Friday - 140th

The day reminds me of scrambled eggs: shells cracked, thrown quickly together, whipped up to a sizzle, then finally plated and savored, at a calm pace.

It was an early day for both of us. We're running into problems feeding all the animals, given that one set of cats wants what the other gets and the chickens want basically what is in anyone else's dish over and above what's in their own. So now we both have to feed the animals together, moving swiftly between feeding stations.

And since we're both up, wouldn't this be a fine time to go get our corn from the corn farmers? Yes it would!

We take the motorbike up the road and it is such a pretty and refreshing ride! The wind is just cool enough to make me think of putting on a summer sweater and the sun is still gentle and soothing. As we make the turn into the driveway of the neatly tended farmstead, Ed comments on how good it is to be living so close to so much of what we love. I have to smile at that. It takes a while to form an attachment to a community, a neighborhood, or a set of rural roads, but once you do, that loyalty only grows stronger. My friends in Warsaw have a significant attachment to the neighborhoods of their childhood. In fact, some have moved right back to those set of blocks that were home early on. For Ed and me, a home base hasn't been as solid or stable. I told him today that he has a lot of New York still within him. Mannerisms and habits that stand out as being very un-Wisconsin. He did not disagree. Maybe that's why I'm hanging out with a fellow New Yorker, he laughed. Neither of us especially like that city and I have long given up on calling Warsaw home, but now, here, on the farmette, we're finding something likable about keeping to our "neighborhood" of farmers, vendors, parks, and in better times, coffee shops and eateries. If there is a place that's within a short drive, we'll always pick that over something even just a little farther.

So now we've fed the animals, picked up freshly harvested corn, but the lilies are untouched and I'm distracted by messages from my daughter about some snafus they have encountered in their scheduling decisions and so I am both snipping and texting and cutting up fruits for breakfast and giving Ed a tour of the old orchard where I wish he'd clear some dead tress and out of control brush and bramblers.

Not many garden photos emerge. There were too many eggs sizzling in the pan already. Still, these two are indicative: the colors are strong, the lilies are ending their best month with a strong finish.












Porch breakfast. Scrambled morning ends on a calm note.






The kids come then and once again we begin with some outdoor time. Ed has charged them with a chore: every time they are outside, they must go to the back of the barn and scare away any deer they may find there. Our exploding tomato crop is being destroyed by very un-shy deer who nibble, trample and retreat, several times each day. The kids love the idea of being guards of the tomato patch and although we find no deer the two times we venture out back, the chore is one they're happy to return to again and again!

In addition to deer, we're getting quite the surge in butterflies and humming birds. Snowdrop is enraptured. Even a common cabbage butterfly is nothing short of magical to her.






(the humming bird: it does sometimes take a pause.)











(the kids: outside.)

























(Sparrow is photographed far less frequently outside, because he is always asking to hold my hand. Well, it beats carrying the little load!)

In the afternoon, once the kids are gone, both Ed and I zonk out on the two couches in the farmhouse. We are that tired.

Evening. Animal chores. Snip the flowers I never snipped in the morning.


 


A check on the tomatoes. Oh dear...





Shoooo! (As if that will help!)


Dinner is leftovers. And fresh corn. A stellar combination!

Thursday - 139th

I did it again and I'm not proud! Last night, just after midnight, after a somewhat protracted search, I found a one acre lot for sale. It had promise: open space, but at least in the photos, it had every appearance of being very private (trees and shrubs lining the border). Close to town. I sent Ed the link to it and went to sleep. Not for long...

Several hours later, he comes up. Ed often has a choppy sleep and coming to bed at 3 or 4 is not unusual for him.
I mumble in a half wakeful manner -- did you see the link?
He's looking at it right now. And he points to possible fatal flaws (for example, proximity to a pond). And then he shuts the door tight on the prospect of building our own place: If I have ten years of life left, he tells me, do I want to spend one of them building a house? I do not.

