To say that it’s been soggy lately would usher restraint and understatement into new chapters. Yesterday’s super saturating deluge came on the heels of day-after-day drizzles and downpours. This evening’s rain drenched orchard snapshots hint at some pros and cons of rain, rain, rain,…
Rain Drenched Orchard (Photo: Geo Davis)
Let’s start with the lush tree foliage and grass. The verdant canopies and remarkable new growth. The ubiquitous green!
No drought here, ladies and gentlemen.
On the contrary, the ground is spongy. Practically boggy. And some vegetable plants in the garden are even slightly anemic, healthy green paling to a sickly yellow-green from wet roots.
Rain Drenched Orchard (Photo: Geo Davis)
The rain drenched orchard nevertheless appears healthy. Lots of baby apples promise a robust harvest in 2-3 months. Unfortunately two applications of kaolin clay — part of our holistic orcharding regimen — have been rinsed off, leaving fruit and leaves vulnerable to pests. As soon as the rain abates for a stretch we’ll apply s third coat.
This was not supposed to be today’s post. There were several others in the works. A timely update on progress inside the icehouse. And a meandering meditation on *reinvention*, specifically how it pertains to us — Susan, Rosslyn, and me — and why reinventing has become an enduring pillar for this project. But nature had other plans, so I offer you a compact photo essay about today’s windy winter storm instead.
Winter Storm, March 14, 2023 (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Let’s start with a cinematic snapshot that Pam took this afternoon. Lots. Of. Snow. Incredibly heavy, wet snow. When she took this photo, the wind was still not such a big concern. But, as you’ll see by the end of this post, that changed in the late afternoon and early evening.
Winter Storm, March 14, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Although it snowed all day, it wasn’t until mid day that the snow really began to accumulate. Not sure how many inches we’ve gotten so far, but I would imagine it’s pretty close to 24 inches of the wettest, densest snow I’ve experienced in quite some time. I can only imagine how deep it would’ve been if the conditions were drier.
Winter Storm, March 14, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Heavy snowfalls transform even the most familiar landscapes and lawn ornaments. In the snapshot above our tractor is dwarfed by the snow.
Winter Storm Damage, March 14, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)
While I was in the icehouse, inspecting the days work, I heard a monumental thud. It was far too loud and reverberating to be snow sliding off the standing seam roof, a soundtrack we’ve become accustomed to over the course of the day.
Winter Storm Damage, March 14, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)
When I came out to inspect, I discovered a massive ash tree split in half by the combined weight of snow and the pressure of wind building out of the north-northwest.
Boom!
Winter Storm Damage, March 14, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Looking up the trunk from the base of the tree, it’s almost uncanny how precisely the falling tree targeted the icehouse. Fortunately, it wasn’t quite long enough to hit the building. But the proximity explains the reverberation I felt when the tree hit the ground.
Winter Storm Damage, March 14, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)
As you can see, years, even decades of rot had formed in the crotch of the two tree trunks. This week spot inevitably succumbed to the wind and snow load. I suspect we will need to fell the rest of the tree as well, but I’ve decided to postpone that melancholy consideration and decision for another day.
Windy Winter Storm, March 14, 2023 (Credit: Apple Weather)
Instead, I’ll push positive vibes out to the weather gods this evening. In the screen grab above you can see that the winds are still mounting (with gusts up to 45 mph overnight.) So there’s still cause for concern. That said, I suspect that worrying is unlikely to alter the forces of nature. Instead I think I’ll join my wife and nephew for a glass of wine and a delicious dinner to celebrate the cross-country ski outing from which we have just returned.
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)
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.
We returned home from a heat-indexed 102° Essex Day for a languid lunch — quiche and garden-to-table Caprese salad (with aromatic purple basil) followed by watermelon — under the shady American Linden.
Lunch under the Linden (Source: Susan Bacot-Davis)
A subtle breeze freshened just enough to wick the perspiration from our necks, and for a moment, it was perfection. Sated. Shaded. Contemplating watersports…
Suddenly mobile phones interrupted the postprandial lethargy with rain warnings. On cue, the sky darkened. The scorching heat dipped a few degrees. We hastened to clear lunch, and just in time because now… It. Is. Pouring!
Essex Day deluge (Source: Geo Davis)
Retreating indoors to wait out the shower, my mind somersaults into Essex Days past, to the witty words of my late friend and longtime Crater Club summer resident, Jeff Moredock. Almost a decade prior he re-dubbed the longtime summer street festival from which we’ve just returned, “Excess Day”. And for me it will remain such forevermore.
Excess Day
Excess in the Village of Essex
On the eve of Excess Day Husbands and wives Can be heard Bickering back and forth Trying to determine whose excess Must leave the house
Husbands cling to old rods and reels Wives insist they need their curling irons Small children hide balls and dolls They haven’t played with in years Dogs hide their worn-out chew toys
But when dawn breaks on Excess Day The sidewalks are lined with the Detritus of daily life Fishing reels curling irons balls And dolls and much much more
The crowds sweep down the street In search of bargains treasures or Just something they don’t have And don’t need or so say Husbands to wives And wives to husbands
By mid-day prices begin to drop As the crowds begin to thin Books bird houses bar stools Pottery paintings and more Fly off the sidewalks and Before long the day is ended
One family’s excess is now another Family’s excess and sure to be seen Next year on the Other side of the street
Building a drystack stone wall at Rosslyn, Essex on Lake Champlain
Yesterday, Thursday, May 15, 2009 was windier than a subway median at rush hour. Lake Champlain wind blasts reached 50 mph. The forecast had threatened gusts up to 90 mph. The rain drizzled off and on all day, but the fellow building the stone wall near the mud room stuck it out and got the job done.
