Saturday

The warm spell is here this weekend. A beautiful Second Summer. A gift that always comes to us in Autumn thanks to a shift in the jet stream (so I'm told). I pull on a pair of shorts once again. Heavenly weather!

On my morning walk, I look for color. Inevitably the annuals are the showoff queens now. They introduced the growing season and they will end it with the first frost. From what I can tell, that first frost is not going to happen in the next half month.

Immediately after dealing with the animals, Ed and I bike to the downtown market. The ride is with the prevailing wind and so we get to the Capitol Square in record time -- 35 minutes. (A bit longer on the return! To be honest, a lot longer!) Ed asks -- what are we buying? I answer -- nothing. I'm leaving on Monday and I have already cooked up containers of chili for him. And of course, he has the steady stream of melons plucked from the farmette lands. We are set, food wise, for a while. Still, I check in with one of the farmers about winter spinach delivery and of course, I admire the flowers. Plenty of beautiful flowers!

There is an "off the square" event today -- it's centered on cheese. You do know that Wisconsin is responsible for producing 48% of the country's artisanal cheeses? So wipe out the idea that it's California or Vermont! (We also do produce most cheese, artisanal or commercial. All those American Muensters and Cheddars and Mozzarellas? Mostly made here, in my home state.)

The cheese event is fine -- lots of samples from maybe a dozen or two cheesemakers. We each pick a couple to try and then we move on. (Someone asks -- do you want a photo of the two of you? It's such a good view!  And then they chop off the Capitol building.)

To Madison Sourdough. For their croissants.

And now back we bike, against the wind, for breakfast, on the porch!

So warm, so very warm. I stay on the porch. A Zoom call with my friend Bea from Warsaw, more paragraphs added to my GWP2.  So beautiful outside! So very beautiful!

I do weed. Some of the fields close to the sheep shed, so that I am not totally depressed looking at them come spring.

In the evening we had booked a dinner out at One and Only -- a name that surely would turn off anyone looking for good food! But, what's in a name? I had noted that they have mussels on the menu and Ed is up for a Moules Frites dinner.

Sublime! When you don't eat out so much, and when you finally rouse yourself up and out of your home base, and if you love watching someone enjoy his moules frites, well then, what else could you add to make an evening special? Cant think of a thing.

Oh, wait a minute. Evening's not over? After a dinner out, there was more? 

There was more: we had been chatting about (more like laughing at) an article in today's paper about the hardships of old age. The stiffness. The physical challenges. The time it takes just to get up and out of a taxi. And I commented to Ed that he has less trouble with stiffness than most people his age, despite the fact that he spends a heck of a lot of time on the couch. Sitting. He protested: I dont sit, I lie down! There's a difference. I told him he was lucky to grab so much space on our one couch. I can't lie down because he's already claimed it. He suggested I stretch out on the love seat. The beaten up, torn by cats orange love seat. I had a quick answer to that one -- it's too short. I learned that after my knee surgery. I could not stretch out. 

This is how we moved right into looking up used couches on Craigslist and on Marketplace (on Facebook). We were lucky in finding our one couch this way. Could we be lucky again and find a second one (ditching the battered love seat) too? 

It took forever. I was reminded of the warning I'd once read to never, ever bring used couches into your home. Still, Ed will not agree to new furniture. I know him well enough -- it'll have to be used, or we stay with the old  battered orange love seat. Of course, the listings are horrible. You couldn't pay me to bring 99% of the stuff that's for sale into our home. But every once in a while we came across acceptable compromises. We put out a few feelers (Ed insists on bargaining). Perhaps we'll get lucky. Or not. Either way, the search was an unexpected adventure, for the end of September, for the end of a lovely day.

with love...

Friday

Amazing facts about this day include: in the night, we had the last of the supermoons of 2023 shine down on us here, in south central Wisconsin. I don't think such moons ever look like the photos people post, where the moon dominates over half the horizon, but nonetheless, it was beautiful. This morning, a mist has settled in on the farmette lands. Cool, lovely, calm. 

