out and about

Can it be that I am becoming too tied to the farmette? That May, June -- will forever become months when my imagination doesn't run past images of budding flowers, flowering strawberries and emerging vegetables? That the routine of a day spent outdoors will grip me even more fiercely than the routine of an academic year once did?

Well, today, I put the brakes on outdoor farmette work. Oh, sure, I was up for the chickens...






All the rain  has caused weeds to sprout ten times over, so I worked on those a little, but not so much that I couldn't appreciate once again the drooping lilac...






And yes, we had our usual lovely breakfast on the porch...





But it was interrupted by the phone ringing. Then, too, I had terribly boring errands to run. [Longtime readers of Ocean may recall my last year's efforts to properly establish my dual citizenship; well those efforts are still in progress and much of the documentation that I obtained then has to be reissued and resubmitted elsewhere, so yes, I am still working that beast to its finale]. Broken up by a very delightful coffee meeting. And then more bureaucratic waits, filings, payments  -- all downtown. At least I had Rosie to zip me about. On a warm and sticky day, she is exceptionally awesome.



 
(from her seat, pausing for a light)


And before you know it, it's midafternoon -- quite a hot midafternoon, so that the idea of working outdoors is about as appealing to us as it is to the chickens. (Here they are, indulging in a good roll in the old barn.)






Isis, too, finds the heat and dampness distasteful (though he surely looks grand wading through the tall grasses).






Between thundershowers, we force ourselves to work. We trim tree branches. That is, Ed works the power saw and I, like a broken record, keep repeating that we should take shelter because of the claps of thunder (Eventually I took shelter while he finished the job.)






This was our day. Where, you might ask, is the color? The trickle of loveliness that you associate with the end of May? Oh, everywhere. I'll leave you with one example. Because the last week of May is iris time. Here are five ruffled girls, giggling away.

divide and conquer

A quiet day. Hot to start with, even in the early morning.






And so we both begin outdoor work at 6, thinking that by noon, we'll feel burdened by the heat.






A pause for breakfast -- which is late both because neither of us wants to stop working and, too, because I detour to the rhubarb patch and pull off some more stalks for compote.





It becomes a breakfast meal for Ed: a rhubarb-honey-kefir smoothie.







Me, I dump the compote into my oatmeal.

The notable moment comes after we finish eating, when the air is so calm, the view onto the various gardens so soothing that neither of us wants to get going again. I tell Ed that a morning breakfast on the porch competes favorably with a pain au chocolat breakfast at the open air cafe in Sorede. (But Sorede comes in at the heels!)

Eventually we return to our work. For me, it's time to divide and conquer. A good perennial gardener will spend a lot of time dividing plants that have grown too big for their own good. I have made this inordinately difficult in my primary beds, because I mix in daffodils to get an early burst of blooms. And so the bed is always crowded, especially now, as I wait for the daffodils to die off, even as the summer flowers are pushing to take over.




(with a nod to the mightily fragrant lilac)


I can't do a thorough job. And, too, I see that one of my favorite late summer plants -- the Japanese Anemone. has significantly naturalized, so that I now have something else that poses control challenges for me (in addition to the chickens!).

A gardener's work is never done.


A few more photos for you from the day:

Of our very hidden entrance path (contributing to the theme of "what a difference a month makes").


 


Of the front yard to the farmhouse -- weeded by me today, cautiously explored by the hens.






Of the far western yard -- home to our new orchard, our vegetable garden and today -- to dandelions and Scotch!






Of Ocean author, with a lily of the valley behind her ear.






And finally, of a sudden downpour, which made the lilacs sag in the most splendid, moody fashion.





Appropriate, I think for this reflective holiday Monday.

Sunday

Well, I overslept. Just a little. If on other days I let the chickens out by 6, today it would be a half hour later.

So I'm in a bit of a rush. Isis wants breakfast. Can you wait? No? Okay, but listen! I can hear the chickens squawking! I have to hurry!

I step outside. A beautiful day again! Maybe I should take a photo now... what's this?? The cheepers are running down the path toward me with an exuberant greeting, except wait: running down the path?? Who let them out?!

The better question is -- who forgot to lock them in last night?!

It's easy to forget. They retire to the coop, all is quiet, you think you've done it (actually Ed has been doing it most nights) because frankly, the routine doesn't vary and so there is an image imprinted somewhere in your brain that you did lock them up.

Thank you, racoons, possums, coyotes and whatever else could have made a meal of them overnight for staying away.

