to Chicago

It's been too long since I've seen the younger family. August travels -- theirs and mine -- cut out the possibility of meeting up before the start of the school year and now here we are in the grip of autumnal weather. Time to head south, to Chicago.

 Because the two grandgirls there have weekend activities, I'm not in a rush to get to Chicago. Indeed, I have time to harvest some peaches to take with me, and to pack up corn from Stoneman's. And of course, I take the time to check things outside and to feed the animals....

 

(the last of the last) 

(dahlias and nasturtium)

(path to barn)

 

 

I have time for breakfast with Ed...

And I have time to go to the market on my way out. To get Wisconsin flowers for the Chicago guys. 

The downside of this rather leisurely start to my trip is that I hit more traffic coming into the city. Ah well. It gives me time to think. 

Two young families of mine: so different, with one leading a very Madisonian family life, the other filling its days with the very best of a city life. I think about yesterday's get-together in Madison. It was to be small. It wasn't small. And there were kids. Young, and some not so young -- middle school bound! Five of those kids slept over -- friends, banding together. Snowdrop loves this, as does Sparrow, and Sandpiper goes along because that boy loves chaos. I'm not sure when anyone could clean up after the party, or after the sleepover. But eventually order will be restored. 

In Chicago, too, though there are only two kids, the whirligig  of weekend activities is in full swing. One girl danced, then had a birthday party, the other girl is off with mom picking up treats at a favorite bakery. Tomorrow she'll play soccer while the family cheers on. In there we will fit in some playtime and meals together. 

Two families, so different in the minutia, perhaps style, but at the core, the same, really. A strong foundation of love, kindness, prioritizing concern for others, prioritizing growth and learning. And with ready fixes to those snafus and stumbles that I myself couldn't figure out as a young parent, young wife, newly formed American. I'm not sure my own parents wanted me to do better than they did (other than financially -- they thought I should have married into wealth; I did not), or wanted me to find a different path, to repair their blunders, to find joy in each and every day, but I sure did want that for my kids. And here I am feeling rewarded, because their family lives are in fact better than what I had to offer. I may have repaired my parents' obvious missteps, but I didn't repair all of them, perhaps not even enough of them. One could debate this. But these two daughters of mine, on the other hand, are hugely happy, with solid friendships and a grand homelife with husbands who care deeply about the same stuff and in much the same way they do.

These were my thoughts driving into Chicago. 

I do get to my girl's home just in time to see Juniper "walking" with her mom, holding on to bakery treats.

(lunch, with a sneak bite of a cookie)

 

 

And eventually, Primrose comes back from her Saturday event, excited to share details of her slime party...

 

 

... and to listen in on a story her dad is reading to her sister...

 

 

 

(with a post-nap hair fix for the little girl)

 

 

... and now I have before me the whole family of four as they teach me about the virtues of K-Pop music.

We eat dinner at Bar Parisette -- a lovely Chicago bistro that really does bring the culinary delights of that  French city right to their doorstep.

 

 

 

I know myself well enough that I don't linger after dinner at their place. I have a hotel room downtown at the Sofitel, because all their neighborhood hotels were already booked solid by the time I looked around for a room for the night. The Sofitel has great last minute deals and it, too, has enough elements of Frenchness to make me feel I've taken a trip to some place that's just a little removed from my faremette everyday.

It's been a lovely day! The girls are getting to be so... not little anymore. A joy to watch, to talk to, and yes, because I can exercise grandparental rights -- to hug whenever the occasion presents itself. It is just a snapshot of their city life, but it is full of color and clarity and all those hues of warmth and love.

Yes, so much love... 

 

record cold?

Seriously? We're going to go down that low? Yes, I feel it. So much so that we turned on the furnace yesterday. 43F (6C) outside means that the old farmhouse quickly sheds its summer warmth. Turns out that the ancient shibboleth about old people not liking to feel cold holds some truth to it. Ed and I are not aiming to move south for the winter, but I have noticed that we use throws and quilts on the couch, especially in the evenings (but not only), more and more often. 

Cool or not cool, morning chores beckon.

But breakfast most assuredly is indoors. For both of us today!

I wouldn't call it the best day for a bike ride and honestly, I'd happily spend the rest of the morning elevating my foot and reading my crime novel, but the fact is, we are on the last days of Stoneman's corn and I want to stock up for a couple of weeks of rather regular evening corn nibbling. Too, I think I could use another dozen for shucking and freezing. So we set out. 

(the ones on the bench are ours: we're figuring out how to pack them for the very windy ride home!)

