This winter Rosslyn’s trail camera silently monitoring a fence opening (along the margin of a woods-fields transition) recorded our second most frequent nocturnal visitor, the Eastern Coyote. The images in this post, captured this past January (2017), might even offer a glimpse at the animal frequently referred to as a “coywolf”.
[pullquote]The coyote—or possibly “coywolf”—was easily as large as a malamute… and the head and tail were notably larger than other coyotes I’ve seen.[/pullquote]Although none of these photographs portray exceptionally large canids, on several occasions I have witnessed firsthand coyotes of significantly larger proportions. My first experience took place almost a decade ago while brush-hogging one of the rear meadows. The coyote—or possibly “coywolf”—was easily as large as a malamute and considerably more robust than the coyotes in these trail cam photos. Coloring was mottled grays and browns, and the head and tail were notably larger than other coyotes I’ve seen.
My second experience was more recent.
An almost black coyote/”coywolf” of still larger proportions was startled by me during an early morning orchard inspection. S/he loped away from me across the near meadow, slowly and confidently, gliding through the high grass with a confidence and elegance I’ve never before witnessed among coyotes.
Spectacular!
Coyote Captured on Camera, January 2017 (Source: Trail Camera Photo by Geo Davis)
If you’re interested in learning more about coyotes and/or “coywolves” in the Adirondacks, I recommend friend and neighbor John Davis’s post on our Essex community blog, “Welcoming the Coywolf.”
I will share additional game/trail camera photos of Rosslyn’s native wildlife (including Bobcat) in the near future. Stay tuned!
Snow fleas? That’s a thing?!?! Yes, you read that correctly. Yesterday my bride, my beast (a perennially curious and wanderlusty Labrador Retriever) and I explored some soggy-but-still-snowy woodlands along the western shore of Lake Champlain with John Davis (The Rewilding Institute) and Jon Leibowitz (Northeast Wilderness Trust). It would be difficult to find a more interesting duo with whom to muck about on a balmy late December day, celebrating oak and shag bark hickory trees and pondering wild critter tracks.
In this melting eden we stumbled upon the snow fleas…
Lots and lots of springtails in December 2017 (Source: Geo Davis)
Does it look like someone sneezed pepper on the snow? Is the pepper bouncing around? You’re probably looking at springtails, also known as snow fleas. Don’t worry, they aren’t real fleas — they just bounce around in a similar way. (Source: WIRED)
That description, pepper sneezed on snow, is pretty much spot on. Bouncing pepper.
Lots and lots of springtails in December 2017 (Source: Geo Davis)
Springtails are incredibly abundant — there can be 250,000,000 individuals per square acre. They are active year round, but usually are hidden away under leaves or your favorite flowerpot. It’s a good thing to see springtails in and around your garden and woods. They are found where there is rich organic soil, and they help make more soil by snarfing up fungal spores, insect poop, and other debris. They rarely cause plant damage. (Source: WIRED)
Did you get that? Despite the assurance to the contrary by pest control companies, springtails are not bad guys. In fact, they’re good guys!
Springtails are not parasites; they feed on decaying organic matter in the soil (such as leaf litter) and, therefore, play an important part in natural decomposition. (Source: EcoTone)
Lots and lots of springtails in December 2017 (Source: Geo Davis)
Snow fleas are wingless insects, incapable of flying. They move by walking, and also by jumping. But unlike other famous jumping arthropods (like grasshoppers or jumping spiders), snow fleas don’t use their legs to jump… [They] catapult themselves into the air by releasing a spring-like mechanism called a furcula, a sort of tail that’s folded underneath its body, ready for action.
