhanced version.
Boathouse 1989, adjusted/enhanced for detail (via Jason McNulty)
I was curious about the photo’s provenance, also wondered about the boats, etc. Jason offered some helpful insights. Although he wasn’t certain who originally took the photograph, he felt confident that the year was 1989 (i.e. seventeen years prior to our purchase of Rosslyn.)
When I added the file to my collection, I renamed it and added the year 1989 to the name. I wouldn’t have done so if I was uncertain about the year, although I have no idea now why I was so confident then. As for the sailboat, it was my father’s second sailboat during my lifetime. It was fiberglass and this picture must be relatively early in Dad’s ownership of the boat since he didn’t wait too long to replace the outboard rudder with an inboard one. This boat eventually disappeared from its moorings with no explanation, although the aluminum mast was still in the barn for years later. The first sailboat was a wooden boat, possible yellow in color, that sank on the other side of the dock (parts of its frame can still be seen), and its mast is now the flagpole for the dock house itself. The rowboat was one of three or four that Dad designed and built using plywood. Growing up, I rowed it all over the shoreline, going at least as far the marina. Unfortunately, part of the reason that Dad had to make so many was that they kept rotting out. — Jason McNulty
Although I’ve wandered afield to be sure, my curiosity’s been awakened. I told Jason that I recollected him (or perhaps his father) telling me about the sailboat that sank. As a boater and a sailer, the tragedy etched itself into my memory. But, I told Jason, I didn’t realize that another sailboat had vanished as well. Mysterious. Might it also have sunk?
It might have, but I doubt that it sank at its moorings. It was tied to a buoy not to far away from the dock itself, and I’m sure that Dad did things like check to see if the rope was still there or whether there was a large white blur underwater. Besides, unlike the wooden sailboat, the fiberglass one didn’t leak. Beyond that, though, I’m not sure. — Jason McNulty
I’m aware that Rosslyn’s boathouse flagpole is their former sailboat mast. A perfect story instance of repurposing. And I have salvaged a few other pieces from the sunken vessel. But now my wonder wanders to the second sailboat that disappeared. Hhhmmm…
In the vintage postcard above — faded, blurred, and stained with touch and time — the historic lighthouse located at Split Rock in Essex, NY reigns over a promontory bearing a curious resemblance to an arboretum, more landscaped and less wild than today. A copse of diverse specimen trees here, a granite outcrop there, a grassy bluff here,… I can’t help but see a sort of Split Rock botanical garden. But it wasn’t. I imagine the photographer and postcard publisher were likely thinking of the flora and topography as mere garlands for the centerpiece, the focus of the postcard: Split Rock Lighthouse.
There’s something comely about an old lighthouse, a spire of stone stacked skyward to secure a lofty perch for a sweeping beam of light. Bold, dependable, comforting. Or is it? Perhaps it’s just a tall tower like a barn with a silo? Is tall bold? Is a fortress-like column comforting? We ascribe much meaning to lighthouses because of their function. They are predictable and dependable because predictable, dependable lighthouse keepers ensured that they were. Today, I suppose, that’s mostly the work of technology. Bold and comforting likewise derive from function. Stormy night, navigating challenging seas, unreliable visibility, a valuable cargo, and the wellbeing, heck maybe even the lives of the boat’s captain and crew,… And then a navigational beam cutting through the blindness, showing the way to safe port. Or at least around a potentially dangerous obstacle that might otherwise have scattered ship and crew, reducing their industrious mission to memory and flotsam and jetsam.
In short, we think of lighthouses, so often portrayed in photographs and other artwork, as visually equivalent to the function they fulfill. We conflate the building with service it enables. We deploy references to lighthouses with confidence that our audience will understand what we mean. We think in metaphor. We speak in metaphor. And, by and large, the viewer, listener, or reader understands what we wish to imply.