 

 

(for winter eating)

 

 

And now the day (and indeed, the entire weekend) turns interesting. Yes, I have to pick up the two kids at school -- first Sparrow then Snowdrop.

(no, not these three! just the kids!)

 

 

But we do not come back to the farmhouse. Instead, I spend the afternoon at their place, because my daughter is having a get together of friends and associates and I promised her I'd bake my famous gougeres for the event.

My famous gougers -- now that's a laugh. They are not mine. The recipe belongs to L'Etoile Restaurant, But a couple of decades ago, I worked there as a weekend baker and I was charged with baking croissants occasionally and gougeres rather regularly. And I'll say this much: when I quit (because working two jobs and rasing a family and volunteering at the kids' schools was proving to be too much), the person who took over the gougere production did not get them 100% right,  producing, in my opinion, inferior gougeres! Oh the horror of seeing flattened puff balls sold at their Saturday bakery stand! 

The problem is this: I haven't baked them in decades. I do not even remember what small piece of wisdom I introduced to the task that would in fact produce a stellar cheese puff ball. And still, I agreed. And in my daughter's kitchen no less. And with kids darting in and out of my field of vision. And other cooking projects underway as well.

Were they as good as those way back when? Who can remember!  They seemed good enough.

The gathering of friends and colleagues was a delight and a success, though I have long realized that I am not great with remembering people I met only once or twice in the past, so I spend a lot of time avoiding treacherous topics that would reveal my confusion. And at this party, I was easily twice the age of most attendees (well, maybe not twice, but close!) and I surely did not want anyone to feel they were stuck to talking to the old lady present, so I roamed from one group to the next, and baked, and roamed some more, and drank lots of nonalcoholic beer.  

And then I came home -- late, quite late -- and had a bowl of soup with Ed, burrowing under a quilt on the couch with him because guess what -- it's cold out there!

with love... 

 

foot up

I do love being older. Having more time. Not worrying about absurd realities that I know I cannot change, nor that they can change me. I love reading more, resting when I feel I need it, getting a senior pass for rail travel (in some countries), for air travel (on some airlines), and for theater entrances. I love not being responsible at times, not caring about long term effects of this or that. Hey, I even love using face creams! All my younger years I worried about "breaking out." No more. This morning I applied a tonic and a cream -- total indulgence! I love that I can temper the worries of the younger generation, that I can hug grandkids even when they're older and past the cuddle stage, that I can tell stories from several generations back, when things were really different!

But I'm not too crazy about having to get up early, so that morning chores had to be done at a clip...

 

 

 

 

Including the gathering of peaches...

And I even had to eat breakfast alone, because Ed was busy with a Zoom work call and I could not wait...

All because I had to show up at a podiatrist's office to get toe surgery done this morning, postponed from earlier dates when I believed it to be too inconvenient. When I was young, I didn't even know what a podiatrist did. Yes, take care of feet. Maybe old people's feet? Oh, right, I am that person!

And now here I am, scrolling through amazon, looking for espom salts. Epsom salts! Sounds like something my great grandmother would have used to soothe frazzled nerves or constipation, no?

Elevate your foot! -- my doc warns me. And what do I do with that elevated foot back at the farmhouse? Well, what else can I do... read a book, take a nap. Old person stuff.

 

But by early afternoon, I'm ignoring my doc's advice: I need to try out this new school pick-up routine. First comes Sparrow, having had a fine day today!
 

I take him home, his home. A snack, a pause, and we're off now to pick up his sister, who also had a good day. 

Trying to have a sensible conversation with my surgical tool manipulating doc, I had asked her about her kids. She has a daughter just a year older than Snowdrop and she moaned and groaned about how much small social slights bothered the girl (and seemed to affect a slightly older son not at all). All morning long, I had to address one issue after the next from her long list of social worries. Snowdrop takes these things in stride and yet, she is quite aware of playground dynamics in ways that her younger brother is not yet noticing. But Sparrow, too, can be sensitive to slights and corrections. My teacher gives bad comments to the good eggs in the class and good comments to the bad eggs in class. I suggest that maybe she wants to motivate the "bad eggs" to change their ways. It doesn't work -- he assures me. 

All this is good fodder for car ride conversations as I drive first one, then the both of them to the farmhouse.

And after they are returned to parental care, I am back on the couch, foot elevated, waiting for my epsom salts to arrive, thinking a cup of tea would be nice. Maybe with a biscuit, while I smooth back my graying hair?

with love... 

nature

I think I've said enough to convince you that Ed and I are humbled and awed by, drawn to, and respectful of nature, and committed to its preservation as best we can -- he to an almost zealous and fanatical degree. I cannot imagine a year without nature's close presence in my everyday.  

