so many disasters waiting to happen...

Once again, the landscape crew was to come to Steffi's House, to take out sod and put some top soil and mulch on the ground. I was to do the planting. Today. All of it. In the back of the house, to the side of it. Three new beds. Ed would help dig. Plants await.

At 4 a.m. my landscaper texts: I'm canceling for today.

What? I look outside. It's not raining. I see patches of blue sky. I look my phone weather app. A brief rain is forecast for 9. Half an hour later -- no rain until noon. I text back: Why? There's no rain in the morning! (They were to come at 9:30.) I have 35 plants to plant! 

For reasons that aren't at all that clear, this unleashed a torrent of messages, with admonitions, accusations, and real frustration. Initially, I respond going for calm. That doesn't work. She feels challenged. The messages continue. When I cease answering, I get a phone call.

This was my morning between 4 and 7.

I offer to withdraw from the contract, since we clearly are not a good team here, but I doubt she will take me up on it. Why should she -- it's money in her pocket for very basic work. Last I heard, she's coming tomorrow at 6:30 a.m.

But how is that supposed to work?? Millie was to be at daycare today. I had canceled kid pickup. All for the cause of planting. Tomorrow, I was to drop off Millie and her stuff, pick up the kids, celebrate a birthday. And pack. Because there's my Most Important Trip on Wednesday.

And I have a deeper concern that's giving me a great amount of unease: where does all this anger and hostility come from? It is not the first time this year where I had people lash out at me because they felt angry at rather obvious choices I made. Sadey's departure generated a bunch. So did Millie's rather sickly arrival, for that matter. Really good people, exploding in text form. Thumbs clicking away at insane messages that should never been written for all the inaccuracies they contained and the wrath that they displayed. 

The pressures of life. Capitalism run amuck. My landscaper clearly was stressed by weather delays -- she works at a demonic speed, often sacrificing thought and care to get the job done. I benefited from that, because she was able to "squeeze me in" when nobody else would touch my project at a late date. But I also lost out on something: Landscaping is supposed to be hugely satisfying to the person planning a new garden,  especially if you've splurged for a professional to do the heavy work for you (here: of sod removal).  Working in this way has been anything but satisfying. The owner is stressed, and so the project becomes stressed. And yet, I was happy to have it done. I can put up with a lot to get something moving!

What happens next? I'm not sure. Ed has no time to help tomorrow, I have no time for anything tomorrow, Millie should not be left alone on my last morning with her.

And on top of everything, we're to have tornadoes pass through on Wednesday -- the day of my departure. Wouldn't it be funny/sad/horrible/ironic if a devastating storm ripped out all that I already put in at Steffi's House? Right now I think anything is possible!

Breakfast? Well, it's too gloomy and cool to eat outside, and I need my computer to go over all that now awaits me, so I take it to the couch.

My angelic dog must be sensing the tension brewing on my laptop, because she turns off her teenage rebellious streak and showers me with kisses the minute I come close to her. Oh, I will miss that lovely pup face!

(wet from the evening rains in this picture)

 

Big Day indeed... My big excursion is to Fitchburg Recycling to get rid of all the cardboard that has been accumulating in the garage. And then I decide to plant the last of the roses. In the "enclosed garden" where I intend to plant just the bare basics, because it's Millie's play space. 

It takes me an hour and a half to get that darn thing in, the soil is THAT bad. I chip away at the rocks and clay, making minute progress, hating the job, but working with a determination that only a firm deadline would generate. I finish with it, put up a few hose guides and an extra trellis, and just then I get a text. From my landscaper. We can come over in an hour! I text back: now I am concerned about the weather! We have until five before the rains come. 

I think she is being super calm because it turned out that I was so very right. There was no rain this morning. My forecaster is better than hers.

At 2:30 her crew shows up. And I have to say, they work hard and do a fine job of it. True, they got the wrong wood chips (dark ones, rather than natural like up front), but she generously did not charge me for them. In 90 minutes they are done. 

