stir up those guys

We have been having a lot of bug activity this past week, despite the garlic spraying last Tuesday. It seems that the bugs kind of like the stuff. No one is staying away. So today, our organic-natural-pollinator-safe blah blah blah mosquito deterrent guys were scheduled for another visit, to help scare the dickens out of some more of the pests. I had this thought that if I were to mow down some of the tall grasses, it should be just before the garlic guys came. You know, you really agitate bugs when you run a mower over weeds and grasses. Just ask the swallows who follow such activity, swooping down to catch them as they swarm. So they'd be agitated and the garlic guys would come and the bugs would say "well this is just too much, this place is totally unfriendly!" and they would leave.

And this is why at day break, I am out on the tractor mower plunging into one patch of weedy grass after the next. Mowing on that machine makes me sick so after I finish the tractor run,  I quickly feed the cats (the cheepers will have to wait in the coop once again) and then collapse on our bed and tell Ed I am good for nothing for at least the next ten hours.

Of course, I do recover, all the more so since I am hungry for breakfast. Ed joined me, but we eat outside because the porch smells of garlic. (If Ed looks sleepy -- that's because he is.)

And, too, I have a scheduled Zoom call with my best bud down in Florida. That's heavenly!

Finally, at noonish, I venture out. It is significantly better out there and so I force myself to weed. I mean, you have to attend to these super invaders at some point in early fall, so I may as well start now, in modest increments. And yes, there is still the occasional mosquito, but I think these holdouts are just too attached to their home to ever leave. You know, like the person who does not want to evacuate when there is a hurricane brewing.  

In the afternoon, Snowdrop arrives.

I try mild persuasion. I try dragging her by the hand. I try luring with promises of great stuff. None of it works. The girl swings up onto her tree...

... then refuses to stay outside. We've been to the meadow lots of times! -- she tells me. None of my grandkids (so far) prefer the outdoors to what's inside the farmhouse. Ah well. I like our reading sessions. We spend a lot of time with books on the orange couch. And with little ponies and Lego set ups. 

Hey, you know you cannot jump on the big couch!

Just once?

As I drop her off at home (greetings, Sandpiper and Sparrow!)...

...I notice that her backpack is all packed and ready for tomorrow's first day of school. The last day of August brings with it the last day of vacation. Despite all the pandemic setbacks and limitations, predominance of outdoor meetups, and masked adventures, all my grandkids had happy and blissfully healthy summers. For all that, I am so very grateful.

stores and jardins

I shopped today. All day long. I walked up one boulevard, down the next. I paused for tea at a lovely cafe. Service was slow, but I did not mind. 

All the years I've been a grandparent, I have shopped for my grandkids' fall and winter clothes. And why should this year be different! I'm thinking myself to be in Paris, where shopping is especially exquisite. Not the merchandise -- you can find good stuff anywhere and, too, there are few bargains to be had in Paris, but the experience! You enter, you greet the salesperson, you look at the racks where all hangers are pointing in one direction, evenly, neatly and if you buy something, you are taught to be patient as the clerk wraps each item slowly and carefully and places it in a pretty paper bag -- all the formalities are part of the process. You can comment on the weather or on the state of the world and if you speak French, you will be rewarded with plenty of smiles for your efforts.

No, of course, I did not shop in Paris today and my cafe seat was just the white Adirondack on the porch, but I can imagine how it would have felt to be actually walking along those boulevards, cutting through serene parks, wondering if I should get an ice cream cone or if it's too early for an aperitif. Kir. Or better yet -- kir royale, to celebrate a shopping day well spent.

I heard that Europe is reinstating restrictions for Americans traveling there right now so add that to the many reasons why I am glad I cancelled my trip to Italy and France (I was to leave in 6 days). Still, I wonder how it would have felt to be actually boarding a plane. And walking those streets once again... I surely would have left my Fitbit behind because there is something so terribly wrong about counting your steps as you walk those streets and still, I would be curious, because there is no place on earth where I have walked as much as I have walked in Paris. Well, maybe New York and Warsaw, but then I actually lived in New York ad Warsaw, whereas Paris was always just an escape. 

