Tag: Pam Murphy
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Hibernal High
I almost preempted this evening’s post with an update on the rising, rising, rising lake levels. Given the alarming uptick — Lake Champlain has risen approximately 2’ in the last couple of days with waters currently approaching spring flood stage — our attention is focused on meteorological forecasts. But angsty fretting serves no one, so…
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Thank You, Pam!
As we approach the fourth Thursday of November we’re provisioning for an indulgent holiday banquet with family. Thanksgiving is all about family and feasting, for sure. But it’s first and foremost a ritualized reminder to pause and reflect on everyone for whom we’re grateful and everything for which we’re grateful. In both cases, Pam Murphy…
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Fallen Giant
Timber felling continues. Bittersweet benchmark after bittersweet benchmark; five ash trees succumbing to the chainsaw. This afternoon we honor a fallen giant, the imposing 3-stem behemoth that stood just northeast of Rosslyn’s icehouse. It’s a poignant passing and sentimental benchmark when towering trees that helped define Rosslyn’s environs over the years must be culled. (Source:…
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Lone Leaf
Sometimes a “fallen feuille” is a timely reminder. A lone leaf brave in its sensuous strength and solitude. Pretty apart. The ache and isolation of individuality. The irresistible siren call of winter… Lone Leaf Once sylvan whisper,once breezy dancerfree, fallen, silent,so solitary,a long way from thecanopy’s embrace,damp and delicateon rain ambered deck. Thanks, Pam, for…
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Stump-to-Lumber
In yesterday’s post I mentioned that we’re felling trees again. But my update was brief, overlooking a couple of important details, so I’m revisiting the stump-to-lumber topic this afternoon. (I probably should have titled today’s post something more inclusive since our homegrown wood isn’t exclusively destined to become the next round of Rosslyn furniture, floors,…
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Persimmoning
As autumn and winter braid themselves into a textured tapestry of yesterdays and tomorrows, persimmoning is upon us in all its nectary extravagance. Hint of honey. Scent of cinnamon. Bliss. I began my morning with the tender caress and sweet kiss of an hachiya persimmon. These photographs tell the story. But the backstory, that’s better…