Remember when Groundhog Day seemed like a total fantasy movie? When no day was ever like the previous one? Remember when you thought a crowded restaurant, or cafe was a good thing? Do you find yourself watching movies and wincing at scenes where people seem too close?
We are in the middle of April. For us, the next three weeks are the busiest in terms of yard work. This is the time when I plant like a person who has been set loose after months of captivity. How will we proceed this year? I've been thinking a lot about this and I've made a mental list of imperatives: that I should not grow lax, just because everything is more difficult now. That we should support as best we can (curbside pickup!) the three growers -- David at the Flower Factory, Natalie at Natalie's Greenhouse, and the friendly people at Kopke's. All three are struggling. That I will adjust to the new demands without so much as a shudder. We've had harsh growing weather, cats who mess with everything in sight, chickens who scratch up tender roots, and now we also have the granddaddy of them all: isolation and a raging pandemic. So, not the easiest of times, but my gosh! How fortunate that we can plant at all! Not a peep, not a wince, not even a sigh out of me. We are going to grow stuff with a smile and it will be beautiful!
But not today, because it is just so cold this week! The daffodils are really groaning the loudest right now. I am sympathetic, but there's nothing I can do.
Breakfast. Much to discuss. As always these days.
And here come Snowdrop and Sparrow!
(Lunch)
In the late afternoon, I push myself out to work (with Ed's help) on trimming the new orchard fruit trees. It's not that I don't like doing this, but it really is terribly cool for April 16th. We do a modest job. The trees are budding. Fruit or no fruit, it should be pretty out there this spring and summer!
Back to the flower beds and tubs. I continue to weed and throw down chips on the beds. Among daffodils.
And I pull out flower tags, stuck into the tubs where I plant lots of annuals. How fortunate that I saved them. Normally, I walk through a nursery and pull out familiar flats, oftentimes not knowing the name of the plant, even as I have a clear picture of its growing habit. This year, I have to buy things by name. I'm starting to make lists.
By evening we're spent. Frittata time! I have some rather wilted asparagus and "aging" mushrooms. And cheeper eggs.
(Ed grabbed the camera...)
And here's someone to keep me company while the frittata is baking! (I do love FaceTime in these days of isolation!)
Quiet at the farmhouse. That is not a new normal, it's our normal normal! We practically never go out in the evenings and rarely stray far in the daytime. And still, we have made friends with local business owners -- coffee shops, bakeries, nurseries. Cheese vendors, corn growers, tortilla makers. Many are deemed essential, or are permitted curbside sales. But what a stressful time it is for them, as they hang in there by a thread. Nothing is as it was before. I can feel their anxiety in our email exchanges. We're vulnerable, they're vulnerable. We can (and should) stay in the safety of our home. They keep going. My deep thanks tonight is to all of them, for what they do, because, well, they have no choice but to keep going.
With love.
We are in the middle of April. For us, the next three weeks are the busiest in terms of yard work. This is the time when I plant like a person who has been set loose after months of captivity. How will we proceed this year? I've been thinking a lot about this and I've made a mental list of imperatives: that I should not grow lax, just because everything is more difficult now. That we should support as best we can (curbside pickup!) the three growers -- David at the Flower Factory, Natalie at Natalie's Greenhouse, and the friendly people at Kopke's. All three are struggling. That I will adjust to the new demands without so much as a shudder. We've had harsh growing weather, cats who mess with everything in sight, chickens who scratch up tender roots, and now we also have the granddaddy of them all: isolation and a raging pandemic. So, not the easiest of times, but my gosh! How fortunate that we can plant at all! Not a peep, not a wince, not even a sigh out of me. We are going to grow stuff with a smile and it will be beautiful!
But not today, because it is just so cold this week! The daffodils are really groaning the loudest right now. I am sympathetic, but there's nothing I can do.
Breakfast. Much to discuss. As always these days.
And here come Snowdrop and Sparrow!
(Lunch)
In the late afternoon, I push myself out to work (with Ed's help) on trimming the new orchard fruit trees. It's not that I don't like doing this, but it really is terribly cool for April 16th. We do a modest job. The trees are budding. Fruit or no fruit, it should be pretty out there this spring and summer!
Back to the flower beds and tubs. I continue to weed and throw down chips on the beds. Among daffodils.
And I pull out flower tags, stuck into the tubs where I plant lots of annuals. How fortunate that I saved them. Normally, I walk through a nursery and pull out familiar flats, oftentimes not knowing the name of the plant, even as I have a clear picture of its growing habit. This year, I have to buy things by name. I'm starting to make lists.
By evening we're spent. Frittata time! I have some rather wilted asparagus and "aging" mushrooms. And cheeper eggs.
(Ed grabbed the camera...)
And here's someone to keep me company while the frittata is baking! (I do love FaceTime in these days of isolation!)
Quiet at the farmhouse. That is not a new normal, it's our normal normal! We practically never go out in the evenings and rarely stray far in the daytime. And still, we have made friends with local business owners -- coffee shops, bakeries, nurseries. Cheese vendors, corn growers, tortilla makers. Many are deemed essential, or are permitted curbside sales. But what a stressful time it is for them, as they hang in there by a thread. Nothing is as it was before. I can feel their anxiety in our email exchanges. We're vulnerable, they're vulnerable. We can (and should) stay in the safety of our home. They keep going. My deep thanks tonight is to all of them, for what they do, because, well, they have no choice but to keep going.
With love.
