Sometimes the universe rhymes. Have you ever noticed that? As if there’s a poetry underneath our everyday lives, and sometimes — when we’re lucky — the poetry floats up to the surface.

“Dueling Banjos” à la Adirondacks

This morning I was lucky. My thanks go out to friend and North Country enthusiast Steve Malone who shared Mark Kroos‘s “Dueling Banjos” video on Facebook.

I’ve loved ”Dueling Banjos” since I was a boy, but there’s another less obvious reason that this song, synonymous for many people with John Boorman’s Deliverance, strikes a chord. (Forgive the pun!)

I was reared in the rural Adirondacks, and as an adult I returned to the Adirondacks with my bride. And while many express envy for our nature-centric, outdoorsy lifestyle, I’ve become accustomed to Deliverance jokes when people wonder aloud what it must be like to actually live and work “in the sticks“. Geographic disparity aside, whistling or humming a few bars of “Dueling Banjos” has become a sort of universal reference to back-country social backwardness.

I suspect that this may have bothered me when I was younger, away at summer camp or boarding school, but specific memories of feeling slighted haven’t stuck with me. I do recall feeling excited to come home to the Adirondacks, and I do remember how much visitors enjoyed playing in the Adirondack Mountains and Lake Champlain and the Boquet River. For me “Dueling Banjos” became a sort of insiders’ anthem to all that was good about rural living.

“Dueling Banjos” à la Mark Kroos

That belly-button gazing aside, the merits of Mark Kroos‘s solo rendition of “Dueling Banjos” need no propping up from me. This guy’s a genius! I headed off to his website to learn a little more.

Mark Kroos plays 2 guitar necks at the same time… His primarily instrumental style is characterized by open harmonies, polyphonic textures, incredible tapping technique, and is as entertaining to watch as it is to listen to…

In May of 2010, Mark embarked a sparsely-booked road trip, giving up his apartment in Williamsburg to play coffee shops and bars, relying on donations, human kindness and the grace of God. This road trip blossomed into a year-long concert tour filled with performances, clinics, and a multitude of new friends. (Mark Kroos)

If his gifted plucking, strumming and finger tapping weren’t already enough to earn him place of honor in my personal pantheon, his quixotic adventure turned success story confirmed my admiration for Mark Kroos.

Follow your dream, even when it means turning your back on the safe and familiar, and plunging into risk and uncertainty. Create beauty and share it with those who appreciate beauty. A great start to this early spring week! Thanks, Mark Kroos. Thanks, Steve Malone.

Related articles

• Kamikaze Wild Turkey Damages Essex Residence (essexonlakechamplain.com)
• Rosslyn in Essex on Lake Champlain (rosslynredux.com)
• Rosslyn Boathouse (essexonlakechamplain.com)
• Dueling Banjos on a single guitar (nashvillegab.com)
• Guy Plays ‘Dueling Banjos’ Solo On Double Necked Guitar (geekologie.com)
• “Deliverance” Dueling Banjos, Version 2.0 (wzlx.cbslocal.com)

“George, uh, when you get a chance, can you give me a call? A, uh, a turkey hit your door last night and, um, it knocked the door off its hinges…”

A turkey? What? The voicemail had popped up on my mobile while I was riding to the airport in Antigua following ten days of sun soaked family relaxation. I wasn’t ready to go home much less hear that our house had been broken into by a wild turkey.

The connection was poor, the roads were bumpy, and the suspension was complaining.

I replayed the message.

Doug’s voice was tired and faltering, but it was the unlikely message, not the connection or his delivery which stumped me. A turkey broke down our door? What?!?!

Turkey Tale with Fishy Facts

I called Doug back as we bumped along. He answered and dilated the unlikely facts. The story was even more perplexing in long form.

A 23 pound wild turkey smashed through our mudroom door at around 8:30pm on Saturday night. Literally knocked the door right out of the wall, shredding the doorjamb and trim in the process. The alarm went off and New York State police responded to the call, immediately dispatching a trooper to the house. He was so surprised to discover the door blasted off the hinges and a dead turkey sitting on the threshold that he called in the police sergeant. Neither of them had ever experienced a break-in quite this bizarre before, so before long two troopers and one sergeant (plus an investigator by telephone) collectively unraveled the most likely circumstances and documented the incident. Photos were taken. Our caretaker, Doug, and our housekeeper, Lorri, witnessed and brainstormed the incident with the police and then the entire house was searched for evidence of any foul play. They found none. Apparently the turkey smashed the door down but didn’t manage to get into the loot. Or even the bar!

Doug confirmed that he had repaired the door temporarily to secure the house, and he had kept the turkey to show me when I returned. Did he want me to cut it open?

“Why?”

“I heard shots in the back meadows the day before. And the next day. Maybe somebody shot the turkey?”

I had my doubts. “At night? Who hunts turkey at night?”

“So get rid of the turkey?”

“No. Not yet. Let me talk this through with Susan on the flight home. I’ll call you when we land.”

When I hung up my bride who had been listening intently barraged me with questions. Chief among them — and reiterated in several different manners before I had a chance to respond — was the same question that loomed ominously for me too. How in the world could a turkey knock a robust exterior door right off its hinges?

I failed to adequately answer her questions or assuage her concerns. We fussed and worried, allowing our imaginations to inflate the surreal scenario nearly to bursting. By the time we landed in Newark I had decided to hightail it north to Essex the next day by train rather than driving north a couple of days later after my bride completed work commitments in Manhattan and New Jersey. I’d also decided that Doug’s idea about the wild turkey being shot might make a strange sort of sense. I couldn’t wrap my mind around a turkey, no matter how large, breaking and entering. And Doug’s mention of shots distressed me. Foul play?

At the very least this wild turkey tale smelled fishy.

Training to Scene of the Crime

I called Doug from the train to let him know I was on my way north and then followed up via email with a few people who’d already gotten wind of the turkey mystery.

DL: How is the turkey soup?

KS: I heard about your turkey burglar…

TD: Wow, I think that turkey was flying fast and hard… Sorry about your door!  There must be a bad joke here somewhere?