This morning my bride interrupted me, frantic. She could only see one wind surfer on the on the boathouse dock. There had been two. Could the wind have blown it away? Possible, I supposed aloud, but unlikely.
I headed down and discovered that the older, larger Mistral sailboard was gone. Scanning the shoreline I spied it some two hundred feet north of the boathouse smashing against the rocks in heavy waves.
I couldn’t believe it. The wind had lifted it off the pier and deposited in the lake where it drifted until washing ashore. The wind! It’s a “vintage” sailboard at least a decade old. Huge. Heavy. A veritable aircraft carrier…
Yet there it was, getting splintered against the rocky shoreline.
I made my way north and climbed across the rocks. It was banged up pretty well, but still usable, though I figured it might be time to re-purpose it as a standup paddleboard.
I retrieved the board and made my way precariously back to the dock house, struggling to control the board in the still gusty wind. I was nearly blown off my feet several times before making it to the lawn.
Susan met me at the waterfront, and together we stored the Adirondack chairs inside the boathouse. I lashed the louvered doors shut because they’d blown open and wedged the sailboards in beside the chairs. The building moaned and the windows rattled against the wind gusts.
We headed back up to the house holding hands. The internet/television cable dangled from the pole where it had snapped and we counted two immense ash trees that had been knocked down in woods to the north of our front lawn. Leaves and branches were strewn all over the deck, driveway and lawn. An apple bough laden with blossoms lay on the grass.
After 24 hours our internet service was still down so I called the local company again for an update. A day later I showed the technician the dangling line. He’d been looking for about half an hour, walking around and using the hydraulic cherry picker on his van to lift him up for in-air surveillance on both sides of the road.
Drizzly Day Discovery #1 was this rain soaked vista that inspired an itty-bitty poem. (Source: @virtualdavis)
Drizzly day disappointment is real. It’s a sort of malaise. Perhaps not for all of us, but definitely for some of us.
And yet an inclement day needn’t always disappoint. Far from it, in fact. So — as much to convince myself as to convince you, patient reader — I’ll share a glimpse of two memorable aspects from Tuesday’s rainy washout.
Drizzly Day Haiku
I almost opted out of my morning bike ride because rain was threatening. From early morning “gray light” to sunrise around 5:45 AM to an overcast-but-brightening first hour of the day to… darkness. It was as if we’ve been plunged back into night.
But I pulled on my MAMIL clown suit and headed up to the carriage barn to get my bicycle. It was increasingly clear that raindrops would be falling. Soon. As I pushed my gravel bike outside it begin to drizzle.
Not the most inspiring conditions for a ride, but I decided to give it a go. Over the next 75 minutes the drizzle increased into a full-on rain, then back to drizzle, then a rain scarcely heavier than mist, then back to driving rain. I was drenched. My shoes slurped with each pedal stroke. Road spray blurred with the falling rain. Water up, water down. And from time to time I enjoyed thorough drenching from my flank as a vehicle thundered past. It occurred to me that taking a bicycle through a car wash might feel similar. I don’t advise trying it.
On the positive side, the morning’s temperature was cooler than recent days, and the rain was actually refreshing. Cycling in rainy conditions has the effect of shrinking the world a little bit, decreasing the rider’s focus to a relatively small bubble around him/her while pedaling down the road. This hunkering can sometimes catalyze some pretty useful thinking. Soggy but catalytic headspace!
When I was almost home, pedaling up the small hill at the intersection of NYS Route 22 and Middle Road (where I suspect we may soon confirm Hillcrest Station to have stood a century or so ago), I came across the enchanting view above. It’s a vista that I have appreciated often, but the rain transformed it. Something about the light, the softened edges, the muted palette, and the playful juxtaposition of depth. The tree in the semi-foreground and the Adirondack mountains in the semi-background, both silhouetted as a middle focal horizon between between lush green fields and tie-dyed skies. I stopped and stood awhile absorbing.
And then, as if the soggy haiku wasn’t enough, I also enjoyed another drizzly day discovery in the evening. Our Santa Fe friend and carpenter, Hroth Ottosen, who’s been visiting and helping rebuild Rosslyn’s deck captured a double rainbow over Lake Champlain. Certainly that is some sort of lucky! Although I missed the moment, he snapped some excellent images including the one shown below.
Drizzly Day Discovery #2 was a double rainbow that inspired a micro meditation video. (Source: Hroth Ottosen)
All things considered, this was a drizzly day to reset all expectations. From now on I’ll anticipate good discoveries no matter what sort of weather nature sends out way. And maybe you too have a drizzly day positive story? Hope so!
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
