Sunday - 79th

Wait, I thought the bulk of gardening was behind us for the season. Why these days of long, hard work?

Why indeed... in normal times,  Ed and I never really get to many of our farmette projects. At some point, we forget about them and stay with the usual garden maintenance, which for me involves mostly weeding, watering and snipping. But of course, this year, everything is different. It's not that I have more time -- household stuff eats up many more minutes, what with all that food washing, and with no breaks for take-out food or easy peasy meals. But I do have more will to spend as much time outside as possible and given that hiking no longer lures me in the way it did before (too many people and, very soon, there will be too many bugs), getting to those projects and, too, being more careful with my gardening, is suddenly very appealing. Especially on these beautiful, sunny days.

Up early, with breakfast on the porch. We're a little distracted by a radio story on growing corn that gets most of its nutrients from air. (Fascinating! On NPR, in case you missed it!) So we take the little smart phone with us for the morning meal.






And then we work. The two mega projects for us today are the meadow and the lilac. Ed finishes edging the path in the new orchard with good soil and I sow more wildflower seeds. The goal is to eventually transform lawns (meaning the grassy areas that have required mowing in the past) into meadows with paths. We've firmed up our ideas on how to do this and we've made great progress this year.

The second project is to cut back and saw down about a third of the huge lilac by the farmhouse. We attack that today. Maybe I got carried away. Looks to me like I took away a tad more than a third. But it looks fine! Next year, we'll saw off another set of thick old branches.

(Branches, loaded onto the wagon... We'll haul them to the wood pile tomorrow...)






The rest of the day? Well, trimming, staking, planting, weeding. And feeding animals, though Dance, the matriarch and once-feral cat, has still been bringing home the field mice which may explain why the big cats aren't super hungry these days. The little kitties, as usual, are trying to avoid the big cats. I do worry about them, because each night I am awakened to a chorus of coyotes outside and Ed has reported that one study found that one fifth of a coyote diet is made of cats, but so far, everyone has stayed in their own orbit of safe spaces.


In the evening, the young family comes for dinner. (A predinner romp is de rigeur on a day like this!)





















Dinner is out on the porch. Of course it is! There aren't many days as perfect as this one for a meal outside.

Do we talk about the tough topics of the day? Yes, to an extent. But we are more American than we are French in our dinner habits, in that the kids are not quiet little listeners at the table, but vocal participants in most of our conversations and so serious stuff fizzles and we relax in the way that kid antics force you to relax.






What's for dinner? Oh, one of the usuals -- shrimp tacos. With onions and peppers, smothered in a green mole, with some raw veggies and cheeses for those who like to pile it on.


(After, he shows them how ice cream bars are made...)






Late evening. Ed wants to work outside some more, but I'm spent. Popcorn time and a return to the usual viewing pleasures. He and I have talked a lot about what's happening in this country right now. In the late day, I need the distraction, the calm. We wish we could offer that same calm and hope, too, to those who need it badly right now.

With love.

Saturday - 78th

Life is very intense right now. It's as if your emotions follow two tracks, parallel but running in opposite directions. On the one hand, there is the constant sense of loss, exacerbated by tumultuous events coming at you from every corner, but then, equally strong is the perception of total beauty in the world of nature and of course in the goodness of very many people, giving so much of themselves every single day. It's all incredibly potent!

No wonder then that your own feelings  are running at levels you don't normally expect in yourself. An example: last night, Ed and I watched the next episode of the British crime drama we're currently hooked on (DCI Banks). I'd binge watch it into the night, but Ed insists we limit it to one per day! As I think I mentioned, quite unexpectedly, there arose a love interest in the series, and last night it came to a sort of fruition. I was so happy for them! Happy for these two fictional characters who were written to acknowledge deep feelings for each other. Like a kid, I was clapping my hands and bouncing with joy. For something that is so unabashedly fabricated to keep you watching. I mean, really! What am I, a teenager?

Intense, I tell you.

Because of the beautiful weather, Ed and I spent most of the day working hard outside. We chipped the edge of the front flower field, we created planting spaces along the path for more wildflowers, I transplanted, he weeded and hauled. When you work this long and this hard, at the end of the day you feel a lot younger than you really are. You're seemingly limber. You're willowy and spry. And you get a lot done!

