Wednesday - 201st

There is such a thing as too much reading. Oh, you can blame it on the weather (cold, with bursts of rain). You can blame it on the readily available material online. Or you can just blame yourself. Learn from mistakes! Limit it next time. And go out and enjoy the season. Any season, any weather. Just take it all in and be glad that you have some contact with the rest of the world. Distractions can be a very lovely thing indeed.






On this last day of September, both Ed and I woke up cranky. I suppose I egged him on by telling him about the UN Summit on Biodiversity that's taking place today, with the participation of all major countries of this planet, minus one. (You guessed it.) Ed is a committed environmentalist and as such, he belongs to the group of pessimists who see everything as coming too little too late. Hopelessness does not sit well with me, especially at the breakfast table. I chose to take this photo when he was somewhere else.





When I dug into my oatmeal, I was saying things like "you don't get it, that's not the point," and he was saying things like "you know what I think about all this, you brought it up."

But by the meal's end, we were aligned once again (oatmeal with fruit, kefir and honey is a great mood stabilizer; perhaps it should be required food prior the next debate). But then came the reading, the reviewing, the review of others' reviewing, and the reading of comments on such reviewing. Too much!

And so I was happy as anything to pack up my things and head out this afternoon for my distanced, masked, outdoor meeting with Snowdrop.






I have to find a spot where the wind would not blow us away.






And it is, as always, lovely if incomplete. But, lovely. Most important to remember: lovely.






Eventually, the temps dipped sufficiently enough for her to want to crawl into a present from Gogs -- a sleeping bag, rated as good enough for temps down to freezing! It's the only way I could think of that would allow us to keep on reading together outside, given that this is Wisconsin and we are heading into the dangerously cold part of Autumn.






We were cut short by sprinkles, but we did log in some 90 minutes of reading, interspersed with just being. Someone said a few days ago that for a grandparent, reading to a grandchild is his idea of heaven. I'll agree, though just being in each others company is also right up there.





Afterwards, I drove to do a curbside pickup (wine! you're thinking -- what, did I run out last night? ha ha. maybe) and this had me pass by Owen Woods, a nature conservancy right smack in the middle of Madison.

I was curious if fall colors were making a significant appearance. The answer -- just a little bit. Here and there.






Ed's out biking this evening. He'll have colors for sure on his route -- of golden corn fields and bronze soy beans. It is the season of color.

But, biking has its perils. He comes back late, shin bruised by a massive dog bite. A farm dog, identified by a neighbor as an Australian shepherd.  I've biked by an angry dog before. You can't get away fast enough. You hope for luck. This one pounced on Ed. So, there was the need to call the police, to get a report and hopefully sue the pants off the owner. Not for the small claim, but to put a muzzle on this guy, so that his dog doesn't bite again and do perhaps even more damage.

As we all sit around reading too much and worrying even more, we would do well to remember that October is, for us northerners, perhaps the most colorful month of them all. I hope you have a chance to go out, take it in, and feel its gentle climax as we shed another year of growth and get ready to bury in and hunker down for the cold months ahead.

Tuesday - 200th

On this 200th day of social isolation, of not venturing out to stores, cafes, eateries, I'm sitting around thinking how on earth should one celebrate National Coffee Day at home. Because this does happen to be, I'm told, National Coffee Day.

The company from which I buy all my coffee would like me, of course, to purchase more coffee today. I can hardly call that a proper celebration. I drink two cups each day and since COVID, that second cup has been a decaf (you can guess why). Restocking a rather stable supply can't possibly be a source of celebratory joy.

This same company also offers gifts today with every sale. Cups. New espresso cups. Latte glasses. Some with saucers. This, to me, is surely a terrible thing, contributing to excessive collection of things you don't need. I mean, if you buy coffee from these guys, you already have cups. Indeed, who among coffee drinkers does not have too many cups? And if I tell them to please skip the cups, I'll feel cheated. Like I'm paying too much, because with that price I should have had cups included. So, no coffee purchase for me today.

