Did you know that we said goodbye to spring this past Saturday?
It's summertime. For us weary and battered northerners, it could not come soon enough. Hello, second day of summer!
Wisconsinites were lucky last night: the heavy and violent storms passed us by. We had a trace of rain, maybe one eight of an inch by our measure, but none of the tornado activity that damaged homes south of us. And today, we have a most unusual (for this time of the year) day: brilliant sunshine, gusty winds, and significantly cooler air. I took out a light sweater this morning!
In other words, it's a beautiful start to summer.
My flower beds are budding, but most of the active flowering is a few days off. I look at pockets of blooms rather than fields of color.
Still, on a day like this, everything is lush and gorgeous anyway (in my view)!
Breakfast is probably as good as it gets: the peaches, the flowers, the cool sunshine!
Soon after, a guy who owns some farming equipment comes over to talk about prepping the new forest land for us. The goal is to take out (as much as possible) the noxious weeds - the thistle, the honeysuckle, the wild parsnip, the quack grass -- and put in.... something! Honestly, Ed has not yet read enough, talked to enough experts, or thought enough to decide what should go in its stead. I have some solid ideas, but they're whimsical. To repeat the obvious: we have different decision making styles.
John, the farmer with the machinery, comes with what to me are the most perfect words: he surveys my flower fields and says -- now that's a labor of love.
Yes it is. I want to hire this guy! (I will not think about the fact that most of John's customers are guys setting up food plots for deer. The motto here would be "prepare now for a successful hunt tomorrow!")
Now, can we get going on creating something as beautiful out back?
[We have another farmer offering similar services, but he's not likely to want to do the work for us ever since he found out that his dog is the dog that bit Ed during a bike ride along the rural roads last year. Ed called the police and the guy was slapped with a fine. It's a small world.]
But, for Ed it's all in the process and the process grinds slowly forward. I leave him to talk to John about soils and machinery and weeds and seeds and the mechanics of going forward...
... and I walk over to my current slice of heaven, the meadow in the new orchard.
It's taken a while to establish itself, but this year, I finally do see the results and they are, to me, magical.
And so, as I wait for decisions on the new forest land, and I wait for the blooms in the flower beds, I spend my time here, among the rudbeckia and linum and fruit trees. Oh, the cherries need to be picked!
Toward noon, Ed and I take a walk in our county park. We're a little too focused on what's happening with their prairie: we see slumped invasives, sprayed with herbicide. Is that what it takes to keep a flowering field going? Is Canadian Thistle going to be our enemy for life?
As we crisscross the fields, we pay attention to the birds, the views, the magnificent weather!
And as we take a detour into another portion of the park, we spend a good amount of time watching these dragonflies:
It appears that the two are in a courtship dance. It's mesmerizing, really it is. Ed says -- I can't believe you're not making a video of it.
Oh, that takes me back! Some ten years ago, he and I were in France, watching a dragon fly show over some waters of a stream or a pond and he said the very same thing. I can't believe you're not making a video.
Is this a sign?
In the past 16 months, I spent four nights in Chicago and one night at my daughter's house (when she was giving birth in the local hospital). Otherwise, I have cooked, showered, slept at home. I should be planning a return trip across the ocean. It's time I unfroze myself, before the cold air sets in again and people are sneezing and coughing on airplanes once more. I have been waiting until I feel normal about travel, but I'm realizing that I wont ever feel totally normal about travel. Which doesn't mean I should not get on that plane and get going. As I talk to Ed about this, he repeats himself, with the same defiant statement: I like what's here.
Well so do I. More than ever. But to better understand what's good about here, I have to go elsewhere. But where? I'll be thinking about it for the next few days.
