April tailend

April roared. Not with ferocious weather -- at least not here in south central Wisconsin, but for me -- with travels, events, spring work, each day offering both opportunities and challenges. That's my view of it! I've done most of spring planting -- except for 150 bulbs that I ordered in bulk (many are Abyssiniam Gladiolus) and now I'm wondering why I went down that road... I need to figure out what to do with them! Should I mark their planting? Should I just do a random dig? None of them are hardy here so I'll have to remember to lift them out come fall. What was I thinking?? I am going to revisit the idea of garden scheming in January. Strange ideas percolate then!

It's a pretty morning.

I feed the animals then go off for one more appointment -- a total waste of time because it was mis-scheduled.  I need to come back another day. This bothers me not a whole lot, except last night the lilies did finally arrive and so I am in a hurry to put them in before tomorrow's rains. (There is zero chance that I'll plant 150 bulbs before then.)

Breakfast is thus late. After the non-appointment.

And then I do my last-day-of-April planting. 

I took a chance this year, counting on no frost from my birthday onwards and it looks like I got lucky. (Had there been a frost forecast, the backup plan is to move all tubs to the shed and hanging baskets to the kitchen -- a horrible job, but it can be done!) This is why, after putting in my last lily into the garden extension Ed created (by eliminating one of the paths), I put down my shovel, water my new plantings and wish them all good luck for the season. I'm done with planting! (Except for the bulbs.)

As the sun poked through the cloud cover, I noticed that the tulips are looking especially lovely against a lingering sea of gold...

But, too, that the first crab apple is opening up. We have several crabs, and when they bloom, they absolutely draw your attention away from everything else. So, in the next week, guess what I'll be admiring?!

I stop work when it's time to pick up the kids. 

It's not a long farmhouse visit because the two older guys have a school concert tonight -- one that I am not attending. I wish I had it in me -- I love school choir performances and this is the last Elementary School show for Snowdrop (next year she will be in Middle School), but trekking to the other side of town in the evening after a full day is just a little too much for me. I am an imperfect grandparent, consoled only by the fact that my grandma never attended a single event with me in it, and I loved her deeply anyway.

In the evening, Ed goes off to bike and yes, I do hit the bulbs and plant a whole bunch of them. I don't want to count. I'm sure I'll think I did too few. Nonetheless, I am entering May with a switch of focus -- from energetic prepping and planting, to spot correction, weeding and maintenance. (Well, once I get the rest of the bulbs in!)

with love...

magnolias, etc.

I love the magnificence, the grandiosity of a blooming magnolia. But I'm glad there isn't one here, on farmette lands. I lived with one in the past and I learned its seasonal performance: stunning flowers, appearing briefly, very briefly, followed by fallen brown petals. Large leaves that in autumn turn brown and crinkly. For gardens with limited placement opportunities it's a space hog. Nevertheless, it's really beautiful when in full bloom.

*     *     * 

For most Americans, the stress levels here are high right now. Should I list all that might cause you to break out in sweat? The demise and destruction: of support for science, of jobs, of freedom of speech, of research, of freedom to walk without fear, of financial security, of international solidarity -- let me just stop. The list is too long.

I catch myself looking for calming devices. (No, I cannot stop reading about it -- when you are immersed in this destruction, details become important.) I have a few that typically work for me: labor in the garden, take a nature walk, especially with Ed, pick up a book that totally pulls me in -- these are the obvious ones. Today I used all three.

*     *     * 

Oddly enough, I've had a number of thoughts recently about my mother (who died in September of last year). She would have been besides herself with fear and anxiety had she lived into this year. Perhaps it's good that she died just before all this happened. 100 days of the current administration would have killed her for sure (she was very politically engaged until the last half year of her life).

My mother did many good things in her life, but providing a good model of a path forward into senior years was not one of them. She made sure I understood that anxiety and a diminished life would be mine very soon, as inevitable as taxes. You could say that I spend a lot of time teaching myself a different strategy -- one that has to erase over time the bleak images she painted for me, daily, for the past few years.

Which brings me back to magnolia viewing, gardening, and books. Strategies all!

*     *     * 

Morning viewing of the flower fields: I'm still focused on the daffodils, but not for long. They are April's flower.