(Thus the name springtail.) When the furcula releases, the… [insect] is launched several inches, a considerable distance for such a tiny bug. It’s an effective way to flee potential predators quickly, although they have no way to steer.(Source: What Are Snow Fleas? All About Winter Springtails)
Lots and lots of springtails in December 2017 (Source: Geo Davis)
Lots and lots of springtails in December 2017 (Source: Geo Davis)
[Springtails] are able to withstand the bitter temperatures of winter thanks to a “glycine-rich antifreeze protein,” as reported in a study published in Biophysical Journal. The protein… binds to ice crystals as they start to form, preventing the crystals from growing larger. (Source: EcoTone)
And this intimate look at springtails courtesy of Mark Fraser (www.naturewalkswithmark.org) offers up the perfect wrap up to this first-and-probably-last post about snowy flea-like cousins to the other jumper pepper grounds…
I mentioned the other day that frosty, persistent midwinter is the perfect time to get Rosslyn’s lawn and field equipment serviced so that it’s ready for prime time once the snow retreats and the dandelions bloom.
A few days before the tractor was picked up, the folks at Mountain View Equipment (formerly Giroux Brothers) retrieved the John Deere “truckling” for a top-to-bottom Gator service. The machine is a couple of years old, and this is the first time we’ve sent it in for a checkup. The battery has been running down between uses; the left rear side panel is cracked from an encounter with the backhoe teeth; and fluids, filters, etc. were due for a change.
Gator Service & Home Again, Jiggety-Jig
As it turns out, the battery hasn’t been charging since the day we took ownership of the Gator. The in-line fuse that enables the battery to get charged was never installed at the John Deere factory. Hmmm… Quality control?
The v-belt was ready for replacement ($60, ouch!) and the fuel sender was giving inaccurate readings. Not mission critical, but it would be a pain in the posterior to be working in the back meadows and find out that the Gator was out of gas despite a full gauge reading. And the replacement panel was installed. All of the routine maintenance (filters, spark plugs, fluids, etc.) was undertaken including a pressure wash and spit shine. Well, minus the spit, I hope.
Gator service complete.
Gator Service Done, We’re Ready for Spring
With a freshly spruced up Gator, all we need is for the snow to melt and the temperatures to double. And – as if on cue – a blast of warm weather spoiled us on Tuesday (when the Gator was dropped off) despite a blizzard forecast.
In this age of mobile connectivity we’re never far from up-to-the-moment weather advisories and alerts. This winter storm warning interrupted me this morning.
Alert: Winter Storm Warning Winter storm warning now in effect until 11 pm EST this evening. The national weather service in Burlington has extended the winter storm warning for heavy snow and mixed precipitation until 11 pm EST this evening.
Locations The northern Adirondacks of New York as well as central and southern portions of Vermont.
Hazard Types Heavy wet snow and mixed wintry precipitation.
Accumulations Total storm snow accumulation of 8 to 16 inches of heavy dense snow along with around a trace of ice. Locally higher accumulations possible across the higher elevations.
Maximum Snowfall Rate Up to 1 inch per hour mainly this afternoon through evening.
Timing Light snows and occasional light mixed precipitation this morning will become steadier and heavier by this afternoon into this evening.
Impacts Travel conditions will remain difficult to hazardous due to snow covered roads and visibilities occasionally dropping below one half mile. In addition the weight of the snow and light ice accumulations may lead to additional scattered power outages. Snow amounts will vary by elevation with temperatures near freezing and road conditions will be highly variable.
Winds North 5 to 15 mph with gusts up to 30 mph.
Temperatures Steady from the upper 20s to the mid 30s.
The winter storm warning is abbreviated here to avoid the doomsday implications regarding “Precautionary/Preparedness Actions”. An early season heavy snow can be exciting. It might even offer us an opportunity to x-country ski before heading off to Santa Fe in a couple of days. (I’m feeling excitement tempered with the hope that this winter storm warning doesn’t delay our departure… Fingers crossed for the good without the bad!)
Winter storm damage throughout Rosslyn’s woods and meadows.
My enthusiasm for an early season blizzard was rewarded (punished?) severalfold. Be careful what you wish for! Remember the section about potential winter storm damage in my last post?