I can't blame him. I'm looking for a distraction for the fall (no baby sitting, too much quiet time). He is not. And we've never met anyone who actually enjoyed building their own home. Frustration, delay, pricing issues, snafus -- it's all part of it. We've watched hundreds of Grand Design shows and in every one, the verdict was the same: building your "dream house," even if you are not the one pounding the hammer, is draining and no fun.

So of course, having woken up to talk about house construction, I have now lost out on a good night's sleep. Ed does feel a bit sorry for me, as I have a really full day today and so he offers to be the animal feeder in the morning. It buys me an extra half hour in bed.

But, I'm up snipping lilies plenty early. I need to finish garden work before the kids come.

(see the froggie in the lily?)






(many buds remain...)






(these grow by the driveway...)






(did I tell you how much I also love phlox?)






In the meantime, Ed has gone back to sleep and I haven't the heart to wake him. It's one of those rare times when I eat breakfast alone.






Well, sort of alone.






It's once again a pretty day, a mostly sunny day and since we had the mosquito pros push back the bugs with another spraying of their "natural" barrier stuff, the bugs are at a minimum.

 



(hey, are you following me?)












When the kids arrive, I'm not surprised that both decide to linger outside for a bit. Snowdrop is my biggest flower fan. Everyone else has grown so used to the robust flower beds that they hardly notice them anymore. It's wallpaper to them. But Snowdrop notices and always has plenty of sweet comments to offer.

Sparrow just wants to check on the cheepers in the barn, even if most of the cheepers are nowhere near the barn. Ah well, it's a nice tiny adventure for him.


(pretending to be chickens)






I nudge them to the young orchard meadow afterwards. Right now, it's one of my favorite spots and watching the flowers emerge is special. The mowed paths make a walk, or perhaps a run here delightful!






(little boy blue...)






(embedded...)





At home with the kids -- it's the usual mix. In her creative play, Snowdrop does go back to her dolls...






And Sparrow looks on, trying to figure out if he can replicate whatever it is that she is doing.







In the afternoon, I drop them off at home. But not for long: we've moved last Sunday's dinner to this night!

Shrimp tacos in green mole on the porch.











How many summer nights will we still have this year that are this beautiful? How many more flowers will fill the yard before the tide begins to turn and the tired plants will begin their annual withering and yellowing in preparation for the deep winter sleep? The end of July is that last moment of unfolding beauty. Of a thousand shades of green. Of early morning light and late sunsets. Of lingering outside late into the evening because you just don't want to close the door on all the sights and smells of a rich and colorful season.

Wednesday - 138th

After a very chaotic handful of days, we are back to normal. That is, the new abnormal normal. Still, we are grateful. Everyone who was ill is no longer ill and no one has CoVid. We learned this at 9:15 in the morning and we all breathed a collective sigh of relief. For now. I mean, the virus makes no promises going forward: if groups of people continue to thumb their noses at it, its potential for revenge is horrifying. I know Ocean readers are good souls who care about their communities so I needn't dwell on the obvious, but let me tell you, having gone through days where bugs were hitting those close to me, it's no fun being sick with anything at all during a pandemic. A lot of time passes before you can find out who is sick and with what and so you have to rearrange everything under the assumption that all have fallen ill with THE virus. The stress is beyond the beyond. We are celebrating that it is, for now, behind us.

In other news -- hey, do we really need other news? For me, spending the day free of immediate worry is good enough! Let's walk through the garden together, enjoying yet another day of brilliant weather.






























Breakfast -- a pleasant one, even though we no longer talk about the farmette lands, making me think that that the spark of activity, the determination to get it done have fizzled a bit. Perhaps I should start seriously exploring other housing possibilities for us. That typically motivates Ed to get moving at addressing outstanding farmette issues.






And soon after that, both Snowdrop and Sparrow are here, with their usual demands -- she, to water tomatoes, he to visit with the cheepers.
