I see that the tulips are really coming into their own now. I love tulips -- who doesn't? But their total life span is short. Most should be dug out after their first and only bloom. That's a real bother! I always want to take the chance of leaving them in for a possible rebloom next year (because some of them do do that) and what I get then are scraggly leaves the following spring. Too, animals love to chomp on tulip heads, so I need to spray them regularly with hot pepper powders or else I wake up to empty stalks. Decapitated! Still, I cannot resist planting at least a few pockets of them. They're just so beautiful!

After the non-storms of yesterday, we do have cooler temps today. Breakfast is inside. (I bake yet another batch of granola -- Bircher Muesli will have to wait until this addiction of ours passes!) 

And then I wait for the lilies to arrive. Fed Ex is proving to be a challenge! They were promised last Saturday. Didn't come. Then Monday. Didn't come. And now today -- early evening and still not here.  But I do have a box of sweat peas to put in! I love these guys and always find room for them in the garden.

*     *     *

I suggest to Ed a walk in the Arboretum. I love that place especially now, in early May (we are almost in early May!) and then again in mid October. The colors of spring here (and later, of autumn) are remarkable. I'd read that it's almost time for their lilacs to burst into bloom. And it's true, we found a few that are just opening up. But what took the cake today were the magnolias.

Well, the crabs were pretty magnificent too.

But the magnolias were the show stoppers!

Unfortunately, Ed is at a very important point in his machine design work and so his phone went off pretty early into our walk. I left him on a bench and continued on my own.

Into a forest with a canopy of delicate greens. Incredible!

And then we exit, together... by the magnolias.

 

 

*     *     * 

I have a glass of Negroni Sbagliato before dinner (with sparkling wine instead of gin). In celebration of April 29th! (What's that all about? Listen, reading through the news today and coming out sane at the end calls for a celebration.) It is a sinful pleasure -- one that I know I should lay to rest, along with red meats (which is easy), and croissants (which is not easy). And on some days I'm as virtuous as a person hell bent on living to 100. But not on April 29th, 2025. The day deserves this special treat as I wait for my lilies to arrive. Delicious! With an open book at the side -- a fabulous Irish mystery. Escapist? Oh yeah!

with love...

 

will there be strong storms

Strong storms? That is the question. And by the time I post this, maybe I'll have an answer. Much has been written, warnings have been issued. "An unusual system" "a confluence of unfortunate events" -- all leading to strong storms this evening. The day is warm, very warm. Winds are picking up. It's all rather ominous, but it flusters Ed -- not at all. 

My morning walk -- lovely! Ed tells me -- there are so many more daffodils this year! Well yeah! All those bulbs put in last October produced blooms.

Huge, gorgeous blooms.

 

 

 

Everywhere.

 

 

A feast of daffodils. Enjoy them -- they wont last much longer.

 

 

 

Breakfast? We eat outside!

And then I listen to the winds and I spot weed and wait for one more small shipment of lilies. 

That's the good stuff! In other news -- well, I'm still working on getting the pair of shoes ordered from Spain for Snowdrop -- cheap, cloth ones -- to be released from some unknown Fed Ex location. I Filled out forms. The seller filled out forms. Nothing moved. I call. I get passed on between six Fed Ex reps, one after the next telling me that it's not within their area of responsibility. I get nowhere. In addition, a letter comes requesting customs payment of $35, despite the fact that the law does not authorize customs collection on such small purchases. They fall under the De Minimus exception. (Fed Ex --"Tell that to Customs and Border Patrol! Here's their phone number." I call it. They're not picking up.) Back to endless tracking down of Fed Ex people; the last one tells me -- "in any case, we're still looking for the package." Me -- you mean in addition to everything, you lost it? "No, we just don't know where it is."

I go outside again and weed. And seed. 

Meadows and annuals. I have to admit that I am very lackadaisical in my meadow maintenance and in my front roadside flower field care. Creating a meadow in Wisconsin is tough going, especially with our soil, our lack of consistent rainfall and our deeply rooted soil structure. You have to understand grasses, because not all of them are created equal. I thought that doing a half-assed job would suffice and up to now, it has. Parts of both the peach orchard meadow and the new orchard meadow always delivered a nice array of both grasses and wild flowers. But this year, I'm doing little more besides sprinkling additional seeds on top of what's already there. That's like throwing a rubber duckie into the ocean and hoping it swims to the next continent. (It may, but I wont hold my breath.) The meadows suffer from being enough out of sight that I can't see them as being worth my time. As it is, I have a large swath of land to take care of on my own. I need to prioritize.