I write about this, because of the COVID quarantine. It does make you pay attention to things that will have passed you buy in other years. For instance, I learned that last last Saturday was National Daughters Day. I did not learn this until close to midnight. Thankfully I managed to dash off a message to my two sweet and wonderful daughters. Phew! Almost missed it. But the thing is, in years past, I did miss it. I never remember doing anything on a Daughter's Day in the past, even though I truly have amazing daughters.

The virus locks us up at home, all 200 days, closed off, glued to lots of reading material, some of it flagging obscure holidays and national days, triggering within you that feeling of resignation: it could have been so lovely to sit at our favorite cafe and sip a delicious brew, but hey, let me instead do what I do every single day of my life, Coffee Day or not, let me just brew that damn cup at home and call it special.

(Breakfast, inside, because it's really cold out there!)






Walk to barn -- with signs of Fall everywhere. And Happy, with his missing tail. (Molting.)











Afternoon cup of coffee.






Evening. I have to do something with the squash, the cauliflower. How about a veggie curry over brown rice? Let's get to work!






It's comfort food. Ed would probably say -- unexciting. He often thinks my veggie melange is unexciting (in this one, to the squash and cauliflower I add onion, garlic, spinach, and peas and plenty of spices, coconut milk, and lime juice for that needed bite).





But for me, it's perfect. When you have an evening like this one (presidential debate raging over the airwaves), you need comfort food.

Monday - 199th

Sometimes I think it's all in how you frame the question. Here are three versions of this query:

Would you make an effort to watch the northern lights?
Would you travel to, say, Norway to watch the Northern lights in a comfortable spot in pristine wilderness?
Would you go out after midnight if someone told you that you live in a geographic region that might witness the northern lights tonight?

I'd answer "yes" to the first. It's a hypothetical that doesn't commit me to anything. You bet, I'd like to see those lights!
I'd answer "it depends" to the second: I mean, how comfortable is the viewing spot? Will I be treated to a good meal before and after? Will someone be traveling with me?
I'd answer "no" to the third. I want to get a good night's sleep! It's cold today. Forget it.

[In fact, I did read that we may have the privilege of seeing the lights tonight and the idea of getting out of bed and perhaps driving to a spot without light pollution, even if it's just minutes away, does not appeal to me at all.]

Perhaps this is a good introduction to the shift we have had in our weather patterns, starting yesterday and surely continuing into this day. It's cold and wet. I walk quickly to feed the animals, trying to ignore the drizzle. No stopping for weeding this morning.






Breakfast? No question. In the kitchen.






And here's a wonderful activity on a cold Monday: a Zoom meeting with my Polish friends.





Inevitably we talk about the virus: raging infection rates in Wisconsin, somewhat increasing numbers in Poland. It's interesting to talk to people who are apprehensive about being where you are right now! Still, as always, we all come back to the subject of our grandkids. For all of us, I think, the necessary precaution feels endless, especially since kids grow so quickly. To miss a year (more?) in their lives (especially for those, whose kids live and work abroad) is beyond tough.

Curiously I am more optimistic about a slow return to better times in 2021. Or maybe it's because we, here, have been lead to believe that there will be a vaccine and that we will get it and that's fantastic, except, well, what about the others? Those grandparents who, too, miss their grandkids dreadfully?  I'm told Poland is all out of the flu vaccine, even as only a tiny portion of the population has been vaccinated.

Very quickly I am reminded of yesterday's topic of "good countries." Remember? Shouldn't we worry equally hard about the hardships of others, even if those others live outside our boundaries?

On a happy note, all my Polish friends are well, some are even traveling, others are as cautious as Ed and me. But we are all grandparents. We want the same thing: safe contact with our grandkids.

Sunday - 198th

Here's a question for you, posed on this rainy day, here, in Wisconsin: say there was a God of Locality. You are about to come into this world and you get to decide: which country would you like to be born in? The God of Locality will make sure you get your wish.