Impacts Travel conditions will remain difficult to hazardous due to snow covered roads and visibilities occasionally dropping below one half mile. In addition the weight of the snow and light ice accumulations may lead to additional scattered power outages… (via National Weather Service, Alert: Winter Storm Warning)
The weight of the snow was significant not only because of how much snow fell, but also because of how unbelievably wet and dense the snow was. It reminded me of spring snow. Heavy!
The good news is that it looks beautiful. Postcard perfect. Except when you notice the destruction wrought by the weight of the wet snow. That’s the bad news. So many trees were overwhelmed by the snow load. Massive limbs snapped off of numerous white pines. The majority of the birch trees are doubled over. Some will recover. Others will remain bowed forever. And, sadly, a few will snap.
Swinger of Birches
I can’t help but draw upon one of my favorite poems, “Birches” by Robert Frost, albeit with a shadow of sadness. Here are a couple of the most relevant lines. First, this chummy setup.
When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy’s been swinging them.
But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay
As ice-storms do… (The Poetry Foundation)
And then Frost’s melancholic realization that the trees will never reach for the stars again.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun. (The Poetry Foundation)
Surveying the Winter Storm Damage
My wish for a x-country ski outing before departing for the holidays was granted, though I might have thought it through more thoroughly before hurling my pipe dream into the falling flakes.
[pullquote]But as we glided into the first wooded area we realized how many trees were broken.[/pullquote]
Susan and I enjoyed the first leg of our ski, from house past the barns and through the orchard. Proceeding through the gates in across the first meadow we were still excited about the fresh snow which so completely blanketed everything.
But as we glided into the first wooded area we realized how many trees were broken. We skied all around the perimeter, and I even attempted a few inner loops. Everywhere devastation. At one point I even had to remove my skies to climb through twisted limbs completely obstructing the trail. Susan waged a valiant war against the limbs still laden but not yet snapped, poking and prodding with her pole to release the snow so the branches could spring up. But there were so many trees and there was so much snow. As darkness fell we glided back to the house with spirits sagging.
I’ll revisit this in a couple of days, perhaps in more detail. Or perhaps just with additional photos. For now I must hustle to get packed…
Sometimes meteorologists get it right. And Rosslyn’s winter wonderland 2019 just might become Exhibit A in the Meteo Defense column. Thank you, snow gods!
Winter Wonderland 2019: Rosslyn buried in 20-24″ of fresh snow. (Credit: P.M.)
Winter storm warnings wander across our radar often enough this time of year that we become a little meteorology skeptical. Not cynical. Just suspicious that promised snowstorms won’t quite measure up to the hype. Sort of a wait-and-see approach to meteorological forecasting…
But this winter storm was different!
With 20″-24″ of magnificent white stuff blanketing Rosslyn, it’s proof positive that sometimes their predictions are spot on.
Winter Wonderland 2019: Rosslyn’s front entrance buried in 20-24″ of fresh snow. (Credit: R. P. Murphy)
Winter Wonderland 2019: Rosslyn’s carriage barn and ice house buried in 20-24″ of fresh snow. (Credit: R. P. Murphy)
Winter Wonderland 2019: Rosslyn’s “backside” buried in 20-24″ of fresh snow. (Credit: R. P. Murphy)
Winter Wonderland 2019: Rosslyn’s boathouse buried in 20-24″ of fresh snow. (Credit: R. P. Murphy)
Winter Wonderland 2019: Essex ferry approaching Rosslyn’s boathouse. (Credit: R. P. Murphy)
Winter Wonderland 2019: Rosslyn’s stone walls buried in 20-24″ of fresh snow. (Credit: R. P. Murphy)
Spectacular, right? This snowfall reminds me of the snowfalls I remember from my Adirondack childhood in the 1970s and 1980s. Such massive mounds of powdery bliss! I sometimes wonder if my memory has been kidnapped by my imagination, but this winter wonderland is proof that epic snowfalls are real. And magnificent. Time to go outside and play.