We did take pauses. Animal feeding of course. Throughout the day.













Breakfast for us as well.






And we took a drive down to the Flower Factory (it's such a pretty drive!)...

 


... for a curbside pickup of two more day lilies (don't ask) and two big lavender bushes. And of course, there was another pickup -- of our CSA veggie box. Good stuff: asparagus (we're swimming in it and it is heavenly!), spinach, arugula, baby bok choy, radishes, sautee greens, baby turnips, green garlic and something called Egyptian walking onions which honestly look like regular ol' green onions. And no, they don't walk.


With all those greens, it's time to do a stir fry. Witch chicken this time and a head of cauliflower, all cut up,


Finally, here's a special photo from today's garden: the first blooming day lily!


 


It is for me, for Ed too, the undisputed reminder that life can be insanely complicated, but so very beautiful, all at the same time.

Friday - 77th

Someone might accuse me of playing favorites. And maybe I do. Each year I seem to dish out a disproportionate amount of attention on just one. It's not that I neglect the rest, but I do less for them than I do for the chosen one.

Of course, I'm talking about the flower beds.






There are nine in all at the farmette, of varying shapes and sizes. Unquestionably, the one that still suffers a great deal of neglect is the one extending from the sheep shed and running to the teepees (that support clematis plants). I've planted a lot of good stuff there, but I can't get rid of the weeds and I add to the problem by creating little patches of wildflowers. Weeds compete with the wildflowers and sometimes it looks pretty and at other times it looks like one big mess. That's the runt in the litter.

At the very beginning, the status of "most adored" was granted to the lily bed just by the porch. It has a commanding spot in the courtyard, and its elevation makes it stand out. And of course, I love day lilies. Sometimes I wish I could have a do-over (there are poorly planted lilies in the middle: their height doesn't warrant a central placement and their colors are far less interesting than some of the stuff I've found since I first started gardening here). But, things look good enough and in mid July, they look spectacular, so apart from maintenance work and an occasional addition, I let things be.

A few years ago, I put all my efforts into creating a very long, south-facing roadside bed. This one would be well planned, I thought! It would be more intentionally executed. It would be a star! But, I didn't fully appreciate the difficulties of planting a bed between several giant maples with an imposing root system and a dense canopy of leaves shading both ends of the bed. I also didn't take into account the damage that would come each winter, when salty slush would be plowed right to the edge of the bed. I should be throwing down compost and mulch in great quantities each year, but the bed is huge and the cheepers dig up the mulch behind my back and so the bed remains in its just okay state. Good accents, but overall -- just okay.







This year, my focus is on the Big Bed -- the one that runs from the teepees all the way to the farmhouse courtyard. Ed and I dug out and moved a shrub that had been its anchor for a while, and of course, this spring we put in the path cutting through it,  and I've been viciously pruning back the bee balm that tends to drown out so much of the rest, so suddenly it's looking mighty fine! Every day I meticulously remove weeds and keep an eye on the growth of the new additions. It surely is this gardener's pet this year!






All this garden talk must be somewhat boring, but the fact is, the day is beautiful and the farmette lands beckon and I spend a good six hours working in at least three of the beds.

Somewhere in there I paused for breakfast with Ed.






Then it was back to work.

Of course, not all garden work is delightful. I needed to whip some weeds with a very ancient and dysfunctional weed whipper and Ed and I both mowed down the gravel and chip paths (to the barn, to the road) that have become overgrown with junk. It's heavy work and smelly work and I am so very glad we're done with it. For a while. You're never really finished with anything outside.


In the afternoon, Snowdrop is here.






We are still on the schedule where she spends two afternoons here alone, so that we can read and play without the constant, sweet interruptions that a little brother brings to the picture, but all that's about to change. We are rethinking everything, given the push in our state to open up more (even as we are spiking in record high infection rates). But for now, Snowdrop is here and we spend a grand set of hours playing, reading and eating lots of fruits!






You think the other grandkids are left out of today's loop? Wrongo bongo!

(I see Sparrow when I take Snowdrop home...)






And  I see Primrose while I fix supper in the kitchen and she eats her evening meal in Chicago.