It's an interesting question to ask yourself, because it doesn't necessarily lead you to stick with what you know and love best -- your home country. In all my travels and from all that I've heard, I do believe that people really love their home country and would readily choose it as home for life, provided that it offers some economic opportunity and doesn't trample on their human rights. So if you were asked -- where would you like to live now, most people would say "here!" [Again, don't forget the caveat: so long as you can secure a livelihood for you and/or your family, and you're not thrown in jail for speaking your mind or looking different.]





So back to the first question -- where do you think you'd like to have been born?

Yes, I know -- you can't shake that bias. It's that strong. You're going to say -- the country I now live in! It's the best!


This morning, just before breakfast on the porch...





... Ed and I listened to a TED talk. It's a little dated I suppose (2014), but the person (who is a policy analyst and government/municipality consultant from I believe the UK) presented findings that he and his research team compiled on a country's "goodness." They ranked all the nations of the world based on their compassion toward their own citizens, and importantly -- toward all peoples of the world. At the top of the list aren't necessarily rich countries, or happy countries, or beautiful countries. But they're good, demonstrating an outwardness and kindness toward all of us, even if we don't live there, or don't look like or act like their nationals.

Why create such a ranking of countries? Well, listen to the TED talk. It's only 17 minutes. Here's one reason to listen -- you'll get an answer to the question of which country, by their complicated matrix, is the most "good" country.

[If you don't have 17 mins,  and, too, if you want an update to the original TED talk, you can look up good countries on WIKI. The countries have shuffled a bit in recent years. Nations that were in the top five still remain in the top sector, but their ordering has been shifting just a little. The US, on the other hand (a hint here: it's not in the top five) has changed positions significantly.]

Simon Anholt (the primary investigator and TED talk speaker) challenged us to think beyond our own back yard and to press our governments to strive toward improving our country's ranking on the good country index.  Or, in the alternative, I suppose you could ask a God of Relocation to place you in any country that ranked high on the goodness scale. But since we love our homes, the more realistic admonition is to prioritize goodness and let your leaders know that it's important to you.

Idle thoughts. People stick to their home turf. Though here's a thought: if your home turf is down there on the goodness scale, well, from the bottom, there's only one way to go: up.




In the evening, I go over to my older girl's home to bring Sunday supper.

It's a challenge to have our few minutes together. For one thing, it's cold now. And wet. In addition to the food, I bring a few segments of a kid fence to their deck. We're thinking it may help Sparrow identify boundaries. It does... Until it doesn't anymore. He just cannot accept distancing: it makes no sense to him. All his life he could run to me and I would catch him up and hold him high in a big hug. And now, there's a fence.






Distraction: let's play ball. Sparrow's way.






And now Snowdrop is out and I never realized what a sweetly soft voice she has until I tried to understand her recount of her issues of the day, as spoken through a mask.





Despite the challenges, it is a superb few minutes. The kids make me laugh and dance and move and forget everything else that's floating through my head these days.

But it is cold. Autumn in Wisconsin is cold. No surprise there. We're ready for it. I think.

Saturday - 197th

What do you call a day that bounces madly from one edge to the next, unpredictably, wickedly, with the force of the winds that seem to have made south central Wisconsin their home these days?

Cloudy and cold. No, make that warm. A little warm.











And here's a sweet surprise -- blueberry pancakes with Primrose!

(so little pancake left!)





Well, it's not as if we are at the same table. She is in Chicago. I have no pancakes here. Still, I can imagine the maple syrup sweetness!

(here's my mom!)






For Ed and me breakfast is more, well, ordinary. But on the porch! Warm enough for that!






Since we are really at the tail end of unseasonable temperatures (and I mean the tippy tip of that tail), I do not go inside after breakfast. I take my laptop and read and write out on the porch until the juice runs out. (Because it is soooo difficult to go inside and fetch the chord and plug it in!)

Memorable: an email exchange with an old college friend. People my age really appreciate friendships that are packed with a long history. I've known this person since I was 19. Pretty damn long. So that's definitely a swing in the up direction.