[While they work, I bring Millie for a quick run in the fenced yard. I dont care if the renter objects. He has not done his job of mowing the lawn. If he ever comes out of hiding (no one has ever seen him in the neighborhood), he and I can have a polite exchange about obligations. But here's an interesting finding: my fluffy dog who now weighs 14.5 pounds is actually skinny. Behind all that fur is a small skeletal structure. It takes a wiggle or two, but she actually can step out of the enclosure between bars. Millie, you're impossible! I'll have to put in some kind of low to the ground fence guard. Definitely an unexpected expense!]

It is nearly 4 when they pack up and leave. Ed dutifully comes over and swings his pick-axe again and again and I manage to put in 10 plants...

(6 were planted in this bed...)

 

 ... before all hell breaks loose and the rains come down. 

Evening. I reheat soup. It has gone bad. I throw it away and take out a leftover frozen pizza slice. I'm making progress with everything, just a bit slower than I had hoped for. Tomorrow, I'll have to fit it all in: the plants, the birthday, the handing over of my beloved dog and all her supplies, the packing. It can be done! I think.

with so much love... 

 

irresistable

What foolishness got into me when I signed Ed and me up for strawberry picking at Tipi's Farms? Do I really have nothing better to do then to devote the needed couple of hours for this? Will I even be here to eat all those strawberries?

It's our thing, that's what it is. We do these fruit picks, and only after bringing home boxes full of berries do we wonder why we needed so many. We've made jams, and we still have many jars of those in storage. These days, neither one of us eats croissants for breakfast. I spread jam on nut butter on the rare occasion I make myself a lunch. So... if not for jamming or baking, then for what??

It's the pleasure of picking fresh berries in mid-June. The smell of a just-picked fruit, the taste of one warmed by the sun -- it's really a June gift for us. So I signed us up.

But first, a very early morning with Millie.

It'll be a scorcher today, and beyond toasty for the early days of the week. Which means there will be storms. Not great timing, considering I have 15 plants for today, and 35 plants to put in on Monday. We will see how that goes!

We're at the Tipi farm by 10. It's all rather nostalgic. These guys were our CSA veggie farmers for many years. But they're both in our age bracket and so they retired from CSA work. 

 

 

 But the berry picks are still going on, and former CSA people get first dibs on the sign ups. The slots were filled within hours of posting.

(in my berry t-shirt... it's a tradition!)

I ask farmer Beth how it feels to be mostly retired. She laughs: all it means is that we didn't hire any help this year. It's all on us.We were picking asparagus last week and felt completely depleted after.

Our berry pick is small. We just don't need more fruit right now.

 

We drive back, Ed sleeps. He'd already played pickle ball early in the morning. Up before sunrise, he tells me. Just like me!

He wakes up as I pull into  Sally's driveway. Shhhh! -- I warn him. Millie is in her crate, sleeping. I've been gone two hours. I could use one and a half more to do my planting. But I need Ed's help to lift a boulder I'm "borrowing" from the construction dump next door. I thought it would make a good hose guide for the garden. I hired someone from the community to water the plants while I'm away. I dont want her to run the hose over my baby plants! (The boulder turns out to be a poor choice, in that the hose gets stuck in the crevice of the stone as it hits the ground. Still, the hose may get stuck it'll keep my waterer honest!)

Ed returns to the farmette, I go on to plant. And yes, I do make progress. I put in ten little guys. But I run out of soil once again. I count what's left: five plants for the front bed, and three that should go into the fenced area. 

 

 

 

It's never ending, really it is. As I stand there wondering if I should water or wait for the rain, a pickup truck rolls by. A young guy opens the window.-- Excuse me? -- he says. I look at him questioningly. I just wanted to tell you, I love your garden! 

Well now, I was touched, really I was. Not because I am in need of compliments, but because this person cared enough to stop, lean out and tell me that he liked my flowers. How totally sweet of him. Such good people there are on this planet! 

Okay, back to my Sunday list: to mow the lawn. If in general I hate lawn care, I double hate it when it's not my own and it's poorly maintained. The drought has helped me in that the lawn has hardly budged this spring. It's only my third cutting. One more before I move out! 

I feel I owe Millie a big chunk of quality time for all her patient crate rests. I take her to the big dog park.