Ed and I finally finish our week of leftovers! With a salad that has all those grand things from our CSA veggie box. We're keeping up with the greens! (For the most part!)


Evening quiet.






A full week behind us. Newspaper stories that break your heart. Changing directions, changing weather patterns. And still, at the end of it all, we have the sublime gift of a Friday evening of quiet. Of safe young families. Of good weather. Of, we hope, a better tomorrow for everyone who is hurting after a week of so much hurt.

With love.

Thursday -76th

Oh, did it rain today! Snowdrop said -- close the porch door! It's so loud!

Loud and long. But no storms. For that, we are grateful!

On wet, summer days, you resist getting up early. It's so much easier just to stay in bed, to go in and out of sleep, to take in the sound outside and tune it out again. One more minute, ten more minutes...

Oh no! How did it get to be so late?!

The rain settles for a while into a gentle drizzle. I feed the animals, take note of new flowers...











... and old flowers.






... and am horrified to see that someone has just dug out all my little herbs! The pot is a mess! I fix it. Ten minutes later, I find Unfriendly lying on top of it! Did you do this?? (Two of the cats have contrasting personalities. One is friendly, the other is... not.)





Ed tells me cats don't dig up plants. Great. I have more than one animal attacking my herb plantings.



Breakfast, on the porch, because the rain is gentle now and the air is warm.






And then the grandkids come for their morning at the farmette.

Want to stay outside? It's only drizzling a little!

I suppose I am a bit of a tease. Still, a few minutes of fresh air -- that's always good, right?

Snowdrop shakes her head and goes inside, probably to complain to Ed about the absurdities of life.






We follow, imitating chicken noises all the way.






A good thing, too. The rains grow heavy, thrashing and pummeling the farmette lands, driving all animals to seek shelter.

And here's a treat: the phone is ringing, and it's cousin Primrose, eager to say hi to the kids and to patiently listen to Snowdrop's demonstration of one toy or another.






Oh, kids! Everyone wants a normal life for the little guys! Still, we at least have this: the love of cousins, aunts and uncles, the shared smiles, toy castles and toy macarons...  Grandmas, grandpas, delighted, on screens, watching, waiting patiently.






(Lunch: awed and perhaps a little frightened by the pounding rain...)






(Doors and windows closed. Smiles restored.)






In the afternoon, the kids are back home and Ed and I try to solve a Blogger bug that I anticipate will become an issue when Blogger changes its interface next month. We get nowhere. That's okay. It was good to focus on the technical aspects of posting for a change. I've been writing here for so long that I do it on automatic pilot. Retracing your steps, understanding the mechanical aspects of what you do on a daily basis is a good way to keep your mind nimble.

But it does take time.

By evening, the rain turns into a wimpy trickle. I stake a few irises, pull a few weeds, enjoy the fragrance of a very wet garden.

And again we turn to leftovers for dinner. Someone overcooked or under-ate this past week! No matter. Easy evenings are good for you.

Everyone is thinking about, talking about the summer before us. I hope, if nothing else, they'll give us all some easy evenings. And brimming jugfuls of love.

Wednesday - 75th

Heat like this wont disappear without storms chasing it away. So we'll get the tumult, the violence in the skies tonight and especially tomorrow. For now -- it's just plain hot.

This means that we close the windows to the humidity. We hold off running the AC until a time when the night air remains sticky hot. That's not the case now. We get a nice breeze going after the sun sets. And it means that I do some small scale gardening before breakfast.

(the most ubiquitous iris: I've divided it many times and stuck clumps of it in the most obscure farmette spots and it keeps on chuggin' along...)






(Our barn does not lack air flow!)






(The last moment of glory for the big lilac...)






The weed growth (all that rain!) is discouraging, but at least the earth is damp and the plants are not parched. We're in that inbetween stage where irises are just emerging and peonies are not yet blooming. The Big Bed looks lush and very green. The flowering happens bit by bit, only to explode fully by the end of June.






(The front bed iris against a blue false indigo and a dainty little red and yellow columbine.)






Breakfast is on the porch. But it's interrupted by our big weekly grocery delivery. We can't linger too long. The produce, the dairy stuff, the yogurt bars for the kids -- none of it should be out in this heat.

