the manor starts to shape up

This is one of the windows that sends me over the moon.
Oh how I love these windows. The sills are perfect for sitting in. For in which to sit.

When we actually live here, you could knock on the front door and I will swing wide the door and say, "Entre vous."

The front bedroom has been claimed by the Lord & Lady of the Manor. We rang for the staff and requested that they paint over the minty green. Pronto.

It took a few weeks, but the progress is evident. It sure is hard to get good help these days.
This particular member of the household staff plopped her purse and cellphone on the window sill, snacked on trail mix incessantly, and wasted time while reclining on the window sill while soaking in the view of the river.

We are totally docking her pay.

The color is "parchment" by Ralph Lauren.

Because the kitchen staff is still in training --and because the kitchen is tacky and smells of mold- the Lord & Lady of the Manor took their repast at the Hometown Diner after overseeing the progress of their real estate holdings.

Grilled Tuna & Cheese on Rye, coleslaw, and a side of fries for the Lady, please.

winter-dreaming

The snow of mid-winter continues to fall, swaddling everything evenly in its soft flannel. The old stone home stands empty. At night, the windows are dark. No one sweeps the snowy porches; no one trundles down to the drive with a shovel in hand. True, the first floor apartment is occupied. But the bachelor who resides there is a quiet person. We hardly see evidence of his occupation. The tracks he leaves are quickly erased by the ever-drifting snow.

We wait patiently, taking our cue from the unfolding of the seasons, for the time to come for our family live there.

The empty, chilly rooms will be painted, new carpets unfurled, furniture positioned. Our baby grand piano will take its rightful place in the front room. Bedrooms will take on the character of their new owners. The sound of hammering and the cloying smell of fresh sawdust will fill the air. That peculiar and invigorating energy of a project will make us silly and slap-happy.

What is the color green doing on this blog in the month of January? Call it "color-therapy", if you will. I have wild hopes of tidying the old greenhouse in order to plant some garden flats. It is not a fancy greenhouse, mind you. It is a metal frame swathed in industrial plastic. But it is a real, bonafide greenhouse! For someone like myself who adores fresh greens, it is like money in the bank. Of course, this project won't get underway until late March, but January is almost over, and then we only have one more month......and then it is almost spring.

deciphering some history

"As early as 1803 Seth Roberts built a grist mill, and the settlement took the name of "Roberts's Mill." It was also called by some "Grass River Falls," but previous to the War of 1812 was changed to "Columbia Village."

Elsewhere, the orginal grist mill is said to have been built in 1806. This mill (and the subsequent ones built in its place after the 1814 and 1856 fires) is gone. Our stone home stands next to it.

"The inhabitants of this town suffered much anxiety on account of their unprotected frontier. A company called the South Madrid Militia was frequently summoned, and took part in several skirmishes along the St. Lawrence, and also guarded public stores kept in the mill at the village. The officers were: captain., Jesse Goss; lieutenant, Richard Blood; ensign, Daniel Richards. In the summer of 1813 a lot of goods, public and private, were captured on a British ship and stored at the village. In the following winter a squad of British soldiers came out and retook a part of the goods and carried them away."

Here is an excerpt from Wikipedia which expounds upon the British/American conflict during the War of 1812:
"The British were potentially most vulnerable over the stretch of the Saint Lawrence where it also formed the frontier between Upper Canada and the United States. During the early days of the war, there was much illicit commerce across the river, but over the winter of 1812 - 1813, the Americans launched a series of raids from Ogdensburg on the American side of the river, hampering British supply traffic up the river."

Perhaps the "lot of goods" (which were captured on a British ship) came from the St. Lawrence River via Waddington or Ogdensburg. Until 1859, Waddington was not a separate township from Madrid. The South Madrid Militia likely claimed the British goods as their own bounty, seeing that they were taking part in "skirmishes" on the river. It would make sense to remove captured goods to a more remote place to be stored in a secure building (stone) for safe-keeping. It is unclear which mill was used for storage, but likely the only stone mill at this time was Seth Roberts' grist mill. The captured goods weren't safe for long though, as this account tells us that a squad of British soldiers came the next winter and reclaimed all the booty back!

"The early mills that have been mentioned as established at the village site were destroyed by fire in 1814, when they were owned by Jarah Meach, to whom the property had been sold by the firm of Lord & Price, who purchased of the builder. After the fire the site and water-power were purchased by Timothy Reed, who erected a grist and saw mill under one roof.
One-half of the mills built by Timothy Reed, as before stated, was sold by him to Safford & Horton. The property was finally sold on execution and Hiram Horton bid it in. The mill burned about 1856, and Horton built the stone grist mill standing opposite the saw mill, and subsequently sold to G. M. Douglass and his brother. The latter failed, and after one or two other changes the property passed to Smith & Hall (B. B. Smith, W. H. Hall) in May, 1893, who now operate it. Mr. Douglass now runs the saw mill under a lease."

This is all I can find online in reference to the old stone mills in Madrid, combined with copies of the 1852 and 1865 maps. The last paragraph is a bit vague, allowing that there are different mills referred to, some re-built after fire, some passing to other owners!

make your own earth-oven

I'm not sure when the idea first came to me of building our own outdoor bread oven. A photo from our family vacation to Plimouth Plantation, circa 1998, shows us standing in front of a beehive-shaped one. A gigantic wooden peel is leaning against its side, ready for action. We are all smiling happily -after all, this was vacation- but additionally, one can detect a gleam in my eye which bespeaks desire. More than just a twinkle or spark, it screams: give. me. my. own. outdoor. bread. oven.

We have oohed and ahhed over other brick/earth ovens. There is this one at the Crown Point NY historical site. I have seen a few ancient ones in the mountains of Spain. There is one inside Mama Lucia's restaurant, Potsdam NY, which makes bread with a killer crust!