 

 

 

She likes it, but she is still tentative when dogs come up to her. At doggie daycare, she is all over them. Here, she takes it in, then usually chooses to trot by my side instead of playing with the others. 

(the Millie Trot!)

 

 

(with an occasional gallop thrown in for good measure)

 

 

 (...followed by a rest)

 

 

I called off Sunday dinner, because there just isn't time for it. I wont even describe the number of leftovers I've used for myself this week. Evening suppers have been following the same pattern: make salad, reheat whatever there is to be reheated from meals past. Frittata slices, bowls of veggie soup, even the occasional frozen pizza slice. Anything that requires no thought and little preparation.

When Millie dozes off for a late afternoon nap, I return to the garden. Five more plants go in. Success! The front yard is just about done. The Big Day will be tomorrow as Bevalli Gardens rips up more sod on the side and the back of the house, Ed will help me dig some holes, and I'll put in the last of the plants -- all thirty-five of them. Ambitious? Well yes, but then this whole project has been insane. Why stop with just the front border?! 

Funny I should call tomorrow a Big Day. It is that, but then Tuesday is also a Big Day (a family birthday, the last day of school for the kids, and Millie goes off to trainer Julie's home. And really, Wednesday is a super Big Day: packed or not, I take off for the Big Trip. And Thursday? Very big indeed as I arrive at my destination. I suppose Friday gives me some respite and then I have a string of Big Days, one after the next.

Evening.  Ed comes over to learn his jobs at Sally's House when I'm away. He stays for supper -- I assure him I have something for our evening meal. Um, a little something: how about half a slice of leftover frittata? With a salad of course.

with so much love... 

many threads

The pace of each day seems a bit hurried, but I wouldn't change a thing. The goal is to do all you can to prepare for a season of splendid natural growth and bloom. Spring is the season for work, so you can revel in the beauty of summer. And it's good work. On a typical January day, I can't think of many ways to keep active and busy that bring pleasure (especially if there is no snow). In spring I can't seem to stop finding new, exciting, strenuous but satisfying projects. Add to it this year's many moves and the coming trip and of course the days just aren't long enough for me.

Still, I was tired enough to get up at the luxurious hour of 7 a.m. And I did a leisurely breakfast outside.

In preparing breakfast (hers and mine), I listened (as I always do) to NPR's Morning Edition. They had a story about the peony garden in Ann Arbor. My friend who lives near there confirmed that it is indeed a beautiful place and this year they seem to be having a super bloom of peonies. I smiled at that. As you can see from my breakfast table, I love peonies and I planted about a dozen peony bushes all over the farmette lands. They belong there. And yet I planted none in Steffi's gardens. Why? Steffi's gardens are different. They have clear boundaries. They do not go on forever. And peonies take up a lot of space for a really short period of bloom. (The ones at the farmette are done flowering. All that foliage remains, but the blooms wont be back until the end of May 2027.) Lucky me -- I can head over to the farmette for a peony fix. Though not this year anymore. Fleeting beauty. 

When Millie seems to be settling down for a morning nap, I quickly escort her to her crate, pack up my tools and my list for the day and drive off. To the K&A Greenhouse, because my notes tell me I need a solution to the corner of the garden that touches the front stairs. It's a very prominent place. And I need some very short plants for the front of the border. 

I find great solutions, but it took a while to get there. From the Greenhouse, I head to the farmette.

 

 (there are a total of 8 clematis vines at the farmette; this one finally sprung a full bloom this year)

 

 

 (I planted a row of these allium plants: they look like sparklers!)

 

 

I need to pick up more soil and do some spot weeding for Ed (who is at the moment taking care of his garlic).

And finally to Steffi's House. I just want to finish front bed planting, but it's getting to be quite hot so I feel compelled to pause and water all that has already been planted. It takes a while. I do put in a rose, and the two sweet pea vines -- I grew these at the farmette and they were hardly visible in the wealth of greenery there, but I loved them anyway. Here, I'll let them climb freely, right next to the clematis. 

Oh, and I notice the first Steffi's House day lily bloom! Hi little flower!

