And then I'm off!

This morning, I do one last June walk to the barn..

(Penstemon and lavender flood the Secret Path)

One last quick weed, quick watering of the tubs -- outside and porch! One last appreciative glance at the emerging blooms (hold off for a bit, lilies! Okay?)

I eat one last June breakfast with my sweet, gentle, agreeable, strong Ed..

And then I'm off. To Copenhagen.

This is a trip that had been on the calendar for May 2020 -- or, a version of what we had conceived of back then. We -- the younger families and me -- were all to convene in Paris. One of those once in a lifetime things you do. There were fewer grandkids, life was stable. Some of us were also going to do some days in Copenhagen. My younger girl and her husband have visited Denmark in the past and they wanted to return, en famille. All set, hotels booked, flights paid for, and then of course all hell broke loose. Covid, the pandemic. Pregnancies, new jobs, on and on. There seemed to be no good time to do this anymore.

Until now.

We wont overlap in our travels completely. For instance, I'm leaving for Denmark earlier, so that I can give myself a day of recovery (my knee tells me I'll need it!) before they arrive. And "they" means the younger family. I've traveled plenty with the older one, but it's these guys who have been left by the wayside. Eventually, there will be Paris in the mix, but for now, I'm concentrating on Copenhagen!

With few exceptions, most of the European countries that I grew to know very well were ones that were good flight connecting points between the US and Poland. The UK, the Netherlands, France -- I first visited them through en route stop-overs. Their airlines (BA, KLM AF) offered good overseas airfares, so that is where I would land. I added Italy (because I bothered to learn the language). I added Spain (because Ed spoke Spanish). Denmark's airline (SAS) was, in those years, not competitive, I knew not a word of Danish, and so I stayed away. 

Eventually my perspective changed, my appetite for travel skyrocketed, but my habits were entrenched. Stick with the beloved. And so I never got to know Copenhagen. 

I do have a small jumpstart: a few years ago, my good friend moved to Denmark with her family and in corresponding extensively with her, I got at least a small feel for the country. So I am excited. And who wouldn't want to visit a nation of happy people (Denmark and Finland trade off for the designation of happiest country in the world)! And do recall that I try to practice the Danish art of hygge in the winter. And this spring, I even learned a few Danish words. I'm set!

My flight routing is a tiny bit different. Yes, I stick to my preferred airline (Delta), and I connect in Detroit, but then at JFK, from where I fly straight to Copenhagen. There was to be a long layover in JFK, but things unraveled a bit when the flight to take me there became super delayed.  I'm posting from Detroit, hoping that the schedules will work themselves out in the end, because believe me, on this busy weekend of a busy travel season, there are no switches to be made! Go now or wait forever for the next transatlantic flight. Still, in travel you are not allowed to worry until you have reason to worry, which is pretty much never. Right now my feet are up, I'm sipping tea, missing so much my beloved and beloveds back home, but so eager to meet up with the youngest family in Denmark.

Godnat! See you on the other side of the ocean.

Thursday

Another packed day today, even as I am not packed. (And I should be -- for an adventure that starts early tomorrow.) And a repeat performance of smoke, blanketing our beautiful landscapes. Funny how you can get used to some things. I reach for the N95 almost automatically and step outside.

(the lilies are just beginning their month of splendidness!)

(another lilium is opening up!)

And after a hurried inspection of what still needs to be watered today (a lot!), I return to the farmhouse to bake muffins. I've been promising a new batch for Snowdrop. Today, I will get this done! (And share some of that bounty for breakfast!)

Then I put on some speed. Out I go, masked, and I target those poor plants with a full hose. As thoroughly as I can, given that I only have a spare couple of hours for it this morning.

One big event for me is to check in with my surgeon over at the hospital, so that he can admire his handiwork on my knee. And he is very pleased. That 130 degree bend that I am now able to do? Words like super hero were floated about! Oh, but I love my docs! They're so full of enthusiasm! Toss the caution aside now! Swim, bike, ditch all the medications, and that nighttime pain? It will only get better! See you in a year! 

And there you have it. Suddenly all those inconveniences that came with the knee replacement, the struggles, the immobility -- tish tosh, all go by the wayside, life is good, seize it! (Only dont aim for a total bend -- you're not going to get it and you'll only do damage.) 

Equipped with that pat on the back, I return home for a quick half hour with the hose, and then I dash over to Snowdrop's summer camp: there is an end-of-week presentation and we're all there in the audience, watching the yoga presentations and the the dramatization of the Smart Cookie.