But not great for biking the rural roads. I feed the animals and fix fruit snacks for the kids and breakfast for myself. Ed's busy with a work call and today I don't want to wait. 

Another amazing fact: it's the last September day of school. That means a whole month of early mornings, and classroom demands, and friendship intricacies has whizzed by for the kids. And for me.

And yet another: the spigot has been opened and the water is pouring out. That's the best way to describe my GWP2 (Great Writing Project No.2) right now. I am both thrilled and overwhelmed with the ideas that are forming in my head (and more slowly, but very steadily -- appearing on the page in the form of sentences).

One more: I'm two days short of completing a month of closing my movement rings. That means I surely will make September 2023 my most vigorously active month yet. Still, I do not intend to continue with the ring closing insanity. I'm concerned that I'll become a David Sedaris, who, by his own words, cannot go to sleep unless his exercise goal of 21 000 steps per day is met, even if it means fake walking in his airplane seat while flying over the Atlantic. Obsessions are hard to let go of, so I'm hoping to stop before it gets the better of me. The question is -- can I keep on biking/hiking without being crazy about meeting some arbitrary goals?

And this, nothing short of super amazing: I fit it all in! we biked, we hiked, I weeded, I danced. Some days are like that. It's like getting a string of green lights when you're in a hurry. It just works in your favor. So, too, the day -- a beautiful one, with clearing skies and gently cool breezes -- struck all the right notes.

Photos from our bike ride and hike:

(right by the bike path...)

We encountered a guy mowing down a huge swath of land through the prairie and, too, the woodland we love so much. When he took a pause, we asked what was going on. Apparently they're putting in a branch of the bike path here, right through our beloved hiking spot. On the downside -- the serenity of the place will be disturbed. On the upside, when we do our 45 minute bike loop, we can avoid more of the roads and cut through this way.  I darn glad I'm back on a bike! Our neck of the woods is exploding with bike paths.

In the afternoon, I pick up the kids. 

And despite the fact that Friday afternoons are rather packed (there's the farmhouse stuff -- reading, eating, playing -- and there's his violin and her ballet), they convince me that it is absolutely necessary to get an ice cream at Tati Co! Well okay, I do want to support the new coffee shop...

And miraculously it all runs like a smooth glide over a sheet of ice without a single ripple in it. And he gets to his violin lesson on time and she gets to her ballet class, her long hair done in that required bun, on time!

Amazing. Small things, tossed together to form a smooth and satisfying whole.

with love...

Thursday

Never have I felt so close to a famous author as today! Let me explain: I woke up with an idea on how to begin my GWP2 (Great Writing Project No.2). Indeed, the idea blossomed in my head. Content came flying. The story took shape. It was so good! I got up quickly, waved absently to Ed who looked up with a question mark in his eyes, one I did not bother answering. I went downstairs and began to write. A page later, I paused. The animals had to be fed, my bicycle needed a morning spin, with Ed today, breakfast had to be fitted in. 

And then I was back at it. And as the words flew and the pages multiplied, the brow furrowed, the excitement fizzled, and the first attempt to put something into written form felt feeble and not at all like the brilliant idea I had had in my head. It felt awkward and boring and dumb. 

This is when I remembered Ann Patchett's essay, "The Getaway Car: A Practical Memoir about Writing and Life." In it she talks about exactly this: your story idea as it first hits you is perfection itself. The trouble starts when you begin writing it down. When words get in the way of a clean sail. Here's an excerpt from her essay: 

This book I have not yet written one word of is a thing of incredible beauty, unpredictable in its patterns, piercing in its color, so wild and loyal in its nature that my love for this book, and my faith in it as I track its lazy flight, is the single perfect joy in my life. It is the greatest novel in the history of literature, and I have thought it up, and all I have to do is put it down on paper and then everyone can see this beauty that I see.  And so I do. When I cant think of another stall, when putting it off has actually become more painful than doing it, I reach up and pluck the butterfly from the air. I take it from the region of my head and I press it down against my desk , and there, with my own hand, I kill it. ... Everything that was beautiful about this living thing -- all the color, the light and movement -- is gone. What I'm left with is the dry husk of my friend, the broken body chipped, dismantled, and poorly assembled. Dead. That's my book.