Sometimes it seems words can get in the way of our will and our wants. Often even. Sometimes words blur or over-focus or misrepresent… But they’re what we’ve got. And so it is that my morning words today, “Midwinter Mending”, endeavor to broadcast my will and want without blurring or over-focusing or misrepresenting. Allow, if you will, that these words are optimistic and matter-of-fact. An apt title for a tiny clutch of poetry that, like a seed perhaps, might germinate and flourish.
Midwinter Mending Haiku
A tiny building on Rosslyn’s waterfront. A tiny poem on a tiny moment like a threshold — midwinter, mid-repair — captured in a snapshot from a close friend. Probably a phone photo. A delicately distorted photo, watercolor-like in it’s impressionist abstraction, not altogether unlike stained glass that offers a fresh perspective on the familiar.
I hope that this haiku will fertilize the Rosslyn boathouse rehab, accelerating its already delayed completion before Lake Champlain’s winds and rising waters and, possibly soon, her ice begin to battle with the dock house. I hope…
I associate amaryllis with the winter holidays. An exotic flower for us, gifted when we’re fortunate, and occupying a central and highly visible perch, usually in the kitchen. Not sure why the kitchen except that there’s water handy, and life revolves around the kitchen this time of year, so the progress — from voluminous bulb to strappy leaves and robust stems to extravagant blooms — is omnipresent. We comment on the the rising and the unfolding, each time surprised by how much grandeur can explode out of that bursting bulb.
And like so many blooms that we cultivate, that we await and monitor and celebrate, the amaryllis is part of the elusive collection-cum-constellation I’ve been attempting to corral, the ingredients for a home. My home. For homeness. My homeness. What makes a house a home? Well, somewhere high on the list are plants. And this time of year there may be no more regal reminder of how beholden I am to these exuberant houseguests.
Today, I’ll defer to these blooms, a gift from our friend, Jennifer Isaacson, and the words of three poets who’ve grappled with the mysterious amaryllis. I’ll start with the two middle stanzas from Connie Wanek’s “Amaryllis”.
Months ago the gigantic onion of a bulb
half above the soil
stuck out its green tongue
and slowly, day by day,
the flower itself entered our world,
closed, like hands that captured a moth,
then open, as eyes open,
and the amaryllis, seeing us,
was somehow undiscouraged.
It stands before us now…
— Connie Wanek, “Amaryllis” (Source: Poetry Foundation)
Superb! This is the procession of anticipated joys, first small, then larger, then bigger than life. From this literal, accessible, potently visual poem of Wanek’s I turn to two separate section in Henri Cole’s “My Amaryllis” that speak to this current journey in ways I can only cite and not explain. Not yet at least. Hopefully soon.
Like my amaryllis, I need a stone in my pot
as a ballast.
— Henri Cole, “My Amaryllis” (Source: The Atlantic)
The enigmatic push-pull I’ve been grappling with lately, this relationship with Rosslyn that has outlived our original expectations fourfold and yet that nurtures us and revitalizes us, the recognition that this ballast rights us in heavy seas, buoys us in a storm, this conundrum cloaked in an evening gown simultaneously whisks me off my feet and holds me steady. Where from here?
Midwinter Amaryllis (Photo: Geo Davis)
At present, the where resolves itself by slipping down a few lines to this.
Vain as Picasso,
mechanical as a beetle, I want to make
a thing I haven’t made that says,
Look how he’s evolved.
— Henri Cole, “My Amaryllis” (Source: The Atlantic)
I’ll step aside and let this stand on its own. Well done, Henri Cole!
Midwinter Amaryllis (Photo: Geo Davis)
And for my last point of reference, my final poetic meditation on the enchanting amaryllis, I refer you to “Amaryllis” by Glen Mott. Of the three, this poem is at once the most complex and the most intoxicating. I’ll spare Mott my clumsy scalpel, resist the temptation to cull lines that resonate, and instead crib the writer’s observation about the poem.