And how's the spirit of the farmette holding up these days? In addition to DIY fix-it projects, there's been a lot of reading and news analysis taking place here in the farmhouse. Ed and I are quite on the same political page, so you'd think this would be calm and perhaps even boring. Nothing worse than listening to someone express something that sounds exactly like a thought coming out of your own mouth. Yawn!

But where we differ is in reaction to events transpiring all around us. I'm in a "do nothing" mode right now. The pandemic has zapped my "let's talk about it some more" energies. Ed is much more focused on scraping out all exigencies and permutations. And so, perhaps for the first time, the tables are switched. I want more quiet, less of the brutal analysis. I have a wait and see approach to just about everything right now. Ed's more fired up. Indeed, in the fifteen years we have been together, I've not ever seen him this fired up before. From my perspective, that's a bounce in the wrong direction. I understand his animation, but when things get rough, I look for calm and calm is proving to be elusive this Fall!


But here's a bounce up: a visit with Snowdrop. Outside, distanced, with masks.












It's supposed to be warm. Perfect for an afternoon outside.






Sometime in the middle of reading with her, I get a call from Stoughton. There has been a sighting and this time, there is a video of the stray kittie. I'm sure it's Cutie! The white paws, the white chest, everything matches! I call Ed and send him to Stoughton. He and the prospective owner walk the blocks where the kittie was seen. They aren't lucky, but they leave a trap with food. Apparently she little cat has been hanging out there for a few days. [Only later, when I am back at the farmhouse, do I carefully study the video. A white chest, four white paws. Wait a minute... Cutie has only three white paws! Nearly identical, but no bananas. It's not her.]

As I continue to read now with Snowdrop, I pause and watch her, appreciating her increasingly big girl movements, her careful storytelling. She's hanging on to some of her little girl traits and habits, but they're getting to be more polished. In all these grandkids, I see the next age take shape, and then the next one, and the one after that.

And now it's really cold. I give her my sweater to cover her legs.


 



She doesn't want to go inside, we linger. Finally it's time to pack up and get going. She tells me she wishes I could come in with her.





I cannot come in with her.



And then I'm off to the CSA pick up point where a box of Fall veggies awaits me. You can go ahead and love your spring and early summer stuff, but these are veggies both Ed and I gobble up in one sitting. Cauliflower. Bok choy. Potatoes -- purple today. Garlic, onions. Tomatoes -- big, lovely. Peppers, mixed greens for a sautee or to throw in with a salad. What's there not to like?


Evening. Finally, over popcorn, we let go of the angst and revel in all that's good right now. We watch the next episode of our crime drama, I pour a glass of Chablis. Total calm. So very wonderful.

Friday - 196th

Are you tired of reading these words -- "it was a stunning day?"  Oh, but the skies were blue, and the warm breeze was so strong, and the temperatures soared to near 80F (26C), and the gold that's touching the leaves right now seems majestic, and the dainty asters popping up in the prairies are like candies in a candy jar and if you can be outside today, you want to stay there and never go in.






Morning walk to the barn, with a moment to pick a few handfuls of weeds. I figure if I do a little each day, I'll get on top of the areas around the sheep shed. What to do going forward is still a puzzle, but perhaps I can spend winter months pondering over how to keep those weeds out of there next year.

Breakfast.






Hello, cat. And Ed.






We do just a few tiny projects around the farmhouse -- like, the gasket around the freezer door is ripped and not too clean, so we pull it off, clean it up and put it back on, upside down so we can no longer see the crack. (If there is a cheap fix to a problem, Ed will find it.) But really, we spend very little time indoors. Instead, we hop on the motorbike and head out to our local park, taking the trail that has served us well for years now.

(on the way, the cranes...)






(the giant oak and, well, the tall guy...)






(love and friendship, among turtles...)






(choppy lake)





Fall colors? Sure, but they are subtle still.






Except in places where they are resplendent and bold.






In the afternoon, after a careful filling out the bubbles on the ballot...







