Susan Skiing Through Saturday Snow Day (Photo: Geo Davis)
No progress on the icehouse project today. None. By design. And by the benevolence of mother nature. Today we celebrated a Saturday snow day!
Carley and Geo on Saturday Snow Day (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Although Saturdays and Sundays are usually rest days for most people, our amazing team has worked through weekends and days-off for months in order to ensure forward motion seven days a week (with very few exceptions and holidays and extreme weather days) ever since this project got off the ground last fall. But today was a planned pause. To reboot. And to accommodate a major March blizzard.
Carley at Library Brook on Snow Day (Photo: Geo Davis)
So I share with you a few snapshots from a day that was snowing when we awoke and that’s still snowing as we head off to dinner.
Carley on Saturday Snow Day (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
These first photos were taken during our late morning cross-country ski outing through Rosslyn’s back fields and forest. Overcast, snowy wonderland. These last two photos were taken earlier, easing into the snowy morning with Carley, Mud/WTR in hand, observing our avian neighbors breakfasting.
Cardinals on Snow Day (Photo: Geo Davis)
Although primarily intended for songbirds, Rosslyn’s bird feeders also welcome enthusiastic opportunists like the mallards.
Today the sun came out, the temperature rose, and the snow began to melt. With work progressing in the icehouse my mind drifted to the days when this building would have been bustling with activity, teams of horses hauling loads of ice from the lake for storage. I imagined the bittersweet emotions that must have surfaced on a day like today. The promise of spring. But ice melting almost as quickly as it was cut, provoking anxiety over whether or not sufficient ice would but cut and stores before temperate weather put a seasonal end to harvesting ice.
Harvesting Ice
Harvesting Ice Haiku
Winter lake cropping — horses, neighbors, and laughter — summer refreshment.
Harvesting Ice
Prior to the nineteenth century, ice harvesting was a local and small time operation… January or February was considered the best month for harvesting. Often communities or groups of farm families would work cooperatively, dividing the “crop” proportionally. In addition to hard work, the “icing” was a social occasion and opportunity for locals to pass gossip and news. (Source: New York Almanack)
Ice Harvesting Photos
These photographs are part of a newly acquired collection of historic reenactment documents that will be framed and displayed in Rosslyn’s icehouse when rehab is complete. More details soon…
What is the cross-country skiing equivalent of schussing down a powdery piste? If it exists — some etymologically Nordic, onomatopoeicly swooshy reference for scissoring smoothly across a snowy meadow or through a snowy forrest — I could sneak it into today’s outing. But I’d be waxing poetic. Projecting fantasy onto a considerably stickier cross-country skiing experience.
Cross-Country Skiing Library Brook Trail (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Don’t get me wrong. Venturing out into Rosslyn’s backland with Susan this afternoon for some slippery sliding and gliding was the perfect reentry. Especially on a Monday. Decadent!
Cross-Country Skiing Beaver Meadow (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
But the new fallen snow was far from powdery. Perfect snowball weather. But the only snowballs we’re those clinging to Carley’s undercarriage as she raced across fields investigating animal tracks. The temperate was week above freezing which made for a highly agreeable jaunt, but the snow adhered to the bottoms of our skis, clumping, slowing out progress.
Carley Criss-Crossing Ski Tracks (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Sticky snow. Overcast skies. And yet it was perfect. My bride, my dog, and time taken to tour Rosslyn’s wilder side while cross-country skiing. Perfection!
Back for another nival homecoming. Fluttering flurries obscuring sunset, muting day to night, ground mounding, rounding with fresh fallen snow. The sound of no sound, snowflakes silencing, softening contours, and settling scores. Slumber’s siren song swaddled in silver, swirling and whirling, mesmerizing me, mesmerizing us until tomorrow.
Another Nival Homecoming (Photo: Geo Davis)
Nival?!?!
There aren’t too many opportunities to nudge “nival” into conversation even in this northern wonderland. But as a language romantic often employing Spanish for my day-to-day communication, the word “nieve” kept burbling to the surface. In English, naval is about as close as we get, so, it was simply irresistible. Or perhaps the snowy sirens are to blame.