And after, the little girl comes to the farmhouse. Because of schedules and trips and adventures, it's her last visit here for a couple of weeks, hence the muffins, the protracted reading, the berry picking, the enjoyment of all that farmette life has to offer.

In the evening? Well, there's the watering to complete. And dinner to prepare. I want to fix a good one -- fish, asparagus, salads, but I don't even begin working on it until 7;30. 

The day closes with an evening with Ed, which is exquisitely delightful and calm, as always.

with love...

Wednesday

This morning, Ed comes upstairs to sleep and give an outside smoke report and I am reminded of that old adage -- never complain about (insert your favorite gripe here), because it could be so much worse tomorrow. 

Yesterday's reading of small particles in the air from the Canadian fires seems so wonderfully low! An AQI of 190? That's only "unhealthy!" Today we are at a whopping 285 which is "very unhealthy" and awfully close to "hazardous!" We have to hunker down inside and it's not even raining!

I walk to the barn wearing an N95 and I'm thinking -- this is so strange... even at the height of the pandemic we had the great outdoors where we could exhale.

(looking out through the mud room window...)

On the upside, we're all taking precautions and at least we can all huddle together inside and enjoy each others misery! Too, Ed and I are breathing okay, helped, I'm sure, by the running air purifier that we purchased as an easier fix to the unvented gas stove problem in our kitchen. And, knock on wood, no one is dropping bombs on our apartment buildings and hospitals. The list of beautiful things in our lives is in fact very long.

I do have to water though. A whole bunch. And so after breakfast...

I mask up and I go out with the hose, like some kind of an alien creature who can't stand the atmosphere of this planet.

(Look what's booming! Nasturtium...)

(The first lilies, which are the true Lilium...)

I am in a hurry, even though you cannot be in a hurry when watering! 

The day is a bit unusual in other ways too: Ed was supposed to go boating with his buddy. Locally, on one of the smaller lakes. Along with millions of others who had great outdoor plans for this summer day, that had to be tabled.

I do pick up Snowdrop... (exuberant girl...)

And I bring her to the farmhouse...

But our time together is a bit fragmented as I have to prepare a family dinner. 

(We read, then she plays with Ed's computer...)

My daughter's super good friend from New York has arrived for a visit and her travels here always sweetly include a stopover at the farmhouse.

So, we are a group of eight for dinner.

You'll have noticed that it's not on the porch.

Not many photos from the evening. Far too busy keeping up the meal prep and visiting with everyone.

(Speaking of visits, here are the two kids visiting over FaceTime with their two Chicago cousins!)

(And more antics, Snowdrop is showing her brothers the Downward Dog position from yoga)

A pause outside. For just a minute. The air quality index is still at 205. "Very unhealthy."

I wish we could linger in the garden longer, but, we have to be patient with that. The smoke will move on after all. And besides, it's way past the kids' bedtime.

It's dark by the time I have the house back in order. As I glance out the window, I see the repeated flicker of fireflies. It's that time of the year! Beautiful at all hours of the day.

Tuesday

Until today, the sight of a light mist over a body of water made me breathe a deep sigh of contentedness. It conjured up images of Monet's Morning on the Seine. From there, I'd float into the Giverny gardens (in my head) and I would begin the day with hope and a gardener's determination to do even better out there, in the flower fields. Nature, in partnership with you, me -- all gentle, beautiful and kind.

But this morning, one glance at my smart phone confirmed what I already knew to be true, just looking outside: we have an air quality index of 190, which is absolutely unhealthy even for people without underlying health concerns. Small particles are entering your bloodstream. The advice is clear and strong: dont hang out outside if you can help it.

My walk to the barn is brief...

(what have you humans done to the air??)

I then have a breakfast date with my Madison friend -- for croissants at Madison Sourdough. We eat inside.

On the ride home, I pause by the lake. 

The same image, under different circumstances, is worthy of delight. Not today. That's not mist hiding the shoreline. It's plain smoke.

At home, I have a second, fruity breakfast with Ed.

We turn on our air purifier to Medium, keep the windows closed and stay indoors. 

In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop. She's biding time with the kids in her group. If you're my age, and a girl, you surely will remember hand clapping games played at recess? 

I ask her later in the car to recite/sing some of them for me. I'd say they've evolved! For the better! 

At the farmette, I don't encourage outdoor play. Well, just one minute to raid the strawberry baskets.

(The kids always use the Secret Path to get to the farmhouse door...)