“Desert nightfall in a border town, an evening of estranged emotions at the edge of articulation, harder to name than pliant happiness. Something in the form of an epitaph for lapsed solemnity. A mendicant’s bouquet.” – Glenn Mott (Source: Academy of American Poets)
It’s not often that a footnote to a poem carries the same muscle, music, and mystery as the poetry it seeks to clarify, but there it is. Plaudits, poet.
Midwinter Amaryllis (Photo: Geo Davis)
I imagine that the work of a mosaic artist might not always involve compelling fragments to coalesce around the artist’s vision. I imagine that sometimes it is enough to gather the ingredients, to push them into proximity with one another, and then to retreat. This evening I will test out this theory. Either I will succeed. Or I will fail.
In either case a new blossom is opening, and the midwinter amaryllis will be even more exhilarating tomorrow.
Griffin Considers Winter Solstice: December 22, 2013 (Photo: Geo Davis)
Welcome to day one of the Adirondack Coast‘s coldest season. Today is the winter solstice, the first official day of winter, and — more importantly for the likes of my mother and others who favor longer days and shorter nights — the threshold between the briefest day and the most prolonged night and imperceptibly-but-steadily lengthening daylight. If you live in the North Country it seems peculiar that winter should only have just begun given several weeks of wintery weather. Seasonality, in these parts, might suggest a slightly earlier autumn-to-winter transition, closer to Thanksgiving than to Christmas.
But the choice is ours to remark and not to make, so we soberly observe this hibernal milestone with tempered optimism that sunnier days await us on the other side. And, for the astronomically exuberant, it’s time to celebrate. Cheers!
If you’re longing for more sunlight, Wednesday is a day to celebrate: Dec. 21 is the winter solstice, the shortest day and longest night of the year — and first day of astronomical winter — in the Northern Hemisphere. It’s a sign that longer, brighter days are upon us. (Source: Justin Grieser, “First day of winter: Shortest day, longest night on December 21 solstice“, The Washington Post, December 21, 2022)
But, as with most tidy transitions, this threshold isn’t actually so tidy. Winter solstice may mark the shortest day and the longest night of the year, but the sunrise and sunset equation is slightly more muddled.
The bottom line: mornings will get a bit darker until early January, but we’ve already gained a few minutes of evening light. On balance, daylight will start to increase after Dec. 21, even as winter’s coldest days still lie ahead. (Source: Justin Grieser, “First day of winter: Shortest day, longest night on December 21 solstice“, The Washington Post, December 21, 2022)
So let’s focus on the lengthening days. And, if those increasingly cold days ahead bring snow, then let’s focus on that as well. After all, winter — proper, snowy winter — is one of our four favorite seasons of the year at Rosslyn! It’s a time for dog adventures, cross-country skiing, snowshoeing, alpine and telemark skiing, bird feeders flush with avian wildlife, and that unique flavor or crystal clarity that only a subzero morning can catalyze.
Winter Solstice & Onward: December 21, 2022 (Image: Dark Sky)
And speaking of colder days ahead, this screenshot from Dark Sky appears to corroborate the generalization, albeit with a curious exception on Friday. Winter is here, and it looks probably that we’ll be able to enjoy a white Christmas (unless Friday’s warm weather melts the existing snow and delivers rain instead.)
In closing, note that the handsome Labrador retriever atop this post is not Carley, our current dog, but Griffin, a prior pal-o-mine. We lost him just over two years ago, and the ache hasn’t subsided. Maybe with longer, colder days ahead…
I’ve waxed whimsical on autumn before, and I’ve celebrated wonder-filled winter aplenty, but what of the blurry overlap between the two? Well, today I’d like to pause a moment betwixt both current seasons. Or astride the two, one foot in autumn and the other in winter. To borrow a morning metaphor from my breakfast, let’s pause for persimmons (as a way to grok — and hopefully embrace — our present seasonality.)