That said, it’s worth noting that naval is more metaphorically than literally appropriate in this context. Despite the fact that midwinter — and, yes, late February is still midwinter along the Adirondack Coast — may suggest perpetual snow and ice, spring is only a month (or two) away. Snow and ice will yield, grass will green, snowdrops and hyacinth and daffodils and jonquils (Narcissus jonquilla) will once again awaken springtime from her beauty sleep…
More. Snow. Ahead… (Source: Apple Weather)
And better yet, the snow continues to fall. Certainly cross-country skiing will be woven into tomorrow’s itinerary between icehouse rehab meetings and hands-on problem solving, carpentry, etc. Perhaps even some sunshine to enjoy the swoosh and glide of a mud-day skiing adventure.
Makeshift Workshop in Storage Container (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
We’ve dealt with some unique challenges during Rosslyn’s icehouse rehab, and today’s post provides an inside glimpse into one of the workaround. The icehouse is a small building offering limited workspace. And while we’ve been able to take advantage of the carriage barn for workflows that aren’t adversely impacted by the cold, priming and painting thousands of linear feet of interior and exterior finish lumber requires temperature and moisture stability not currently available in the unheated carriage barn, nor outside during a North Country winter. The solution? Meet our makeshift workshop in a storage container!
Makeshift Workshop in Storage Container (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
We rented a pair of 20′ storage containers to supplement Rosslyn’s two outbuildings. One storage/shipping container is effectively functioning as a warehouse storing building materials, especially all of the architectural salvage that Pam and Tony inventoried and relocated from the icehouse early last autumn.
Makeshift Workshop in Storage Container (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
And today you get a glimpse inside the second storage container, presently serving as our temporary paint station. Steve and Kevin did an commendable job of setting up a makeshift workshop in storage container number two. Add some heat, dehumidification, and a couple of hardworking painters, and… tada!
Snow Falling on Homecoming: January 25, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Today’s ferry ride from Charlotte to Essex — with snow falling on homecoming — tasted bittersweet if vaguely familiar. There was a wellspring of anticipation upon returning to inspect firsthand the team’s progress on the icehouse rehab, boathouse gangway, and some painting and tiling maintenance inside our home. There was also the poignant pique of a visit precipitated not by plan or passion but by infelicitous necessity.
The circumstances of my sojourn need no airing now since, perhaps, the “better part of valor is discretion“. So let’s skip the preamble and fast forward to the purely positive, right?
The cold, blustery ferry ride. The on-again, off-again frenzies of flurries pointillistic-pixelating the watery panorama, the approach to Essex, the desaturated vision of Rosslyn’s boathouse, the almost empty ferry queue, and the entirely empty roadway home.
Hhhmmm… Still shy of the purely positive, but hold tight. It’s coming.
Snow Falling on Cedar Shingles: January 16, 2014 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Snow Falling on Cedar Shingles
That blue-gray veiled waterfront snapshot dates from a post I shared on January 16, 2014. Just over nine years ago. And the title, “Snow Falling on Cedar Shingles“, remanifested in muddled facsimile (snow falling on hemlocks…) as I pulled in the driveway, observing the row of new evergreens planted along the norther edge of the front yard last spring/summer. (Which reminds me, I’ve still not posted those updates. Best get on with it before the one-year anniversary!)
The photo bears a close similarity with today, and this drift of words struck me as uncanny, sort of the mirrored reflection of my sentiments upon arriving today.
A parting glimpse of the boathouse blurred beyond veil of soggy snowflakes. Southwestern sirens are calling me away — by ferry, airplane and rental jalopy — so I leave the homestead in the able care of my bride and my dog for a few days. I’m willing deep drifts of powdery snow upon my return! (Source: Snow Falling on Cedar Shingles)
And this, fair reader, is where the positive uptick begins.
Another whirlwind visit, but rather than a whirlwind away in Santa Fe, it was to be a whirlwind in Essex. I took note of that. Just shy of a decade; a not-so-subtle shift. And then there was that twin allusion to the recently re-roofed icehouse, long since silver-foxed, and to David Guterson’s novel which had moved me then but has slowly vanished like the ferry’s wake resolving back into the surface of the lake. And that transformation from cedars, actually American arborvitae (known locally as “cedars” or “white cedars”) to hemlocks resonated as well.
Snow Falling on Hemlocks
Remembering the micropoem with macropotence. Superpowers.
