the peak of summer

Today is my midsummer. It's the summit of flower extravagance. It's that moment when life's faults and foibles diminish and all attention is drawn to all that's blooming at the farmette. It's the lily's finest hour.

The weather for it? Absolutely glorious! Mostly sunny, breezy and a cool high of 75F (not quite 24C).

It is a landscape of magic. Snowdrop talks of fairies quite often: they're part of her imaginative tableau. Today, you believe that they inhabit our flowery fields. Along with the butterflies, colorful birds, and little green frogs.





Last year, that peak of flower perfection came three days earlier (my harvest of spent lilies maxed out on July 19 at 745).

This year, today, I snipped off 876 lily flower heads.

I did it early in the morning. You might think this was sheer lunacy. The bugs were horrible and we were about to have areas of the farmette retreated with a border spray of garlic and a touch of rosemary. It keeps the mosquitoes away for a good handful of days before it wears off. But I did not wait for this. Why? I can't really answer that. It's a compulsion that I have to improve on something that is already splendid. Or maybe it's that I like to do the day's most difficult tasks early on. Or perhaps it's the light: the gardens arguably look their best in the morning. And so isn't this the time to bring them to order? So that they can truly revel in their magnificence?

There is a lot of excess today: an overabundance of blooms, of good weather, of good feeling. And so you have to forgive me: it calls for an excess of flower photos. I mean, this is it! Their moment of glory. How could I not give them the platform they deserve? Here they are, photos, looking at my favorite spots from any number of angles.

Flower madness, farmette style!


(a corner of the lily field, looking toward the porch...)






(the other corner...)






(from the porch, looking out...)






(a part of the Big Bed...)






(the other part...)






(one successful segment of the bed by the sheep shed: the wildflowers took off here, forming a beautiful small meadow behind the lily)






(midday sun: one side of the Big Bed...)







(one pretty segment of the roadside Front Bed...)






(a conventional but beautiful frontal view of the lilies by the porch...)






I wont neglect the breakfast photo. Not even on this flower-focused day.






And I surely will not neglect my after-school time with Snowdrop!

(Pick up: her teacher tells me -- she's such a sweet child, and it strikes me that this is so correct: she really is a sweet little kid...)






(Running into the farmhouse: gaga, I really love your home...)






(I told her this week will be a Katie Morag extravaganza! I have amassed over the last month five unknown to her books about the little girl living on a remote Scottish isle...)






And now it's evening and the air is so refreshingly crisp that I close the window just a little. Too cold! -- I tell Ed, who nods from the sidelines.


(the small bed by the parked cars...)





I read a story in one of my usual online news sources about a mom who writes a letter to her daughter every year on her birthday, putting in details that she recalled of the girl's last year. Many years later, her daughter tells her that these proved to be invaluable markers for her: they helped her understand who she was. You think that both of you will always remember that your wee one loved a bowl of ripe July cherries and a good Katie Morag story, but the fact is you wont. Of course, what that mom's letters describe is her own take on her daughter's year. Perhaps those moments are not ones that the girl herself would have marked as telling. Still, the daughter later said that it made her feel good to know that trivial particulars were noted and that someone delighted in them.

If they get wrapped up in the craziness of life as they grow older and have little time for reflection or recollection, this much Snowdrop, Primrose, and Sparrow will know for sure -- their grandma was utterly charmed and transfixed by the tiny quirks, raging passions, and sweet fleeting delights of the three little ones. You're not convinced? Just read Ocean of the past 4.5 years.


I step outside when it's already dark. I've always loved the sounds and smells of a summer night in the country. Fireflies, froggie noises, and yes, the distant hum of Madison traffic miles away. It's a beautiful night here, in Wisconsin. I hope it is for you as well, wherever you may be.