milestones, generational shifts, and highbush blueberries

Did you know that all blueberries are native to North America? Canada is the world's top grower of lowbush blueberries (the wild ones) and we are the main exporters of highbush blueberries (the cultivated kind). The ones I see in grocery stores in Poland are, in fact, from here and not surprisingly, they're called "borowki" which translates into "cranbaerries." Highbush blueberries are from the same family as cranberries. They're all Vaccinium plants. 

Morning walk on the most beautiful day ever. Perhaps this is Wisconsin's best -- the beginning of May. (I know we're not there yet, calendar wise, but we are ahead of ourselves this year. When I look at photos from just two years ago, everything was rather tame, whereas this week, we have an explosion of blooms outside. The lilac is catching up to the crab apple, the unique daffodils are still popping up, the tulips, though nearly done, remain radiantly colorful and of course, the plants in the tubs and baskets have happily embraced their new outdoor homes for the season. Til frost do us part.

(from both sides now...)

I pause at the sheep shed, ostensibly to feed the shed cats, but of course, none of them are anywhere near the place. Ed's work colleague, the one from Poland, moved in yesterday and with that fell swoop, the cats moved out. They are terrified of all humans (except for the two of us). I use the moment to chat with the guy, whom I would say is maybe a tad younger than my daughters. This generation of Poles is a world away from my generation. Sure, people born into the age of advanced technology are going to live in a new stratosphere in any country, but I feel that young Poles, especially the ones I know (mostly city raised, or at least schooled in the bigger cities of my home country) speak a language that is far removed from that of their parents. We, their moms and dads, are the postwar babies. The ones who suffered family memories of Germany's attempted destruction of our country. And we suffered the political upheaval that took place after the Soviet Union seized indirect control of our future. We were homogeneously of one religion, most of us traveled rarely. Gender roles were fixed far longer than in the western democracies. As my friend noted a few days ago, we can be described as a generation of scared introverts -- intensely private and often finding fault with life, with everyone who is not like us.  (I'm borrowing from others' words here -- I know too few Poles by now to feel confident in my own views on how they present themselves.)

But this next generation -- the one born as the country moved to a market economy and dusted off a dormant democratic tradition -- they're different. I see that in Karolina and her husband, I see that in our visiting friend. And though you can't shed cultural norms and values in one generational shift, I'd say Poles are doing a pretty darn good job of it. And really, that's a good thing!

Breakfast? On the porch! 

And now I'm off for my one year anniversary visit with my knee surgeon (well, not the robot who actually did the cutting and slicing but the control guy who directed the operation). Do you remember how competitive I felt after the knee replacement? I had to be at the top of performance standards at my physical therapy! I pushed that knee to do thing it was reluctant to do. It paid off. My fantastic surgeon said that the knee is about as good as they get. My knee bowed down, did a good bend and seemed to smile humbly at the words of praise.

See you in four or five years, my doc said. Four or five years? Do you say that to all aging patients? I tell you, I have myself a very optimistic doc!

And now finally, Ed and I attack the blueberry plants. These guys:

It's a process! Digging up the soil, mixing in the needed ingredients, putting down fabric for weed control, throwing chips on them -- it takes time. We finish putting in four and then pause, because Ed has machining obligations. Me, I have zero seconds to spare and I quickly move to my other project for the day -- digging out and moving a great bug chunk of the rhubarb plant. That baby is monstrously huge and it holds a prize spot along the path to the farmhouse. I want to move a lily to at least part of the space. Ed begs me to find a spot for what I take out and I do, but I warn him that I have already moved out clumps of rhubarb to various corners of the farmette land and we hardly use any rhubarb at all in the course of the year. Still, he begs, I oblige.

And now it's time to pick up the kids at school. 

 

 

 

Though our farmhouse time today is slightly limited (you'll see why!), I nonetheless convince them to take a hike across farmette lands. On a day like this, it's absolutely awesome in every corner of this place!

And we find some asparagus stalks!

... but I need to get them back to school by 5 (and so I hurry them inside for the usual food and books and play) because tonight is their music concert night. Each grade is performing a series of songs and of course, count me in on being in the audience, even though the kids are spaced in such a way that Sparrow is up on the stage at 5 and Snowdrop -- not until 6:30. In between? I hightail it to a coffee shop. It's way too late for coffee. I choose an alternative.

Here's Sparrow on stage, singing...

 

Here's Snowdrop...

And Sparrow playing an instrument...

 

And Snowdrop playing an instrument.

I'm not home until way after 7. And I have no clue as to what to do for dinner, but hey -- I ate a bag of potato chips and I can worry about more food later. We want to finish planting the blueberries!  

And we do finish. To a darkening sky.  Dinner? It's close to 9 by the time I fry up some eggs.

You could say that this day was a bit wild. Yes you could. Or you could say that it was intensely beautiful with all the goodness of the season thrust upon us. It was that for sure.