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.