DW: What?? Why would a turkey even do that? Truly stranger than fiction!

MD: A turkey??! Literally? That’s a hell of a turkey!

Me: Turns out the guajolote was 23 pounds. Literally knocked an exterior door right out of the jamb… the alarm was tripped and the artillery arrived to sort through the giblets. NYS Troopers consider it one of the most unique break-ins they could remember.

NH: Shock Horror! Was turkey acting under its own volition or was it being wielded? Was turkey cold? Is house on the site of an old turkey burial ground?

JK: Did you and Susan eat it, doorkill, housekill, randomkill, however it is labelled? Fricasseed, à la king, roasted, curried? Or did you just throw it out… Please do answer my query about the guajolote (wonderful Mexican word) so I can sleep in peace.

Wild Turkey Evidence

Needless to say, the old bird was beyond eating condition by the time I arrived in Essex. I snapped some photos and asked Doug if he were really willing to cut the carcass open to look for shot. He was. And he did, but found none.

This confirmed the original hypothesis. The wild turkey had most likely been ambushed by coyotes in one of our back meadows. Most of the feathers had been pulled off of his legs and a large wound in his breast suggested a coyote attack. The turkey escaped despite his wounds. But his adrenaline ran out (or his injuries simply got the best of him), and he crashed into the door, striking at precisely the spot where the top hinge attached the door to the jamb. We discovered that the contractor had failed to adequately secure the jamb to the surrounding frame, and the combination of sloppy construction and a heavy, rapidly moving projectile had been adequate to shatter the jamb and knock the door in.

Incredible.

But true.

Eastern Wild Turkey

It’s time to learn about the Eastern Wild Turkey (Meleagris gallopavo silvestris) which is a familiar critter in the Adirondacks and one of the most abundant examples of wildlife in Rosslyn’s meadows and woods.

Wild turkeys have excellent vision during the day but don’t see as well at night. They are also very mobile. Turkeys can run at speeds up to 25 mph, and they can fly up to 55 mph. (National Wild Turkey Federation)

When mating season arrives, anywhere from February to April, courtship usually begins while turkeys are still flocked together in wintering areas. (National Wild Turkey Federation)

Two major characteristics distinguish males from females: spurs and beards… Soon after birth, a male’s spur starts growing pointed and curved and can grow to about two inches. Most hen’s spurs do not grow. Gobblers also have beards, which are tufts of filaments, or modified feathers, growing out from the chest. Beards can grow to an average of 9 inches (though they can grow much longer). It must also be noted that 10 to 20 percent of hens have beards. (National Wild Turkey Federation)

Kamikazes and Banana Republics

Our kamikaze wild turkey had apparently sported an 18″ long beard (removed by Doug’s son by the time I took the photo), and his spurs were at least an inch long. Whether or not the old boy enjoyed a final mating ritual before crashing into Rosslyn’s mudroom door will remain a mystery, but I’d like to believe that he did. The love of his life, the real deal…

The next day the shots rang out behind our carriage barn, but I realized that they were coming from Essex Farm, an adjoining property where gunshots are about as common as a cinematic banana republic. My concerns about wild turkey “jackers” evaporated as I settled in to accept the latest chapter of our Rosslyn safari.

And lest you need a visual jumpstart to help you imagine coyotes’ appetites for wild turkeys, I’ll close with this short video from a stranger who would probably sympathize with our Gallopavo imbroglio.

What’s your verdict? Can you believe that a kamikaze wild turkey was behind this Rosslyn breaking-and-entering scenario? Dubious? Share your hypothesis below!

Related articles

• Wild turkeys take over Albany neighborhood (photos.mercurynews.com)
• What To Do If You Are Attacked by a Wild Turkey (Videos) (blogs.kqed.org)
• Driver Hurt When Wild Turkey Shatters Windshield (pittsburgh.cbslocal.com)
• Coyote Capers (essexonlakechamplain.com)

Rosslyn, the second oldest home on Essex, New York’s Merchant Row, is located just south of The Dower House. This historic home (also known as the W.D. Ross Mansion, Hyde Gate, and The Sherwood Inn) was built by William D. Ross for his bride Mary Ann Gould (c. 1826-8) (“Essex: An Architectural Guide.” 30).

Primarily Georgian in style, Rosslyn also exhibits elements of Federal and Greek Revival architecture. The central entryway of the five-bay facade is flanked by sidelight windows placed symmetrically on both sides of the doorway and an elegant fanlight above the doorway.

“The structure is noteworthy for its exceptional Doric cornice following a design from a pattern book by Boston architect Asher Benjamin, The American Builder’s Companion (1826).” (“Essex: An Architectural Guide.” 30)

Rosslyn faces Lake Champlain and Vermont’s Green Mountains beyond. Expansive lawns, locally quarried stone walls, an early 19th century inspired fence and the alignment (and spacing) of Rosslyn’s outbuildings contribute to the classical proportions of this stately property. Rosslyn’s whimsical boathouse, still visible wharves and a painstakingly restored waterfront recollect the Ross family’s shipping merchant heritage and The Sherwood Inn’s decades as a popular vacation destination.

Renovating Rosslyn

Like many of the homes in Historic Essex, NY, Rosslyn has experienced many cycles of renovation, neglect, alteration and restoration. As the second oldest home on Merchant Row (and one of the oldest residences in Essex village) it is difficult to ascertain the property’s precise historic lineage. While construction of the original brick and stone structure most likely began in 1820, there are indications that it either replaced (or augmented) and already constructed wood frame house…

A significant rear wing was added to Rosslyn in the early 19th century for domestic services (kitchen, pantry, etc.) and servants quarters. It was once common for wealthy families to hire and house live-in servants (cleaning staff, cooks, gardeners, nannies, etc.), however shifting social norms and economics diminished the practice in the United States making servant quarters increasingly rare.

Early in the 20th century Rosslyn was converted into The Sherwood Inn, and the service wing was renovated to accommodate guest lodging, restaurant and tavern. When the Sherwood Inn ceased operation in the late 1950s or early 1960s the rear wing was mostly removed and the remaining addition was adapted to residential use.