There is some guilt in spending so much time browsing and Adirondack chair sitting. Where did those energetic hikes go to? But the day is stellar and the porch never felt so good...

Besides, I walked! To the barn in the morning. And I lopped off some branches that were hanging over the path to the barn, loaded down with crab apples and forcing you to bend and twist to avoid being smacked in the face by them. So while Ed still slept I wacked off branches. Looks better now, no?

(3 additional farmette views)

 

 

 ("Buttered Popcorn")

A beautiful morning calls for a beautiful breakfast. I had no fresh or even left over croissants, so it was back to the same old, but I then I like my same old! And the coffee here is just as good as I would have had over there. Dare I say it -- sometimes better! Did you know that French cafes do not necessarily sell great espresso coffee? If you're fussy, you have to seek out places that actually care about the roast. (I'm not fussy and besides, I almost always take it with milk -- a whole lot in the morning and a splash in the afternoon. I did that on the porch as well!)

There are quite a number of bugs at the farmette right now, but I thought myself to be safe on the porch until suddenly I see something that makes me jump up and shout out a loud "No!" One of the cats is coming onto the porch, dangling a chipmunk in his mouth. I leap up and saunter to the door that separates the porch from the farmhouse, but it's too late. The cat moves swiftly past me and dumps the chipmunk on the kitchen floor. "No!" -- I say this again and Dance, who has been sleeping in the art room hears me and comes running to see what the excitement is all about. She and Unfriendly (the hunter cat) stare at the chipmunk who is trembling a little and assessing his escape options.This is terrible! If the chipmunk hides from the cats, we will be stuck with a wild critter in the house.

Ed!

He is on the phone but dutifully hangs up on a very important call. He looks at the two cats staring at the chipmunk (they got him cornered!) and asks patiently -- "what would you like me to do about this?"

Eventually the chipmunk runs and hides behind the rattan chest. The cats follow. He climbs up the drawers and disappears. 

No! 

What now?

Ed hands me a plastic container and returns to his call. I move the chest of drawers and see him in the back, clinging to the dusty piece of furniture. I force him into the plastic tub (believe me, buddy, it's for your own good!) and he tries unsuccessfully to scramble out but it's too slippery and I manage to run outside and dump him into the garden. Dance looks at me with great bewilderment, as if to question my sanity. "The fun was just starting!" -- she seems to be saying. I turn my back on all of them and return to my shopping. Up one boulevard, down the next, veering to the Jardins Luxembourg now, where the kids are pushing around their sailboats and the flowers are so exquisite -- no weeds there (I dont know how they do it!), just happy people at peace with the world because in these gardens you really do believe that the world is a kind and gentle place where you can find peace.

Now wasn't that a splendid day? And I didn't have to spend a night in the air to do it all! Nor stuff my wee suitcase which was just adequate when there were only two grandkids to shop for, but now there are four and in another couple of months, there will be five.

not yet?

Hey, don't rush things! We're not done with summer, not so completely, not yet, say the last lilies standing.

No, not done yet, say the phloxes with their pink and purple faces.

Not yet, gusts the summer breeze, bringing with it the next wave of warm air. And the hummingbirds -- not done finding juice in yet another salvia bud, and another, and another.

We eat breakfast on the porch.

Afterwards we go local. I mean really local! There is an artist who works with glass and he opens his pseudo barn-workshop-gallery to the public on the weekends. It's just up the road from us. 

We could walk there - Ed suggests. 

It's not a big walk: fifteen, twenty minutes each way. And it's along a rather trafficked county road. At the same time, it's not unattractive. 

