Saturday, July 21, 2018


I don't like to think of myself as being needy. Or, to put it differently, everything I really need is within reach. People, time, flowers, books. The occasional trip. Good health good cheer, the happy faces of people I love. Is there more?

Still, I woke up thinking that I am in a bit of a fog. There definitely has been a pileup of activities. I'm on it, I'm not overwhelmed, but I do need a quiet day to get myself centered again.

Today I have it: a completely quiet day. Awesomely quiet. Breathlessly so.

I admit that it is slightly askew. It starts off along predictable lines: I snip spent lilies. 602, so I think the peak of blazing flowers is behind us. But you couldn't tell by looking out at the fields of color.

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It's a little buggy again. No surprise: rains bring bugs, but still, it is manageable.

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(Stately, serene Java: the chicken that by her very presence inspires calm.)

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Ed is just waking up as I come in from my morning garden work. He remembered that he had promised to take my car in to check the wheel balance. There is a shimmy in the ride. Well, there's only one nearby place that is willing to do this today and they have to have the car in right away.

Breakfast is going to be very late.

Ed sweetly takes my car in and waits (only to discover that actually I need four new tires; oh dear...). Well now, I surely have the better end of that stick. I take out my moped and scoot to the downtown farmers market. Not to linger, not to stroll, but to pick up the essentials for a week of good eating. Baby bok choy. The oyster mushrooms. Young corn. Flowers. The first apricots and cherries ( and sour cherries!) from Door County (should I make ice cream maybe?).

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Riding a moped today is like gliding on a sail boat, only without the waves that usually make me queasy. The breeze is magnificent. The air -- perfect. The smell -- of a summer day.

As I approach the farmette, I look over at the construction site and who should I see climbing a hill of pebbles? Stop Sign.

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I stop and wave and right away he turns toward the farmhouse and the path leading to the entrance -- a place he typically picks now as he waits for his meal.

And now it's not only past our breakfast hour, it's getting dangerously close to being past the lunch hour.

We sit down to our first meal of the day.

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In the afternoon, my older girl stops by with Snowdrop and Sparrow.

I ask the little girl -- would you like to pick a baby tomato?
Yes! And this one! And that one too!
Hold off, Snowdrop. That one is for tomorrow.

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(Anything for us?)

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(the thrill of picking a flower. or two.)

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Both kids are as chill as can be. I mean, Sparrow shows off the art of far niente...

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Snowdrop plays with her lego characters and the castle.

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You could not ask for a more relaxed moment.

(They leave to pick up the dad at the airport -- he'd been away on a work trip...)

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Evening. Ed asks if I'd like to eat out. I give it the usual minute of thought. And predictably, I opt for dinner at home. bok choy, mushrooms, corn... and today's eggs from the big girls. Blissfully simple. Quiet.