But why neglect the roadside bed? This is the only flower field that is visible to anyone passing the farmhouse. Why not invest in that? 

I dont have a good answer, though I have a couple of flimsy excuses: that field is visible to others, but it's not visible to me. Not in the way that the courtyard fields are. And the soil there is awful -- full of roots from the maples that hover in the background. I planted flowers, sure, but their output is meager. I'm thinking about working there next week, because one of the maples is going to be brought down (it's rotting), creating perhaps an opportunity to make something of that bed again, but I wont guarantee my commitment to it.  We'll see how my time pans out.

I did another type of seeding today too. Not just the meadows. In addition, I put in nasturtium and cosmos seeds -- my two favorites for growing from seed each year. Where? It's really random and I never remember where I plant them, so that I am surprised when I see seedlings emerge as the summer progresses. (I also planted sunflower seeds, but those are almost always devoured by animals. Groundhogs? Deer? Rabbits? Pick your bandits!) So long as we may be getting storms (i.e. rain), I may as well plant seeds now, so that I myself don't have to soak anything!

And what about the kids? Where do they fit in? Well, they have appointments and so I am free of child care obligations, both today and tomorrow. Effectively, it means that I should really forge ahead with outdoor work. And I do. I really do. With an eye to the weather tonight. Because, well, the warnings continue: it's not looking good out there!

Evening: well now, what just happened? Did we get lucky, or what? At this bedtime moment, there is no sign of a storm, no sign of tornadoes passing through, not even a drop of rain. It all went to the north of us. A day of waiting for strong storms that did not come. I am so grateful!

with love...

Sunday

Do you keep a life's list of something? So many people I know do just that. My mother famously kept a list of books she had read. She began at age 30 (when I was born, leading me to wonder however did she have the time to read then, but of course, I was left with my grandmother a couple of months after my birth). The list thus spanned 70 years of her life. Some people I know keep lists of birds seen. I have a relatively new fascination with bird species and I do get excited when I hear a new sound, identifying a newcomer to farmette lands, but keeping a list of random birds spotted elsewhere seems to be a whole 'nother level of birding that I haven't climbed to. Then there are friends (in Poland) who count countries visited in their lifetime. (You could accuse me of a form of this as well -- I do have links to countries visited in the time of blogging, though I'd argue that this is more of a reference tool for future trips and a catalogue of pictures I may want to look at when I'm ancient and cannot travel anymore.) 

The thing is, in counting, you focus on numbers. The larger the count, the better you feel. (Of course, you count only things you're proud of. You wouldn't tally the minutes spent flipping through pages on your tablet, or the number of TV shows you watched as a kid.) 

I was thinking today that maybe I should speak out in favor of moderation. Count, to make sure you're not under-observing (birds), or staying too close to home (travel), or keeping to the couch for too long (steps). But maybe we should actively work to temper our obsession with more. Amy Tan's study of just backyard birds, a writer's description of a year spent in just one country, and perhaps spending time just thinking about books you've read (though I'm not sure on this last one) -- wouldn't that give you a more discriminating, nuanced view of what's out there?

When I snap a photo during my morning walk (for example -- today)...

... I have this dilemma: show closeups of spectacular flowers? No, that's wrong! You can find plenty of photos of spectacular flowers up and down and all around the internet and in books. What I want to show is a moment in time, here at the farmette. So I tend to favor larger, some would say "postcard type" presentations. But going for the entirety diminishes small pockets of beauty. Isn't the answer then to go for something in the middle?

(first tulip bloom)

 

Amy Tan (in her Bird Chronicles) writes about intentional curiosity -- a term she took from her bird watching forays, during which she learned to follow the questioning eyes of a young person, a child really. I think counting (or postcard photography) has its place in our lives, but asking questions and observing a smaller range of possibilities is, to me at least, a finer ambition. (Admittedly, Amy Tan does count, or at least list all the birds she chronicled over a period of five years, though as I said, she limits it to her back yard. Well she might! She has a virtual bird-palooza going on right outside her windows.)