... we're again on the bike, motoring first to our City Hall, where they have placed in the lobby a drop box for ballots. It could not be easier. We came equipped with masks and disinfectants and, considering we encountered no one and had to touch nothing, we used neither.

[By evening, our votes were recorded as "received!"]

Next, we go over to County Materials where we examine the cement blocks we'll be using for our front steps. Yes, I think we finally have a decision in hand. Ed's agreeable to moving ahead with the help of Mr. Retired Mason. He'll be building our front steps in mid October.

Our last afternoon minutes are spent on farmette land, examining the grape that has climbed over and into the box elder tree. It's a concord grape (nice taste in the flesh, plenty of seeds and an awful skin), planted by Ed a long time ago and it is the only grape that consistently produces (here and in the grape arbor) edible grapes. We leave most to the birds, though some amount of sucking and spitting out the seeds is a very autumnal small pleasure for both of us.

And there you have it. They say that we wont be seeing days like this again until spring 2021. Can you think that far ahead? I cannot.

And did I mention that it was an utterly stunning day?

Thursday - 195th

Quite suddenly, the mechanical aspects of living in a rural farmhouse are front and center for us. In other words, Ed is getting to be very, very busy.

It starts early. The people who do septic system inspections are here to do a three year check on ours. If it reaches a certain benchmark, the stuff has to be pumped out. This time, we're okay. Next time, we may have to go the whole distance and clean out the gunk (to put it nicely).

Over breakfast...





... we discuss the very pleasant topic of septic strategies. Ed proposes we put in a bidet pump into our toilet.
People love it! -- he tells me.
Don't you need an electrical socket nearby?
Oh, we wouldn't have to do the electric version. This one is manual.
So... a burst of cold water comes up?
Well, it wouldn't be ice cold... People say it's way cleaner than toilet paper.

Are we really going to base our future cleaning habits on online reviews?

Okay, that discussion is put on hold. For a while.

As we're on the porch, Ed starts unpacking the new water heating system that arrived in big boxes several days ago. Remember? Our water heater is leaking and Ed has decided to replace the whole thing with an on-demand heater.
It will be different. In some ways that I can't predict.
You mean a hot water adventure? So long as it doesn't shoot up bursts of cold water during a hot shower. I would hate that.
No, it probably wont do that...

He takes out the new pipe fittings. One is chipped.
Will you send it back?
I can fix it. (To Ed, unnecessary disposing of plastic is up there with strangling innocent dolphins.)






We are interrupted with the arrival of yet another person who may be able to help Ed construct the front steps to the house. Note here the words "able to help Ed." The implication is that at least part of the work is done by Ed. Building the landing, filling in concrete -- that's all Ed. The guy does the masonry. As usual, I can hardly follow the discussion. Half the vocabulary is beyond me. But I do catch this very important detail -- this gentleman is a retired mason. He has time. He could do this project (with Ed) this Fall!

He's got my vote.





The afternoon? Spent on looking at patterns of stamped concrete and outdoor tile. We live in a country of too many choices.

Come to think of it, maybe I can just stamp the concrete myself. It's not too complicated. I think. Here's a video... I can do this. Ed clicks on YouTube and we're off, learning about how to decorate your concrete slab.

Oh boy.

And it doesn't end there. Before the evening is out, Ed is looking at boring prefab slabs of concrete which, I suppose in some designer's universe would be called okay looking steps. And thus we've completed the circle of designing the front entrance to the farmhouse: all options are once more on the table.

You know, I have a feeling this isn't the right year for us to put in the 200plus fruit trees in the rear farmette lands.



Here's a nice evening activity! Talking to Primrose in Chicago.






She and I review, among other things, raspberries and mint. I happen to have an abundance of both: the grocery store decided to substitute my requested two containers of strawberries with nine (yes nine) containers of raspberries. As for the mint? It grows abundantly just by the porch. Primrose was cutting and smelling mint in school today. I brought in some of mine so we could pretend-smell on FaceTime.






And while we're on the subject of growing things, did you know that my big beautiful lily put forth a final bloom today?





September 24th. Memorable!