And his art? Well, it's serious stuff. Lots of glass decanters. Or are they urns? Maybe just tchotchkes. I would not like to own any of it (and Ed would not like to own anything at all), so we are poor visitors with no intention of actually supporting his craft with real dollars (though Ed does whisper to me -- we should have brought him a pear from our pear tree... One pear??).

Still, it's fun to see our neighbors engaged in doing something so creative.

And he (they?) will remain in the "neighborhood." We looked at Taos to relocate, but it's too expensive. And the medical care in New Mexico!... Another visitor nods in agreement. I lived in Taos, she says. After a few years it gets really old.

Glad to know Wisconsin remains a draw to these talented people.

In the evening the young family is here for dinner.

(Sparrow, running to catch up with his sister)

(Hook's 5-year cheddar, followed by a cracker)

(no cheese for Sandpiper yet...)

(dinner)

("hey, I do not need help holding up my head!")

(proud sibs)

 

And this is when the temperatures start to drop. Swiftly, toward autumn-like levels. And it is wonderful. Windows wide open. A perfect late summer/early fall night.

one more time

Crash, slash, thunder! Steam, heat, oppressive climb of temperatures to levels I usually associate with Florida. In the summer. One of those days. But hey, I do believe it's the last one! Consider it a gift: it's there so that we can admit that inevitable seasonal truth: we are so done with summer! Farmers are struggling to keep the energy going -- I read it in their newsletters: overworked, burdened by a good crop but also by abundant weeds and bugs. And us gardeners -- well, show me someone who is still meticulously attending to their flower beds and I'll tip my hat in total admiration. You wont find any such person here, at the farmette.

It's Saturday -- the one morning in the week where I am happily in a rush. I like all my early bird chores. Well yes, the animals, that's just sort of mindless. (Though I never fail to admire what's growing out there... )

But then I go to the market for my mushrooms and my flowers...

And I pick up my bag of preordered produce: peaches from Door County, tomatoes, always the tomatoes!

And finally I go to where I am to meet Snowdrop and her mom for breakfast -- the wonderful La Baguette Bakery. I get there early so I can nab an outdoor table. And watch her come running...

The girl is excited because La Baguette has several treats she loves: macarons! (And chocolate tarts -- I pick up some tarts for tomorrow's dinner.)

La Baguette is the kind of bakery I would love to have up the street where we live. It's authentically French and the baker's wife is happy to indulge my speak French whenever possible habit. I try not to miss visiting that country. Ah well! We have this one bakery that will always transport me in some fashion to that land of croissants and baguettes and tarts and macarons. I am grateful!

Afterwards, Snowdrop comes to the farmhouse for a morning of reading, for lunch, for some play with her little ponies. For pillow fighting with Ed.

For climbing her tree...

And for going with me to pick up corn. (Well, she now passes on picking the corn out of the truck. She just wants to play with the kittens and say hi to the Stoneman farm grandkids.)

Back at her house, I have a chance to visit with both brothers as somehow magically I manage to avoid their naps.

Last weekend before school starts for the older duo. There is palpable excitement! 

(Well, Sandpiper is pretty relaxed about the school thing. No school for him this year. So sorry, little guy...)

And now I'm back at the old farmette...

It's the late afternoon. I really want to keep that brisk walk habit going. There are spotty storms and little bursts of rain, but mainly it's just hot and steamy. Nonetheless, I nudge us out to the local park. We do a loop. Not quite the wonderful nearly 20,000 steps at the State Park, but still,

(a woman with a parasol)

(This is why we'd hate to live by a lake: loud.)

Evening. A moment of contentedness here, at the farmhouse. And some reflection. I'd listened to a few minutes of an interview with a writer (George Saunders) on Public Radio this morning as he talked about his first encounter with Chekov's story "the Gooseberries." (I totally recommend it: it's only 25 pages long!) I'm not going to do justice to it here, but I'll pick up on the theme that was also highlighted on the radio show -- the idea of happiness and at what price we seek it. At what cost to others. Because, of course, there is always a cost. Is it better, therefore, to change your course and instead aid in the happiness of another? Does that lead your closer to your own feelings of satisfaction or even joy? Or maybe not? In the end, who is the happier person: the one served by others, or the one who, after hard work, successfully gets to where she or he wants to be? Is there a right answer to this? (Hint: there is not.)

