The ebb and flow of seasons figure prominently in my Rosslyn Redux ruminations. We live, work, and play amidst perennial transition, reminded to remain nimble by seasonality’s beguiling rhythm. With October ripening and Lake Champlain water levels (and colorful foliage) falling, our attention shifts to autumn waterfront rituals.
To be sure, this time of year there are a great many seasonal rituals, and I won’t pretend to highlight even a small portion today. But I’d like to touch on one important task that we tackle when autumn’s advance translates into retreating lake levels, in turn exposing more beach.
The first two photographs in this post reveal the boathouse pier, beach, and limestone seawalls high and dry above the lap of a slowly cooling lake. This is the optimal time for Rosslyn’s lakeside maintenance. Replacing worn and displaced timbers on the boathouse pier. Re-stacking stones that protect the pier (and those from the historic jetties in front of the boathouse and north of Rosslyn’s sand beach), stones that have been gradually loosed or shifted from high water, wave action, spring ice flows, and summer play by children, dogs, and yours truly.
Soon enough the docks and boatlift will be removed for winter storage, but there’s still plenty of time for that later-autumn waterfront ritual. Now it’s stones and sand that are tended and tidied.
These two updates documented by Glen Gerhkens yesterday awakened memories of previous years. A quick look through my Rosslyn photo album transports me back five years to Bob Murphy lakeside on October 12, 2019. The next three photographs capture similar circumstances, Bob undertaking autumn waterfront rituals including buoy removal, rock maintenance, and sand raking. In addition to 2018’s fall foliage being little further along than it is today, another notable difference separates this now-and-then diptych.
Bob passed away the following summer. Observing these photographs, Bob hale and hardy, hardworking and happy, it’s surreal and still difficult to accept that scarcely half a year later he would pass away suddenly, unexpectedly, tragically. Seasonality, at once predictable and unpredictable, metered and mysterious.
I find a certain sort of solace in revisiting these annual reminders, seasonal meditations on the circularity of Rosslyn, the stewardship of Rosslyn, the beginnings and endings, as well as the many who are part of her story, part of our story.
Yes, autumn waterfront rituals offer an invitation to remember and to respect all who have made this home. To tend and protect their legacies. To feel and express our gratitude.
Glen, Bob, and everyone else who has joined our Rosslyn adventure, thank you for helping us create a home. Thank you for being part of our home.
I conclude this daily dispatch with an image of the danger buoys that you might faintly discern in the back of the Gator above. Anchors hauled, the buoys are pulled aboard the dinghy and rowed ashore. Transported to winter storage behind the carriage barn, and in some cases, this case, they’re repaired to prepare for next season. Cleaned. New signage replacing the ininteligible. Anchors and chains inspected.
For many of these autumn waterfront rituals are as much about preparing for the future as they are observing the conclusion of this season.
What do you think?