There was no crow today to catalyze my “change of mood”. There were birds at the bird feeders beside the deck and beneath the leafless gingko tree. And several mallards retrieving fallen birdseed from the snow beneath the feeders. And the new row of hemlocks, similar to the old row of hemlocks on the other side of the property, looked green black beneath their frosted cloaks. But it wasn’t the songbirds, the mallards, or the hemlocks that “saved some part / Of a day I had rued.”
Snow Falling on Homecoming: January 25, 2023 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Snow Falling on the Icehouse
It was gathering with Tony and Peter and Steve inside the icehouse, taking in the awesome transformation from dirt floored shell of a utility building to micro mansion. A soaring one-room wonderland with a loft that thrills the 10-year old still overmuch alive in me. A barn loft with a handsome, homey stair rather than a ladder. A stout rebuild with an airy energy. An icehouse warm against the frosty afternoon despite the fact that no heat was running. A small scale sanctuary for writing and reading and creating the day away.
After meeting with the members of the team on hand I wandered, cold, and snow capping my hat and shoulders around and around, studying sightlines, editing hardscape and landscape plans, evolving furniture plans. After several months away, inspecting and and guiding and absorbing the progress from a digital distance that distorts the approximately 2,000 miles of reality jam-packed between me and the actual timbers and window openings and stair landing that have risen in the empty volume I left behind in September. Virtual reality is not reality. But walking and touching and rapping my knuckles and eyeballing alignments and sitting in a folding chair exactly where my desk chair will be several months from now,…
Snow Falling on Homecoming
This is the uptick. Where I felt tormented and conflicted in recent days, even as the ferry glided across the chilly lake, I now feel swollen with optimism. And underpinning the optimism is profound pride and gratitude for the work that has been completed and to the team who made this possible. Thank you Hroth, Pam, Tony, Eric, Matt, Brandon, Ben, Justin, Jarrett, Bob, Phil, Zack, David, Steve, Kevin, and everyone else I’m inadvertently overlooking. Your hard work and perseverance have begun to transform a vision into a building — an environment for creativity and productivity and entertainment — worthy of the handsome heritage that this historic property deserves. Susan and I are profoundly grateful to you all.
Starting today, Epiphany will be Shirley Bacot Shamel Day.
Susan chuckled this morning after reminding me that her family hadn’t celebrated Epiphany when she was growing. I had reminded her that my family had, and for some reason she considers it slightly droll. It’s true that we did celebrate some holidays that my peers did not. I’m not certain why. In addition to Epiphany, we celebrated Saint Nicholas Day (aka Saint Nick’s Day) a month ago on December 6.
We celebrated all sorts of holidays that my friends did not. Christmas, yes. But also Epiphany (Three Kings Day) and another near-to-Christmas night when we placed our shoes at the top of the stairs and St. Nick (I think) came and filled them with treats. Pistachios. Chocolates. Silver dollars. (Source: Rabbit, Rabbit « virtualDavis)
Other Davis family habits and traditions make her chuckle as well, including rabbit-rabbit-ing the end and beginning of months; using “Christmas crackers“ to celebrate not only Christmas, but New Years, Thanksgiving, and just about any other festive meal; and corn cakes and turkey gravy as a customary follow-on meal after Christmas and Thanksgiving.
Although Susan thinks some of these observances amusing, it’s worth noting that she has embraced year-round crackers with gusto. Any excuse for miniature fireworks and crown-wearing appeals to her!
It was encouraging to hear Susan start the morning today with a chuckle. Today, of all days. Her spontaneous laughter instantly lifted the ominous if unspoken heaviness that had settled upon her, settled upon us, over the last 24 hours.
In addition to Epiphany, January 6 marks a more painful anniversary. Susan‘s mother, Shirley Bacot Shamel, passed away three years ago today. The loss remains palpable, and grieving is ongoing, intermittent, and usually unanticipated, triggered by a song, a memento, a photograph,…
Today’s melancholy was anticipated, and by yesterday memories were being shared. I knew that today would be difficult, but I hadn’t come up with any clever ways to support my beautiful bride.
But Susan’s early morning laughter lifted my hopes and prompted an epiphany! (Sorry, I couldn’t resist.) Suddenly I had an idea how to transform this solemn day into a more joyful remembrance. Let’s start a new tradition of our own.
Starting today, Epiphany will be Shirley Bacot Shamel Day.
