Friday

For me, the acronym for this day should be TBI Friday -- Too Bad It's Friday. The world awaits the weekend. Of course it does. Leisure is such a limited commodity in this country. The weekend provides respite to an overworked nation.

Me, I pack this day with so many chores that I can barely keep my focus. It's as if I'm on the work treadmill again. And today I've squeezed in additional little humdingers.  For example, I want to get my phone checked out. I no longer count steps with it, but I hate knowing that should I be so inclined, it's likely to overheat and burn itself right out of my anxious little fist.

Unfortunately, appointments for a phone check at our local Apple store begin at noon. Noon? Is that before grocery shopping noon, or after grocery shopping? Let's try for the latter. That means I have to run back and forth between the farmette and downtown Madison not once but twice today. Enough to make me dizzy.

But that's all the grumbling you'll get out of me today, because otherwise, the day is warm and lovely.

Not at sunrise. It's iffy then. Ed is sleeping soundly and so I hop out to free the cheepers and in the process, I scare some two or three dozen wild turkeys. I'm not sure wild turkeys would harm cheepers, but I do know they're scared of me. The minute they hear my footstep, they scamper and fly in every direction, as if fearing the Thanksgiving ax already.

The morning is misty and humid and I spend almost no time strolling through the yard.






(Though I do notice that the cosmos are carrying a good portion of it -- a sure sign of the last days of August, when everything else seems slightly bedraggled and worn.)






But after eating breakfast...


 


...and after all the chores are done, I do take a look around.

Sigh... It's as if someone pushed a button and the Fall stage set rolled into place. Sure, it's still toasty warm, but there is no question now -- it feels like we have moved into the next season. You can see it in the light. Suspended, to the side now. As if saying -- I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but it's time for me to move on.





I don't have good photos for you. That would require stepping out a little more and I am done with that for the day. The sun retreats and so do I. The breeze is light, inconsequential, the air is still. Take a deep breath. Summer is nearly over.

Thursday

Well now, this day surely belongs to my writing project. I know of a blogger-author-type-person who always mentions in her blog how many words she had written that day and I've never known if her numbers are unusual or superb, but today as I struggled to finish the editing of what I have so far, I did the conversion of words to book and came up with the internet figure of 320. Were I to end the text today, I would, it appears, have 320 book pages. And that's without an index!

I am not finished. But I see the light at the end of this and I will soon have to make up my mind as to what the next step should be. To say nothing of what the next writing project should be! It is thrilling to think that I may in fact live long enough to see another writing project. For a while I did conclude I would never reach the end of this one.

[My list of possible book type people (agents) is very short. Like two names. And I don't even know if they're still alive at this point -- I wrote their names down some eight years ago! If you have ideas as to who may be helpful in bringing this project to its end, do send me an email!]

Of course, the day had the usual in it. The late start. The garden walk.






The breakfast.






And, too, it had a bike ride, because my daughter and her husband are gone for the day and I promised I'd check in on their cats. No photos of kitties for you, but I'll give you one of the prairie fields on the way to their place...






And a photo of the scene I encountered on my way there: it was the international rope pulling competition. Right here, in Madison! Who knew (that there was such an event)?!



in this event, Switzerland (in blue) beat Holland


And in the evening, I cajole Ed into taking me out to dinner. I even put on a skirt for the occasion! True, it's an old skirt, on an elastic band that is so frayed that I feel skinny in it because the waistband droops. But still, a skirt. (I ask Ed from the other room -- did you even notice what I'm wearing? He answers -- of course! What is it ? Blue! Okay, that's not exactly an answer, but let's go with it -- on the top or on the bottom? Top!  Hmmm... he got some of it right.)

We go to our standby favorite -- Brasserie V, where we can sit at the bar and stuff ourselves with mussels and fries and walk away happy.





Happy. Can you find reason to be happy tonight? Oh, I hope so!

contemplative

Do most people have strong opinions as to what is the right way to proceed? Or, like me, do they merely try to squeeze by and find a way to hang on, without feeling especially convinced that their course is the preferable one, more favorable than most others?