What?!?!
For the time being let’s sidestep the vexing fact that almost a dozen years into cultivating three persimmon trees in Rosslyn’s orchard we’ve never produced a single edible persimmon. Instead let’s look at persimmoning in terms of this morning’s sweet and sour, ripe and rotten persimmon episode.
Fuyu Persimmon, Sliced (Photo: Geo Davis)
I’ve been monitoring two pretty persimmons in the fruit bowl. I’ve been checking them daily for ripeness. Firm, firm, firm, less firm, slightly supple, soft, ready! Or so I thought this morning. I lifted the first much anticipated fruit in the lightless shadows of 5:00am. If felt perfect. I gathered the second and grabbed a small cutting board. I prefer to allow my mornings to illuminate naturally, calibrating by circadian rhythms holistically, so I generally avoid turning on the lights, even this time of year when 5:00am is still shoe polish dark. As I prepared to plunge a knife into the first persimmon, I detected something unsettling. The slick surface of the persimmon had a fuzzy spot about the size of a quarter. I turned on the light, low, but enough to show that I’d missed my moment with the persimmon. It was rotten. Moldy. Both. I’d literally been checking daily, often lifting both fruit from the bowl to examine them, but somehow this previously perfect fruit had suddenly become rotten. The second fruit showed not fuzzy rot spot. I carefully cut out the leafy stem, and sniffed the inside of the persimmon. Perfection. Somewhere between the consistency of gelatinous custard and viscous liquid, the persimmon was divine.
Fuyu Persimmon, Sliced (Photo: Geo Davis)
At this point seasoned persimmon aficionados are aware that I’ve been recounting an experience with hachiya persimmons (rather than fuyu persimmons), and the photos portray the latter. You are correct astute reader/persimmon connoisseur. And as my prologue likely betrays this morning’s experience was not well suited to photography. But it did remind me of a previous persimmon apropos of the actual topic I’d expected to explore in this post (but have so far mostly skirted.) And that memory, of a similar morning anticipating and then partially enjoying a persimmon is what lead me to these photographs. Why partially, I can hear you think. I partially enjoyed that persimmon, a fuyu persimmon, because the first few slices were ripe and delicious. But partway though the small fruit the sweet turned to astringent. And this puckering experience is a sure sign that the fruit is not yet fully ripe. Now, lest I’m misleading you again, I’m sorry to say, the photographs in this post are not of that persimmon either, though they are, in fact a fuyu persimmon. And, as a discerning eye might note, this photographed persimmon was delicious throughout.
So why all the persimmoning? The memories of this morning’s fruit and the part ripe, part unripe fruit a year or two ago, offer me a glimpse into the sort of autumn-into-winter transition we’re in right now. Almost ready, almost ready, over ready! And sometimes ripe and unripe at the same time. And, as I understand it, persimmons are often culturally associated with joy, good fortune, and longevity. I am hopeful that our present season change, still in limbo, but creeping closer and closer to that transition from autumning to wintering, from autumn vibes to winter vibes, might — like persimmons in the best of circumstances — may portent joy, goof fortune, and longevity for the rehabilitation projects underway in the icehouse, the boathouse, and our home.
1-1/2” ZIP System insulated panels reading for installation (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
Willing Winter Away a Little Longer
There’s something meditative about this time of year, a marginal meditation on interstices, on the span between autumn and winter, harvesting and larder hunting, biking and skiing, Thanksgiving and Christmas,… This liminal space is tied with winter-to-spring for most dramatic transitions in the circle of seasonality. And yet some years, this year, the switch is far from binary. There are moments when we appear to be on the crux, the hinging moment between the most abundant season and the leanest season. And other moments we’re currently in both concurrently. Ripe and rotten. Well, not rotten, really, but in terms of exterior carpentry, the going gets exponentially more challenging once snow arrives and temperatures plunge.