“It’s worth noting that the house was constructed out of brick (with stone foundations) and not wood. But this detail — like the soft math when recollecting the number and function of servants — matters little and reveals the patina-ing power of time’s passage. The other notable difference between Hyde Gate as Lesh describes it and Rosslyn as she stands today is that the veranda has been removed, revealing an older — and most likely original — stone stairway and entrance. The owner from whom we purchased the property undertook this alteration in a nod to historic authenticity. He too felt obliged to leave his imprint on the front facade of the house and erected a Greek Revival columned entrance roof which incorporates subtle Georgian detailing…” (Rosslyn Redux)

The Rosslyn property once consisted of many outbuildings including an ice house, a carriage house, several barns, a granary, and a privy (Images of America: Essex on Lake Champlain. 119). The ice house was the best way to store and preserve food in the past before electricity and refrigeration. The house’s location next to the lake would have been advantageous because in the winter ice could be cut from the frozen lake and brought to the ice house to store for summer.

A note discovered at Rosslyn identifies June 13, 1908 as the date that the home was first hooked up to electricity by Guy H. Mason (Images of America: Essex on Lake Champlain. 87). With the increasing ease of indoor plumbing, electricity, and other conveniences many of Rosslyn’s outbuildings became obsolete and were eventually removed. Today the ice house, carriage house and a boathouse (dock house) which was likely constructed in the late 1800s remain and have been renovated.

Rosslyn Boathouse

Built on a pier jutting into Lake Champlain in Essex, NY, stands a charming dock house constructed in 1898 (“Essex: An Architectural Guide.” 30). Rosslyn boathouse is modeled on a late 19th century Eastlake Design, considered part of the Queen Anne style of Victorian architecture (Images of America: Essex on Lake Champlain. 118).

Popular boat races and regattas took place on the Essex waterfront drawing competitors and spectators to the Rosslyn boathouse and shoreline from near and far. While boating regattas have dwindled in the last half century, Rosslyn boathouse remains a spectacular spot for viewing the Essex fireworks on the Fourth of July.

Kestrel

Although Rosslyn boathouse is part of the original W.D. Ross family property, it was not constructed by or for the Ross family. The turn-of-the century building was most likely designed and built for the Keyser family to accommodate their 62 ft. long, steam-powered yacht, Kestrel. Constructed entirely of mahogany, the yacht plied Lake Champlain’s water the 1890’s through the 1930’s, becoming as much an iconic vessel in Essex history as the boathouse has become in the century since it first adorned Merchant Row.

Although the Keysers may have initially kept their yacht on their own waterfront north of Essex, their dock and/or boathouse was rendered unusable by ice or flood damage. Kestrel required local dockage for convenient access and an ample supply of coal to power the steam engine, so the Keyser family purchased a small piece of land on the lake from the Ross family and proceeded to build a dock, boathouse, and coal storage bin for the yacht. The Keyser boathouse has persevered through many floods and ice flows, and today it is once again part of the Rosslyn property. (The Kestrel: An Essex Icon by Morris F. Glen)

Reawakening a home, a dream and ourselves

Rosslyn Redux is a vicarious plunge into the idiosyncrasies (and absurdities) of renovating a circa 1822 historic home and boathouse in Essex, NY. The memoir by flâneur and storyteller, virtualDavis, is available at www.rosslynredux.com.

Related articles

• Mary Wade’s Rosslyn (rosslynredux.com)
• Re-roofing and Flood Proofing Rosslyn Boathouse (rosslynredux.com)
• Lake Champlain Flood Retrospective (rosslynredux.com)
• Rosslyn Boathouse (essexonlakechamplain.com)
• Rosslyn (essexonlakechamplain.com)

Adirondack autumn is sliding stealthily into winter. I’d better accelerate my fall iPhonography retrospective so that I’m ready to chronicle Rosslyn’s soon-to-be-snowy winter. In order to fast track the process, I’ll [almost] skip the textual annotations that I included in Adirondack Autumn 2012: Part I and Adirondack Autumn 2012: Part II.

The video slide show above is story enough, I think, but there are a few images that beg explanation. There are several photos related to boating because me bride and I stretch the season as much as “comfortably” possible in the autumn. In fact, we stretch the whole season, starting early and ending late. Most years we are able to enjoy a six month sailing, windsurfing, waterskiing, wakesurfing season starting at the beginning of May and ending in the final days of October. So these images are a watersports swansong of sorts.

A more rigorous editor would have eliminated the “live simply” snapshot, but I love this t-shirt given to me by my sister-in-law. Sure, the graphic’s great, but it’s the reminder that I value each time I come across it on my t-shirt shelf. I’m hoping to play with the idea in a cartoon soon, a sequence of the simple pleasures of rural Adirondack living with the slightly ironic banner, “Live simply!” Stay tuned…

Veteran RR readers will know that the squirrels occupy a dramatic place in our Rosslyn lifestyle, so I won’t get into that here, but those images capture the quirks and charms of our “Adirondack monkeys”. Squirrel-proof birdfeeders? We’ve tried five varieties so far, but the squirrels always succeed. And the squirrel perched on the edge of the stone water trough? Just try to convince me he’s not peeing in the drinking water!

I included my ever growing collection of gardening books because I was reminded again this fall that gardening occupies my imagination even as the gardening season is ending. One might expect their enthusiasm for planting and weeding and landscaping and harvesting to flag after many months of spring-summer-fall gardening. But instead, my mind turns to next season. Adirondack autumn means fall planting. Maintenance. Changes. It’s been a busy fall for Rosslyn landscaping and gardening projects, but I’ll postpone these updates until later. And once the snow begins to fall I pull out the books again and begin to sketch plans for next spring, make lists and schedules, order seeds for indoor forcing,… By late winter when my seedlings are well underway in our basement under lamps, I’ll begin pruning fruit trees. In short, even in the Adirondacks gardening is a year round passion.