This Is Not a Metaphor
Seven years ago, I was hit by a truck. This is not a metaphor. I was crossing the street two blocks from home when the driver, blinded by the sun, rammed into me. During my nine-month recovery, I began to reflect upon my life… I realized that for years, I had been stuck on an endless hamster wheel… I remembered the joke about the airline pilot who addressed his passengers over the intercom: “Attention: I have bad news and good news: Radar is down. We’re totally lost! But you’ll be glad to know we’re making very good time.” I knew I needed to make a change. — Susan Fassberg (Source: The Art of Looking – Reinventing Home)
The tragic accident, Fassberg assures us, is not a metaphor. Real truck, real sun, real collision, and real injuries. But the hamster wheel and the airplane trip? Metaphors. A pair of accessible and effective metaphors help Fassberg tidily convey her truth. She was stuck and needed to make a life change.
When Susan and I opted into the adventure of reawakening Rosslyn as our home, we knew that we needed to make a change. We were navigating disorienting liminal changes (personal, professional, financial, and even philosophical/ethical). In the midst of these tempestuous transitions, we latched onto a hope that Rosslyn would help us reboot. Rehab. Maybe reawakening a needy property would reawaken our own hopes, optimism, confidence. We were in need of a full system reboot. Unplug. Count to ten. Replug. And, in our infinite wisdom (read irony, ergo… our infinite folly?) we chose to believe that Rosslyn, in need of TLC (and possibly life support) herself, would be able to minister to us. Made perfect sense at the time!
We had not been hit by a truck. Not a literal truck at least. Perhaps a metaphorical truck. Or several metaphorical trucks. And the joke about the airline pilot? Really, really familiar. Only, purchasing Rosslyn didn’t exactly precipitate a safe landing. Not for a few years, at least. And, yes, we were lost before throwing ourselves at the feet of Rosslyn, and we were often quite lost during those first few years.
Sure, we needed change. But we basically leaped into the tumbling kaleidoscope of constant, unpredictable change, each juggle and bump triggering a dazzling aurora borealis of tumbling technicolor mystery. Mysteries. It was spectacular and intoxicating. And it was often disorienting. Sometimes it was debilitating.
Are you with me? Maybe 50-100% clear on what I’m trying to say?
No?
Me either.
Not a metaphor, I promised. And then, I dove into metaphor. Metaphors.
Sorry.
Sometimes what I want to say and what I think I want to say are like the nearly marooned boat captain and the fog-lancing lighthouse. Each reaching through the turmoil toward one another, but only occasionally, fleetingly connecting.
When in danger of becoming marooned, I tell myself, narrow the focus. Tack 90° or so in a different direction. Decrease distance to desired destination by abbreviating the current journey….
Projecting Passion & Lovestruck Infatuation
I’ve often used the words “smitten”, “seduced”, beguiled, enchanted… when referring to Rosslyn. I ought to be more specific. I used these fuzzy euphemisms when describing my personal relationship with Rosslyn. And, in an effort to be as candid as comfortable — hopefully catalyzing some sort of catharsis, some sort of eureka moment clarifying this sixteen year affair with a home — I insisted, especially early on after purchasing Rosslyn from Elizabeth and George McNulty, that he, George McNulty, seemed to have had an almost four decade long love affair with Rosslyn. I even once asked his son, Jason McNulty, what he thought of that observation. I don’t recollect him making too much of my peculiar characterization, but perhaps I’ll find the opportunity to revisit this over-the-top and totally unjustified hypothesis. I bring it up now because it strikes me as peculiar that I initially felt so certain, perhaps I even needed to understand the previous owner’s relationship with this property as being a sort of love affair, an enduring passion that ran parallel to his marriages. And peculiar that Susan and I adopted this anthropomorphic oddity in explaining our own relationship with Rosslyn.
I relied on this fuzzy explanation for our outsized investment of energy, resources, and life into an old house because it was a way of avoiding the complexity of our true relationship. I figured that my love entanglement language would simply be heard as metaphorical exaggeration. And I hastened to contextualize my own infatuation with the previous owner’s alleged love affair as if to suggest that this property had a certain charm that could only be approximated with the language of love and passion. We all tend to speak in hyperbole, especially when asked to justify odd, uncharacteristic, or extreme behavior. Certainly our family and friends would have been justified in describing our all-in obsession with Rosslyn as reckless, foolhardy infatuation.