 

 

 

I also put in a third Calamintha -- a plant I love for its bee attraction superpower. By late August, the plant is always filled with beautiful buzzing bees. I'll have to keep Millie away. My dog, in addition to picking up garbage outside, also loves to chase bees. With her nose stuck in blooming clover. That's surely not going to end well.

And of course, in goes my anchor plant by the stairs. I decided on a rose.

 

 

 

Three hours in the crate is the maximum I feel comfortable with for Millie, so I head home and play with my pup, brushing her out as she tries to grab and eat the brush. I do believe she thinks brushing is a game where she is challenged to catch the grooming tool. 

I am tempted to take her to the park, but she has other ideas: like another nap under the couch. Well then, my small one, you may as well sleep in the crate while I finish my planting work for today. 

And of course, I do not finish it at all. More spaces to fill, more plants to put in... tomorrow. 

Millie is done with her napping and the heat is abating a little, so I take the wee girl on a longer walk -- to Steffi's yard! I turn on the hose briefly, to rinse off my muddy feet and I make a fountain for her to see if she can drink water that way. And she can! This pup is afraid of many things. Water is not one of them. 

I sigh at the sight of Steffi's  lawn: the current renter has not mowed it at all this year. I do not know why. Between the May drought and the stress of the long grass, I'm going to face a dying lawn. And one member of my household really does like fresh, cool, green grass. (She's is giving herself a good stretch, obviously not in Steffi's yard): 

In between plant work and Millie walks, I do take care of trip details that need my attention. Most everything is in place except for my packing. But of course, it rarely takes me long to pack. True, this coming trip is on the longer side and it has many components to it and possible weather variations, but still -- I have only so many pairs of pants, so many t-shirts, a dress or two and walking shoes. Boom, done. Well, not really done, but it may well be something I will do at the last minute. I leave early on Wednesday, and tomorrow and Monday are still planting days for me. And someone around here has a birthday on Tuesday!

June isn't just moving along briskly. It's flying for me! 

with so much love... 

 

Millie is Surprised

Here's my faulty reasoning: we're to have rain this morning. Outside, the skies look cloudy, but not dark-cloudy. I do not hear rain against the roof or windowpanes yet at 5 a.m., therefore we must be in a pause. Ergo if I get up now and take Millie out, we will have beat the rain and we will stay dry.

Millie always comes out of her crate in the morning with great enthusiasm, no matter what the hour. No different today. But as we step outside, I see that it is indeed raining. I take out the umbrella. She gazes up at it apprehensively. Millie does not large strange objects. But, nature beckons and so she concentrates on the grass before her. Said grass is wet, but even more strangely, there's wet stuff coming from above. My pup keeps looking up, thinking perhaps that she should catch the rain drops. That effort fails, so she goes back to sniffing. She quickly finished what she set out to do and pulls to go inside. 

(wet dog)

 

It strikes me that she and I have not been out in the rain since the first week of her life at Sally's House some two months ago. It's been that dry. (And on the rare occasion that it did rain, the cloudburst would have been quick and dirty. We managed to stay out of it.) 

It is a very early morning for the both of us. Is that why she refuses to eat breakfast? She'd been cleaning her bowls every day since we started on the fresh wet food. Not today. Is she feeling off? Too tired? Or does she not like the smell of turkey? I can't tell. She walks off, curls up not too far from me and falls asleep. 

I eat breakfast on the porch. I wont be able to do that on rainy mornings at Steffi's House -- the front open air porch has a pergola roof. 

The sound of rain outside is lovely. And the construction noise for once is completely missing from my morning. The dust, too, has settled.

But it's a gentle rain. A sweet sound, but the water wont reach the roots of my new plantings. Unless it intensifies, I'll have to take out the hoses again. 

Millie was supposed to go to doggie daycare so that I could work outside, but within minutes, I can tell she is not well today. Upset tummy. Sure, it could be anything, but I would bet a small pot of gold that the reason for the upset lies in her high interest in picking up junk from the porch and on our walks. That dog does not recognize the words "toxic" and "this is not good for you!" 

(an even more wet dog)

 

 

As she seems to be in a dozy mood, I put her in the crate and go out to work in the Steffi Gardens. I really do not like the one little corner planted by Beth from Bevalli. It's not her fault. She did a fine job, but a true garden person will have a vision and I did not communicate my vision well enough. So I moved out some of the plants (don't tell her!) and substituted them with my own. And then I planted stuff around it that will take your eye away from her corner. Too, I put in a path. 