Breakfast. I'm in this photo. Not sure why I went that route, but there you have it.

I wait for the sun to come out. I should do a heck of a lot of weeding, but after lifting Sandpiper on Friday and pulling out creeping charlie on Saturday, my back is starting to remind me that I'm not that nimble anymore, so I limit myself. Well, I try to limit myself!

Eventually I turn toward dinner prep. It's Sunday and we are back to our scheduled family dinners, and this time we are all there. And since the sun is going strong and the temps are modestly warm this evening (near 68F/20C), I take it outside. It is in fact our first porch meal of the year!

Eating dinner on the porch fires up a curiosity in the kids -- to explore, to see if it really is summer weather already, and always it gets them to the coiled up hose. Can we play with it? -- is a constant. You'd think one hose, with no fancy attachments or sprinklers would get boring. It never does. 

Initially I tell them to stay dry.

But eventually, we just let them shed their shirts and play freely. That first run of the season through a hose is always exhilarating! Lots of squeals and laughter. And for us -- the satisfaction of watching them cavort without worry, in the way that kids can do so well. May they remain that playful for a long long time!

with love...

 

good weather

It's too sunny, too outrageous, too bright, too perfect for outdoor work. There! Never satisfied. Doesn't that well describe the human species?

Let me add another comment: too beautiful.

Too much visual candy. Yes, even a gradual opening up of a spring garden brings on a plethora of loveliness. You can't possibly take it all in.

The sunshine today is intense. It's not a warm day. More like warm-ish. The pressure is on to do some work outside. The Big Bed needs a good weeding.

After breakfast.

And remember the house in the new development that I had helped a friend buy? Well, I offered to look in on it, to see how the lawn is doing. (She's not living there yet -- she's renting it out.) Not surprisingly, it's not looking that great. It's telling me it needs something. But what?

I hate lawns, I don't know how to care for lawns, I don't really understand them, I don't know what their issues are. I bring over some organic grass fertilizer. Maybe that? 

I sprinkle it randomly. Then I read on the box that you need to water after sprinkling. But the outside water isn't turned on yet! Now what? Am I burning the lawn with unwatered granules? Damn lawn! 

Next stop is far more pleasant -- a meetup with my daughter at a coffee shop halfway between her home and mine. But who knew that there are two cafes in town with the same name? I go to one, she's at the other. (My fault, by the way. She had specified the street, I just missed that part of the message.) Is this turning out to be that kind of a day despite the perfect weather? 

Never mind. We have a lovely hour once I finally do catch up with her. 

And using that positive momentum, I come home and talk Ed into taking a bike ride with me. And that, too, feels good!

As I put away my bike, I take a look around me. In the late afternoon light, every plant takes on a richer hue. Even the orchard's white flowers seem more profoundly white!

(old orchard)

 

 

(new orchard)

 

 

Sometimes I think this time of the year -- late April, indeed, all of May -- is too perfect, perhaps laying on the pressure to seize the moment, to make something of it. But of course, we are appreciative! Rare is the walk outside where we don't remind ourselves how lucky we are to be in this season, at this time, among all that grows here. But it never feels like enough. There's just too much to be grateful for.

with love...

birth order and decadence

In the book I am currently reading with Snowdrop (One Year in Coal Harbor), the uncle of the protagonist tells her the following -- "People and animals and trees and everything alive are born into circumstances they have no control over. Bad and unfair things, undeserved things happen to them every day. And knowing this and how lucky we are, we feel helpless and maybe a little guilty because by chance we were born into better circumstances. And we can't change that. We can't level the playing field. We can't make those circumstances not exist. But... we do have control in making undeserved good things happen. ... Maybe we don't live in a just universe. Maybe we live in a universe where all you have control over is your own kindness."

I thought about chance and how much happens without our input, howwe have far less control over circumstances than we would like to believe. I thought about all this as I hurried to the barn this morning...

Then hurried out to pick up baked goods at Madison Sourdough... 

Then hurried from there to Sandpiper's school. (It's sort of on the way.) The little guy's class was celebrating grandparents: any grandparent of a child there was welcome to drop in and visit the classroom between the hours of 9 and 10:30 today. I was there promptly at 9. Because we're talking about grandparents, some came even earlier.