But I suspect that most who’ve heard me claim that we were beguiled or smitten, never really took me literally. Perhaps I didn’t take myself literally. I’ve come to wonder if this is not a metaphor at all. Or if we’re unable to navigate, to grapple with loss and hurt and confusion and hope and optimism without the medicine of metaphor.
Looking South from Split Rock Light (Vintage Postcard)
Why did I illustrate this post with Split Rock Lighthouse? Why did I borrow Susan Fassberg’s brave truth and then trip repeatedly over metaphor despite an sincere effort to come clean, to carve our some crystal clear truth? And why is it so comforting to include this second postcard above as I wander toward my conclusion-less conclusion to this post?
The vantage from the lighthouse, looking south, the postcard states (although its actually sort of southeast), across the northern end of the Split Rock Wildway, across Lake Champlain at the beginning of The Narrows, and then across Vermont toward the trailing end of the Green Mountain, this vantage is familiar. It is our metaphorical front yard. It is a significant reminder that our attraction to Rosslyn was, yes, a handsome old home and boathouse, but it was also this realm, this wild and overgrown invitation to let go… of so much. And to allow ourselves to gradually reawaken, to reinvigorate our hopes and dreams and to rediscover a future that had become stormy and confusing.
[I’ve just attempted to reread this post without hitting delete. What in the world am I wrestling with? And why is it so elusive? Damned if I know. Yet. But if you’ve made it this far, I apologize. Sometimes the captain navigates the ship. Other times the tempest itself seizes the helm!]
This morning I revisit a familiar and particularly popular perspective of Rosslyn’s lakefront or, to be more historically accurate, the Sherwood Inn waterfront in the early/mid 20th century.
Sherwood Inn waterfront with boathouse (Source: vintage postcard)
Sherwood Inn waterfront with boats (Source: vintage postcard)
Taken together this pair of vintage postcards forms a veritable diptych of the Sherwood Inn (aka Rosslyn) lakefront, “dock house” (aka boathouse), and a veritable flotilla of classic watercraft bobbing in Blood’s Bay.
Deciphering the Sherwood Inn Waterfront
This north-looking vantage was most likely photographed from the environs of the present day ferry dock that shuttles cars and passengers back-and-forth between Essex, New York and Charlotte, Vermont. As with most images captured almost a century ago, some details are blurry, lacking clarity and precision, but inviting the viewer’s imagination to fill in the gaps.
Looking at the second postcard (titled “Yachting on Lake Champlain, Essex, NY”) I zoom into the point where my vision — and the time sepia’ed rendering — become suggestive but unreliable. I’m studying an area on the water’s surface between the two most prominent motor cruisers, a spot slightly east of the dock house pier (visible in the first postcard).
Perhaps several small dinghies or rowboats at anchor explain what I’m seeing, but I can’t resist wondering if it isn’t a vestigial section of the northernmost pier that still exists on our waterfront today. Given the field conditions and all of the historic photographs that I’ve come across, the ruins appear to predate the dockhouse and the “coal bunker” pier that extended beyond it, originally for the Kestrel enduring into the last years of the 20th century.
Absent sharp focus and definition, this water surface anomaly distracts me, kindles my curiosity. I wonder. My mind wanders. I try to imagine the challenges of helming a boat through such a busy waterfront congested with other vessels and multiple semi-submerged hazards. We still contend with this navigational challenge to this day, and we’ve sacrificed at least two bronze propellors to the underwater ruins.
Do you see what I’m identifying as remnants of a crib dock extending west-to-east between two lengthiest cruisers? Any amateur sleuths out there? Let me know what you think…
Artifacts and Auctions
As I’ve mentioned in several previous posts, I offer these photo-postcards with a bittersweet postscript.
Recently I’ve been getting outbid in auctions of historic images of our home, boathouse, and waterfront. Did I mention that it’s the same bidder who keeps besting me? And did I mention that the prices are consistently soaring above the $200 to $300 range?
Fascinating.
I have no idea who is bidding against me, but s/he is keen to win these visual time capsules. I’d love to discover why. I’d love to discover whom. Perhaps a neighbor? Or a passerby smitten with Historic Essex?