The shots of tempting chalkboard menus come from the Essex Ice Cream Cafe which for the first time (ever?) is open year-round for breakfast and lunch. And, soon, they’ll be launching a turn-back-the-clock delicacy that not only tastes sensational, but carries some personal satisfaction as well. More on that once the secret is no longer a secret and the most delicious maple-derived confection in the world is available again, more than a century after it was first produced in Essex. Okay, I’m teasing you. Details soon!

Perfect transition to that odd photo at about 1:02 in the slide show. What’s that?!?! Dog food, perhaps? Actually that was a memorable venison stew with spinach. Deer hunting is an important part of North Country culture and though I do not partake (I’m a poor gunner, and I find it difficult to shoot anything that can bat an eyelash at me,) I love venison. Several generous friends share with me each fall, and this stew was the best I’ve ever made. Lots of onions and wine get cooked down with the venison, and lentils and wild rice are added toward then end. The spinach was a last minute stir-in. So, it’s a feast for the belly, not the eyes.

The next picture, a step closer to eye candy, is broiled cabbage. Sounds unpromising. Try it. Delicious. I’ve made it several times, and it I can manage, I’ll share the ultra simple recipe soon. Even non-cabbage stalwarts love it!

I think that everything is self-explanatory. If not, let me know. Thanks for sharing our Adirondack autumn.

We’re currently undertaking structural improvements to the larger of the two outbuildings west of our home. In anticipation of a re-roofing project that will include stripping the old leaking asphalt shingles and installing a new standing seam roof next spring, we’re a little over a week into jacking the eastern-most interior bent in order to reduce the deviation of a sagging cross beam. In time all three interior bents will be rehabilitated and fortified to ensure that the circa 1820s building is structurally sound once again.

Sounds technical? It is. But elegant in its simplicity. I’ll save the engineering details for a later post when I can prove a visual illustration of what we’re doing. I don’t want to tempt fate into where little bit further along the process…

For now I’d like to share with you three totally unrelated artifacts that we discovered in the large second-story hay mow while tidying up for the contractors.

When we purchased Rosslyn, the carriage barn was still quite full of architectural salvage, stored lumber and miscellanea inherited from the previous owner who had use the space for almost four decades to store anything and everything that he couldn’t fit into the house. During the first few months after closing on Rosslyn we disposed of anything in the carriage barn and ice house that we didn’t anticipate needing. Any materials that we thought might prove useful later on we’re saved. Over 3-1/2 years of renovation, we added plenty of additional lumber and building materials.

When it came time to repair the too long neglected church barn roof, We knew that an engineer was needed to assess the structural integrity of the building. Although the overall geometry of the walls and roofline were pretty good for building of its age, it was clear that at least one of the bents was beginning to fail. Removing all of the excess weight from the second floor which was contributing to the sag in the floor was obviously necessary, but I needed an engineer to assess the current structural risks and devise a plan for stabilizing and safeguarding the building.

I’ll tell you the story about a clever Vermonter who calculated the alarming possibilities resulting from a heavy snowfall and who eventually engineered a minimalist and rather elegant solution to the problem.

But for now let’s take a look at these three artifacts which emerged during the cleanup process. I apologize for the poor quality and perspective of all three shots. I shot them quickly with my iPhone without stopping to figure out the best angle so that you can help me decipher the probable function of each artifact.

Of the three, the first is the easiest to recognize. It is a rudder from a sailboat probably in the 15 to 25 foot range, and I suspect that it originally helmed a sailboat belonging to Rosslyn’s previous owner. That story also for another day, but I’ll leave you with the hypothesis that this as well as other miscellaneous nautical parts found in the hay mow once belonged to a sailboat that sank in front of Rosslyn’s boathouse some years ago.

The second artifact is more puzzling. While the sailboat rudder is for all practical purposes intact, this mysterious artifact is but a fragment of some larger mechanism. Combining carefully worked wood with intricate joinery and what appears to be cast-iron gears of some sort, the utility of this artifact has long since expired. I am fascinated with the elaborate cast-iron fabrication and joinery. It seems surprisingly elaborate for what otherwise gives the impression of being some for some sort of farm machinery. Perhaps you have some insight? It would be pleased to sort out the former use of these artifacts.

The last of the three artifacts looks vaguely as if it may have been part of a small sleigh. Perhaps a miniature sleigh that would have been used by a child? Although it does not seem to be equipped with full runners along the bottom which would allow it to slide effortlessly over snow or ice, it does have short runners that curve up at the front with small metal eyes, as if they might be used for a rope to pull the sleigh along.

Of course, I may be totally off target. This could be a piece of interior furniture or some agricultural implement with which I have no familiarity. In any case, like the previous artifact, I suspect this is missing essential parts.

What do you think? Could this be a snow slay for a young child? Possibly pulled by a pony rather than full-size horse? I invite you to wonder and speculate, and perhaps we will move a little bit closer to identifying all three items. And then, it might be possible to locate someone who has a need for these items. Certainly that would be the most rewarding update for this blog post, finding meaningful homes for all three Rosslyn artifacts. Let me know what you think!

In my bride’s family birthdays are celebrated with endurance and fanfare. In fact,  my bride’s late father preferred to think of birthdays as commemorative seasons, not days at all. Celebrating for anything less than a week was simply barbaric in his estimation.

So, over the last decade I’ve become accustomed to multiple birthday celebrations, abundant gift-giving and the family birthday dinner: game hens, artichokes and mashed potatoes or rice followed by birthday cake. For my vegetarian bride swordfish is substituted for a game hen, but few other exceptions are made.

Tradition is tradition. Comfort food is comfort food. These are the givens.

Most families enjoy revered meals steeped in nostalgia and embraced generation after generation. And yet my family’s most traditional comfort food, corn cakes and turkey gravy, provokes looks of bewilderment and lame excuses when I invite friends to experience meal.

Care to Try Corn Cakes and Turkey Gravy?

Conjured out of Thanksgiving and Christmas leftovers, neither holiday is complete without the lumpy griddle fried cakes and rich turkey gravy, thick with chunks of leftover turkey. Eaten for lunch or dinner, the meal is filling, tasty and a delightful flashback to the autumns and winters of my childhood.