So, a pretty morning with four live chickens:











Lovely breakfast:






Boring beginning to the day: we wash the farmhouse upstairs windows. There are only seven, but it takes time, especially since I go out on the roof to do the outside panes (the windows swing in, but it's easier just to climb out). Ah, but it's pretty from up here!





And then it's the usual: planting, digging up raspberries for a Craigslist buyers (driving in all the way from Iowa! And again there were three children along for the ride and I was about to put Oreo away, but he seemed nearly asleep under the crab apple and so I let it go), finishing up mowing (it's a tedious multi stage process: today Ed did the front on the big mower and I tidied up around the trees and beds with the little mower), more planting, more watering.

And if this sounds terribly repetitive, remember please that just a month ago, toward the end of April, we were only beginning to notice the first buds on trees.

What a difference a month makes!
















And June will be different too. This year, because of my little one's wedding, I wont be leaving the country until the end of the month. But even as outdoor work will continue, it'll be of a different caliber. Finessing rather than overhauling. Tending rather than redesigning.


Evening. My older girl and her husband are here...







...and it's the first time that we decide to take our dinner foods outside.







The lilac continues to fill the porch with a spicy perfume. The birds provide all the music anyone could need. A gorgeous end of day. And yes, we remembered to close the coop for the night. 

between species

What a day! Martha the groundhog glared at me for a good ten minutes, Isis rekindled his predator skills by bringing a chipmunk into the farmhouse, and Oreo decided that young boys are a real threat to his three hens and so he asserted himself by flapping his wings wildly and jumping up and down on one foot, and basically scaring the daylights out of two kids.

So what was your Saturday like?

And the dawn was so ordinary. Or, ordinarily beautiful!






Ed and I both were there to greet the day. And to greet the chickens.






And we had a quiet breakfast, on the porch.






Again, not to drive you nuts with repetitions, but it really was a beautiful day.

Perhaps this is what gave us the will and the energy to work on the overgrown land by the sheep shed. We'd dug up the shrubs and saplings yesterday. Today, we return to pull up all the weeds and, more importantly, the fabric underneath a layer of soil -- put there a long time ago, to limit the spread of invasives (it didn't have the desired effect). Once a messy jungle, now an open universe, waiting for a  plant or two.






This is when we go inside to rest. But before we catch a single extra minute of sleep, we spot Isis, bringing to us his gift of a chipmunk.







I haven't a clue as to what should happen to the chipmunk now. Ed tells me he may only be playing dead. He picks it up and places is it in the rosebushes outside. Isis acts like it was all in the catch. The release is of no interest  to him.

This was only the beginning of   exceptionally interesting times.

There is the mater of Martha the groundhog. She has delivered babies and occasionally, you may view  them  playing just by the wood pile. But Martha herself is extremely camera shy. Once she catches you sneaking up on her, she runs and hides. Here she is, waiting for me to go away.


 



And here she is, tired of waiting, but holding her own. To the left? The chipmunk, carrying his own wee guys away from this suddenly very crowded place.






I wanted to say -- that's what you get for chomping away at my flowers, but I let it go. The chipmunk family was having a rough day without the added burden of my reprimands.


Meanwhile, my friend comes with her husband and three sons to pick off some raspberry canes. (Does anyone else want some? Special price for Ocean readers: a penny a piece!)

It's important to note that the boys' ages are very young,  somewhat young and  nearly done with grade school young. At first, the chickens are merely puzzled. There are suddenly more people fussing over them than ever before. But it doesn't take long for Oreo to realize that the visitors could well be predators, looking to make a meal out of his hens. Well now, time to act! He knows better than to show off in front of the nearly done with grade school older boy. But he is adamant about protecting his chicks from the curious interest of the littlest fellows.


It was quite a show. Both the rooster and the littlest fellows will remain traumatized for a long time. I'm sure of it.


In the evening, Ed and I build little cages around the emerging beans.






And I water the veggie patch and some of the newly planted perennials. In standing there with the hose, I smile at the recollection of the innocent message that children's literature often puts forth -- the one about the harmony that exists in the animal kingdom, where beasts, birds and butterflies coexist in the most friendly fashion. Fostering chickens shatters that myth. There are animals out there, ready to pounce on the chickens, at the same time that the birds and little creatures fly or run at the sight of  the chicks, for good reason. Each animal is both a hunter and hunted by others. Harmony my foot. It's a dangerous world out there!

Ridding myself of animal thoughts, I make a spring soup for supper that is purely vegetarian: onion, potato, kohlrabi, spinach. Oh, oops! It has a chicken broth base.

Like I said, it's rough to be an animal on the smaller end of things. Ask the chipmunk that Isis brought in. Or the little fellows who wanted to run around and play with the chickens today.

it's how we work...