No matter, we are way behind in our usual activities in the farmhouse! Bring out the books!

The temptation to bike in the evening is strong, but thoughts of those small particles entering your bloodstream are even stronger. I ignore the B-Cycle stand. There will be brighter days this summer. Today, we stay home.

Monday

The beginning of a new week offers a chance to take stock and make tweaks and adjustments where needed. Get yourself on a better path! This can be a challenge when the air outside is misty (probably from the forest fires up north), cool, but stubbornly rain-free. Don't think about the watering that you'll need to get through in the days ahead! Think of how good it is that we at least do not also have a water shortage! 

The walk to the barn is calm. 

(Some Clematis flowers bloom in June, others in July. This summer one is just starting to flower now.)

I do some spot weeding and I check on the meadows. The grasses are threatening to outcompete some of the meadow flowers, but I know that things may change yet. It's still pretty out there, underneath the apple and pear trees.

Breakfast is in the kitchen and it's oatmeal. The cats join us. On the upside, I finally managed to trim Ed's beard so that he no longer looks like a wild person who has just stumbled onto civilization.

I then had an appointment with David, my PT chief. I asked him if there will come a day when I do not once think about shifting around in the constant search for a comfortable position with my transformed leg. And again I got the dissertation on a therapeutic window. Be sure to let the tissues heal in-between bouts of exercise! Okay okay okay...

On the upside, the leg is now almost completely straight and the bend is at 128 degrees, which is 3 degrees more than the average post surgical maximum bend. Which is good, because as you know, I am competitive. 

As to the aches and pains, David treated me to a session with his TENS Nerve Stimulator and suggested that I acquire one. Have you ever heard of it? I hadn't. You attach electrodes to your knee and your nerves stop transmitting pain and instead transmit only this buzzing sensation. Apparently your nerves are not good at multitasking -- a buzz replaces post surgical pain. Sounds good to me! 

And now I go home, fitting in some spot watering before it's time for me to pick up Snowdrop. What can I say -- we got no rain yesterday, or today and we will get no rain tomorrow. Our friend went canoeing on the Wisconsin River just to the north of us. Rain. Lots of rain. Here? Nothing. 

(The most colorful spot right now is probably along the Secret Path, where the Penstemon, the Heliopsis and the lavender are in bloom)

Snowdrop and I are on a farmhouse schedule again this week. The UW camp is finished and now she is in a yoga-cooking-art-improv camp (called "creative soul"). She wasn't sure she'd like it, but at drop off, she spotted three school friends in her group and so now there is no chance of a bad week. I told her that as she goes through these day camp programs (last year she did an art one, a nature one, a computer programming one, and a drama one; this year she is, of course in the yoga-etc one and she still has drama in the later part of summer), over the years she's going to get to know all the Madison kids her age, because they're all enrolled in this stuff so that they stay busy and the parents can work.

(she is part of the moon group)

(At the farmette, first order of operations is a Fraises des Bois harvest.)

Toward evening, I drop her off at home and stay for a few minutes to wrap up my catch up with my daughter. We have a tremendously full several weeks ahead of us so this is a last chance to sit down quietly and review anything and everything in life!

And as I drive home, the skies clear, the wind picks up and it feels to me to be a pretty lovely end of day. So I pull up by the B-Cycle bike rack in the new development and hop on a bike and do a spin along the quiet rural roads. And it is beautiful.

At home again, I keep my therapeutic window open and rest my leg. But first I whisper to it -- you know, you're perfectly capable of bending another couple of degrees! We'll work on it tomorrow!

with love...

Sunday

I could present one of two debates we had this morning: the first -- did we get one eighth of an inch of rain (Ed's position) or one quarter inch (my position)? But the fact is, neither amount takes us out of the drought category, so why get stuck on such irrelevancies. Let's move on to the second one that also made the rounds at our breakfast table. After my morning walk, of course.

(Wait, a deer? In the morning? Very unusual...)

And I should note that I finally decided to cut some of the sweet pea blooms and lavender stalks and bring them to the breakfast table. Yes, they look good out in the field, but I love them too much to let them remain in some distant space. So, breakfast on the porch, with lavender and sweet peas.

(also on the porch: two cats, taking full advantage of my Adirondack.)

Now, back to the discussion. 

It's about travel. I suggested Ed read this article in The New Yorker (titled "The Case Against Travel"). I myself had liked it, and not only because I had a good chuckle as the author described visiting a falconry hospital. I had had a similar reaction to visiting a falconry demonstration in the French Dordogne region while Ed was on a kayak navigating rapids. I had never heard much about falconry before that and can't say that I gained much by seeing the exhibition. It was a rare time where I caved to the pressure of seeing "the most important sight" of the region.

