We're at the end of a four day run of grand weather. And it's a fabulous finale: sunny, 70F (21C). Okay, I'm not greedy. It's May. Cool weather is part of our seasonal mix. Bring it on. And, too, the rain: we need it! What, not until Tuesday? Well okay, but make it a solid, soaking rain!
On the other hand, can you please spare us a night time frost? Every time I refresh the forecast page, the predicted low for next Friday drops a degree. We're now looking at several degrees below freezing. What a disappointment! Not only will I have to cover the annuals, but if it becomes a hard frost, our fruit trees, which are just beginning their bloom period, will suffer. So please, oh mighty weather gods, for the sake of the fruit trees, especially the apples and the pears (stone fruit trees do better with a cold spell), let's push it up a bit, okay?
Okay, let's get back to this day. This glorious, warm day.
If there is one thing that the pandemic has taught us, it is to live for the present. To put aside the anxiety that comes with speculation as to how tomorrow will look. You've heard it from many sources I'm sure: take one day at a time and find a way to make it good (or at least not awful! I realize that aiming for "good" is a heck of a lot easier if you are lucky enough to not be sick, and are able to pay this month's bills).
And if you're in south central Wisconsin, your "good" is surely going to include a few solid whiffs of this fabulous weather -- sunshine, Vitamin D and all.
Breakfast, on the porch.
It's a little late, because morning animal feeding is getting to be a challenge. I have to first distract the cheepers and the teenage cats with their own food, then run to the driveway where the little kitties usually hang, and coax them to dig into their grub, quickly, before we have the attack of the band of looters (both cheepers and the teen cats can't wait to dash to the car to see if there's kittie food they can appropriate for themselves).
All this would be easier if Calico hadn't decided lately to spend her nights up in a tree. For the second morning now she has had to be coaxed down, and by the time she takes the brave final leap, the looters are there in full force. So now comes Act II of the feeding drama: I get Ed to play with the teens and I throw bread for the cheepers and I try again to sneak some food under the cars for the kitties. They usually manage to get a few good mouthfuls before the bandits realize they've been had. Happy, the rooster, does a fantastic job of sprinting to the car and squeezing his huge feathery body underneath to gobble down anything that's left in the bowl.
Some people just let the chickens share in the outdoor cat food, but I find the cannibalistic elements (cat food has a lot of poultry parts to it) to be disturbing, so I snatch the dish away as quickly as possible.
After breakfast, Ed and I work. Hard. Some more seeds arrived in the mail: lettuce, arugula, beets, carrots, bok choy. The leafy stuff should go in now, but we haven't prepped the bed for it yet! And we don't immediately begin our work with that project. Instead, we take a look at the old tomato bed in the young orchard, we weed the blueberry bushes there (Java helps! oh, and note the lovely plum!)...
... and run a hose over the flower seeds I sowed yesterday in the young orchard meadow.
Then comes the hard stuff -- pulling our golden rod roots and thistle plants in the new veggie patch in the making (back of the barn). This is where the leafy greens will be planted. Tomorrow, for sure!
I've inherited another chore -- a daily one it seems, and not one that I like. We seem to have a flock of hawks keeping an eye on the farmette. Four of them. They come in the early afternoon and they swoop down low to see where everyone is. It's true that Happy has been doing his job well. He hides the girls, often under the car, sometimes in the bushes and he stands guard. Nonetheless, the cheepers aren't always together and I worry that one day the hawks will find the wayward girl (sometimes returning from the roost, other times searching out some grub while her sisters rest) and swoop down and pick her up. So I do what I'm told is the proper protocol: I go out and make myself look big (I do this by waving a broom in the air) and I shout at them. Ed says it's pointless or unnecessary or both. Still, I persevere and eventually the hawks fly away and peace is restored.
(A double petaled tulip is so remarkable that it has many (for example Snowdrop) wondering -- is this really a tulip??)
In the evening, the young family is here for supper. (They're isolating for now, just as we are, so we can share households.) Of course it's all outside. It is the perfect day for it.
(I step in to make my first Aperol Spritz of the year! The dandelion bunch is gift from Snowdrop.)
Dinner, on the porch.
(Banging on the table, just because...)
Late evening. Dishes done, pop corn's popped, eyes are closing. I'm hoping your Sunday was beautiful and that you had a chance to exhale. No? Too busy? I'll do it with you now! Deep breath on the count of four, hold it, one two three four five six, let it out slowly. Make room for good thoughts, high hopes. And if you've been working hard, Sunday or no Sunday, know that your efforts are appreciated. Deeply. By so many!