Fortunately, my collection of Rosslyn artifacts is extensive. I often bid on photographs and postcards already in my collection. But I can’t resist adding duplicates, especially when combined with compelling missives. (Fortunately the first of the two postcards is blank on the back, and the second — the capricious capture of boats afloat —include a private but uncompelling note.)
But back to the unfolding mystery. The plot thickens. An unknown bidder consistently outcompeting yours truly after a decade or more with fairly few big dollar auctions. At the very least it’s clear that demand for historic Essex images in general (and Rosslyn images in particular) continues to increase. And to date no hint of another collector… Who. Are. You?!?! If you happen to be reading these words, please reach out. I’d love to learn what draws you to this somewhat esoteric subject. And I’d like to propose sharing images. Thanks.
Sherwood Inn Landing on Lake Champlain (Source: Rosslyn Redux)
Doubling Down
The good news is that I already own one of these two postcards. The image above of the Sherwood Inn waterfront photograph (with boathouse) has been in my collection for quite a few years. If you look closely you may notice a few subtle differences with the image at the top of this post.
I published this postcard (postmarked July 24, 1959) on May 21, 2015 in a post titled, “Sherwood Inn Landing on Lake Champlain” which includes the sender’s note. Yes, sometimes it’s worth sharing.
By way of conclusion, I’m embedding the Instagram post of these postcards which elicited some interesting comments/feedback that you may enjoy reading.
Have you ever heard of Camp Cherokee for Boys in Willsboro? If so, I’d love to learn more. So far the details are pretty thin…
Campfire, Camp Cherokee for Boys, Willsboro, NY (postcard, front)
As we roll into the final days of 2022, I’ve been attempting to streamline my end-of-year projects. And while the prospect of simply deleting lingering items on the perennial punch list is tempting, I’m instead shuffling priorities against the incoming year’s timeline. Yes, some oldies have sat long enough that they’ve moldered into irrelevance. Delete! Others, like today’s artifact (an antique postcard for an extinct summer camp), were probably somewhat superfluous since day one (this draftling — an especially brief stub awaiting development — originated on May 18, 2017!), but they continue to intrigue me. Not ready to delete yet. And so I bring to you an unabashedly abbreviated post showcasing a postcard from Camp Cherokee for Boys. Once upon a time this small summer camp existed on Willsboro Point, possibly not too far from Camp-of-the-Pines. Today neither lakeside retreat endures, but I’m hoping that sharing this vintage postcard just might gin up a little more information.
Crowdsource Kindling
With an eye to kindling this fledgling crowdsource initiative into existence, I’ll share what little I’ve been able to ascertain thus far.
According the A Handbook of Summer Camps: An Annual Survey, Volume 3 which was published in 1926 by Porter Sargent, Camp Cherokee for Boys was located “at Willsborough Point” which may simply mean somewhere on Willsboro Point, but also might suggest that it was actually located a the tip of the peninsula?
This introductory blurb vaguely locates three summer camps located within the vicinity.
Willsborough is north of Essex. Camp Pok-O-Moonshine is on Long Pond near the foot of Peak Pok-O-Moonshine. Camp Pocahontas is on the shore of Lake Champlain, two miles east of the village. At Willsborough Point is Camp Cherokee. (p. 388, A Handbook of Summer Camps: An Annual Survey, Volume 3)
Scrolling down a little further to the bottom of page 388 and the top of 389 we can read the following blurb about Camp Cherokee for Boys.
Here’s a more legible swipe at the blurry image above.
CAMP CHEROKEE, P. O. Willsborough, N. Y. Alt 110 ft. Harold K. Van Buren, 508 National Bldg., Cleveland, Ohio. For boys 8-14 Enr. 30 Staff 10 Est. Fee $300.