Epiphany2
To follow my logic, if there is any (and I’d venture a suggestion that epiphanies needn’t follow the laws of logic), we might first take a look at capital “E”, Epiphany.
January 6 observed as a church festival in commemoration of the coming of the Magi as the first manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles or in the Eastern Church in commemoration of the baptism of Christ. (Source: Merriam-Webster)
For some readers this is familiar. For others, not, so here’s a slightly more expansive explanation.
After the 12th day of Christmas, believers take down their festive decor. But they don’t let January 6—or January 19 for many Orthodox Christians who still abide by the Julian calendar—pass by without another Christmas-connected celebration.
Tied to biblical accounts of Jesus Christ’s birth and baptism, the holiday of Epiphany is a chance for Christians to reflect on the nature of God’s physical manifestation on Earth and pay homage to three important visitors in the biblical account of Jesus’ birth. (Source: National Geographic)
The three important visitors in the second explanation and the Magi mentioned in the first are one and the same. Also known as the three wise men, the three kings (sometimes even by name: Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar), and sometimes more by association with the gifts they bore: gold, myrrh, and frankincense.
If you’re anywhere as keen a Christmas carol aficionado as I am, you’re familiar with these three gift bearing gentlemen, but if not, you’ve at least a basic understanding now.
So that’s capital “E”, Epiphany. What about this morning’s lowercase “e”, epiphany?
Again I need to reach back a little. I’m as keen on getting and decorating a Christmas tree as I am on Christmas carols, and given the anticipation it represents (and the beauty it adds to mornings and evenings) I prefer to jumpstart Christmas by finding a handsome evergreen and decorating it midway between Thanksgiving and Christmas. And that means I’m ready by New Year’s Eve for it to morph from crispy needle-dropping leftover to lush, colorful memory. But we rarely manage to get the tree down by New Year’s Eve or even New Year’s Day. So, in keeping with National Geographic’s observation, it had struck me that today might be the perfect time to un-decorate the Christmas tree.
But that’s not the epiphany. In trying to anticipate a way to brighten my bride’s morning on a particularly mournful morning, I thought wishing her a happy Epiphany and proposing that we start a new tradition of removing the Christmas tree each year on January 6 might shift her perspective and strike her innate sense of logic. But…
That chuckle.
Starting today, Epiphany will be Shirley Bacot Shamel Day.
Shirley Bacot Shamel Day
The eureka moment catalyzed by Susan’s superpower smile and laugh suddenly made it all clear. Yes, we needed to launch a new family tradition. From now on Epiphany should be a holiday to celebrate the legacy of Susan’s mother. Three years ago we lost Shirley. On this day. And on this day we recognize three kings bearing gifts. Loose logic? No logic?!?! But sometimes the universe rhymes, and in that moment I could hear the singing underneath, connecting these nominally connected dots into a perfect picture of Epiphany as Shirley Day. Sure, we could remove ornaments from the tree, and I could drag it out back for wood chipping. But maybe we should think bigger. A hooky day. No work. A day to remember and celebrate and show our love for the lady who blessed our union before it even existed. (That story for another day.)
And so today we started a new family tradition. We canceled commitments, bundled into our ski gear, and headed into the snowy mountains for some outdoor bliss. And you know what? It worked. It recalibrated our brains. It lifted our spirits. Whether or not the tree is going to get tackled is still uncertain. But a delicious dinner this evening; a hot tub soak as we were enjoying the night Shirley passed; and some time together gazing up at a bright star that guided three kings, a star that Susan named after her mother three years ago, a star that now helps guide us; this is 100% certain.
Bald eagle perches along Essex waterfront watching ducks.
I saw a young bald eagle recently flying over the lake just off from the hamlet. The ducks by the ferry dock ignored him but I bet they were keeping a close watch nevertheless. ~ Rob Ivy (Essex Column, Feb. 5, 2014)
I bundled up this morning – thermals and lots of fleecy layers – to brace against the subzero temperatures. After almost 24 hours of continuous snowfall I was excited with the prospect of an early morning skiing the fresh powder at Whiteface. But an even greater gift surprised me as I finished scraping the car and climbed in.
Bald Eagle Breakfasting?
My mobile phone buzzed to tell me a Facebook message had arrived.
“Bald eagle out there this morning!”