 

 

Note how I talk about planting. Am I digging without Ed's pick-axe help? Yes I am. It's drizzling now and the soil is saturated (as am I!) down to about two inches. I can break through that and chip away at the rest. Ed brings over more farmhouse soil. I work steadily for nearly three hours and then call it quits. 

The front beds still need plants. As many as 3 more on each side. But I'm not in a hurry with choosing those. My efforts on Monday will be on the side beds. I have to get the flowers into those. HAVE to. In one day, three beds. With Ed's help in digging I hope. I have long swallowed my pride and gone begging again.

When I deposit empty buckets to the farmette, Ed asks if I want to go out for a Tati's lunch. I do! We pick up Millie and we're off!

 

 

 

My pup is still not fully herself, so I leave her once again as I go to pick up Snowdrop.

 

(it's locker clean out day today; the girl is loaded with a year's worth of stuff!)

 

 

I don't dwell on the fact that this may be Snowdrop's last visit to Sally's House. I'm not sure what either of the big two (kids) think of the place, but I have to think their feelings are positive, because they so associate it with Millie, and of course, I dont have to repeat what their feelings for Millie are.

 

 

 

 

 

Tonight, there is a get together in the new development. Women and wine, that kind of thing. I really push myself to go. I've met quite a number of people as a result of dog walking, but those have been doggie conversations. I should join the human world more often. So I walk over, leaving Millie yet again, for a third time today, in her crate.The good news is that Millie is getting used to being left there for short bursts of time. Separation anxiety, at least for now, has receded. And because she is off a little with her eating, and resting quite a bit, this isn't a bad day to leave her home so often. Still, as you know, I avoid wine these days and I'm anxious about my puppy, so I walk over briskly, just for an hour's worth of socializing, and then come home to my girl.

I'm glad I went. Where there are two dozen women sipping beverages together, there will be information about the hot issues of the day. I learn about construction plans. About who has what dog. About book clubs and weekly coffee meetups. All filed for future reference.

I really should go to bed early today. But sleep seems very unimportant to me this month. I love June daylight and staying up feels somehow so luxurious. Still, there's more digging before me. With and without the help of the pick-axe guy. Maybe in an hour I'll retreat upstairs. Or two hours. Or so...

with so much love... 

 

entertaining

Go to sleep very late, wake up very early, out with pup by 7. I feel I should work briskly at getting my breakfast (or is it brunch?) foods ready, but the Blueberry-Lemon Buckle is baked (I had not known until this week what a Buckle was!), and the asparagus is chopped, and the Gruyere and Emmental cheeses are grated, and the table is set -- all done last night. So what else is there to do? 

I cut up some fruit, make a cup of coffee and go to the porch outside with my lists. I have two going: one for the trip and one for the garden. I study them. Think about them. Add things to them, in the rare moment that something strikes me, and then I brush Millie. Such a different approach to food prep from the time I hosted my first brunch for company in 1977, at the age of 24. That one was to appear on the table at 11 and it didn't make it there until the late afternoon. I was ambitious but unpracticed.

(I put together a bench last night -- Millie thinks it's cool... to stay under it)

 

It is quite rare that strange people come to Sally's House and I'm curious how Millie will behave. 

(brushed and ready to greet)

 

I soon find out: a tentative hello, a wag, permission given to be petted, and then a retreat to sleep under the couch where she basically dozes until they leave around noon. Talk about dogs who are seen but not heard! 

It's a good morning for the adults in the room, albeit one has experienced some loss recently and so we shelve the silliness in favor of the sympathetic.

Still, it is great to be with people your age or older on occasion. We talk about stuff that uniquely belongs to septos and octos, and no one is surprised at the list of doctors' visits and the physical quirks we face. We speculate, too, about why it is that adult children don't especially relish hearing our wisdoms or suggestions or even inquiries into their doings. True, I should not be surprised that this is the case. My mother was full of comments on my daily movements, and if she asked questions, I sensed just from her tone alone that she was conveying much more than a simple thirst for information, and it irked me no end each time I heard that tone. Of course, being of the repressed-tward-their-elders generation, I never let her know it. Our kids are much more comfortable in speaking honestly and laying out the terms of familial relationships. Which is a good thing, right?