 

Night. One last warm one, where opening the window does no good. And then we do a turn around. Away from the heat. From summer lethargy. From the dog days of August. It's been fun, but I'm ready for the change to something cooler and snappier. Ready for sweater weather. Ready for the end of summer.

With love.

farmhouse routines

While I was hiking with Ed at Governor Dodge, watching the clouds roll in and thinking, then writing about probabilities (yesterday), as it turns out, Snowdrop had just had a conversation about the same with her mom. They were getting ready for a meeting with her first grade teacher and her mom was encouraging her to think about goals and hopes for the year. Her teacher would be asking about that. In hearing her little girl's reply, my daughter must have nudged her a little. To perhaps come up with hopes that at least had some chance of being realized.  Here's my daughter's summary of Snowdrop's response: “Nothing is zero percent. Everything is at least one percent.” — my hopeful child of a professor of statistics and probability, discussing her chances of growing a rainbow mermaid tail.

 

*     *     *

How quickly you slip into old habits once you're back from vacation! Admittedly, that was not a very long vacation. Less than thirty hours of being away. (Was it really that short?) Can you even stop thinking about rote activities in a day and a night away from home? Well, I have Mr. Stay-at-home by my side and so I have to take what little is offered in terms of getaways. Already I'm hearing mild mumbling about perhaps canceling our September hike. (My answer so far: no! But Ed has a way of chipping away at my defenses...)

Still, there is nothing wrong with our routines. Even on mornings with a threat of rain.

I continue to pick off some spent lilies, but I'm putting off even thoughts of garden work until.... oh, maybe October. Not this month, not next month. Let's get rid of the bugs first.

Breakfast on the porch. We talk about the cats.

Dance, our matriarch here (even though she's not the mother of any of the rest) and our most "attached" cat is deliberately avoiding us to let us know that she did not appreciate being shut out of our lives in the past day or two. Think I'm making this stuff up? Well, you didn't see her reject the shrimp I offered her as a gesture of peace and mutual admiration. Nor her jumping off the couch when I sat in my usual spot next to her. She chose to hide in our bedroom, probably because she knows I hate it when she spends much time there. (Achoo!)

Well, no matter. All other cats and chickens are as before: happy to be fed, happy I suppose to see us here again. (Though the concept of a happy chicken is, I swear, a human fantasy. Chickens never smile. They just peck around the garden and lay eggs and every once in a while take a dirt bath. That's it. Content? Maybe. But happy? That's probably a stretch.)

 

In the afternoon, I suggest a walk. 

We go to our local county park. Surely the bugs wont overwhelm us! 

And here's a pleasant surprise: the goldenrod is just as abundant and beautiful here as it is in the prairies of Governor Dodge State Park!

A sweet little reminder of our vacation. 

I wish that we'd had done the longer trail today, because for once we are so fit! But, the heat was oppressive and Ed was ready to get out of the sun.

So an easy slide back into our farmette life! And yes, you guessed it: even a frittata for dinner. With green beans and mushrooms and corn.

chances

If something has a 10% chance of happening, you have to assume that's not zero. But if you're told it's 1%, well, you kind of assume your paths wont cross. Even though even 1% is not zero. And here's the thing: even 0 isn't really 0. You can always say -- well, it had a 0% chance of happening, but new data appeared and we've revised it so not it's way higher. 

I thought about this as I woke up in our huge soft bed in Mineral Point. The stone walls had kept the heat out -- we'd turned off the air conditioning -- but still, I was quick to read that we would be reaching some pretty toasty temperatures today in south central Wisconsin. But here's the surprise! All those predictions of storms and rain? Out the door! I read that for the better part of the day, the chance of rain has gone down to 1%.

