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... 

August endings

In mid-August, during my one day trip to St-Malo in Brittany, I needed to kill time in a quiet space. Someone had recommended a tea shop and though it was just a block away from the hordes that paced the main shopping artery, the shop was calm and had a few empty tables. I ordered, well, a pot of tea of course. Rooibos. As with all these rooibos red teas, this one was "theine-free"-- a new word for me. It's caffeine free as applied to tea leaves. I liked it enough that I bought a container to take home (I'm drinking it now), in part, I suppose, because I felt guilty about lingering there over an hour with just a cup of tea. But what I liked even more, was the tea pot which they brought to the table. Talk about a clever way to keep your tea warm! I asked if they could part with one (yes, I'm that bold!) and they said: yes of course, in fact, we have a few for customers like you who request them. So I'm not the only wo is bold! Then proudly -- they're made in France. So among my two bottles of alcohol free wines and my large jar of honey, I packed a tea pot to bring home.

And as I sip this tea now, I'm thinking -- my, but August has been good to me! Lots of calm moments, lots of nature walks and even a few city walks. Lots of social activity but also quiet times with Ed. I haven't seen family as much as usual, but I'll be making up for it in the months ahead. And of course it has been the month of great flowers for the table, and great corn! And that's just from the short list of superlatives. 

Of course, the country is falling apart, but that just provides you with more reason to look inside your own back yard to find comfort and joy. Pleasure does not come from reading the news. 

Morning at the farmette: time to look at pockets of color rather than with a sweeping gaze at the entirety.

(the gladiolus murielae bulbs are in full blossom now)

(all three roses are doing well! let's see how they come through the winter)

(the sunflowers that the deer ate sprouted offshoots and bloomed anyway!)

 

(and yes, these are the most prolific lilies; almost done, but not quite)

 

 

Breakfast, outside. I think it's a little on the cool side, so I make oatmeal.

And then we do not one but two bike rides! The first -- to Stoneman's, for their corn. These are the last days of their harvest. By next weekend, the Stoneman family will no longer wake with dawn to hand pick corn for us. Sad (for us) but true. 

I have the carrying basket on my bike, so I fill it with a dozen+1 ears. We give some greens to Rosie the goat and Buttercup the sheep.

Our second ride is later and longer: to the next town, at the other side of Lake Waubesa, where we like to stop by a cafe. Ed eats a lunch, I sip a coffee. It is a nothing-special place, but the ride there is exceptionally pretty...

(well, I'm not as fast as Ed)

 

And besides, we have kind of adopted this cafe as our own. Today we sit outside for a really long while. Ed finds a paper to read, I'm totally engrossed in my novel (The God of the Woods). I'm 79% through it and I have no idea who the culprit in the drama was! I will not go to sleep tonight until I find out.

Such a beautiful day! Gorgeous sunshine, clean air, cool breezes, a scattering of lingering blooms. August goes out with a blast of beauty!

 

 

 

Evening? I am so engrossed in my book that I forget about time. It's 7 o'clock and I have no dinner plans. So Ed makes supper for the both of us. We have been together for 20 years and I believe this is the first time that he has prepared dinner for me. It's not for lack of trying -- he offers every now and then, and I usually respond with a "no thank you." I admit it -- I do not trust his cooking, which oftentimes has him stuff tortillas with stuff I regard as suspect. But today, I'm all in! 

Now shhhh! Don't bother me! I have to finish my book!

with love... 

 

well that was interesting!

I must add -- the day was interesting to me. Not to Ed, not to anyone else -- just to me. I spent it reviewing my travel future. All day long. Scheming. Counting. Re-configuring. Hoping. And finally -- deciding. My hours were filled with this. Pure happiness! It's so strange to know that what I loved doing at age 20 still brings me such pleasure at age 72.  So much else has changed -- family grows, then shrinks, then grows again, career changes, evolves, and eventually ends, hobbies come and go. Gardening persists, cooking stays, reading and writing -- well yeah! But this, this planning a trip? I don't know many who would list it as an enduring love! So weird, yet so mine.

The day did begin in a much more active fashion. I was up early and announced to Ed that I want to be done with chores and head for the downtown market by 7. To make use of free parking meters. To avoid the crowds. To pick up veggies (radishes, carrots, mushrooms) and flowers. I was going for Wisconsin peaches, too, but guess what! Our peach trees in the new peach orchard are starting to produce! And their fruits are good - we sampled one today!

(our peach trees grow in my Meadow no. 2; we have three designated meadows now!)

 

 

(It's getting harder each day to find upright blooming flowers! Here's a reliable patch...)

(and another...)

(and one more...)

 

 

Shockingly, Ed said he wanted to join me for my market outing, so after my animal chores, the two of us set off. Before 7. The market was very empty then, though there was a flurry of activity at the sidelines: they were setting up for an afternoon of "Taste of Madison" -- one of my least favorite events! It's been an annual tradition to have this in Madison on Labor Day weekend. I remember taking the kids to it and making the rounds from one feeding station to the next, and by the time we were done buying $3 samples of this or that, I'd look in my purse and note that it was depleted of cash. That stuff adds up and yet you don't even feel that you've had a proper meal. So, no Taste of Madison for me, but yes to a lovely market.

(I chose one of these...)

 

(Ed loves pickled mushrooms...)

 

His perfect breakfast: those mushrooms and an apple from our old orchard. 

 

So you could say that this day, with so much time spent researching and calculating, was for the birds. And you'd be right! In the end, it was the theme of birds  that came through for me on this otherwise quiet day. Wild turkeys on the driveway, and young mourning doves on the porch glass rooftop...

... and then, in our local park (because Ed and I did rouse ourselves late in the day, and we attempted a walk in the park), I heard another song -- that of a Warbling Vireo. A first for me. I know, because the song was so different, so very enchanting in its tweets and warbles. Yes, the Warbler actually warbled!

But about that walk: we gave up on it after just a few minutes. Our park was just as buggy as the farmette. There were plenty of people who seemed to not mind. The weather, after all, was so fine, and here we were, on a long holiday weekend, wanting to wallow in the last wisps of summer. Perfect for an outdoor saunter, right? No, not for us. We'll save our park walks for later, when this wave of mosquitoes has left for good. In the meantime, we're listening to the song of the Blue-gray Gnatcatcher too! A bird with a very promising name. A bird that really likes to devour mosquitoes. 

with love and one more lily for you...