Yesterday, I cracked open the cover of a hippie-styled book, "Build Your Own Earth-Oven".
If I can get past all the "be one with the dirt" mentality, I might like it. The author asserts that anyone can build a well-functioning outdoor oven for free or for very little cost. Enticing, isn't is? (It is for me, a bread-lover of the highest order.) All this talk of dismantling a very large stone fireplace has only fueled the fire, so to speak, of how we can make this outdoor oven a reality someday.

My fancies are tickled by the fact that our old stone home was built next to a gristmill. I wonder where all that flour was baked into bread? I have a vivid and active imagination; it cannot be helped. Some one please help me by building a bread oven for me so I can re-enact history in my backyard.

Even if building an outdoor bread oven isn't high on Hubby's priority list, that won't stop me from dreaming about one. I might as well dream intelligently and read this book from cover to cover.

island paradise

A simple pad of graph paper has provided hours of creative fun for me. Since we are completely re-designing the back wing of the house, I needed to start from scratch. The only element that will remain will be the foundation's "foot-print."


The first area we defined was the kitchen, which will basically stay in the same space as the present kitchen, which was installed in the 1960's. Presently, it is a long, narrow space with a breakfast nook. (The nook is nice; the view is lovely- but we aren't nook-ish people. We are definitely island-diners.) The counter-tops are cobalt blue tile. And shiny. One of the things that cracks my whole family up is the oven which is inserted INTO the fireplace opening. None of us get it. Must have been a 60's thing.

The floor plan will open up with the removal of some interior walls and the complete dismantling of a monstrous double-fireplace and chimney. This thing is huge and sits in the middle of the whole back wing. (How many remodeling projects begin with the words, "what were they THINKING?")

Today I was thinking about the future kitchen-island. Last summer, I discovered an old general store counter in a friend's barn. Last week, I called them up and inquired about it. Yes, it's still in the barn. Sure, they would not mind getting rid of it. They agreed to barter some work in exchange for it.

I think it would make a fantastic island! We would have to cut it to size (it is presently twelve feet long), add some trim, and build a top for it, but Hubby and #1 Son think it is do-able. I would use the space under the island for storage of large pots and pans. (Maybe also a shelf for cookbooks.) We are guessing the seating capacity to be eight, uncrowded.

If I can't have my own personal tropical island, I guess I could settle for a perfectly-appointed island in a well-designed kitchen. I'm not that hard to please. Really.

map-fun

I am a huge fan of old maps.

When my little classroom of two (#1 Son and #1 Daughter) was researching the history of our present home (a circa 1830 brick farmhouse), we had to drive over to the county court house and politely ask to see the old maps that were kept in a special file. It was well worth the thirty-minute drive! But I have discovered a great online site where I can view old maps of Madrid from the comfort of my living room couch.

On this 1852 map, you can view the home of "J. Whitney", marked as number 45. For those who find those tiny numbers as hard to decipher as I did, look for the property north of the bridge on the right side of the main road. Just before it is the original grist mill, which is now gone. Our garage stands there presently, and rumor has it that the monstrous fireplace added to the back wing of our old stone home was fashioned from the reclaimed stone. Here is an old photo of that mill. Scroll down for an interior view. (What ever happened to the "Happy Miller"?)

Here on the 1865 map, you can plainly see our old stone home labeled "Grist Mill Douglass".
I don't know why it is not labeled as a dwelling on the later map, but with a little research, we hope to find out!

day one

The story could begin the day we closed on our old stone home, which was a few weeks ago. Or it could begin when we moved to the North Country in 2002 with the wild hope of owning a stone home. But I choose to designate Day One as a seemingly insignificant day over twenty-five years ago when, as a music student at a local college, I first leaned over the railing of the historic Madrid bridge and dreamed of living in this very stone home.

Now I view this lovely bridge from the bow of my kayak. (Not this time of year, though!)

Here is a closer view. Now imagine the thunder of those falls. Our old stone home is just to the right of the bridge.


I don't remember who lived there at the time, or whether the grounds appeared kept, but I do remember imagining its history. As it was situated on the bank of the Grasse River at the foot of a stone bridge, I assumed it had once been a mill -or the home of the miller, perhaps. To me, it seemed the oldest -and therefore most romantic- house in this sleepy, run-down, half-forgotten village which was only nine miles away from my college town. Nine miles and 150 years away, that is.

In many ways, Madrid New York looked like a ghost town. Dilapidated victorian homes and a tired stretch of run-down row houses formed the "town square". Main Street fanned out promisingly in one direction and quickly petered out to a cemetery and cornfields. Times were hard and business was poor. What would lure me to such a lack-luster place?

My pastor and his young family,who have remained life-long friends, had just purchased a home on Main Street, and my then-boyfriend rented an upstairs apartment on the other side of the bridge. He and I would often go for a walk and end up on that bridge, with me facing the bank where the old house called my name.

"Why would you want to live in that old scary-looking house?" he inquired politely as we stood at the halfway point on the bridge. I didn't take my eyes off of it as I answered him.

"Because I like it." said I.

Life is funny, isn't it? No one--and I mean no one--could've told me that in twenty-something years, I would return to the North Country with my overly-awesome husband (whom I hadn't met yet) and two astoundingly charming kids, buy that stone house, and make it our own.

My family loves a project. It's a good thing we do, as there is much to be done before we move in. Here on these glowing electronic pages, I will document the history, the beauty, and the work-in-progress as it all enfolds. I promise to solicit opinions, discuss remodeling options, entertain decorating schemes, and let you in on the things we discover along the way.

Welcome to our old stone home!