lily heaven

I never know which day is the peak of the year's lily bloom until the day has passed and I do the count of spent lilies the next morning. I'm wondering if it was, in fact, yesterday, because this morning I snipped 763 faded lily heads. That would be on the early side of July. Last year's peak was on July 18th and the count (the next day) was 707. Ocean does not lie! 

It was a very buggy garden cleaning session. I was in the fields at 6:30 (again, good light, but horrible mosquitoes!) because I had an early breakfast date with my New Mexico friend (the last such date -- the era of frequent Barbara visits comes to an end for me, as her mom no longer needs her here). I wanted to be done with garden work before taking the morning off. Again, to my delight, the sun was gentle, and I want to believe that the lilies were grateful for my efforts.

Here's one day-lily plant before I snipped off spent flower heads:

Here's the cleaned up version:

As for the bugs -- well, I'm getting tougher. I do use a strong spray on my clothes and then I just suck it up and plunge into their la la land. I'm not going to not clean the beds and so I have to put up with it. Yes, I mind the buzzing and biting and I especially hate it when they get in my ear, eye or mouth (I count out loud to not lose track -- a dangerous game in a buggy field!). But I try to ignore all that and find pleasure in the utter beauty of an early morning garden. 

Photos from this morning:

(the "secret path" weaves through this field...)

And then I zip over downtown and meet my friend at Wonderstate Cafe on the square.

What she has had to do (with the help of her sister and daughter) should be a fair warning to all of you senior types -- the three of them (and sometimes with the added help of others) have had to go through the parents' stuff and get rid of most of it and allocate the rest. And here's the thing: if you find it tough to get rid of stuff which has generational sentimental value, believe me, it is even harder for the kids of newly deceased parents to get rid of that stuff. They're running on memories and their sentimental quotient is at an all time high. (Mine wasn't -- but that's another story.) Why do we keep so much stuff? I told my friend that my own reasoning as to clothes I haven't worn for years is not "do I really need this" but "might I ever wear it again." The answer to the first is no, the answer to the second is always going to be yes. You never know when I may need to dress up and attend a wedding or a funeral, right?? 

Having little sentimental attachment to things, I'm making it easy for my kids down the line. But I could do better. I swear, I will do better! I am motivated! 

After our morning breakfast, my friend and I took a walk to the weekday farmers market off the square. That was splendid! The bouquets of flowers were lovely, in my favorite pastel combination!

And they had the season's first corn. Fabulous!

And there was one more stop for us -- in the flowered patio of the senior living complex where her parents once lived. I'd been talking about this to my friends, to Ed, to my daughters to some extent. The question is -- will I ever end up in a place like that? And of course the answer is -- who the hell knows what disabilities will plague us in another handful of years? It's not precluded! And with that in mind, I put myself (and possibly Ed) on the wait list. (There is a long line of people waiting to get in.) Because I am fully aware that today I can still dig up the entire farmette garden, but tomorrow, I may not be able to.

 

And again I have a day of two B's: in the afternoon I am on a Zoom call with my Warsaw Bee, reviewing plans for my summer visit to Poland. I'm not there until mid August, but stuff needs to be done in advance. Time to get that project rolling.

 

In the evening, Ed is to do his bike ride, and I take out my bicycle as well, except that his ride is two hours and hilly, and mine is twenty minutes and not hilly.  We've had quite different days -- his mainly on the couch, mine mainly off the couch. But when I return, I find him in the kitchen. I forgot my water -- he tells me and so here we are, on the couch, together, eating leftover pizza and fresh corn, reflecting about the flowers outside, the animals -- both wild and tame -- that call the farmette home.

If ever there was a happy place...

with love...