However, it's not all pink roses and white gladiolus murielae out there.

It can be a rough world for those whose lives depend on warding off predators, viruses, and human interventions. We see just a tiny bit of this every day. Take this morning: I get up to a wet landscape and continuing rain. I'm reluctant to do my morning rounds, but, animals must be fed and so I step outside.

I've nearly given up on trying to tidy up the flower fields. There's no point to it anymore. Besides, we still have the bugs with us. Mostly mosquitoes, though yesterday I did manage to get stung by a bumble bee that wedged itself into my sweatshirt without my noticing it until it was too late. Ouch. 

I've fed the farmhouse cats already. Well, two out of the three. Pancake, the porch cat isn't eating again. He'd been in another nocturnal fight. With whom? I haven't a clue. Not the other farmette felines. They're all unscathed and peppy. A stray maybe? A racoon? Who knows...

In the sheep shed, the other three cats are waiting for their grub. I see their dry food bowl is empty -- a sign that they had a visitor come through the cat door overnight. Likely a racoon, though how it would fit through a small cat door is beyond me. But, it's happened before. 

On the shed mat, I see one dead mouse and the remains of a dead bird. Ah. There was a hunt I see. The mice are on the lookout for winter shelter. I picked up some guts of one on the porch. It, too, was the victim of an overeager cat assault. One night, two mice gone. Truthfully, I shed no tears over this. We hate it when mice find shelter in the farmhouse. 

Pancake lumbers off to find a place where he can nurse his wounds. I dont know how he manages to avoid infections, but he does. He's a walking example of the maxim that if it doesn't kill you, it may make you stronger.

I retreat to the farmhouse. We eat breakfast inside (it's a cool day)...

... and then I fall asleep on the couch. I don't know why I should be tired. It's not as if I hunted or patrolled the grounds all night long. Maybe I'm tired from witnessing so much struggle out there, on farmette lands.

 

I have exactly three things on my list for today: a household chore, a Zoom call, and a trip downtown to the market, for flowers. No kids. I need one weekday off, and we chose Wednesday for it. The two older ones are big enough to keep themselves busy at home while a parent works remotely, so for now, this new set up works for all of us.

 

At the market I pass over all those veggies. Nice, but I have plenty to work with back home.

But the flowers -- ah, the flowers! Dahlias are still going strong. It's a remarkable riot of color in your vase.

 

It will be tough to return to a muted palate come winter. Being "in nature" then means living with the duller shades of brown and gray. Even the flowering plants that I bring inside -- the rosemary ...

 

and the mandevilla...

They offer no promise of abundance over their winter months indoors. I lost half of this rosemary last year and I was sure the mandevilla would never be the flower symphony again after its viney messy growth indoors. And yet, here they are: growing like crazy once again. (The coming winter will put them to another survival test.)

 

In the evening, Ed bikes. I tell myself I should take a walk but the air quality is deteriorating again (wildfires up north once more) and so I have the perfect excuse to take to the couch with my books. Not much nature in my day you say? True enough, but it's there, in my field of vision everywhere I look. The rain has stopped and there is an air of quiet repose. May it last the night.

with love... 

 

new school year

Up so early! Before dawn (sunrise in Madison today: 6:23 a.m.). The cats are surprised but delighted. An early feeding for them. The chickens are out and about. Wait, what? Their coop opens at 8! Oh boy: Ed forgot to lock it last night. Well, we're lucky: all hens accounted for.

It's a beautifully misty morning. Looking out from the barn onto the peach orchard, you can't help but feel the enchantment.

A new day. A new season really. And a new school year for the three kids here (and for one in Chicago -- the second city girl started last week). 

Since my first year as a grandmother, I've been taking pictures of the first day of school for the three locals. Initially they lived close by and so it was a no big deal thing. Now they live a little farther, but it still is worth the early drive to their home...

 

 (I grab a coffee and a piece of plum cake for the car ride)

 

 

... because frankly, it's just exciting to be in the thick of the morning of first day chaos, excitement, trepidation, hope. 

Their schedule is complicated because each of the three is now going to a different school and the schools aren't even in the same driving direction. The morning is staggered. Sparrow goes first (his starts at 7:45), then Snowdrop (at 8:20) and Sandpiper (also at 8:20 but in the opposite direction!). 