Eventually I had to put it all away. I had a dentist appointment which normally would be a bother, but today I was glad to have as an excuse to get up and out of the house, away from the computer, away from my GWP2. (Even though it was a bust of an appointment as the computer generated crown did not fit.)

And then it was kid time!

I'd promised them an ice cream today and so this was our first stop. At Tati Co, in my neighborhood.

And now we come to farmhouse time. I'd say that finally, toward the end of September, Sparrow is happily ensconced in farmhouse routines and Snowdrop has mostly accepted the necessary sharing of time and space with her little brother. The period of adjustment is behind us I think.

Evening... I used to be an evening writer. Posts for Ocean, book notes and chapters -- they all were formed and then edited in those late hours, worked on until I could no longer keep my eyes open. When I travel, this is still the case -- I write and edit Ocean stuff at the end of the day. Tough as it is to do it then, there's just no other time for it. But here, at home, if I don't get started on a post before dinner, then I am in trouble. And book writing? The earlier the better. I'm plum out of breath by the time dusk takes hold. And so tonight as well, I forget about everything and concentrate on doing nothing. With Ed, on the couch. Because it's just so fine to end the day like this. Letting go of great thoughts, high hopes, letting go of everything except that precious moment of closeness that comes from doing not much of anything important side by side.

with love...

Wednesday

Well, it's time to restock the candle supply. It's tricky: the candles that don't ruin your lungs (soy, flaxseed etc) are expensive and buying something online that has a fragrance is risky. I don't like pungent sweet smelling anything. I'm always on the lookout for that gentle whiff of a forest. Maybe with a red currant note. Along with birch sap, pine needles, crab apple, leaning into a forest of firs by December and maybe tomato vines by March or April.

You have to trust your seller here and unfortunately, it does not translate into consistency. I love Brooklyn Candles for their Christmas tree scent -- it really is fantastically close to having a tree in your house. But I don't love their flowery stuff. And Kobo -- they're the ones with the tomato vine fragrance, but why oh why do they have that marketing ploy of selling their rustic pine candles in boxes that "you can plant?" One commenter noted with glee that she has 120 acres of planted pines and so she will definitely plant the seeds in her forest. Well now, good for her! But honestly, even if we had a 120 acre forest, I would not enjoy digging up a place to put in a cardboard box with a few seeds stuck to its interior. Spare me that chore, especially in the winter.

This year, I'm putting most of my candle funds (candles are that expensive! they require a savings plan!) into Skandinavisk. I've not been burned (!) on their gentle scents. Indeed, today I lit their Fjord candle (the day called for it!) and I have to say, it's the best investment against gloomy weather I have ever made. 

[A note to those who care about environmental factors and air quality: candles, no matter how delicate and how closely they resemble a pine forest or a bed of tomato vines, are never as good or healthy as a walk in fresh air and the fragrance is not "natural." Nonetheless, companies like Skandinavisk do strive to use ingredients that aren't going to kill you or the environment. Believe me, flaxseed wax is far better for all of us than cheap candle wax which is often made from cattle by-product. Or from tropical plants, which of course contributes to tropical deforestation. I read all the product info I can find when I buy a candle, which does require deconstructing marketing gimmickry. I have to say, it's always safer to dig into European suppliers, because they have to comply with far stricter health and environmental standards than we do. And as I'm learning, the Scandinavian countries along with France really are ahead of the pack in their attempts to improve on product sustainability and the health benefit score card. So, this year, my Hygge plan includes a lot of Scandinavian interventions. Which is only natural (!), as Hygge originated in those countries.]

So, breakfast, with a cat. Or two. And Ed. And a candle.