It's good to spend these few minutes outdoors with them, even though inevitably, Snowdrop will make a dash for the farmhouse. The lure of book reading and peach eating is strong! (Sparrow, of course, is hostile to peach eating, though I'll give him credit for sitting through endless chapters of books he can't possibly understand. As a reward, he gets a new rubber puzzle. The little guy does love his rubber puzzles.)











In the afternoon, I visit my friends. One lives 1387 miles away from me, the other --- 1273. If you add to this my sweet pal in Warsaw -- a mere 4656 miles from here, you've got yourself a heck of a lot of miles. Still, there is Zoom. For all those who complain about its inadequacies, ask yourselves: where would we be without Zoom?


Even later in the evening, Ed goes off to ride his bike, I reheat one thing or another for supper. And I think, with great sadness, about all the grandparents who cannot be with or near their grandkids tonight.

Tuesday - 137th

We were up half the night, Ed and I. It happens. He says something and it sets me thinking. This time it was this -- I looked at the listing. It's not bad. He was referring to a house I saw listed for sale somewhere outside of Madison. I'd emailed him a link to it earlier that evening.

The thing is, we don't really want to move, even as the idea is gaining more traction.


*   *   *

It's a warm morning. There is a drizzle, but it doesn't last. Eventually the day will be full of sunshine. But in these early hours, groggy from too little sleep, we step outside and walk the farmette lands together. Ed is taking seriously my proclamation that I am overwhelmed by the weeds. Not flowerbed weeds, but all those other monster weeds that invade every uncultivated bit of land.


























(and the new orchard, with its fledgling meadow...)






It is overwhelming, he acknowledges. Can you just ignore them? He asks this knowing that I cannot. You know how I have always noted our tremendous differences? Put down "ignoring weeds" on the long list where we can't easily reach agreement because we are entirely different in our approach to our surroundings.

Ed retreats inside to contemplate it all (and to run away from the post-rain reemerging bugs), I snip lilies and clean up the beds a bit.


*   *   *

We eat breakfast. A long long breakfast. We talk about possibilities. Move, weed, get help, ignore, have a master plan.





Right now we have no master plan. We have little planlets that we implement as the mood strikes us. Of course, there is no resolution. That wont happen immediately. But our minds are on it now! (And no, we didn't look at the "for sale" house we both sort of liked: it had already sold.)


*   *   *

After breakfast, I pick up Snowdrop. Just the little girl again. We're still working through various bugs and scheduling issues.

In the car, she once again explains to me that she really does like learning about how things work.. Her parents had been interviewing babysitters and she was adamant that the new hire should have a healthy love of science.
And as if to illustrate -- Did you know, gaga, that buggers and mucus are important to keeping you healthy? It has to do with keeping your good germs in your body. But what I really want to know is what happens to the food inside your body: some of it stays, some comes out. How does that work?

I use the rest of the car ride to explain (and make wild guesses about) the workings of the human digestive system.


*   *   *

She spends the day here, at the farmhouse.


 


It is a really good day: we read, do some work sheets, she engages in a bit of creative play and then we plunge into a very lively hour of making small gifts for each other out of post-its.





And by evening I take her home.


*   *   *

As I fix dinner, I get a call from this little one:





I imagine that Primrose must have thought I was a bit nutty. I did not want to let go of the phone call -- it's too precious! At the same time, the beans had been steaming for the requisite handful of minutes, the new potatoes were threatening to be overdone, and the cubes of fish -- well, you know what happens to fish when you cook it even ten seconds too long. So she watches, possibly horrified, as I scan my cooing with the phone camera for her, including segments where I sample a string bean and swiggle it around like a lasso. Okay, you had to be there. It was wild.


*   *   *

After supper, Ed and I settle in to our wonderful low key evening. You know, the one with popcorn. Now is not the time to think about weeds or bugs -- the outdoor ones and the ones that strike you down unexpectedly. Now is the time to exhale and feel good about all that is okay in your life.  And feel grateful to those who have helped make it so.

With love.