It was Willsboro neighbor, Beatrice Disogra, a daily Essex ferry commuter with a gift of spying bald eagles (and spectacular Lake Champlain views!) I parked at the end of our driveway, craning my neck to survey the trees. I didn’t see him at first. Our digital dialogue continued.
Look to the left of the boathouse up in the tall trees on the WATER’S EDGE. It came down and plucked a fish out between the boathouse and ferry dock last week. I’m at the ferry dock watching it right now. There’s a young one without white feathers that hangs out in front of your house. Should be easy to spot when the sun comes out.
I got out of my car and walked north, inspecting ash, maple, locust and cottonwood. Then I noticed a likely suspect.
Just walked toward Sandy Pt. Saw large blackish mass high in tree. Not certain it was eagle, but now gone.
It was. It flew past me at ferry dock. It will come back.
“Sitting ducks” enjoying the boathouse bubbler (while bald eagle watches.)
I had snapped the blurry photo above with my mobile phone in order to zoom in and take a closer look once I was back in the warmth of my car. And the eagle must have flown off as soon as I turned to walk away.
Bald Eagle and “Sitting Ducks”
I verified with Ms. Disogra that she’d witnessed the eagle catching a fish, not a duck. She assured me that she had been close enough to see it.
But bald eagles are also fond of ducks, and the area we keep bubbled in front of Rosslyn’s boathouse inevitably offers an inviting smorgasbord for hungry eagles. So far no photos of an eagle flying away with a duck in its talons!
It is worth noting, I am conflicted about this bald eagle and “sitting duck” situation. I am a big fan of the ducks. In fact, I want to raise a few ducklings myself one day, if only my bride would relent. And I am also awed by the magnificent bald eagles which frequent the Adirondack Coast in winter. But one could argue that we are effectively manipulating nature by creating open water which attracts the wild ducks, causing atypically high concentration which favors the bald eagles.
Waterfront Winterization: Pulling out the boat lift on September 22, 2016.
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.
The photo above chronicles the slow process of dragging the boat lift ashore. We use an electric winch and plenty of manpower. The aluminum dock is next. Rolling it in is the easy part. Lifting it up the stone terracing to higher ground is our version of crossfit.
Special thanks to Doug Decker, Erick Decker, Matt Smith, Alex Shepard, and Jeff Bigelow for making today’s waterfront winterization the smoothest and most efficient to date.
Boats on the Hard
Waterfront Winterization: Pulling the ski boat on September 21, 2016.
Usually in October, we haul Errant, our 31′ sailboat and Racy Rosslyn, our ski boat. This year we had to advance our haul dates to accommodate a busy fall schedule. In the photo above Racy Rosslyn is being towed away for winterization and storage.
Waterfront Winterization 2016: Errant is on the hard at a nearby shipyard.
La Vie en Rose: Rosslyn boathouse during a late February sunset. (Credit: Kristen Eden)
Je vois la vie en rose
I see life through rose-colored glasses — Édith Piaf
Édith Piaf’s “La Vie En Rose” – usually translated as “Life Through Rose-Colored Glasses” – inevitably, joyfully came to mind when this sexy photograph was shared with me on Facebook by an Essex friend and neighbor, Janice Koenig. It turns out the photographer, Kristen Eden, is also an Essex neighbor and, if Facebook counts, a new friend.
Kristen’s photographs (see gallery below for a few more) capture warmth and tenderness, unusual characteristics for mid-winter images of icy Lake Champlain. Even on sunny days our North Country light in February tends to by harsh and severe, so these unlikely photos were a welcome sight. They lit up Facebook prompting “likes” and comments from many local and distant fans. My downsized, watermarked versions of her photos don’t fairly do the originals justice, but you can enjoy the image above, “Ducks swimmin’ in pink lemonade” (in larger, better format) on Kristen Eden Fine Art and Photography.
Sensuous & Harsh: La Vie En Rose
Piaf, France’s “Little Sparrow”, similarly blends the sensuous and the harsh. Perhaps it’s the scratchy old recordings. Or her crushed velvet sound. Or her swooping transitions and confident refrains. Who knows? A siren’s mystery. Listen and decide for yourself.
Piaf’s song wove itself inextricably into my already Pollyanna-prone psyche during my college years, and despite the lyrics’s unlikely resonance, they remain evocative and hypnotic half a lifetime later. Piaf’s sensuous sound makes me nostalgic for the years I lived in Paris even now as I type these words about photographs that remind me how much I am enchanted with Essex, a world away from The City of Light.