Sleep well, good night.
On the other hand, can you please spare us a night time frost? Every time I refresh the forecast page, the predicted low for next Friday drops a degree. We're now looking at several degrees below freezing. What a disappointment! Not only will I have to cover the annuals, but if it becomes a hard frost, our fruit trees, which are just beginning their bloom period, will suffer. So please, oh mighty weather gods, for the sake of the fruit trees, especially the apples and the pears (stone fruit trees do better with a cold spell), let's push it up a bit, okay?
Okay, let's get back to this day. This glorious, warm day.
If there is one thing that the pandemic has taught us, it is to live for the present. To put aside the anxiety that comes with speculation as to how tomorrow will look. You've heard it from many sources I'm sure: take one day at a time and find a way to make it good (or at least not awful! I realize that aiming for "good" is a heck of a lot easier if you are lucky enough to not be sick, and are able to pay this month's bills).
And if you're in south central Wisconsin, your "good" is surely going to include a few solid whiffs of this fabulous weather -- sunshine, Vitamin D and all.
Breakfast, on the porch.
It's a little late, because morning animal feeding is getting to be a challenge. I have to first distract the cheepers and the teenage cats with their own food, then run to the driveway where the little kitties usually hang, and coax them to dig into their grub, quickly, before we have the attack of the band of looters (both cheepers and the teen cats can't wait to dash to the car to see if there's kittie food they can appropriate for themselves).
All this would be easier if Calico hadn't decided lately to spend her nights up in a tree. For the second morning now she has had to be coaxed down, and by the time she takes the brave final leap, the looters are there in full force. So now comes Act II of the feeding drama: I get Ed to play with the teens and I throw bread for the cheepers and I try again to sneak some food under the cars for the kitties. They usually manage to get a few good mouthfuls before the bandits realize they've been had. Happy, the rooster, does a fantastic job of sprinting to the car and squeezing his huge feathery body underneath to gobble down anything that's left in the bowl.
Some people just let the chickens share in the outdoor cat food, but I find the cannibalistic elements (cat food has a lot of poultry parts to it) to be disturbing, so I snatch the dish away as quickly as possible.
After breakfast, Ed and I work. Hard. Some more seeds arrived in the mail: lettuce, arugula, beets, carrots, bok choy. The leafy stuff should go in now, but we haven't prepped the bed for it yet! And we don't immediately begin our work with that project. Instead, we take a look at the old tomato bed in the young orchard, we weed the blueberry bushes there (Java helps! oh, and note the lovely plum!)...
... and run a hose over the flower seeds I sowed yesterday in the young orchard meadow.
Then comes the hard stuff -- pulling our golden rod roots and thistle plants in the new veggie patch in the making (back of the barn). This is where the leafy greens will be planted. Tomorrow, for sure!
I've inherited another chore -- a daily one it seems, and not one that I like. We seem to have a flock of hawks keeping an eye on the farmette. Four of them. They come in the early afternoon and they swoop down low to see where everyone is. It's true that Happy has been doing his job well. He hides the girls, often under the car, sometimes in the bushes and he stands guard. Nonetheless, the cheepers aren't always together and I worry that one day the hawks will find the wayward girl (sometimes returning from the roost, other times searching out some grub while her sisters rest) and swoop down and pick her up. So I do what I'm told is the proper protocol: I go out and make myself look big (I do this by waving a broom in the air) and I shout at them. Ed says it's pointless or unnecessary or both. Still, I persevere and eventually the hawks fly away and peace is restored.
(A double petaled tulip is so remarkable that it has many (for example Snowdrop) wondering -- is this really a tulip??)
In the evening, the young family is here for supper. (They're isolating for now, just as we are, so we can share households.) Of course it's all outside. It is the perfect day for it.
(I step in to make my first Aperol Spritz of the year! The dandelion bunch is gift from Snowdrop.)
Dinner, on the porch.
(Banging on the table, just because...)
Late evening. Dishes done, pop corn's popped, eyes are closing. I'm hoping your Sunday was beautiful and that you had a chance to exhale. No? Too busy? I'll do it with you now! Deep breath on the count of four, hold it, one two three four five six, let it out slowly. Make room for good thoughts, high hopes. And if you've been working hard, Sunday or no Sunday, know that your efforts are appreciated. Deeply. By so many!
Sleep well, good night.
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