Wednesday

I have to note the heat and the lack of rain here, in south-central Wisconsin. Things are looking very dire out there in the agricultural fields and home gardens. People are running sprinklers on their lawns because you know how people are about their need to see perfectly green lawn. [You do not have to remind me that I water my flowers. In my defense, I need to protect the newly planted babies. Still, I gave some full grown plants a boost as well this weekend, so I can't crinkle my nose at the habits of those who get their kicks out of a carpet-green lawn.] Okay, so that's the downside of this week. Hot, dry. Parched earth, thirsty plants.

Now here's my own piece of heavenly news: I took a walk this morning. I'm not talking about the early one, to the barn, to feed the animals. That was brief and nicely cool still.

As was breakfast on the porch. We ate early enough not to be bothered by the rising temperatures.

But afterwards, I decided to give my leg a bigger workout, so I walked over to the new development to case out the place (pausing to swing on the monkey bars for a bit!).

We fought hard to not have the the land to the west, north and east of us developed. We live in the thick of sensitive wetlands. In the end, we lost the war, but won some battles along the way: there are protected green belts and ponds and draining strips to move run off away from the sensitive habitats. A prairie was planted all around us. so from a selfish point of view -- we lucked out. 

And there have been other benefits. I love the countryside, but walking along rural roads is not safe. Suddenly, I have plenty of sidewalks and bike paths, right next door. A playground went up. Squirms likes it, I like it (for the monkey bars).

But all along, I was hoping for one other sugar plum: I was hoping against hope that there would be a commercial space to which I could walk, where I could exchange a friendly greeting, sit down with a beverage and watch the world spin on its axis.

I dont like living in cities, except for this one attribute -- I love cafes that are a hop skip away from your residence. Or cafe-bars, as only the French know how to run them (coffee in the morning, wine thereafter). And country living makes this a pie in the sky kind of thing. In the Polish village where I spent almost all my childhood summers, the nearest place to get an ice cream was a solid 45 minute walk. We did it, but it wasn't a daily thing. In the Connecticut country home where I worked as a nanny for two summers you couldn't walk to anything at all anywhere. Drive a car or die. Yuk. And for all my love of farmette life, I have missed this one delight: the ability to take that walk and to sit down somewhere with a bit of humanity and enjoy the connections it brings, however superficial. Sometimes, one is really in the mood for superficial.

And today, during my neighborhood walk, I ran into someone who was moving into one of the rental spaces and he told me that not only was one building getting a bourbon-wine bar, but the other had rented space to a cafe and bakery. Cafe and bakery?? Am I dreaming?? I timed it -- 15 minutes from the farmette driveway, even at my modest post-surgical pace. Yes!!

You have to wonder why I should have this yearning for a neighborhood coffee spot. I love my own brew at home, I love to drink it on the porch, I can bake, or stock up on bakery treats, so what's the big deal? Why the attachment to something outside the confines of home?

In that space, I get to take note of life as lived by others. I love this time where my world slows down and I look in on something other than my own back yard. I love the familiar nature of a neighborhood place. When I used to pick up a very young Snowdrop in her day care by the lesser lake, she and I would often go for a coffee/cookie at the neighborhood cafe. I knew all the (very slow moving) baristas. I knew how to ask for the right strength of coffee. And now it looks like we may have something moving in right next door to us here, at the farmette. 

I could not be more excited!

(My dreams can be very small.)

In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop and bring her to the farmhouse. Too hot to play outside.

Perfectly cool on the couch with a book.

And in the evening, a cloud passes over the farmette and releases a few minutes of gentle showers. Nothing to make roots happy, but at least it bathes the leaves and comforts the petals. 

And that's a good thing.