That's great news for us! We'd already decided to return to the farmette today, but now we have a chance to return to Governor Dodge State Park again for another hike. No need to fret about rains and storms!

But first, we go down to the main street of Mineral Point and find a place for breakfast. Cafe 43. This one:

I knew they had tables outside and they offered all the good stuff I love for a breakfast away from home. Ed was feeling that it's maybe a tad early to be thinking about food, but no matter: we sit down, I eat.

He watches.

I have a different perspective on Mineral Point this morning: some of the shops are open, there is a little more commotion out there. As people come in and out of the cafe and as I watch a group of very senior women gossip over their cups of coffee, I think -- well now, this town has some lovely stuff going on here!

 

 

 

Ed and I dont take any of the architectural walks that one could do. He's anxious to get to the forests. I'm fine with that. But we do pop into a cheese maker -- Hook's. We have a Hook's 5 year cheddar every single Sunday before dinner, because the kids love it so very much (the adults too, but our tastes are broader than just that). Time to say hello.

They're not making cheeses today, but that's okay: Ed and I have visited plenty of cheese producers over the years in Wisconsin, and in France, and in Italy, and honestly, there's a lot of similarity in the process for all. Still, we chat a little about the cheddar and, too, about a Ewe's blue cheese that is exceptionally wonderful. (They get the sheep's milk from a woman who has 800 sheep up near Fond du Lac. That's a lot of sheep!) And of course, we buy a chunk of the Ewe's Blue. And dig in as we leave their place.

And then we drive out. Past Pendarvis -- the site of some of the first miners' cottages from the 1830s.

(I should note, too, that our Airbnb was in a house that was built in 1839: we slept in the old kitchen area of the rather stately home.)

And then we drive north and east, just a handful of miles, back to Governor Dodge Park. We are ambitious: Ed proposes the Meadow Valley Trail, which is rated "difficult" because of the amount of ups and downs and the distances involved. Perhaps we are excessively ambitious: we zap onto this the Bat Cave loop. Ed will not ever go inside a bat cave (humans can bring a viral load that can sicken bats), but we are happy to walk the area outside the caves during the season where it is considered safe to be there.

 

 

 

 (tall stuff)

 

 

(short stuff)

 

(from up high)

(then down below)

In all, we cover a lot of ground! Yes, it is a sweaty hike, but really not too bad! The woods give us a cool shade. Occasionally, a breeze comes out of the blue, refreshing us. Well, not out of the blue. The skies stay mostly gray and some of them do look like they might explode into something wet or maybe even stormy, but the 1% prediction holds: we get nothing threatening at all. And not even a drop of rain.

(favorite moment: sitting on a bench and looking out on this...)

(oh, the goldenrod!)

But despite the clouds, we are hot. As we come close to the lake, the temptation to jump right into the water is overwhelming! Oh, it's not the clearest water on the planet, but the Park ranger had told us that they check the water daily for noxious stuff and so far it's been okay. We take a chance, clothes and all!

As we walk back to the car, I throw out some comment about having escaped bad storms and bad outcomes all around. I think about our good fortune and how much I lean on this guy walking now next to me. 

Ed, if you die, can I still talk to you?

Sure, only not too much.

Hey, you can't set the rules on that!

No more than once a week, okay?

I'm not promising!

Back in the car, we munch on fruits I had packed for us from home, and Ed digs into a slice of leftover pizza. 

This sure feels like a vacation straight out of the 50s, he tells me with a smile. I'm not exactly sure which elements make it so, but he is right -- a throw back to another era when trips were local, foods were straight out of a paper bag, and the swim was a quick dunk in a lake you happened to drive by.

And then we return home, with only one stop: at our favorite chocolate shop! For a box, to share for the next 16 days. (There are 16 chocolates in it.) A fitting souvenir from our very mini and very wonderful vacation.