As I continue work on my writing project, I sometimes step back and wonder how a reader would react to different events described therein. Whether he or she would feel that they would have done things differently. Whether opinions would form as to which course of action is the better one.  For me, there are obvious terribly wrong directions and terribly right ones too, but it seems that most behaviors fall toward neither extreme. They are what they are. People squeezing by, finding a way to make it to the end of the day without completely falling apart in despair. And if in the course of that run they find themselves smiling, well, good for them! In my mind, one mark of a good day is when you look back and find that you have had quite a number of opportunities for a wide grin. The sun was out and you didn't completely mess up. How wonderful is that!


Today, it was easy to smile. Sure, when the rooster crowed, Ed fidgeted slightly and then mumbled something that sounded like "sleep." So I let him rest. But rising with the cheepers isn't necessarily a bad thing. Even if the sunrise is a little muted by a band of clouds on the horizon.







(oreo, waiting for the sun to rise)


Then there is breakfast - so obviously porch material, since we are having another one of those spectacularly beautiful days (last one for a while, so let's really crank it up and enjoy it!).



(his grin is a tiny bit fake so that I'd put away the camera already)


There are, today, periods of writing and there are garden walks...



(toward the porch)





(toward the sheep shed)


...and Ed and I take many soothing breaks on the porch -- to munch on pickles, to sip a cup of coffee, to do a little clothes mending. All very peaceful. Very much in line with the quiet around us. (Perhaps I overstate the quiet: we do live along a rural road that gets its share of car traffic as it leads to a county park and a lake -- a favorite destination for boat people in the summer. But life at the farmette is removed from the road. All important activities fly off the internal courtyard. We try hard to concentrate our senses toward that space and for the most part, the effort pays off.)

In the evening, Ed bikes his Wednesday night bike loop and I'm home making chili, just to use up the rest of the old tomatoes. And as I stir all those beans, spices and tomatoes, I go back to thinking about how difficult it is to make choices when, in most instances, there isn't an obviously correct path, just many different ones, with many different outcomes and consequences.

speed

Even though Ed no longer travels, he and I both subscribe to airfarewatchdog.com -- a moderately reliable website that sends us emails when a bargain airfare appears on any of our chosen routes. If he gets a message first (say because he is on email and I am not at that moment), he always tells me -- ah! cheap fare to Dublin, now! or to Oslo, or to Barcelona. (Those are typically the cheapest gateways to Europe these days.) We look at the dates, the terms, the airlines and if all fits into my travel expectations, I try to book.

You have to be ready to book right away, because these super cheap fares do not last.

In fact, most often, they are gone by the time I fill in all the required spaces, check off required boxes and click "purchase."

This would be mildly annoying if it weren't for the fact that if you try, say, an hour later, they may appear again. Fleetingly. And then you go through the whole rigamarole once more, only to be told at the final stage -- sorry, you waited too long.

Too long? Do you know how fast I am at booking? Everything on those airline pages are by now auto-fill for me (with the exception of a credit card number). I know the planes I want (only ones with two seats off the aisle). How much layover I'll tolerate (never less than an hour, hopefully not more than three). I know me emergency contacts, my seat selection protocol (bulkhead on transatlantic), I can zip through the process faster than it takes a page to load.

Sorry, you waited too long.

The fare alert this morning was so good that I would not let this one pass. (Especially since I know that I have a 24 hour free cancellation period by law, so any mistake I make is without penalty.) So I call the airline. And the agent is nice, in an "I can do nothing" sort of way. And she tells me her supervisor will call me back after she looks into things. And this is how I spent a whole morning on airfares for travel for next year. Airfares that I did not, BTW, manage to land in the end. (Unless the supervisor does call me back with the message -- guess what! the CEO of Delta relented! You are good to go!)