Sandpiper: the child who receives the least amount of attention here on Ocean, and probably out of all five, the least amount of grandparent oversight. Oh, I see him almost daily, at drop off times and of course on Sunday dinners and other special occasions. He always rushes over and confirms that I am indeed his grandmother and that he loves me very much. With a great big smile and a hug. That's the kind of boy he is.

But he was born in 2021 -- six years after Snowdrop, and Snowdrop was born when I was already approaching 62. Your mid sixties -- you still feel capable and at times even invincible. Like -- this retirement is no big deal! Unroll life's new challenges, please! In your early 70s, on the other hand, you find chasing a little one to be nothing short of exhausting. Your brain can't jump in and out of that playful mindset of a young child with any great dexterity. You feel akin to a sloth, hanging in there, preferably in a resting position.

The point is, Sandpiper does not get the same treatment that I gave Snowdrop or even Primrose or Sparrow. (And though Juniper is even younger, I do see her a lot when I spent time with the younger family as a whole.) You could say he got shortchanged in terms of intergenerational attention. Except, I really don't feel this boy to be particularly deprived. He has two older sibs who love him to pieces. And as they grow older and move their focus to those outside the home, he'll be the one who'll be noticed, admired, helped. Probably pampered.

In the meantime, when an occasion presents itself to show him some special love, you snatch it. This morning, I snatched it.

Happy, happy kid. Energetic as always. (He zipped through maybe a dozen work stations in the time I was there.)

Easy going, spunky, clever, playful. And always ready to give you his biggest smile. I have to think that that joyfulness comes easier to the youngest child. That the older ones have already lived through and survived the drama of being a year or two or three older. 

Still, Snadpiper is stuck with an older grandma. So are the other kids by now -- yesterday in the car Snowdrop said "gaga, you are so talking like a grandmother!" But of course, I still have the power to shower him (shower Juniper) with hugs, and kisses and so much love...

Breakfast comes next and today is the day I finally break away from many many thousands of steps and climbs and sprints (I had quite the exercise streak going there!) and healthy breakfast cereals.  Today is a day of decadence. Cinnamon rolls...

And plenty of couch time. And I tell you -- it feels great to exert not much effort at all at anything. After a month of intense movement, I have a day of stillness. 

 

I do pick up the kids -- pajama day in school again??

It's drizzling outside. The kind of rain that doesn't help your garden but annoys you no end. Not a chance of getting me excited about outdoor work. A day off -- I can live with that!  Reheated chili, a quiet evening at home reading, watching, listening.

with love...

 

Earth Month

Someone on the radio referred to this month as Earth Month. So that there will be tree planting in Madison this coming weekend because we are smack in the thick of Earth Month. I suppose it's like a protracted birthday. I'm not done with mine yet either. And we are not done with Earth Day. The good moments in our lives ought to continue beyond their designated calendar markings. I have no problem with that! 

Morning walk on this warm start to the day:

Funny that I should have worried about missing out on the daffodils this year. They are just at their peak right now. The reward for all that work back in October when the last thing I wanted to do was dig 100 bulbs into the baked soil. But it got done. And now they are everywhere.

Breakfast should have been on the porch. We crossed 60F (16C) by 9 a.m. -- that's my cut off point for a meal outside. But it didn't strike me until we were at the table. 

Afterwards, I planted a few odds and ends and I watered the pots. I've got loads of weeding to do, and I'm still waiting for a second small shipment of bulbs and plants, but for today, I put work aside in favor of a walk in our local park with Ed. Earth Month demands some time for appreciation of what's already there!

(woodland flowers: white fawnlily)

And what's already there is always grand. 

We go over to the turtle pond, which has been turtle-less for the past two years. And lo, what do we see? Turlte overcrowding!

Not an inch to spare! 

 

I pick up the kids.

So warm today! This is April for you, trying out everything to see what fits.

 

And once again I return to the flower fields in the evening, once the kids are off with their parents. Weeding. Plenty of it at this time of the year. And if all feels rather ho hum to you, well, spring and summer days do tend to be heavy on the laborious tasks associated with garden work. But at least you get flower photos. Think of it -- no more brown toned farmette pictures for a whole six months!

with love...