Up early. Too early. Don't you think 3 a.m. is early? I could have let the chickens out, but that would have been a shock to their systems. They love routine. 3 a.m. is not in their routine.

Will you find me repetitive if I tell you we had a beautiful day today? Sunny, warm but not hot -- exquisite! From the first golden rays of... whatever later hour it was. Maybe 5:30?











So, breakfast on the porch...











Then there are the Friday errands and meetings, but just after noon we are home again, ready to continue where we left off.





 
For me, it's work in the flower beds.





Yes, with Scotch's help.

I'm working not too far from the sheep shed and as I glance in that direction, I notice how weedy it has become. Maybe we should clear the space that faces the courtyard? There are leafy bushes that have sprung from nowhere. It can't be that hard to dig them out.

After a few tentative pulls, it become obvious that it is hard. There are saplings and there are trees with deeper root systems.

What? Stop now? No. We dig them all out.

 I wish I could tell you that we then go back to our regular gardening checklists, but in fact, we don't do that.  We're tired and, too, we're at a turning point: continue, or walk away from this project? Pull up the fabric under the top layer of soil and lay on chips, maybe plant some separated hostas... Or, ignore it all now that the bushes are gone?

And isn't it just like us  -- to walk by some corner of land, drop everything and without prompt or any discussion, begin work there? Because it feels right at that moment?

I think about how massive our efforts have been this year to control the spread of weeds. And how quickly it all can revert back to the less stellar times of dense foliage where mosquitoes hang out.

But I have to say, having invested so much effort in the makeover, all other maintenance will seem like childsplay.

Even though there's no childsplay in store for us this week or even the next. We pause now. I put away our old digging tools, Ed sits back and hangs with the chickens.







Tomorrow. We'll finish this new bit of repair work in one way or another tomorrow. Right now, I throw some corn to the brood and retreat to the farmhouse.

I'll end with one last photo -- of the lingering blooms of the crabapple, but really, of so much more!






And now if you'll excuse me, I have a back to stretch, sore arm muscles to indulge and hours of sleep to catch up on.

time

The sun is definitely closer to the western horizon and we are not done with our vegetable planting. Phew!

I start with this sentence because it sets the tone of my post: there just isn't enough time to attend to it all and this despite the fact that both Ed and I were up before 6 today.











Three acres is a lot to take care of. Tending to this amount of land really does require a Monet's family setup (he forced his numerous offspring to do much of the work around his inspired gardens). In the past, Ed and I have been willy nilly in our efforts, thinking that half an effort is better than none. That, unfortunately, proved to be misguided. If you plant trees and don't protect them, you lose your trees. If you have raspberries and don't prune them back, they run amok and you may as well have nothing. Or worse, you have a mosquito resort. In gardening, you have to set your goals high and make an effort to get to the finish line.

But the day is only so long.


In the morning hours, for us, there is always breakfast. These days, on the porch.





After? There is no routine, no set pattern. We talk about what comes next and then we plunge into it.

And so today is a grab bag of jobs: we want to return to planting vegetables, having stalled yesterday on not finding the right peas and corn seeds. Not so easy. Corn has very strict compatibility requirements. You cannot plant random corn seeds next to each other. And we had miscalculated which varieties are compatible. Phew! Lunch break is now handed over to studying corn compatibility tables.

And there is the matter of grapes. We thought we had a casualty among last year's grape plantings. Today we spotted a bud on the "dead" stalk. So the replacement grapes now need a new bed. Add to the list: grape bed building.

And mowing. With a hand mower. Tight spots around the veggies. Except I get carried away and mow random tight spots all around the property.

Do you see what I mean? Too many things, not enough time.

So let's focus on the upside. Because there is always that upside!

First of all, we did finish our veggie patch today: five rows of peas, six rows of corn, one supplemental bed of grapes. Done!

And the chickens mostly behaved. At least, they stayed away from the veggie patch while we worked there.






True, they would not leave my flower bed toward evening...





...but by then I was too tired to fret.


In case I give the impression of this being a month of all work and no smiles, let me forcefully say that this is not the case. Days like today are such a gift! Sunny, not hot -- really perfect. And as Ed commented -- today was probably the best day of the year in which to admire the lilac along with the crabapple. They are at their peak and the effect is stunning. Hard to capture them in one frame, but this might give you a hint of what it's like:






There, I need say no more. I'll just leave you with one last little pic -- one of my dizzy girl dianthus (that's my nickname for it): it's blooming now and if you can't smile at it's crazy hair, then you're just not a flower person!