With kids, there are always firsts and lasts. After ten years of having a kid at the Montessori preschool, this will be the last year there -- Sandpiper will begin their local public school next year. Sparrow, as the middle child, is neither last nor first, but I suppose you could say it's a first for him to be alone at the elementary school, without Snowdrop down the hall. Because his big sister (Snowdrop) has moved on. This year she starts Middle School (they begin with 5th grade here). 

Snowdrop will always be the trail blazer, whether she likes it or not. The one who moves on as the rest watch and learn. Today, she has her mom crying ("they grow so fast!")...

... and she herself admits to being nervous as I drop her off. Still, she walks with confidence. She has made that leap.

I return to the farmhouse in time for breakfast with Ed.

The day passes quickly -- in a flurry of light chores, and then, of course, returning to the pick up routines. Tuesday is Snowdrop day (Sparrow dances after school) and I get to her school early so that I can figure out the best strategy for future pickups. It's not easy. The school is huge -- some 1200 students spread over four grades, so that in fact, Snowdrop's fifth grade has a good 300. She has very few elementary school friends in any of her classes. And yet, the girl is happy at pick up. I mean, they have lockers, and lunch is no longer with assigned seating, and when the bell rings, you just walk out the door! No one directing you, lining you up, telling you to wait. Oh the joys of inching closer to young adulthood!

A later start to Snowdrop's day means a later finish to it and thus a shorter time at the farmhouse. She realizes this today as we run through our reading time together. Where did the time go?? Still, it was a good day for all three kids (and the Chicago kids as well). Reconnecting with friends, learning about newcomers (gaga, there's a girl in my gym class who is from the Ukraine, and she also speaks Russian and Polish because she lived there for a while!). That's school, isn't it? At least to me, this other aspect of it -- joining a community of people who are not your family, and making it work -- it's huge for all the kids in schools everywhere!

In the evening I exhale. Hey, first days of school can be stressful, right? 

with love... 

new month, new efforts

Do you know what the most requested recipe is of all time from the New York Times? I'm told it's the Plum Torte, developed by the cookbook author and former food columnist for the paper, Marian Burros. It's been called many things: iconic, simple, tender, cult classic, with gravitas, and utterly delicious. And I've never made it. 

I ate a lot of plums growing up in Poland. The fruit of late summer. Small plums were ubiquitous at a time when many other fruits were not. But when I moved to the States, I found the grocery store plums to be blah. Tasteless really. I rarely purchased them, never served them, and I'm not sure I ever baked with them. They just went by the wayside.

Until this year. I was, of course, flooded with mirabelles, those sweet little plums, both in Poland and France.  And I thought -- I really ought to pay attention to these fruits.  Surely there are good ones to be found at the markets? Even in the grocery store? And when the Smitten Kitchen newsletter appeared in my Inbox last week, with none other than the purple plum torte recipe -- with a slight update to the Burros one, I thought -- well now, the plum gods are telling me something. So I purchased a dozen small purple plums and announced that tonight, we'll be eating plum cake.

Ed positively balked. Why not apple cake? We have so many apples in the old orchard. And have you even used our the rhubarb this year? Soon, too, we will have an overload of peaches...  Clearly a plum skeptic. But I am determined. 

First, though, the animals. With a few plucked weeds along the way.

Then straight for the porch, on this most perfect morning. With breakfast.                  

I'm running low on granola. Baking a batch takes priority over a making a fruit dessert. 

But in the end, I do get to the plum torte, or cake, or however you might want to refer to it.

The first hing I note is that the dozen small plumbs I purchased from my grocery store? They are awful! I mean really awful! Rotting from the inside maybe. Yuk.

I wonder if the taste might improve if I submerge them in cake batter. But no, I can't risk it. It really is always a mistake to use awful ingredients.  What to do? Well, I have about five plums of varying sizes and varieties lined up on the window sill, waiting for breakfast. I can use those!

I'm saving the cake for the family dinner tonight (moved from Sunday and with a visiting guest added). Smells great!                                                                                                                            

They are here! It's been a while...

And of course, it's a porch dinner. It could be the last -- though Fall evenings are always a great unknown in Wisconsin. 

It's a very beautiful way to greet September, and my daughter's friend's visit only adds to the greatness of the moment. Ed and I are outnumbered -- in terms of the mean age, we hang way above the three young adults and of course, the three kids. And yes, they are all spirited and playful and of course, to be part of their world, even for just an evening, is simply wonderful. 

Good moods are easily shared. Here's a piece of advice -- if you feel one (good mood) coming on, go out and let others be part of it, however tangentially. They'll love you for it!

yours, with love...