Over the years I have introduced countless friends to this quirky combination of ingredients. And though most have been polite, few have devoured the meal or asked for the family recipe.

My bride’s recent phone call with her mother offers the typical response to my corn cake and turkey gravy invitations.

“Why don’t you join us for corn cakes and turkey gravy on Sunday,” Susan asked.

“Corn cakes and turkey gravy?”

“You’ve never had them? Oh, it’s a tradition in George’s family…” Susan went on to explain the dish.

“Hmmm, that sounds interesting, but…” It was clear to me that my mother-in-law’s interesting was akin to, “Are there any other options?”

So we ate steak with leftover mashed potatoes and green beans. Delicious.

Craving Corn Cakes…

I got carried away and prepared enough corn cakes and turkey gravy to eat all week! Now, who can I invite over for the leftover-leftovers so that they can politely demur when I offer then seconds?

I suspect there’s a forgotten history explaining my family’s post-Thanksgiving and post-Christmas culinary comfort food, but I’ve been unable to ferret it out. Yet.

Time to Interview Mom

I’m pretty certain that the tradition comes from my mother’s family, so I’ll pose a few questions to the world’s best (and my favorite) mom, Melissa Davis.

Me: Is it fair to say that I inherited my appetite for corn cakes and turkey gravy from your side of the family?

Mom: Yes, I don’t know anyone else who ate them other than the Duvalls, so from my side via my mother.

Me: Do you know anything about the origins of corn cakes and turkey gravy?

Mom: No, just that my grandmother Lela made them. Or I thought she did. I suppose my mom could have made them up!

Me: Did you eat corn cakes and turkey gravy as a child or did the tradition start later?

Mom: We always ate them the same way we Davises now do, following a turkey dinner (which for us Wellers was the traditional Thanksgiving and Christmas meal). We would also have them if we had a random turkey meal at other times of the year. I’m trying to remember if my Aunt Margaret Liggett (my granny’s sister who lived near us in Colorado) also made them. I vaguely think so which would increase the chances that they came from that side of the family. They were daughters of a union of a Swedish American and an Irish American.

Me: Did you actually enjoy corn cakes and turkey gravy the first few times you ate it?

Mom: I can’t remember the first time I had them, but I loved the meal always. For a while when I was little, I preferred them to the first meal of the turkey. I loved the holidays because I knew the corn cakes and turkey gravy inevitably would follow!

Me: When you serve corn cakes and turkey gravy to people for the first time, how do they tend to react?

Mom: Politely but without enthusiasm! Our guests on Friday were complimentary, but only one person ate seconds. Do you remember when I fed them to your college Christmas visitors? They were all polite, but I don’t remember anyone gobbling them up. I can hardly think of anyone to whom we introduced this fabulous meal who genuinely liked them!

Me: What do you consider the best accompaniment for corn cakes and turkey gravy?

Mom: Browned leftover mashed potatoes or hash browns (so you can add the gravy to them) and a green salad. If you like cranberry, it’s a good place to get rid of the leftover cranberry sauce. I don’t especially!

Me: Can you offer any special tips on how to prepare corn cakes and turkey gravy?

Mom: I have always just used the basic Joy of Cooking pancake recipe, cut back on the sugar amount and added canned corn. I’ve doubled it without problem and added a second can of corn. I use any leftover gravy from the main meal and make new gravy from the first round of “stocktaking” off the turkey bones. I also add lots of leftover meat if it is for our family. I don’t always make it as meaty for guests since the meat seems to be off-putting to some.

My mother’s brother, Uncle Herman, admitted an enduring fondness for corn cakes and turkey gravy while confirming the maternal family link, and he offered a possible clue.

I wonder if they were a Pennsylvania Dutch recipe Mom discovered. ~ Herman Weller

Perhaps. Or Swedish-Irish. Or just a creative way to get kids to eat leftovers?

It worked. I still love them! What’s your family’s comfort food?

Corn cakes and turkey gravy aren't the most elegant victuals ever laid upon a dining table, but they're deli http://t.co/iAALP5mR

November 26, 2012 8:26 pm via InstagramReplyRetweetFavorite

@virtualDavis

virtualDavis

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But a smoky fireplace on Turkey day?

Half an hour before my in-laws arrived to celebrate Thanksgiving dinner at Rosslyn I began to prepare the dining room fireplace. Logs, kindling, newspaper. The usual. But before lighting the fire I undertook an unusual step: warming the flue.

“Wait,” I can hear you say. “Isn't the fire supposed to do that?”

Yes. And no.

While I've blathered on often enough about the quirky fireplace situation at Rosslyn, I've neglected to explain the importance of the dining room fireplace. Despite having six chimneys and nine fireplaces, there's only one “usable” wood burning fireplace in the entire house. And it required to small parade of miracles to ensure that we would be able to restore and use this one fireplace to actually burn logs.

Long story short: the majority of Rosslyn's chimney flues were either built for coal burning (and are too narrow) or are too old and deteriorated for burning wood fires. We discovered this after we'd fallen in love with Rosslyn and her nine fireplaces. We bought the stately-but-sagging home anyway, and before long many of the fireplaces had been converted to gas. Efficient. Easy. Pleasant.

But I love fireplaces, real fireplaces, with logs and crackles and the faint fragrance of smoke and oak or maple smoldering away. And so we managed to find a mason who assured us that he could rebuild the dining room fireplace.

The flue was lined and the firebox was rebuilt. In fact, almost the entire fireplace was rebuilt as was the surround and hearth and mantle. Beautiful. Elegant. But problematic.

The chimney is tall. Almost four stories tall. And it is built into the exterior brick wall. This makes is cold during the winter which in turn prevents it from drawing smoke up from the hearth until the air column withing the flue is warm. Unfortunately, starting a fire and waiting for the chimney to warm up enough to draw out the smoke is hazardous to my marriage.

“You're not going to start a fire in there,” my wife asked/announced as I began setting it up between turkey basting and gravy stirring.

“Yes, my dear,” I announced with feigned authority. “I am.”

“Are you crazy? You'll smoke up the entire house just as everyone is arriving for Thanksgiving!”