Cherokee limits its enrollment to thirty boys. Mr. Van Buren is director of Educational Research, National School Club, Cleveland, Ohio, and with him is associated the Rev. Henry S. Whitehead. Ph.D., an Episcopal clergyman who is also a short story writer. Although the camp is conducted under Episcopal auspices, the enrollment is not limited to boys of that faith. A varied program of athletics, aquatics, woodcraft and dramatics is provided. Much attention is paid to trips to the well known Adirondack peaks, as well as a sight seeing trip to Montreal. Tutoring may also be provided without extra charge. (p. 388-9, A Handbook of Summer Camps: An Annual Survey, Volume 3)
The affiliation between Van Buren and the Cleveland based educational research institution is curiosity inspiring. Hoping to learn a bit more about that, and, of course, about the Messieurs Van Buren and Whitehead. The latter appears in a 1926 publication from the Alumni Council of Columbia University, although the relevant clipping is too small and to be readily legible.
If your eyes are as strained as mine by attempting to decipher that blurry blob of timeworn text, here’s a more legible transcription.
Whitehead spends his summers at Lake Champlain. There he is associated with Mr. H. K. Van Buren who is director and proprietor of Camp Cherokee for Boys at Willsboro and together they have worked out constructive new theories on boys’ camps with satisfactory results. (p. 398, Columbia Alumni News, Alumni Council of Columbia University, 1926)
There’s a bit of curiosity bait in there as well. For example, why would two contemporaneous publications refer to the same town but spell the name differently. One is tempted to assume that the older spelling, Willsborough, was at some point replaced by the newer spelling, Willsboro. Perhaps this was the period of transition? I wonder. And then there’s the rather clinical reference to the two men developing “constructive new theories on boys’ camps with satisfactory results.” I suppose that better-than-satisfactory results might have better assured the longevity of this no longer extant summer camp. Of course, administering an enterprise of this sort with fewer than three dozen clients seems like another ill conceived component. It would be challenging to mathematically ensure viability for this business model for long. But maybe this too is a question of age/time and transition. It’s clear that once upon a time small camps and schools managed to thrive with far smaller populations than they do today. At least for a while…
In closing, I’m soliciting any/all knowledge of the former Willsboro Point summer camp known as Camp Cherokee for Boys. Thanks in advance!
Campfire, Camp Cherokee for Boys, Willsboro, NY (postcard, back)
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!
I present to you a rather well captured (and equally well preserved) photograph of The Ross Mansion (aka Hickory Hill) circa 1910. It’s always a joy to come across another Essex photo postcard, especially when there’s a direct connection to Rosslyn. In this case, the link is that the Ross Mansion in the photograph above was originally built for, and owned by, William Daniel Ross’s brother, Henry Howard Ross.
This relationship was clarified for me six years ago by Tilly Close, Henry Howard Ross’s great granddaughter.
H.H. Ross [Henry Howard Ross] who built Hickory Hill was the son of Daniel Ross (who was married to Gilliland’s daughter Elizabeth). Henry’s brother, William D. Ross… built your home. — Tilly Close (Source: Hickory Hill and Homeport » Rosslyn Redux)
I touched on this relationship here as well:
I recently happened on this antique postcard of the Ross Mansion (aka Hickory Hill) which was built by the brother of W.D. Ross, Rosslyn’s original owner in the early 1820s. Hickory Hill still presides handsomely at the intersection of Elm Street and Church Street. (Source: Hickory Hill and Rosslyn » Rosslyn Redux)
In the case above, “recently” was sometime around May 19, 2011 when I published the post, “Hickory Hill and Rosslyn“.
And lest I conclude without giving you a glimpse of the pristine back side of the postcard above, here’s the clean but unfortunately information-free reverse of The Ross Mansion postcard at the top of this post.
Rear side of “The Ross Mansion” postcard
And the description, notable primarily for the approximate publication date.
CAPTION: THE ROSS MANSION, Essex, New York.
DATE: Not dated but circa 1910.
SIZE: 3 1/2 x 5 3/8″. Both sides are shown enlarged in the scans.
CONDITION: This real photo postcard is in good condition with wear at the corners. The reverse is age toned, as expected. (Source: ebay.com)
If you’ve come across interesting photographs of The Ross Mansion (likely titled Hickory Hill), Rosslyn (aka The Sherwood Inn, Hyde Gate, W.D. Ross Mansion, etc.), or any other vintage/antique Essex, New York artifacts, please let me know. I’d love to see what you’ve found. Thanks.