I should note that by the time we sit down to the morning meal, I'd already walked the farmette lands...

... and fed the animals (so complicated in the morning! Five hens eat in the barn. Five cats eat in the sheep shed. One cat eats on the porch. One cat eats in the farmhouse, but she is reluctant to dive in unless her best and only buddy Dance is nearby, who, unfortunately is great at stealing her food. So you have to be clever and work fast until everyone is fed). 

... and I went on a solo bike ride in that window that seemed to be rain-free. It was rain-free! Mostly. (Ed stayed home because on Wednesdays, he does a mega solo ride later on.)

(they are restoring wetlands across the road from us...)

(enter: fall colors)

And then I did my candle purchasing.

With laundry and ballet thrown in for good measure.

Keeping to this kind of schedule may make you wonder how on earth I'm going to ever produce any GWP2 (Great Writing Project 2) pages in the years before me. Especially given my involvement with the grandkids. Sometimes I'm with you on that one! Where am I going to find the necessary hours?

Winter: a writer's best friend is that dreaded cold season. (With a jumpstart in Autumn, but not September Autumn. More like November!) It's not that I am doing nothing right now. When I'm biking (or hiking), I think about the new format with which I'll be working. I think about story lines and character development. And part of me wants to then sit down and get to it, but I know that this is not the time for it. Soon, but not this week, not next week either.

In the afternoon, the two big kids are here once again. There's excitement: tonight is the night of their (future) high school's homecoming parade and they can march in support of it. The kindergartner, who has done this in previous years as a sister-tag-along, is thrilled to be at long last marching as a real honest to goodness school boy. It takes so little to make a five-year-old happy!

(At the farmhouse, they sometimes overlap in their play, but lately, she has gone back to storytelling with the use of her dolls. He's gone back to puzzles, though these, too, can be improv tools. Both kids are not quiet in their solo play!)

In the evening Ed bikes and I listen to the quiet of the house. Dance insists on a thorough, uninterrupted petting session so I give up on trying to jot down first thoughts on the the GWP2. You could say -- darn that cat! She hogs the few free minutes I have left today. Or you could say -- she is adding years to your life so in the long run, it's a win.

On tomorrow's bike ride, I will think how to allocate my time in a way that would include a selfish block of minutes with no distractions. Are you listening, Dance?!

with love...

Tuesday

The fact that I've been able to move so much this month (closing my watch rings every single day in September) should tell you this: we've not had much rain. Because when it rains, the bike stays in the garage. There is no pleasure in getting drenched on a bike trail. Or a hiking trail. Physical activity comes to a grinding halt.

Today, it rained. Indeed, during the night alone our bucket picked up about two inches of water. And the forecast tells us we should expect rain, on and off, for the next two days.

Of course, animal feeding proceeds as usual, though you really have to herd the cats to their feeding stations. They do not like leaving the safety of the porch. The porch is so dry! The world -- so wet.

(the hens don't like the rain either, but they love the wet soil for their foraging)

But in studying the radar maps carefully, I can see that "on and off" really does mean on and off. There may be windows of opportunity for us. A pause in the rain. A recess! 

I pin it to come at 8. Ed! It's now or never!

The bike trail is wet and puddles spray water relentlessly as we move through them. But you'd be surprised how quickly the water drains. And once we're off the trail that cuts through the wetlands, the puddles disappear. 

We ride in a pocket of clearing skies. There is a risk that the clouds will close in on us, but hey, there is some pleasure in living dangerously!  

I imagine I am in Scotland, where the skies always offer an ever changing mix of cloud cover: stratus, cumulus, cirrus, nimbus -- surely some of each, until the thick gray ones eventually take over and, just like in Scotland, the rains come down again. But not during our ride! We're spared.

Breakfast, no longer outside. It may be dry on the porch, but it's much more snug in the kitchen.

And muffin baking. 

And, during another break in the rain, spot weed pulling (do you see why the day fills so fast?).

And grandkid pick up at school.