Thanks for your Rose-colored Glasses
Thanks, Kristen, for your stunning photographs. And thanks, Janice, for bringing them to my attention.
Pink Green Mountain sunset (Credit: Kristen Eden)
Lake Champlain sunset in February (Credit: Kristen Eden)
Essex-Charlotte ferry dock during late February sunset (Credit: Kristen Eden)
I left you wondering, patiently waiting for a couple of weeks after the “Deck Rebuild” update. I promised a post specifically focusing on the garapa decking, but days turned into weeks, and no garapa gallery. Sorry. Rest assured it was an act of omission, my friends, not an act of commission. (Maybe “fall” earned its name as an abbreviation for “falling behind”?)
Before 2022 re-decking… (Source: Geo Davis)
But you needn’t wait any longer. Patience is overrated, and the new deck “eye candy” is ready. Pictures aplenty coming your way shortly, but first a little backward glance to Rosslyn’s first garapa deck waaayyy back in 2008-2009. You see, this newly completed deck is a redo of the same deck and decking completed during our epic rehabilitation project a decade and a half ago.
So, without further ado, let’s look at the first iteration of Rosslyn’s garapa deck.
Garapa Decking v1.0
Let’s start by rewinding the timeline to 2008-9. Building the new deck and installing garapa decking was the proverbial caboose in a virtually endless train of construction that started in the summer of 2006. And with winter upon us, December days flurrying past, the year coming to an end, carpentry conditions deteriorating rapidly, and the risk of missing yet another deadline, we were pushing hard to get the deck complete before 2008 morphed into 2009. Fortunately most of our crew had been with us for years and they were really, really good sports about giving everything they had to finish the year with a completed deck.
Although the deck had been underway for many weeks at this point, let’s start with a couple of cold and drizzly December 10, 2008 snapshots.
Doug’s Decking Tent, December 10 2008 (Source: Geo Davis)
This makeshift weatherproofing was an attempt to endure the increasingly cold and wet conditions as autumn gave way to winter. Decking was closer, closer, sooo close,… but not yet done. And the damp child found its way into every every gap between clothing, up sleeves, down collars. Winter’s warning was everywhere as the team hustled toward the finish line.
Wondering about that smiling, blurry apparition at the left? That’s Doug Decker, hustling to keep warm. (And his colleague, partially concealed beneath the tarp, is Jonathan “Boulder” Schier.)
Here’s another glimpse of the challenging conditions the crew endured during the final stretch of the garapa decking project almost fourteen years ago. It’s not east to discern but Doug’s under the tarp tent working on the stairway.
Of course, the only way to make these drizzly early December conditions look pleasant is to leapfrog forward to December 22, 2008.
Installing Garapa Stairs on December 22, 2008 (Source: Geo Davis)
You might almost miss freezing rain once a couple feet of snow have blanketed the North Country. In the photo above, a dauntless carpenter (either Kevin Boyle or Warren Cross, I believe, though perspective and bundling make me uncertain) is scribing and installing garapa treads, the final step to completing the deck. And despite the snow, it’s sunny and he’s dressed for success. This is certainly one of the downsides of installing a deck so late in the season (and one of the upsides of having such an amazing team of carpenters, willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done right and on time!)
Garapa Deck, January 1, 2009 (Source: Geo Davis)
What a perfect way to start the new year! Garapa decking installation complete; access to and from vehicles, garbage and recycling shed, side yards, safe and convenient; and an absolutely breathtaking addition to the property, transitioning perfectly from interior to exterior space.
Garapa Deck, February 2, 2009 (Source: Geo Davis)
One month later Rosslyn’s garapa deck looks as if it’s always been there. Patinated perfection. Still unsealed, waiting for more forgiving conditions, but that too will happen in due time. (Although it’s an off-topic segue, I will revisit this period between garapa installation and sealing down the line. There was an unfortunate hiccup that required attention, but — spoiler alert — it wasn’t actually caused by the gap between install and oiling. Another gap was the culprit…)
Wayne Gryk Sealing Garapa Deck, September 19, 2009 (Source: Geo Davis)
Friend and jack-of-all-trades-master-of-many, Wayne Gryk tackled the challenge of sealing the garapa decking 9-10 months after installation. He’s an artist, a perfectionist, a productive and diligent finisher, and exactly the right person for the final step in Rosslyn’s [first] garapa deck.