Toward the end, we set a time and place for our next breakfast meeting. I suggest my place again because it will be so new and so different. In one year, I will have hosted four morning meals, each one at a different home (the farmhouse, the Edge, Sally's House, and next month -- Steffi's). My friends ask me -- how do you handle moving so often? It's a good question, for which I do not have an answer. Only that I do really hope that this is the end of my packing and hauling, until they drag me out in a state of incompetence, disability, or on a stretcher in a state of rigor mortis. 

 

Once they leave, I return to the trivial stuff of the everyday. And Millie and I drive over to the farmhouse so that I can give Ed some leftover Buckle and I can pick up peaches that have started arriving from Georgia. Millie then goes to daycare (for a really short visit) and I pick up Sparrow. And eventually Snowdrop, who stayed late in school in support of a protest event. Or was it that it was an event that had earlier triggered protest? I cant tell. Kids talk in shortcuts. 

 

 

 

No Sally's House today -- it's late and I still have errands to do before picking up Millie. I leave the kids with their mom...

 

 

 

And I drive to the nearby K&A Nursery. I had counted no fewer than 15 empty spaces in the front beds at Steffi's. I have 5 plants lined up for some of these, but 10 are still question marks. Of course, it can all wait. Or, I can look around to see if I missed something interesting in the greenhouse. Oh, tall phlox, here at last! Such color for late summer! 

Toward evening, Millie and I return home. The beds at Steffi's definitely should have been watered today, but I do not want to leave Millie alone when she already has had her independent time at daycare. And here's a pleasant prediction: we may get some rain tonight. That would be nothing short of magnificent! The earth everywhere is parched and cracked, the clay is baked. Let the showers begin! Please.

with so much love... 

small encounters, big impact

Good morning! How's your day goin' so far? -- this from a big guy, and I mean a really big guy, while unstrapping the timber from his 18-wheeler for the roof of the house under construction. I'm walking Millie at 7 a.m. in the morning and though we often see construction workers arriving on the site at that time, it's rare that any of them pay attention to us. Millie hesitates now. She's not sure about this -- the big guy, the huge truck. In the end, deciding that canine duty is being summoned, my pup lets out a series of high pitched barks and little growls that wouldn't scare a butterfly.The big burly guy laughs: oh, I know that yap! I have two Yorkies at home!

You know how some ordinary event sometimes makes a deep impression on you?  Like, two days ago, an elderly garden store shopper tells me -- oh, you're taking the cart back? I could have done that for you! I'm heading in that direction. Or some random techie-looking young man (tech guys have a certain air...) asks me at doggie daycare pickup -- oh, tell me, what is your dog's name? Nothing is unusual here. Polite small talk, really. And yet, what is unusual is this random warmth, coming from unexpected places. To add to the incongruity of this morning's exchange is learning that my huge construction guy has two tiny yapping Yorkies -- well, that just made me smile for the rest of the morning.

...Even at breakfast, though it's a chilly morning and I last outside for only a few minutes

I brush Millie then. She is getting more rebellious about this, but I am undaunted. I dont want tangles! 

 (don't you look nice all brushed like that!)

 

 

And having tired her out with my efforts, I put her in the crate and go out to Steffi's House, where I plant my great big beautiful Frida Kahlo rose...

 

 

... a lily (not a day lily! recognize the difference!), and a Meadow Rue. This last plant was hard to find, but I finally came across one at the greenhouse and I grabbed it. The one at the farmette is huge and it blooms in the weeks where not much else is yet flowering (that in-between-spring-and-summer time). And of course, I water everything. We are having a very dry end of spring.

I do also stop by the farmette. To dump compost and pick some peonies...

To claim some dirt, and to scold Ed for being a reluctant helper. (He would disagree with that characterization.)