“Don't worry, I'm sure I can warm it up enough to draft before starting the fire…”

She was not convinced. But I insisted. A year or so ago I actually managed to warm the flue enough by burning a rolled up newspaper held high up into the throat of the firebox. The paper burned and the smoke slowly began to rise. I continued to light new rolls of paper like a chain smoker on steroids, holding them high up into the chilly chimney until the fire burned clear and fast. I could see the flames and smoke being pulled up the chimney. Then I lit the previously laid fire. Victory. We enjoyed a beautiful fire throughout dinner with a dining room full of guests. No smoky fireplace.

That was the one and only time we've successfully had a fire in the dining room. The only other time we tried was just before family and friends arrived for Christmas dinner almost two years ago. Catastrophe! The flue seemed to be drawing, but as soon as the fire was started the smoke ceased to rise and the dining room filled with smoke. Thick, heavy smoke. We had to smother the fire to put it out releasing even more sooty smoke… Weeks later we were still trying to clean the sooty stains and smells from the dining room.

This year would be different. I had succeeded once, and now I understood the formula.

Unfortunately, the formula was insufficient remedy for the cold flue and heavy smoke. The dining room filled with smoke and my bride chastised me as I ran out the front door with the burning roll of newspapers like an Olympian preparing to the light the torch.

Fire out, we proceeded to throw open any windows not yet sealed with winter storm windows. And then the doorbell rang. Our guests had arrived…

In theory, lighting a fireplace with a tall, cold flue is possible. Even in a tight house. Here, for example, is the technique for warming a fireplace flue with a newspaper torch:

Roll several sheets of paper lengthwise and twist one end closed. This keeps the smoke from traveling through the newspaper tube and into your face. Light the other end of the torch and hold it inside the fireplace. Move it slowly around the walls and let the flame touch the damper grate. When the flue is properly warmed, the smoke from the torch will travel straight up the chimney. (eHow.com)

Sounds good. And, in some cases, it works wonderfully. Though Rosslyn's dining room fireplace apparently poses some challenges to this tried and true method for warming a cold flue. Perhaps a “gas supplement” is the trick to start our finicky fireplace:

Prime the flue. If your chimney is built on the outside of your house, the chimney flue is probably cold. When you open the damper, the cold air in the flue will sink and come into your warm house. If you try to light a fire during this air sink, you’re going to end up with smoke coming into the house instead of up the chimney. To counteract the air sink, you need to prime the flue by warming it up. This is done by lighting a roll of newspaper and holding it up the damper opening for a few minutes. When you feel the draft reverse, you know the flue is primed, and you’re ready to start your fire. If you have a fireplace that has a gas pipe to supplement your wood burning, turn on the gas and light the pilot light without any wood in the fireplace. Your flue will warm up in a matter of minutes. (The Art of Manliness)

Sound logical enough. But one success and two failures represents daunting odds, especially when my bride's patience has already been exhausted. And I hesitate to add gas to an already worrisome fire hazard. Call me a coward.

But all hope is not lost. It has been suggested that running a heater in the firebox for a period before starting the fire would warm the flue. Or installation of a flue-top exhaust fan which would such smoke up the chimney until the fire could manage on its own.

Both sound slightly dubious, so I'm casting about for alternatives. Any ideas? I need to fix this smoky fireplace once and for all…

It’s time for another installment of the Adirondack Autumn retrospective I launched last week.

I’ll change gears from Rosslyn boathouse and waterfront snapshots to a few garden harvest memories.

We had enormous luck with melons this season despite a slow start. Actually, our luck was mixed. We grew about thirty medium sized cantaloups, but the squirrels (and raccoons?)devoured them as they ripened, successfully gobbling up every fruit before we could harvest it.

We had better luck with watermelons which either enticed the wild critters less or were better protected by virtue of their hard, thick rinds.

And a half dozen heirloom varieties of eggplant (eighteen plants) produced a bumper crop. Although we’ve grown eggplant for three or four years with decent luck, this summer was something else. The plants exploded up out of the drought cracked soil, quickly rising above my knees and in many cases reaching all the way to my waist.

We harvested literally hundreds of huge, glossy, delicious eggplant for over three months. We ate them every day. We gave them away. We even learned how to preserve them for mid-winer enjoyment.

Essex neighbor Barbara Kunzi lead a pressure canning workshop at the Whallonsburg Grange Community Kitchen. I’ve long been curious about preserving the food we grow, so I hustled off to Whallonsburg and learned how to can green beans. It was a thoroughly enjoyable evening, and it inspired me to begin preserving by freezing until I can acquire a pressure canner.

I grilled and froze eggplant and blanched and froze tomatoes. I even cooked up (and froze) a sizable batch of Khoresht-e Bademjan, a Persian eggplant stew which we’ll devour this winter when the garden is three feet deep in snow!

The “skinny eggplant” photo was taken before slicing and baking them for the Khoresht-e Bademjan. In addition to several long, slender varieties, we grew several large purplish black varieties and pale purple striped varieties. (I’ve previously grown white eggplants, but skipped them this year.)

The eggplant were added to the tomato sauce which I stewed down from these yellow tomatoes, white wine, garlic and minced onion. The house smelled divine!

It was a challenging exercise in restraint to prepare Khoresht-e Bademjan to freeze and eat several months later without allowing “taste tests” to become “chow time”! But most of the eggplant stew is now frozen and ready for a snowy day.

During the same post-workshop burst of enthusiasm for food preservation I explored preparing and freezing stuffed peppers. Turns out they’re better eaten right away. So I picked a half dozen of the biggest sweet peppers; stuffed them with minced chopped/sauteed mushrooms, onions, garlic, piñon nuts and quinoa; and slow-baked them for a delicious dinner. Ah, the harvest…

Of course, Adirondack Autumn isn’t all stormy weather and culinary experimentation. The same chill which revitalizes the heat-stupored mind and sweetens the apples, pears and grapes chills the ankles.

That’s right, fall is marked by a return to socks.