But what I really liked about the article was the fact that the author tried to knock down some of the truisms of travel: that it broadens your perspective by being among people who live with different habits and eat different foods and move about in different ways than you do back home, for example.

I agree with the author that actually, we rarely grow just by inserting ourselves into a new place. We don't really get to know the people who live there and our brief encounters with falcons or, say, the MonaLisa are neither transformative not life changing. And still, I think this needs to be qualified with a huge "unless." Perhaps in the course of your journey you will see something or do something that makes you truly happy. Something that surprises you and brings you a sense of peace, something that quiets your soul (or turns your world upside down, but I dont like that kind of experience! I like my world and dont want it to be upturned!). Staring at the MonaLisa could then be transformative. (It wouldn't be for me, which is why I dont bother going to the Louvre.) You could return and immerse yourself in the study of art from that period, for example. I know this to be true because seeing Impressionists does that for me (and that's why I do bother with exhibits where their art is presented). It makes me happy and I do occasionally think about it when I get back home. And what's more, for me, they offer an insight into taking in the landscape or scenes around me, so that suddenly a walk by a lake, or by a picnic gathering becomes like a painting -- it sings to me.

But it's true that being in places that are culturally very remote (I'm thinking of my trips to Thailand, Japan, Ghana) makes me feel like a spectator in a movie scene rather than a participant. One reason that I go back to Europe so often is because part of me feels a connection to my continent of birth. I go back to places I know and love. Switzerland may be as beautiful, but I know and love France and Italy so much more and so I travel there, bypassing that equally beautiful Switzerland. Returning to beloved places figures prominently in my itineraries. And when I do go to a new city or village or mountain or lake, I am always asking myself at the end of the trip there -- did I connect with something here that would make me want to return? Most often the answer is no. Sometimes it is yes, and then the joy of returning is just exquisite!

Basically, I see the arguments in the article as giving reason to travel more, not less, with the caveat that it's good to be honest with yourself about what you liked and what was boring and made you feel empty. If sitting at a cafe or eating a good dinner is your thing -- that's reason enough to go to a place that lets you do just that. To expand on your world of cafe pleasures. Taking that what you love at home and finding that same thing elsewhere, only with a twist, is reason enough to get in a car or on a plane or train. At least it is for me.

Ed I think would agree. He does travel to sail and he would travel to camp. All the other delights (or at least what is delightful for me) are, for him, not worth the hassle.

We go out for a walk around lunch time. No, we did not get much rain, but there has been a significant cooling off. The breeze is grand, the air feels deliciously fresh.

And in the evening the young family is here for dinner. The kids have been under the care of dad as their mom was checking in with family in Chicago and they had that joy and spark (and matching outfits!) that comes with reuniting with her and having everyone under the same roof again, even if it is the farmhouse roof.

(Wait, where's Sandpiper? Here he is!)

But we ate dinner inside. 

It's cool out there. No, no rain at all today, but there is still hope. Too, we know that some areas are getting showers so we are happy for the farmers who did benefit from the passing rain clouds. 

And here's one not so small benefit from so much dry air: we have had no mosquitoes! An entire season of spring with not a single bite! Remarkable and amazingly wonderful.

But we continue to hope for rain. For the plants that give us so much joy, especially at this time of the year.

With love...

Saturday

Sometime near sunrise, when I begin the discussion in my head about whether I should move toward waking up, and Ed is deciding to make his way finally to bed, I hear him coming up the stairs and I see him peering at me, wondering whether I'm awake. Clearly he has something on his mind.

I'm awake. Tell me.

Two things: first of all, there is a situation in Russia and secondly, I had heard a crunching noise in the kitchen and I looked up to see which cat was eating only it wasn't a cat it was a raccoon.

Even in summarizing all the talking heads' explanations of what happened in Russia, I could not give you a good rendition of what's at play there (for one thing, no one, not even the Russia experts really know themselves), but I can do a credible job of explaining why we have a raccoon in the kitchen eating cat food. You see, we have seven feral cats that we feed here at the farmette. Six are related in complicated ways, but they have very different habits. Five will eat at the sheep shed, but number six will not, so we feed her here, in the farmhouse kitchen. Only she is of low appetite, only nibbling at wet food, and before she is half done, her half-sister comes over and eats it all up. So we leave dry food for her all day long in the hope that she'll fulfill her nutritional needs with that. Her half-sister hates dry food. Then there's Pancake, our newest feral addition. She (he?) comes twice a day for the feedings, but she is as shy as they come and neither Ed nor I can really get near her. She sits at the window and meows until we bring her her food. She eats on the porch. This, too, is tricky, because it must be done when other cats aren't watching or they'll beat her to it. We are never sure if she is getting enough, so we leave dry food on the porch for her as a supplement.

