Sunday

From daybreak until it is time to fix supper, I stay outside. Oh, sure, there is the quick run in to take a shower and to put breakfast on the porch table -- minutes counted on the fingers of one hand.

It just happened that way. Our days at the farmette often just happen.

Oh, but what weather! What warm, sunny, outdoorsy weather!






Sunrise. Cheeper care. Garden care. I finish pruning raspberry canes. The cheepers go exploring.





Ed's up! We work together. Earlier, I had dug up another batch of tiger lilies, but when he sees their fallen stalks, he is crestfallen. So many ditch lilies slated for the ditch! No, that cannot be!

He finds space around the silo and we dig into the awful clay soil there to make room for the lilies.

And this makes Ed very very happy.

 Finally, breakfast. On the porch once more (with sunlight streaming in)...






And now is the time to purchase annuals for the pots that frame the farmette courtyard. Typically I pick up a few here, a handful there. But  during our Saturday trip to the farmers market, I had paused at Kopke's stand (they usually have the best of the flowering baskets) and Ed reminded me that we had hiked in and around their property this winter when we explored the frozen marshes just south of us. Maybe we should check out their greenhouses?

We do and it is an amazing place! You'd think I'd take photos, but honestly, pictures would not do it justice. It's the enormity of the enterprise that is most striking. When did they plant and pot so many annuals? (The answer, btw, is January.) Wait, here's a silly shot of me, because there was a mirror and I was clutching a few pots and my camera was handy...





And then, bac at the farmette,  I spend the time filling our pots. We have sixteen. Three were wintered over. That leaves thirteen. I filled ten today. I cannot describe how good it feels to create color instantly in this way. Perennials are my focus. Annuals are my indulgence. And so today, I indulged.

Ed asks -- why don't you start your own selection from seed next year?

And this leads us to speculate how we might build cold frames to start the process even in the dead of winter.

We hatch plans all day long. We talk of building trellises for sweet peas along the silo. We speculate about how hard (or not hard) it would be to have a pond and with it -- ducks. We dream big on how to improve the land that is the farmette. It's what we do.

Toward evening, I force myself to stop. I have to fix supper -- quite appropriately, spaghetti primavera, capitalizing on the veggies that you associate with spring: asparagus, beans, peas, a few tomatoes, garlic, basil. Mushrooms, zucchini. Boom! Ready.


And now Snowdrop arrives -- after a long long drive from Minneapolis. I am thrilled to see her walking up the pathway with her mommy! (The cheepers, of course, follow.)






We play indoors some...






But really, who can stay in when the day is so very perfect outside?

We walk the farmette. She loves this and keeps up quite well with the grownups, so long as there is a hand to hold.






Oh, she adores this walk! Cheepers, the willow -- favorites from the past, favorites today as well.












Our dinner is on the porch. I almost can't get Snowdrop to join us -- she is so in love now with the swing back chairs!






But food tempts. I give a final stir...






... and we're set. And as always, she is the perfect guest -- eating everything with the greatest enthusiasm (today's favorites? peas and mushrooms).






I ask -- what did you learn in you great distance travels?

Here's something: she can now execute a perfect fist bump.






The sun casts gold streaks on the walls of the farmette. Suddenly, we left behind the somber tones of the cold season and entered the radiant colors of the warm months.





And that's such a good thing.