For the first time in months the end of September found me sliding my paws into foot mittens each morning, a subtle reminder, day after day, that retrains the brain into cold weather survival mode after a summer of wild abandon. A small detail you say?

Perhaps.

For you. But not for me.

This Adirondack autumn has remained relatively mild and dry, though we did have a rainy stretch in October that caused Lake Champlain’s water level to rise rapidly. The rising water posed some challenges for the stone retaining wall we’ve been rebuilding along the northern half of our waterfront, ongoing repairs to damage caused by the 2011 spring floods. We raced to complete the most critical stone and mortar work while the water was still low enough for the tractor to operate on the beach. Given the massive stones used to build the stone wall in the 1800s, a tractor loader and backhoe are a big help! Unfortunately the rapidly rising water reduced the time we could rely on the tractor, and the crew finished the work by hand, relying on levers and pulleys and winches instead of steel and hydraulics and diesel to perform the feats of brawn.

Next week I’ll feature a few snapshots that capture the natural lighting change that is part of Adirondack autumn.

Related articles

• Adirondack Autumn 2012: Part I (rosslynredux.com)
• Peak Foliage? (essexonlakechamplain.com)
• Leaf Peeping in the High Peaks (rosslynredux.com)
• Canning Green Beans at the Grange (essexonlakechamplain.com)

Wondering why Hurricane Isaac is the title for this entry and photo? Or better yet, what Hurricane Isaac and Instacanv.as have in common? I’ll explain (and encourage you to vote for this Photo of the Week) in just a moment.

But first, let me tell the story behind the picture.

The photo to the right was a spontaneous snapshot that I took with my iPhone on September 4, 2012 after Hurricane Isaac lumbered through the Eastern United States.

We were fortunate that the the storm had used up most of its anger by the time it whirled through the Champlain Valley, but Rosslyn’s boathouse nevertheless endured a thorough water and wind lashing.

Once Hurricane Isaac’s fury passed I headed down to the waterfront to survey the damage. For all practical purposes we escaped unscathed. Almost. Except for this red Adirondack chair which was swept off the boathouse pier and dumped into the shallow water in front of our beach. Unfortunately the waves pounded the chair against the rocks, crushing one armrest and dinging the chair up elsewhere. I snapped this picture and posted it to Istagram with this message:

By the dawn’s early light… The Adirondack chair that got away!

Good fortune was smiling upon us. The chair is repairable and no further damage was evident.

The barn red Adirondack chair is one of a pair that was hand made for us as a wedding gift by a close friend who grew up in the Adirondacks but now lives and works in Burlington, Vermont. He presented us with two miniature versions of the chairs while still designing and constructing them and then surprised us the following summer by installing the handsome pair on Rosslyn’s boathouse pier, flanking the double doors on the Vermont side. They’ve become a fixture in the half dozen years since. Combined with the hammock, the handsome pair of Adirondack chairs invite you to linger a while to watch the ferry come and go while catching up with an old friend.

This winter once Hurricane Irene repairs to our waterfront and normal seasonal maintenance abates, we will rebuild and repaint the battered chair. And next spring it will greet ferry passengers once again.

Vote for Hurricane Isaac Photo!

Wouldn’t it be fun to see this quirky photograph of Rosslyn’s boathouse splashed across the front of the Instacanv.as home page as a Photo of the Week?

It could happen. It’s nominated and in the running. All it takes is your vote and a little bit of luck. Okay a whole lot of votes and luck!

Please consider voting and/or sharing this post with your friends. I’d love to see this photo featured. Thanks for your help. Vote HERE.

Related articles

• Adirondack Autumn 2012: Part I (rosslynredux.com)
• 2011 Flood of Lake Champlain Basin (essexonlakechamplain.com)
• Leaf Peeping in the High Peaks (rosslynredux.com)

With September and October skulking away and November slithering in, I’m dishing up a photographic retrospective, a parade of annotated images gathered “on the fly” over the last few months.

Viewed en masse they offer a voyeuristic immersion in the lifestyle which binds us to Rosslyn, Essex, Lake Champlain and the Adirondacks. Most of these images were shared through my personal Twitter feed (@virtualDavis) and/or the Rosslyn Redux twitter feed (@rosslynredux), and their creation and distribution was made possible by the narcotic genius of this virtual symphony: iPhone, Instagram, Instacanv.as, Tout and YouTube.

This first photo was actually taken in August, but I couldn’t resist including this unsettling image. I came across this freshly killed three foot long Adirondack timber rattlesnake while cycling along Lakeshore Road near Essex. The blood was fresh and the rattle had been cut off.

Although I want to believe this near-black Crotalus horridus was accidentally hit and killed by a car, it prompted a serpentless September rattlesnake safari, and catalyzed much conversation with friends about our local population of timber rattlesnakes. How can we protect them?

I’ll share rattlesnake news if/when relevant. For now I’ll move over to the autumn harvest. Given our hot, dry summer it was been a phenomenal year for most locally grown produce.

While we began flirting with frost most nights in September (earlier than the previous two years), tender vegetables like tomatoes were still coming out of our own garden and our local CSA, Full and By Farm, owned by Sara Kurak and James Graves.

These “ugly but delicious” heirloom tomatoes from Full and By Farm tempted me despite the fact that we’d been giving away and composting excess tomatoes since August. Too many, too fast. I’d been eating 2-3 tomatoes every day for lunch and dinner. Literally. I’m not exaggerating!

When I posted the picture of these yellowish orange tomatoes on Twitter and Facebook, several friends insisted that these tomatoes weren’t ugly. True. They were voluptuous and vibrant and even a quick glance discloses the explosion of flavor they pack.

But many of the heirloom varieties that we grow in our vegetable garden and the Full and By farmers grow are often referred to as “ugly” simply because they lack the uniformity of color and the blemish-free skin of the hybrid varieties usually sold in stores. In fact, the “uglier” the variety, the better they usually taste. One of my favorites, Black Krim is a perfect example. I wish I had posted a photo when they were still producing…

These hot, hot, hot peppers (early Adirondack autumn colors?) were part of our farm share pickup for several weeks. I don’t tend to use many hot peppers in my cooking (and I grow several varieties in our own garden) so I haven’t been loading up on these, but I find them beautiful. Beautiful! I’m always amazed how naturally glossy and polished peppers and eggplant are. And the green/red mottling is exquisite.