It takes me three hours to do all this. But of course it does. Without the pick-axe, I'm back to chipping away at the clay with my shovel. Hard work, but I persevere. And I see out of the corner of my eye the neighbor from across the street coming toward me. I quickly run through the things I may have been doing to annoy him. Maybe it's that I'm dumping the clay on the construction site next to Steffi's House? Or that I'm picking out rocks from there to plug up holes in the stone wall at Steffi's? 

None of that. On the contrary, he tells me -- you see those rocks and boulders in my garden? I didn't bring them here. I went to where they were first tearing into the land and picked out some really attractive stones. In fact, I'm always on the lookout at these sites for interesting and beautiful stones. Would you like some of mine? I have a collection in the garage!

How awesome is that! Not only do I nab two of his, but I feel I have permission to look for more at the sites. Or at least I'm not the only one who picks up a few rocks. And really, why should I worry? The company building next to Steffi's is the same one that dumped that awful clay and rock into Steffi's yard. Take some, give some. They're just burying it all anyway.

By early afternoon I hurry to free Millie. And because she has had such a long nap, I take her to the doggie park for a good run. It's a little toasty now, and she is clearly panting, and yet I decide to cross over with her to the big dog park. She has been with me for two months now and she is getting good at recall. 

 

(I have a dog who can fly!) 

 

Too, I know that she plays well with even big dogs. Moreover, the trail in the big park is longer -- more fun for me -- and it offers occasional shade.

Millie is cautious. New scents everywhere! It isn't until the end that she picks up her tail in a wag. Still, she seems content to run to me, to take pauses, to sniff her heart out.

Oh, she has come such a long way, my most precious pup!

Of course, she sleeps after that. Understandable. This gives me a chance to work some on my lists, to repot some porch plants (a raspberry!), to think about the trip ahead of me. I'm leaving in a week. Shouldn't I start making lists for packing? 

And I should bake for tomorrow's brunch at Sally's House. For my two breakfast buddies. A blueberry buckle with lemon syrup from David Lebovits. 

Evening. I'm starting to be less frantic as everything is more or less falling into place. I'm wondering if I'm too laid back! I eat leftovers, watch a show, read a beautiful chapter from the Monty Don book. I haven't   started writing down all that I have to remember to pack for a complicated yet spectacular trip. At 9 it strikes me that I really ought to bake something for tomorrow's breakfast at Sally's. Putting it off until the morning makes no sense as my guests will be here at 9. So I start in on a Blueberry Buckle with Lemon Syrup from David Lebovitz. It's awfully close to midnight by the time I'm done. 

 (there are 3 cups of blueberries in this thing...)

 

 

Tomorrow I'll make my longtime standard: an asparagus frittata with Gruyere cheese. 

with so much love... 

roses aren't always red...

I'm not writing about the weather much -- clearly an indication of my-mind numbing preoccupations. Who knew starting a new garden, and going on a trip, and planning a move could take so much mental effort!

I asked Ed if later in the week he could help me with his pick-axe again, to make a few more planting holes in the soon-to-be born side yard. He sighed and explained once again that I should simply dump a huge pile of city wood chips on the grass and it would eventually die off. And he reminded me once again how good the soil is at the farmette thanks to the chips we put on over the years. And yes, it does deplete the soil of nitrogen initially, but you can make that up with "organic" home-made fertilizer (dont ask).

The strategy of saying "uh-huh" and nodding my head failed me. I am too preoccupied with gardening plans that I have already set in motion. And the thing is, my sweet and confident guy is so proud of the soil in the flower beds that I hate to pop his bubble, but working there was not easy, for different reasons: not only was there clay below the couple of inches of "good soil," but there was the encroaching weed problem. Every flower field had one or two or three creeping menaces that came up from under all that "good soil." I was losing the battle in most of the beds. Creeping bell flower, creeping charlie, spreading violets, and don't get me started on creeping bishop's weed. When a non-gardener thinks of weeding, she usually thinks of pulling out a plant here and there. It doesn't work that way. That feeling of failure was strong for me, right about the end of July when all I wanted to do was give up and retreat. And that doesn't even take into account farmette mosquitoes.

