the gift of a summer breeze

The mosquitoes weren't yet here. Then they were. Then we got rid of some of them. Then they came back. And I mean really came back. I'm out early, snipping away (367 spent lily heads today), hating that bug buzz, hating their attack on my arms, face, everywhere. I had used a repellent and I suppose it helped some, but not a whole lot. When you enter a dense field of lilies, swarms of mosquitoes come up. I'm disturbing their peace and they are brutal in their attack. And still, I continue with my work. All those months of garden thoughts, plans, purchases, all those days of digging, clearing and eventually planting and weeding -- they are for this summer month of blooms and I am not going to give up the fight now. I am determined to have fields I can be proud of.

 

(Big Bed)

((this year, even the roadside bed is well cared for)

It takes me a little over an hour at this point to get the job done. In a week or two, the lily numbers will grow and it'll take me twice that long. But today I'm done by 7:30. I feed the animals and then take out Rosie once again, this time to go to the downtown farmers market. 

A moped no longer holds the advantage of easy parking: it requires a meter in downtown Madison, just like a car. Nonetheless, riding Rosie on a summer morning, particularly after a buggy workout in the gardens, is enchanting. The wind is in your face, there are no pests to annoy you. I feel dizzy with the sheer pleasure of moving forward, without effort, not too fast, not too slow, on this gorgeous summer morning.

I don't have a lot to buy at the market -- just carrots from Snug Haven and flowers from anyone who sells them. (I use this opportunity to commiserate with farmers about the horrors of working in a buggy field.) 

(so often it's the "grandma" who sits at the side and pulls together flowers for a bouquet)

 

 

Still, in the earlier hours, the market isn't too crowded and I walk through most of it just to soak in the beauty of stall after stall of freshly harvested produce. 

Ed and I eat breakfast on the porch. Three times I send him scurrying after tiny frogs that seem to have found their way onto our porch. We have a great many little guys in our fields. I'm not sure if they're babies or if they are a small species -- either way, they are amazing bug eaters and so we take great care with them! (They also have quite the long life span for something that tiny -- 5 to 20 years.)

 

 

And by afternoon, the wind picks up. So welcome! Mosquitoes haven't enough strength to work with or against a stiff breeze and so I can actually sit down for a few minutes outside (just to look at my flowers) and not be bothered by bugs. What a gift that is! 

One minute you think you've lost your moments of tranquility in your gardens, then everything changes and you are one with your flowers again. 

A gust of wind. That's all it takes. 

Toward evening, I drive over to the newly relocated chocolate shop -- CocoVaa. I had visited it once in its former location (and written about it on Ocean); today I wanted to see its bigger better shop. Syovata, its founder and owner, used to be a student of mine some 25 years ago -- a fact that she remembers all too well, because she had just given birth to her daughter and had no childcare, so she asked if she could bring her baby to class. She hit the right person with her request. I had had both my babies while a law student and scheduling issues were brutal for me (as was everything else then -- studying, working, cooking, and so importantly -- taking care of wee ones). Syovata has cut back on her own lawyering so that she could work on the business of creating exquisite chocolates. I'd heard about her summer candy creation -- a chocolate with strawberry and basil center. It sounded so good and of course I want to support this incredibly dynamic and enterprising person.

I know bits and pieces of the owner's life story and when I think about it, I'm struck by how nonlinear it was for her, and frankly for most of my friends this side of the ocean. So much movement in work, in personal circumstances. Shifts, adjustments, restarts. I dont think you have it in your head when you're young that adulthood is one big adventure and that opportunity often (but not always) follows calamity. Kids want to grow up, make decisions, reach some level of stability. But is there such a thing? How do you explain to a young one that the joy is in what you have now? For me, at this second, it's in a box of chocolates with strawberry and basil inside. 

with love...