We've established a routine and it's a good one! Time for everything -- books, play, lots of snacks. And every once in a while, Ed hands over his computer and the girl teaches the boy the intricacies of "the Cat Game."

In the evening, the clouds stay firmly in place. By the time I drive home from the kid drop off, it's almost dark. Are we that close to winter already??

Time to cook up some comfort food. Farro with tomatoes and cheese on top. Autumnal suppers are wonderful!

with love...

Monday

You know the saying "people hear what they want to hear?" Oh yeah! I'm sitting at the car repair shop. The Air Pressure Warning Light has been flashing for days. Ed checked the air pressure on all four tires -- it was fine. We're guessing one of the sensors is not working. Tell that to the guy checking in my car!

Your air pressure is off.

It's off because when you check it at home, you let out air, then you compensate, but it's not an exact science.

Well it's off. That's the problem.

No, that's not the problem. When we checked it, after the light went on, I promise you, it was perfect.

He cant hear it. The ears are picking up my words, the head is not processing their meaning.

This is not unusual. People tune out meaning all the time. I try a different set of words. That often works -- it unblocks whatever sticking point has prevented the head from doing its job. But today, perhaps because of the humidity, perhaps because I am an ancient woman who cannot be trusted to be in full command of her information -- we're stuck.

The story, however, has a happy ending. I drive home (after the mechanic did something to magically force the Air Pressure Warning Light to disappear) and I tell Ed the story. Together we delve into the car's information display system and we learn something new -- you can actually just ask the car what the air pressure is and it will tell you! For each wheel! No gauge required! In other words, Alpine Blue is programmed to talk to me -- whether the tummy hurts, the eyes water, the nose itches. (In the automative language of pressure, speed, and who knows what else.) I would not have learned that had I not gotten a mechanic who just would not take my spoken words seriously. 

In other words, in every frustrating situation, there lies an opportunity to learn something: about the world and yourself in it. About your car.

All this happened in the late morning. Earlier, Ed slept, I fed the animals and measured the amount of rain we got overnight -- maybe half an inch? It seemed more, by the sound of things, but the bucket tells no lies!

(autumn performers: nasturtium, until the first frost)

(dahlias, also until the first frost)

Ed is still asleep after my animal duty, so I go off on a solo bike ride. I have a packed day -- it's now or never.

And immediately after, Ed is awake and we eat breakfast.

This all seems prosaic and banal, but to me, the day is anything but that. Sometime in the middle of the night, I decided to start in on book 2. I've dickered around with ideas for it for many months and I finally came to some point of clarity in the gray light of the very early morning. 

Why do it? Why write this second book? I'm not one who worries much about leaving behind printed material for posterity. I mean, if today's news is correct, mammals will be extinct on Earth in another 750 million years. Who cares if among the ashes of our collective lost lives there will be shreds of books written back in 2023! 

But I want the challenge of writing again and I want to see if I can pull it off -- it's a tough project and I dont have the help of an interesting background to move it along (Like a Swallow coasted on postwar Poland material). Still, I'm psyched!

I'm giving myself two years for it. If I'm not happy with what I've written after that, then it gets dumped into the trashcan, recycled into another life as maybe a row of birthday greeting cards or cardboard boxes in which to ship your favorite Amazon purchases.

In the afternoon I pick up Snowdrop. Just her on Mondays. 

In an effort to support Tati Co (the coffee shop around the corner), we stop by on the way home and pick up an ice cream.

It is true that if I buy something at the cafe every day, I will deplete all my resources very quickly. I'll have to quit traveling and sell off all my possessions. Nonetheless, I told myself that I will be a customer as often as I can, for as long as their numbers are just starting to grow. So, today -- it's ice cream.

And then home.

In the evening, Ed and I were thinking a bike ride would be absolutely perfect. He wants it, I want it. Unfortunately, it is not to be. The skies cloud over, the rains come down. And they will continue. The drought will have been a spring and summer event. We may well be in for a wet fall.