In recent days it has occurred to us that someone else is eating the porch dry food. I'll go out at night to check on the dish and someone will scurry away through the cat door. I never worried much about this: it could always be an 8th feral cat. We dont mind feeding cats in need. But this morning, it became clear that our nightly visitor was not feline and moreover, he was willing to come inside the house to get more food. (We've been hiding the food in the sheep shed for the night because we do know that raccoons break in there if we leave it out. Talk about a keen sense of smell!)

Well now, here's a challenge! If he comes in for the cat food, will he come in for the croissants and baked goods and the pantry foods too? Raccoons can open up a poorly secured chicken coop. They'll have no problem with our pantry door.

Let's hope that this was a one-off. We are not going to host a raccoon family at the farmhouse every night! 

Of course, all this meant that I would not be going back to sleep at this news packed early hour. That's fine: I have multiple earlybird errands to run today. A quick market trip for flowers and veggies (peas!), a side step to the bakery for breakfast foods, and a return home by 8:30 so that we can eat an earlier-than-usual breakfast. 

(Morning barn walk: peas!)

(Morning barn walk: more peas!)

(What I buy at the market: peas!)

Of course, while I was running all over town resupplying us with yummy foods... 

... Ed went back to sleep. By the time he came down for breakfast, I was done.

Why the rush? Because this is the day Tipi Farms (our CSA farmers) is hosting all members for its annual strawberry pick. We are assigned a 10 a.m. slot. The farm is in Evansville (about a half hour drive southeast of us) and I have to still pick up Snowdrop (about fifteen minutes drive northwest of us).

In the past, I've invited Sparrow to come as well, but we are serious berry pickers and it is not possible to pick and mind Sparrow without help and his mom is out of town and his dad is watching Sandpiper. True, Sparrow is old enough to fend for himself, but not on a hot, hot sunny day in a prickly field of berries. More importantly, he does not like strawberries!

So, I pick up Snowdrop (we are both wearing our berry shirts), then return and pick up Ed and now we are off to the farm!

Tipi always has a spectacular berry picking, but this year it was a mixed bag. Some rows were still under-ripe so we passed on those. We then got assigned a row that had had some early frost damage, so you had to pass over spoiled berries and concentrate on the newer better ones. That's always tricky with Ed because he does not want to waste and he over-picks, in my view. I tend to go only for the cream of the crop. He'll pick it all.

Snowdrop is actually a good harvester and she managed to amass as much as Ed did. I also brought in a good haul so even though it wasn't as grand as in the past, it certainly was enough to keep us all berry happy!

In the afternoon, I again contemplated a nap, but instead opt to feed and water the plants on the porch (it's a job!). I dont dare water anything outside so as not to jinx the prediction that there will be rain tonight and tomorrow. We put out a bucket in the middle of the courtyard. We expect results!

Toward evening, I tell Ed that if I had an electric bike right at hand (rather than 15 minutes down the road), I'd go out for an end of day spin. Toward the lake maybe, around our ponds and farmlands. He says -- take the moped to the bike station and head out.

And I do. And it is so very perfect! The moped lets me have that rider's breeze on the face. It isn't a big deal, like the car, it doesn't require time like walking, nor energy like biking up those inclines. I can't give that moped up! Along with the electric cycle, it is a most spectacular combination!

Once I'm spinning on the bike, I realize that there's another great benefit to electric cycling: you really can take in the fragrance of life all around you! I mean, Uphoff's Pig Farm is an obvious smelly place that you can whiff right through the closed car window. But as I pass groves of trees, I smell the difference from one to the next. And as I turn toward the lakeside community, I smell the weekend barbecues. Brats here, something more smokey there. (When you're pedaling on a regular bike, all you think about is the energy required to mount the next hill!) 

I pause by a field of corn. A farmer said that we have until July 4th. The corn can survive the drought that long. After that, if there is no rain, all bets are off.

Do the deer know? Are they storing up on the green stalks now?

But hey, there will be rain tonight. I feel it in my fake knee!

With love...