And so breakfast is late. And it is in the kitchen, because I had to be near the computer, in case the agent called.






That's okay. The view toward the garden is good from here as well. Especially when the porch screens aren't drenched with rain.






(Though the garden is always prettier if you just step outside!)






Oh, for the good old days when sale airfares stayed with us for days instead of seconds!


Speaking of gardens and speed, I wanted to mention that this has been a phenomenal summer for birds and butterflies. I do not have any zoom on my daily use camera so I have resisted trying to take photos, but today the hummingbirds were so  outrageous and energetic, that I tried to get closer to them (and therefore to take a few photos for Ocean). The birds are speedy and elusive, but I do have something for you.
















And in other news -- well, it was time for Ed to pick tomatoes again. Today's haul loaded two bags for our freezer.





This year's crop is so good that we are, in fact, packing our downstairs freezer full. Chili will feature prominently on the dinner menus this winter.

But not today. Today's supper was supposed to be eggs and our local farmer's oyster mushrooms, with my garden beans, but I panicked that the beans had been left on the vines too long and so I also threw in garden corn. Just in case. In the end, the beans were fine and the corn was fine (though truthfully, we waited with that also a tad too long; we both prefer delicate, first blush kernels) and so our supper plates were quite full.





Oh, and did I tell you? The skies were outrageously beautiful today! We did play tennis, but mainly, we worked on our various projects -- Ed in the sheep shed, me on the porch. Of course. With frequent breaks for a walk through the garden.

Monday

It's nice how well I keep you informed of the day behind us -- Monday, it was Monday! Even as for me, the defining term that I think best described this day would be "stormy." A restless, stormy night, followed by a restless daybreak, followed by a stormy day. 

The restless part? I blame Isis.

That sweet cat has to stop with the competition as to who will crow/meow first. He has been winning, by the way. Every morning. At five.

And no sooner does Ed do the rounds -- let out Isis, wait for him to want to reenter, feed him, let out chickens -- then the storms come. One after another. All morning long.





You could say I am the lucky one -- not doing animal duty, after all. But staying in bed, awake, feeling somewhat guilty for offloading all animal care isn't exactly delicious or relaxing. Especially as you listen to the world outside rumble and you imagine your garden flowers folding over and giving up for good.

When I finally come down to make breakfast, there is a lull in the air. One set of storms has passed, the next has not yet arrived. And so I take our meal out to the porch...





...only to hear the crash of thunder again.

It's not safe! Let's go back in!
You're kidding, right?
No, it's not safe!
I'm finishing my breakfast right here.

In the end, I go inside and open the window to the porch, so that we can continue our conversation -- Ed out there, me at the kitchen table. I have to admit, it seems silly on my part, but ask me how much I like being outside in storms! Oh, but why ask, you know the answer!

We do eventually have periods of calm.






The chickens come out of hiding (the barn is their safe haven) and indeed, push the boundaries of their farmette exploration...






Me, I barely go out. A few errands, a few quick runs through the garden...



(see the frog in the day lily?)

...then home to write.

But if you ask me if I like wet summer days, I'll say yes. Perhaps not every day, but still, I do. There is something so safe and precious about being inside when the rain comes down. Warm summer rain. It keeps the flowers and frogs happy. And that's a good thing.

Sunday

Such a glorious summer it has been! What right do we have to gripe now, given the weeks, many weeks we've had of sunny days and cool nights?

It's because we're nearing the end of it, right? You always want the last of anything to be the best of the best. We're greedy that way. End the meal with a perfect dessert. End the summer with a perfect string of days.

Undoubtedly, this week messes with our sensibilities. Days of muggy weather -- that's a coastal problem! We, in the Upper Midwest, we expect blue skies! And cool nights! Well, not this week. Once again I keep the windows shut and the AC on, reassuring myself that in a few days, this too shall pass.