And so, for a while longer, we’re willing winter away. Tomorrow we’ll be installing the first round of spray foam insulation inside the icehouse, and we’ll *hopefully* begin installing the ZIP System paneling outside the icehouse. In other words, we’re getting really close to having the icehouse ready for winterier weather. The boathouse isn’t really winterizable, however, and temperate conditions are a huge boon as we forge ahead. At the risk of temping fate I’ll admit that it’s almost as if nature is holding her breath, stalling between autumn and winter. With luck, we’ll be able to take advantage of a little more borrowed time. But she can’t hold her breath forever, and we’re all aware of that…
This non-harvest, autumning haiku was born of Carley‘s lethargic mid-morning siesta by the fireplace. Contentment, canine style. It’s a tough life.
https://www.instagram.com/reel/CljJSOFgoFV/
Wintering: unhaiku
Between blushing vegetation and gingerbread outbuildings, what name for this season?
Hustling pre-hibernation and melting flurries with breath, what post apple appellation? What pre skating designation?
I echo my own refrain again into the autumn interstices ringing with wintering song.
Willing Autumn Linger Longer
Like ripening persimmons, the transition from unripe to overripe happens whether we’re watching for it or not. Likewise fall vibes have been exiting gradually, and winter’s stark contrasts have been insinuating themselves into the autumnless voids. It’s inevitable that winter will arrive, and it will be glorious in its own right when it does. But here’s hoping fortune smiles upon us a little longer, that we can dwell in this construction-centric liminality for another week or three. Or right up until Christmas!
Hroth finishes ZIP System installation on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
As it turns out, the snow-blizzard-cum-bomb-cyclone that hepped up meteorologists and newscasters, snarled traffic across the country, and added a decidedly wintery twist to the Christmas holiday for many across the country impacted us two totally opposite ways, one good, the other bad. Ever the optimist, I’ll launch with the glorious news: the icehouse rehabilitation is now officially weathered in. The ZIP System installation is complete, ensuring a weatherproof envelop around the months of winter work ahead. Hurrah!
The icehouse‘s original 2-ply T&G sheathing is now 100% encases in structural insulated panels, and all of the seams are taped. The ZIP System insulated panels appear to have served us well, and just in the nick of time. Although the worst of the weather, fortunately spared us.
The winter storm became a bomb cyclone on Friday as it tore through some of the country’s major cities… Atlanta, Boston, Chicago and New York are seeing wind gusts higher than 45 to 55 miles an hour, among other hazardous conditions. Buffalo was the hardest hit Friday, with wind gusts of up to 70 mph, said Greg Carbin, a meteorologist with the National Weather Service. Buffalo was ground zero, and “that’s where true blizzard conditions have been seen,” he said. (Source: Bomb Cyclone Strikes Major Cities as Temperatures Plunge
Although winds and snows fortunately were not a problem at Rosslyn, we did receive a lot of rain, rain, rain. But just barely completed ZIP System installation ensured that the icehouse was spared the damaging effects of driving rain, flooding, etc. Phew.
The photo essay below offers glimpse behind the scenes — Hroth, Matt, Pam, and Tony hustling to complete the ZIP System installation before the storm and before everyone headed off for Christmas vacation. And this brings me to the not-so-good news…
Hroth was planning to spend Christmas with his 91 year old father in California. Flights? Check. Packed? Check. All systems go? Check. But after driving 2 hours to the Albany International Airport on Thursday morning, he learned that his flights (and basically all incoming Southwest flights to Pasadena) had been preemptively canceled. After exploring options, Hroth accepted that he would be unable to celebrate Christmas with his family. He climbed back into his car and drove two hours back to Rosslyn.