If you scratch and sniff the photo, you just might understand why the farmers remind us again and again, “Those are hot!”

And what better complement to those exotic peppers than a not often witnessed artichoke blossom. We grew Imperial Star Artichokes for the second time this summer. Last year we successfully propagated and matured a half dozen plants. But the result was only a few smallish artichokes. Lots of effort for negligible reward, but I was encouraged to try again. I’d never even known that we could successfully grow artichokes in the Adirondacks.

The discovery  was made in the fall of 2010 while visiting the gardens of Château Ramezay in Montreal. I was astonished to see the thriving plants, and immediately began researching. It turned out that Imperial Star Artichokes are productively grown as annuals in Maine and other parts of the Northeast. We vowed to try to our luck.

This summer we had nine plants of which two never produced artichokes but the other seven each produced multiple artichokes. Several plants produced five to ten artichokes apiece. We’ve felt truly fortunate each time we’ve harvested artichokes for lunch or dinner. Can believe that artichokes are yet another highlight of Adirondack autumn?

In fact, so abundant were the artichokes during August and September that several began to bloom before we could harvest them. The photograph above nicely conveys the part-sea-anemone-part-fireworks blossom of an Imperial Star Artichoke. A favorite of our Rosslyn honeybees.

Adirondack autumn is also the perfect time for sailing on Lake Champlain. Although my bride and I have mostly concentrated on windsurfing in recent years, I often find myself gazing longingly at larger sailboats gliding gracefully across the water.

For most of my life I’ve dreamed of a swift sailing vessel large enough to live aboard and wander from port to port, slowly gunkholing my way around the world with occasional blue water crossings between continents. I even have a name for my ship. And her dinghy. But I’ll keep them under wraps until the time is right.

This handsome navy blue sloop was in the neighborhood for a few days, repeatedly cautching my eye because of its minimalist but handsome design. Elegant when drifting in a light breeze and even more so when scudding through whitecaps riding a stiff blow!

Although I’m aware that my critics may justifiably accuse me of bellybutton gazing each time I post a new image of Rosslyn’s boathouse, I simply can’t resist it. This architectural folly has enchanted me since childhood, and now that I have the opportunity (and responsibility) to care for her, I’m all the more smitten.

This photo was taken at dawn after a forceful windstorm (an unwelcome hand-me-down from Hurricane Isaac) that loosed one of the Adirondack chairs from the deck and dumped it into the shallow water of the beach. We were relieved to recover the chair because it was a handmade wedding gift from a close friend. Though one armrest was shattered, we will repair and repaint it this winter so that it will be ready to enjoy again next spring.

And, as if hurricanes weren’t enough, a short time later we were warned that a tornado threatened! A tornado? It does seem that extreme weather is becoming more and more common.

Only a couple of days before, Camp Dudley, a boys camp in Westport, NY where I spent a couple of memorable summers as a boy, was hit by an destructive windstorm that damaged roofs and snapped trees.

This moody black and white photo of the dockhouse was taken in the hours awaiting the tornado. Anxious hours.

Fortunately we were spared the worst of the tornado, but our good friends who own a home north of us near Valcour Island were not so lucky. They lost a towering old growth tree and their boat docks were tossed and somersaulted out into Lake Champlain. Fortunately nobody was hurt and the docks were able to be recovered.

In a similarly ominous vein, this photograph of Rosslyn’s waterfront not only conveys the foreboding of stormy weather but also of summer passing. Or at least that was my hope. You’ll have to be the judge.

The lighting and the shading suggest an antique photograph (thanks to a handy iPhone app which allows limitless technical control over the image elements) while the angle and unpopulated Adirondack chairs and beach add an eerie, abandoned feel. As if a seasonal camp or resort is about to be mothballed for the winter.

There’s irony in this, of course, because Rosslyn is our home. Once our summer guests depart and Essex village slows down, we experience a second wind. We are revitalized. But that story for another day…

Although we have several times hunkered down in anticipation of severe weather this fall, we’ve been been spared each time. And each time the skies have cleared to reveal blue skies and sunshine enough to warm our optimism. And even the occasional wild turkey feather. Check out this bumpy but fun video of twenty turkeys in Rosslyn orchard.

I’ve walked the property after these storms to survey fallen limbs and other damage. Each time I’ve been relieved with the minimal damage. We’ve lost many branches and leaves, but few trees. Perhaps this is due to some sort of cosmic payback for the damage to our fruit trees this spring when a powerful hailstorm destroyed an ancient crab apple and killed seven young fruit trees in our orchard.

Chief among my concerns when the winds howl (or the snowstorms dump, dump, dump) is our carriage barn which is overdue for a new roof.

When an old barn collapsed at Full and By Farm a couple of winters ago I started looking more critically at our historic carriage barn. Although it is in surprisingly good shape for its 100-200 years, the structural elements of the post and beam construction are under-built by modern standards. There are several areas where settling and sagging cause concern, and we’ve been moving forward with plans to secure the building and replace the roof.

If all goes as planned, construction will begin soon and we will be spared another anxious winter worrying that the snow load will overcome the proud old building. I will post updates if/when this project advances.

The perils and challenges of severe weather for homeowners with aging property are plenty, but there’s little pleasure in fretting. And there’s ample pleasure in celebrating the harvest, so I’d like to return to the topic of harvesting, preparing and preserving the vegetables of our labors.

But I’ve already droned on ad nauseum, so I’ll save further harvest updates for your next installment… Stay tuned for Adirondack Autumn 2012: Part II.

Related articles

• Autumn Meditation (essexonlakechamplain.com)
• Leaf Peeping in the High Peaks (rosslynredux.com)
• Adirondack Fall Foliage (essexonlakechamplain.com)
• Peak Foliage? (essexonlakechamplain.com)
• Photo of the Week: Hurricane Isaac (rosslynredux.com)