Lakeside Wood and Stone Wall

Lakeside Wood

October, 2009: Bob and I are on a road trip to Primrose Hill, our rustic country house in the hills of Vermont. I've done this drive a million times, but we are having so much fun that somehow we miss a turn and find ourselves lost. I consult the map. Hmmm. Looks like we are now in the foothills of the Adirondack Mountains. Okay, guess we're on a scenic route. Turn here; this road will get us over to Route 87.

The road follows the edge of Great Sacandaga Lake. It is a beautiful sunny day, and the colors happen to be peaking in this area. Eventually, we catch glimpses of water to our right, glittering beyond the woods. Sunlight through the trees makes golden splotches on a beautiful terracotta forest floor. A little brook winds through the scene.

I start making gasping noises that Bob correctly interprets as “OMG Honey Stop The Car.” I jump out and scurry around taking pictures. I jump back in, thank him, and off we go. Sixteen seconds later, I see another beautiful scene and start hyperventilating again. Bob shows heroic patience as we repeat the exercise numerous times.

In the end, my favorite photo from that day is the first. It becomes the basis for my first edition of letterpress block prints, “Lakeside Wood” (made in 2010, sold out in 2013).

(I flopped the composition so the brightest part would be on the right, where your eye lands.)

January, 2015: I've just completed three new block prints since October, and need a break from printmaking. “Painting is blessedly direct and non-technical compared to printmaking,” I say. “I'll be so fun and easy to do that beautiful Sacandaga scene in oils,” I say.

It has been awhile since I worked in this medium, and at the beginning, it is slow going. How the ____do you do this again? After several days of doing and undoing, wiping away and painting over, I am stuck. I take a break and start a different painting, "Stone Wall." Returning later, the little brook gets painted in, pointing in its original direction. But the lighting is moved so the picture is brightest on the right. I take a lot of artistic license in order to create a simpler, less cluttered forest. Best to not paint the photograph of the place, but the memory of how it felt.

My favorite part is that sun-dappled forest floor. It beckons you in. Go in and have a rest. Cool your feet in the water, warm your shoulders in a spot of sun, gaze at the sparkling lake, hear the gurgling brook and the breeze whispering in the treetops...

For more info on "Lakeside Wood" oil on canvas, click here

The "Stone Wall" painting

Early August, 2014: It's the annual family gathering at Primrose Hill. We are about ten to fifteen people, depending on the day, plus dog. We hike, swim, play volleyball and soccer in the yard, work on the house, cook, play cards, have bonfires. We cook on a circa 1930s gas stove, and eat together at a long table on the screen porch. Dishwashing is a group activity, done in a big old porcelain farm sink. 

We don't have TV or internet; our cell phones don't work at the house. Except for the microwave and the annual pilgrimage to the Ben & Jerry's factory tour, we try to live like the old days. Like how Grandma and Grandpa's family spent their summers here seventy years ago, but with less work. Less work for all, except for Handyman Bob, who delights in executing ambitious home improvement projects. Grandma and Grandpa applaud from above.

“Dog” is a black Lab named Hooch: a sweet, gentle, obedient soul. Hooch has been living the Suburban Couch Potato life, and is overweight and sluggish. Besides loving his company, we imported him in hopes that a little Primrose Hill living will put some spring back into his step.

The first 25-minute walk down the dirt lane to The View and back is almost too much for him. But within only a few days, he can go longer, and even runs a little.

He sits out the soccer games but enjoys playing fetch. He's definitely looking livelier, and maybe even a little slimmer.

One day Hooch and I set off for a walk in the woods. It's a perfect sunny summer day, not too hot or humid. We venture across the old hayfield and try to follow the old path, now barely discernible. This path used to be well-worn by Grandma and Grandpa, who created, cleared and marked this path for a nice hike through the woods. There were trail markers and even a couple of very simple handmade benches, where they would rest in their later years. Very little evidence remains, but I know the terrain, and I have a destination.

On the way we pass a beautiful old stone wall. There are stone walls all over the place around here, made ages ago by farmers, I assume to mark the borders of their land and keep the livestock from wandering off. But mostly we see them alongside a road or edging a pasture. Finding one in the middle of the woods is kind of magical, like archaeology or even time travel.

These woods were perhaps once a farmer's pasture 150 years ago. And he collected these stones and stacked them carefully, building this wall to extend along his entire property. Maybe his wife and kids helped. It must have been a monstrous job. Their handiwork is still here, and more beautiful than ever, covered with velvety emerald-green moss and a streak of sunlight.

On we go, following a downward slope, to Grandma's favorite place: a bit of a clearing where a little spring pops out of the ground and runs down the hill. In her 80s, she had spent several summers laboriously landscaping this spring, tidying it up, creating little waterfalls, and digging two pools. She christened it “Teenybrook,” and would sit on a rock amid the ferns and watch as deer would come have a drink.

With passing years and fallen brush, it's not the tidy little oasis it used to be, but Hooch knows what it's for.

He glances at me, has a long drink, then lowers himself in for a rejuvenating soak in the mud.

Eventually we turn back, in what I suppose is the general direction of home. Hooch is off the leash, and wanders around happily sniffing and exploring, never straying too far away. I realize we may be sort of lost, but it's heaven in here, so who cares? We are definitely not on any path, but I take note of the position of the sun, and figure we are probably heading more or less back toward our lane.

In awhile we come to another stone wall, slightly crumbled in one place. Probably a tree once fell on it, knocking some stones off. The tree has long since decomposed. 

The woods beyond is made of mostly skinny young trees and glows yellow-green in the light. A few rays of sun illuminate spots of moss, and splash down on the leafy sienna ground. Dang, should've packed a picnic. Wish we could stay in this spot all day.

Skinny young trees mean new woods, so we must be nearly out of them. Hooch and I easily find our way home, but my mind lingers on those glorious woods, and the pictures I took. Must make new art!

January 2015: I'm halfway into the Lakeside Wood painting, and feeling stuck. Need to get away from it and come back with fresh perspective. Better start another painting. I can go back and forth between the two. If I learn something new with one, I can use it with the other.

As with “Lakeside Wood,” I do not copy the “Stone Wall” photograph. I change and simplify some things. The light becomes more golden. I rebuild the wall slightly, using the picture of the first, more intact stone wall, as a guide. The main thing to capture is that glowing sunlight, filtering through the trees, and the happiness of that hike with Hooch.

Epilogue: Hooch passed away in November 2014. We are grateful for all he gave us, and glad he got to be a country dog for a little while.

For more info on "Stone Wall," click here