Susan and I deeply lament Hroth’s unfortunate luck, especially because we’re well aware that departing earlier and postponing completion of the ZIP System installation would likely have permitted him to fly to California earlier. And so, we realize that prioritizing the weatherproof sheathing over vacation travel positively effected the icehouse rehab and adversely effected Hroth and his family. I am sincerely sorry.
Hroth begins ZIP System installation on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
ZIP System Installation Photos
In the photo above Hroth is just starting out with ZIP System installation on the east facade. Note the newly installed flashing and custom copper drip edge that helps weatherproof the building’s cladding with accurate design integration templated from Rosslyn’s other historic buildings.
Fast forward to progress on the southside.
ZIP System installation on south elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
The north and south facades were completely installed approximately two weeks (see “Zipping up the Icehouse” for a gallery and overview), so tackling the south and east elevations at once brings the project to completion. In the photo below Tony’s own weatherproofing gives a hint to how cold it was as the team raced the weather toward the finish line.
Tony and Hroth installing ZIP System insulated panels on east and south elevations of icehouse (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Panel-by-panel, Hroth and Tony zipped up the south and east elevations, knitting together the corners to ensure that the trim be be perfectly aligned and plumb.
ZIP System installation on south and east elevations (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Below, Hroth (foreground) and Tony (torso-less legs on ladder behind Hroth) finish nailing and taping the south facade Zip panels.
Hroth and Tony installing ZIP System insulated panels on east and west elevations of icehouse (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
With the south side complete it was time to load up the nailgun and finish up the east side. In addition to the slightly blurry action shot of Hroth rebooting for the final push, the photo below offers an intriguing look both inside and outside the icehouse, inviting contemplation of how this same perspective might look early this summer.
Hroth 2/3 complete with ZIP System installation on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Once the panels are fully secured, it’s critical to seal all of the seams with ZIP tape to fully weatherproof the sheathing.
Tony tapes ZIP System panels on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Tony is ensuring that the sealing tape properly laps upper-over-lower seams to ensure proper water shedding both during the build and into the future once the building is redlaw in clapboard.
Tony tapes ZIP System panels on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Getting close, Tony!
Hroth fitting final ZIP System panels on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
Hroth is scribing and installing the final triangular panels at the gable end on the east elevation. So close…
Hroth finishes ZIP System installation on east elevation (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
You can almost hear the Paslode nailer sinking those final nails through the paneling and into the icehouse’s street timbers.
Hroth puts the finishing touches on the ZIP System installation. All four elevations of icehouse are now weathered in! (Photo: R.P. Murphy)
I’ll wrap up this bittersweet installment with heartfelt thanks to the team for seeing this critical project through to completion to ensure that increasingly inclement weather (we are after winter solstice, after all) spares the icehouse AND similarly heartfelt regrets that Hroth has been stranded at Rosslyn, unable to join his family for the holiday.
That last photo above offers a fun glimpse from my future loft study, capturing Hroth as he concludes the ZIP System installation.
Zip-up Mashup
And, for good measure, a quick video commemorating this chapter.
[pullquote]Griffin “polar bear plunges” in 35° Lake Champlain… mid-winter swimming bliss![/pullquote]
Griffin, our now almost nine year old Labrador Retriever, was thrilled with to chase some throw-toys in the chilly lake today despite the fact that it’s February 19 and the water temperature is exactly three days above freezing… 35° of mid-winter swimming bliss!
Here’s a fuzzy but joyful glimpse into one of about a dozen of Griffin’s “polar bear plunges”.
We just returned to Essex and were quite excited about the recent snowfall. Last year’s virtually snowless winter was a bummer. No skiing in winter followed by alarmingly low lake levels due to unusually low levels of spring melt and runoff. Up until the last couple of weeks this winter has been similarly snow-free, so having a chance to spend the morning cross country skiing around Rosslyn’s woods, trails, and meadows with my bride and dog was a welcome change. And the perfect warm-up for Griffin’s February swim…