Home stretch… One of the boobytraps of sealing a deck is maintaining house access. It’s easy to accidentally close off entrance and egress without forethought about how you’ll access the dwelling while patiently swaying the often lengthy cure time. Fortunately this isn’t the sort of drama Wayne delivers
Sealing Garapa Deck, September 19, 2009 (Source: Geo Davis)
Wayne proceeded strategically, leaving a small unsealed “pathway” on the deck for us to enter and exit until the newly sealed decking had dried sufficiently. Once we could switch to another doorway, Wayne finish up the last little bit. In the photo below he’s almost finished, but you can already see the glorious accomplishment.
Wayne Gryk Sealing Garapa Deck, September 19, 2009 (Source: Geo Davis)
At this point it’d be reasonable to fast-track from 2009 to the present, 2022. With a newly rebuilt deck, brand new garapa decking installed, and a fresh coat of oil accentuating the unique color and grain of the garapa, it’s a site to behold.
But before showcasing the new decking, I’d like to make a quick pitstop on November 25, 2016 which is a handy example of the results of resealing our first garapa deck. Let’s start with a high sun, midday look across the deck shortly after oiling.
Resealing Garapa Deck, November 25, 2016 (Source: Geo Davis)
You’ll note the considerably darker decking in the photo above. This is not because we used a dark pigmented sealer (we have always used clear sealers). It’s the effect of graying as the deck ages. We generally allow a few years between resealing, in part because we actually really enjoy how the gray patinated decking looks next to the Essex quarried limestone (aka Chazy limestone) walls. But a sealed deck is better preserved against the snowy Adirondack winters, so we reseal in service to longevity. In this photo you can see how much depth and character the garapa exudes as it matures. Each season offers intriguing nuances to discover and appreciate.
Resealing Garapa Deck, November 25, 2016 (Source: Geo Davis)
The same deck, the same day, viewed from another angle highlights the honey and maple syrup range of Rosslyn’s garapa deck approximately eight years and several resealings after her debut.
In more recent years we allowed the decking to gray without resealing because we knew that the substructure was failing and deck replacement was iminent. In preparation for our summer 2022 deck rebuild we carefully salvaged all of this original garapa decking, and current experiments are underway to determine the most appealing adaptive reuse in the new icehouse project. (I’ll post an update on that soon!)
Next up? Installing garapa decking on the newly rebuilt deck!
Supi Installing Northside Post Wraps (Photo: Peter Vaiciulis)
With the blizzard barreling into our neck of the woods, Peter and Supi hustled to wrap up installation of northside posts before snow stalls their progress.
Supi Installing Northside Post Wraps (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
These photos give the golden-lighted illusion that work conditions down at the boathouse are temperate and eminently agreeable. Reality is a bit different, of course. Temperatures have been damp and cold. And working on a manmade peninsula out into chilly, windy Lake Champlain isn’t for the delicate.
Northside Post Wraps (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
In the photo above the copper tops are as obviously absent as the railings. I had a “tin knocker” fabricate the copper tops almost a decade and a half ago. They’ve patinated handsomely in their demanding lakeside environment, and they’ve even endured a few dings from waterski fins, windsurfer booms, etc. over the years. So replace them, right? No way! We’re carefully removing the small copper nails that secure them, and we’ll reuse them once railings are in place. As if nothing ever changed!
Boathouse Northside Post Wraps Installed (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Northside Posts Ready for Rails
The northside posts are s assigned and ready for Peter and Supi to install the railings. The railing components are being fabricated — almost done — and following the posts to Willsboro where Erin is priming and painting the components prior to installation. Lots. Of. Steps. Have I mentioned before that it takes a team?!?!
Boathouse Northside Posts Installed (Photo: Peter Vaiciulis)
That photo above shows new post wraps primed, re-sanded, and ready for another coat of primer. Then they’ll receive two coats of paint before being installed. Overkill, you’re wondering? Actually it’s future -proofing. An investment in longevity. Yes, historic rehabilitation is a perpetual balancing act between revitalizing the past and endeavoring to preserve these architectural artifacts well into the future. Onward!