(Mellow, even if cut a little short...)






And now comes the time for all that sudsing and washing and and wiping and washing again and again until all that needs to be cold is in the fridge and my over-scrubbed hands are asking me very politely to give it a break.

One more chore for this morning: Ed made an adjustment to the big tractor mower and so I hop on it to give the meandering farmette paths a good trim. We've become that property where the lawn is never mowed, where occasional flowers pop out of the tall grasses, and where only a path will let you comfortably walk from one end of our vast space to the other, weaving, circling, only to eventually return you to your starting point.






In the afternoon, Snowdrop is here. We are all in that not unpleasant state of summer lethargy, even though it's not summer and we should be active, if only to stay fit and healthy, but you can't push yourself today. It's just too hot.






Here's a solution: try out our new wiggly hose!






Very soon she gets me wet.






And she gets herself wet.

And perhaps predictably, she begs for the wading pool. That same wading pool that was just perfect for age one, two, maybe three years at a stretch. After a winter in the garage, it's dusty and needs a wash. All these are trivial impediments. As every year, when you get that unexpected burst of hot air, a dip in something so cool is heavenly!

Will she ask for this piece of late spring heaven when she is not five but fifteen?






The toys for the pool are the same as the ones I first threw in there four years ago. An octopus, a tea cup, a small boat. She needs nothing more to spin a story. (Oh! I do add a bowl of fresh cherries!)






It's tough to get her out of this little tub.






(Inside, she surprises me by choosing to play with her babies. She hasn't touched them in months. There's something comforting in seeing her arrange them in a school group time.)






Eventually I take her home. The two men of the house are hanging outdoors. There are storm clouds, but nothing threatening.






Time for me to head back and do some cooking. Wednesday is frittata day. Spinach and mushrooms and cheese. And eggs of course. It's become our isolation Wednesday special. Predictability in these unpredictable times.






Ed and I walk the farmette lands afterwards. Thinking, talking, sowing seeds. It feels wonderful to be doing something that will have a good outcome. Maybe a few more wildflowers along the path. Maybe.

We return home. It feels good to just be home.

Tuesday - 74th

Hot hot hot! Steamy clammy summer hot!

Oh, we're not tired of it. Just a little tired from it, which is not the same!

(Cats on the porch...)






(One last look at the blooming lilac. It's nearly finished. That's okay -- there's one next to it, and it blooms much later. It'll give us a few more days of that beautiful scent.)






With the burst of hot air (where did it come from? It's only May!), come the blossoms of late spring flowers. These are the weeks of the irises.






Beautiful doubles, singles, Siberian, German, Japanese, bearded, ruffled, open-faced -- so many irises!  They all have their moment here.






I do notice that the bearded ones are growing extra tall. I should have separated and replanted some of them. It's time to order a batch of tall stakes for support.
Ed chimes in: please don't. I'll make you some.
I respond -- you didn't make them last year.
He thinks about it. You probably did not ask.

Within the hour, I have two dozen four foot stakes.






But I'm getting ahead of things. First there is breakfast, on the porch. We talk about all those things that promise to make you more anxious for the rest of the day!






A morning with the kids, at their home. Snowdrop wants to pretend-play Harry Potter. I'm such a poor candidate for it, having never read the books.

(What's so great about Harry Potter?)






(Romping...)










 (What to do next...)






(build a city?)






(Okay!)






 (Can you read now, gaga? Not that book... We need to find something more Sparrow friendly!)






Later, I drive home in what has to be the hottest of hot May days. I pick up Matt's spinach and asparagus, delivered today and I go inside.

A perfect day for zooming with my friends who are never going to be sympathetic to my cries of hot, living in states that tend to be, well, hotter. Thanks, both of you, for the Zoom chat. I needed that.

Leftovers for supper. Ed and I review the day. I smile a little: for all the differences between us, Ed and I are exactly on the same page with assessing risks, behaviors, now and going forward. And so we talk in shortcuts. I know where he is heading. He knows what I mean. It's a good way to share a life now.

For once, we don't watch our thriller and our comedy. He has been transplanting young trees. He's tired. Me, I sip a glass of wine and listen to the distant rumble of thunder.