And what a June it has been! High on anxiety, on excitement, high on natural beauty, high on love for every day spent with a grandkid or two or three in it.
Low on physical social contacts (outside of family). Very low. And a complete zero on shopping, outside of online purchases, delivered or curbsided. Meaning, I haven't stepped inside a store since the beginning of March.
So, kind of strange, no? Add to it the constant need to stay abreast of what's going on here, and elsewhere in the country, and in other countries, and it's not because I can hope to be uplifted by any of it, right? So, lots of reading of dismal summaries of events past and prognoses of events yet to be.
Still, Ed and I have so much to love and enjoy at the farmette! Distractions abound. Follow along with us as we move beautifully from one distraction to the next!
Good morning cats and chickens! Okay, first feed chickens, then teenage cats, then rush back to get to the kitties under the car before the hoard comes charging back to steal their food and send them scurrying.
Breakfast, on the porch. Ed is not helpful in the photo taking enterprise, so you get just the table.
We talk about the proliferation of mosquitoes. His tolerance for a growth in numbers is higher than mine, possibly because he works less in the gardens and, too, he isn't the one leading kids on nature walks every morning. So I suggest we do our spraying of peppermint and garlic oils. Their odor seems to push the mosquitoes mostly to the periphery. As best as we can figure out, it does not repel in the same way other insects or frogs. We've used the stuff the past two years, with some modest success. Enough to make a walk accross the farmette lands tolerable.
But Ed pushes back now, claiming we're not yet at the breaking point. I share his concern: neither of us wants to discourage pollinators from calling this place home. Still, once the mosquito swarms arrive, it is pretty near impossible to do anything outside, at least not without covering yourself with netting. So I push back on his push back.
We make no decisions for now, but I know it's just a matter of days before I bring it up again.
And when the kids arrive, I forgo the longer nature walk and stick with a courtyard moment.
\
We count how many flowers have turned into little green tomatoes (in our tomato tubs) -- in other words, which of our two green plants is winning the tomato race!
Inside, we forgo art today. Snowdrop really wants to make progress on a new chapter book and so we give that a shot. By page 36, not even a fourth into the book, Sparrow has had enough. We switch to books his speed. Snowdrop wanders off.
And it's a little bit that kind of a morning: His wishes are strong, hers are stronger. I move between one and the other, never really hitting them both at the same time. Well, maybe once, in this moment:
Music class, too, does not quite grab Sparrow today. He listens, and even though we sing songs he's heard many times before, he holds back.
And of course, when we do work books, Sparrow looks on -- a little guy for whom life moved just a little too fast today.
Still, as I summarize their day to their mom, I say quite honestly that it was a super good one. The kids don't always have to be in sync to be happy. And I haven't a doubt that both were happy today. Grandmas can tell these things.
In the afternoon, I spend a long time sorting through the week's groceries. For the first time, there were a number of misfires. (Wrong items sent, wrong items charged.) I deliberate whether I should just let it go. I got food. We'll eat the food. Do details matter? We're so used to complaining when we're poorly served. Even now, during a pandemic, we review, gripe, let it all out. Sometimes maybe staying humbly quiet is a better way to be.
I think about all this as I put away the last bit of food and sit down for a good Zoom call with my two southern state friends. Two weeks ago we were in not dissimilar situations, but since that last Zoom call, at least two of our states (including mine) have surged in the number of infections. And still, here we three are, safe, keeping our distances, washing our groceries, continuing to shelter in place because honestly, if you can do that, you are lucky. We are lucky.
A light supper -- of eggs and asparagus and mushrooms. A quiet evening. Fireflies, popcorn. The last piece of rhubarb cake.
Low on physical social contacts (outside of family). Very low. And a complete zero on shopping, outside of online purchases, delivered or curbsided. Meaning, I haven't stepped inside a store since the beginning of March.
So, kind of strange, no? Add to it the constant need to stay abreast of what's going on here, and elsewhere in the country, and in other countries, and it's not because I can hope to be uplifted by any of it, right? So, lots of reading of dismal summaries of events past and prognoses of events yet to be.
Still, Ed and I have so much to love and enjoy at the farmette! Distractions abound. Follow along with us as we move beautifully from one distraction to the next!
Good morning cats and chickens! Okay, first feed chickens, then teenage cats, then rush back to get to the kitties under the car before the hoard comes charging back to steal their food and send them scurrying.
Breakfast, on the porch. Ed is not helpful in the photo taking enterprise, so you get just the table.
We talk about the proliferation of mosquitoes. His tolerance for a growth in numbers is higher than mine, possibly because he works less in the gardens and, too, he isn't the one leading kids on nature walks every morning. So I suggest we do our spraying of peppermint and garlic oils. Their odor seems to push the mosquitoes mostly to the periphery. As best as we can figure out, it does not repel in the same way other insects or frogs. We've used the stuff the past two years, with some modest success. Enough to make a walk accross the farmette lands tolerable.
But Ed pushes back now, claiming we're not yet at the breaking point. I share his concern: neither of us wants to discourage pollinators from calling this place home. Still, once the mosquito swarms arrive, it is pretty near impossible to do anything outside, at least not without covering yourself with netting. So I push back on his push back.
We make no decisions for now, but I know it's just a matter of days before I bring it up again.
And when the kids arrive, I forgo the longer nature walk and stick with a courtyard moment.
\We count how many flowers have turned into little green tomatoes (in our tomato tubs) -- in other words, which of our two green plants is winning the tomato race!
Inside, we forgo art today. Snowdrop really wants to make progress on a new chapter book and so we give that a shot. By page 36, not even a fourth into the book, Sparrow has had enough. We switch to books his speed. Snowdrop wanders off.
And it's a little bit that kind of a morning: His wishes are strong, hers are stronger. I move between one and the other, never really hitting them both at the same time. Well, maybe once, in this moment:
Music class, too, does not quite grab Sparrow today. He listens, and even though we sing songs he's heard many times before, he holds back.
And of course, when we do work books, Sparrow looks on -- a little guy for whom life moved just a little too fast today.
Still, as I summarize their day to their mom, I say quite honestly that it was a super good one. The kids don't always have to be in sync to be happy. And I haven't a doubt that both were happy today. Grandmas can tell these things.
In the afternoon, I spend a long time sorting through the week's groceries. For the first time, there were a number of misfires. (Wrong items sent, wrong items charged.) I deliberate whether I should just let it go. I got food. We'll eat the food. Do details matter? We're so used to complaining when we're poorly served. Even now, during a pandemic, we review, gripe, let it all out. Sometimes maybe staying humbly quiet is a better way to be.
I think about all this as I put away the last bit of food and sit down for a good Zoom call with my two southern state friends. Two weeks ago we were in not dissimilar situations, but since that last Zoom call, at least two of our states (including mine) have surged in the number of infections. And still, here we three are, safe, keeping our distances, washing our groceries, continuing to shelter in place because honestly, if you can do that, you are lucky. We are lucky.
A light supper -- of eggs and asparagus and mushrooms. A quiet evening. Fireflies, popcorn. The last piece of rhubarb cake.