So, not feeling very generous toward my advice-giver, I said "never mind I''ll do it myself." I will live to regret this. Indeed, even today, I suffered the consequences of my annoyance. But all that was after breakfast, with Monty Don and Millie (the former only in book form).

Millie is very sleepy in the mornings, so I do not feel too bad putting her in her crate for a couple of hours. (And Tuesday is doggie daycare afternoon, so she'll get plenty of exercise there, chasing her BFF Mable. I'm told they hang out together often.)

The goal today was to pick up some composted soil at the farmette...

 

(writer's shed) 

 

 

(blue false indigo, yellow iris) 

 

 

... and finish planting all the roses. I did that. All but one. I forgot about the most beautiful rose, because it's on the porch shining its colors for me every morning at breakfast. But the rest went in. The holes were already dug, so this took all of 20 minutes. Next -- water the beds. Terrible idea to do it at around noon, but this is the free hour I have, so out come the hoses. One on each side of the house. Afterwards, I put in the clematis vines. I had been sitting on this for a while because I wasn't sure where they would fit in best. I decided today. In they go. And finally, I take out one of the remaining five day lilies that were sent to me in bare-root form. And I found that three of them had rotten roots.

Was it my fault for putting off their planting? Probably not. Unlike many other flowers (roses come to mind..), day lilies  can be planted any time, from spring until fall. The only reason to get them in fast is that the impatient among us would like to see a bloom this year. The later they go in, the less likely they'll flower for you in the summer.

And now comes the dilemma: do I put in plants that have at most a 40% chance of survival? I do put them in, but I'm likely to take them out again, especially if I get a refund! 

And the renter still hasn't cut the grass, so I think he is either mad at the landscaping work or shacking up with his girlfriend or boyfriend elsewhere.

At home, Millie is happy as always to see me. And this is when I remember that I have an unused camera that I got as a replacement for my small Fujifilm. I haven't had time to set it up and test it. I do that today. And find that the shutter release doesn't work, And I cant get the strap on. But, I do not shout, scream or wail. Not yet, anyway, I call Fujifilm Customer Support, which thankfully does not have a circle of automated responses, nor does it have a two hour wait time, The guy has me do a bunch of diagnostics and determines that it's not the camera body but the lens that is defectively not connecting. "Send it back" -- he says. But I need it for my trip! 

Well, the lens has to go back to Fujifilm. So much for having this lighter camera with me on the trick. (The old one is like a brick around your neck.) But in the meantime, maybe I should just keep the lens on until I have time to package it. In screwing the lens back on, I hear the magic click and it strikes me that perhaps I hadn't fully screwed it in before, hence the poor connection. Oops.

One hour wasted on an unnecessary intervention. Good thing I was going to procrastinate once again (this time in sending in the lens). Being too busy has its virtues!

I drop off Millie at doggie daycare and pick up the kids at their respective schools. Sparrow is now always tired because there's a lot of outdoor "fun" in this last week of "classes." And Snowdrop? She is in the thick of friend sagas: this one said this about that person and isn't that awful and grounds for not speaking to this one? That kind of stuff. I tell her that in my experience, ignoring trouble makers rather than being deliberately mad at them is the best strategy, since bully types like to see you get a rise out of their obnoxiousness. But tell that to an 11 year old in Middle School. I'm sure these stories will continue and my advice will be listened to and shelved at some special place reserved for useless grandmotherly admonitions.

We pick up a happy Millie and go to Sally's House, where it really isn't just all about the dog!

And in the evening I am grateful for all that I have accomplished by now: the front beds are mostly planted as are the roses. The trip booklet that I wrote explaining to my fellow travelers what happens each day and what we are likely to see (25 single spaced pages, though with some paragraph breaks)  is done and it is in the hands of its intended audience. And the move? Well, that comes in 4 weeks and yes, there is a dispute as to when I can claim residence, but what's a move without problems, right?

So I relax. Watch a couple of episodes of Rizzoli and Isles, which is kind of fun in a predictable way, if murders in Boston can be called "fun." And I pay attention. None of this distractedness that would lead one to wonder why on earth the TV is on in the first place. Finally, music, Millie walks, books and sleep. That's the plan anyway. And today, I think I may succeed. Maybe.

with lots of love...