We both went to sleep late last night and so it was a toss up who should rise with the chickens. Isis solved the problem for us by creating a racket even before the rooster first crowed and we have an unspoken understanding that if it's my kids that are causing a disturbance (which they never do!), it's my problem, but if it's a pet that dates back to Ed's bachelor days -- then it's his responsibility. Oh, sure, I can step up and pitch in, but the default position is that it's his worry.

So my first walk outside is later. Much later. To clean the coop and feed the cheepers some stale bagel and even more stale granola (they are a very convenient guilt appeaser that way: they eat our mistakes). And to take stock once again of the garden.






Not great, compared to July, sublime compared to anytime between October and May.






And then comes breakfast. Cheeper eggs for Ed.





The usual for me.

Sunday. This is family dinner day. My daughter's tastes these days drive the menu, so that
I spend a delightful afternoon baking a sour cherry cake (with kefir!)...











...and rolling out spinach potato gnocchi.






True, it is muggy outside, but with the fan on, it's just a beautiful night on the porch. Stunningly beautiful.






In a warm sort of way.

Saturday

The last days of August really do test your resolve to make something of the land around you. Sagging flowers, pocket infestations of this bug or that beetle, the strawberries you never got around to splitting and dividing, corn -- one variety completely eaten by deer, the other, thankfully, left alone, regrets about too many heirloom tomatoes and too few traditional hybrids that actually resist blight even in hot humid weather and of course, the resurgence of mosquitoes and pesky flies that especially love the prairie grasses out by the vegetable patch. You know, the grasses you stopped mowing after the wedding came and went.

I start getting fall planting catalogs in the mail and I throw them all away. You kidding me? I can barely keep up with what I have already planted!

And yet, dreams pinch at you! Maybe we should remove the awful creeping rosebushes that grow by our parked cars and put in some of the divided daylilies? Maybe if we prune the young orchard right, it will reward us next year with more mature trees? And maybe we should move on that last prairie field and clear it for Farmer Lee, or figure out how to do a controlled prairie?

Alright. I gave my future gardens some thought. Now let's get back to the present. Which begins early, on a humid, foggy morning...





I'm out with the cheepers, but not for long. It's just not very inviting outside right now.






After breakfast (on the porch! Our bubble of outdoor bliss!)...





...I meet my daughter for our weekly walk to the downtown farmers market. She is exactly at the halfway point in her pregnancy. To me, she is obviously pregnant, though I can see how to the world, there can still be doubts. We pause on our walk. She has her rather regular bout with not feeling well. As I wait for her by the side of the path, three young men walk past and chuckle. It's obvious what they're thinking -- mother walking with daughter who has one mighty hangover! Well now, in case you haven't yet thought this -- a child is the offspring of two people, but a pregnancy is the burden of only one. I do a quick calculation as to whether I should shout after them -- she's pregnant, for God's sake! -- and decide against it. She laughs when I tell her their reaction. I'm used to it. Every time this happens, people think I've been drinking!

We make the market round. There was a time when I would seriously hunt down the best vegetables and fruits at this market, but now there are so many such markets that I pick and choose selectively. At the Saturday one, I always get oyster mushrooms. This time, I also pick up sour cherries for a cake and more pickling cucumbers. (We may not have grown enough for a year's supply of pickles. We really like pickles.) My girl has her own list. But for the most part, we do not expect to fill our bags. There is great pleasure in just looking.






It's still humid, still quite warm, but we make it back to her place before the storms come yet again and dump the next batch of rain on the now perfectly soaked land.

The cheepers hide under our cars at times of big rainfalls. And these days, Isis hides under our bed during storms. I look at the weather map for the next ten days. This I can say for sure -- there'll be a lot of animals  hiding!






A few photos of lingering flowers. I know they will seem utterly brilliant come November!

Friday

I finally turned on the AC today. That says it all, I think. For the first time this summer, the air is hot, sticky, still. The cheepers hate it and they scratch huge holes underneath bushes where they can rest their feathered bodies in the cool earth. Unless we bring out scraps of food for them. Hot weather or not, the cheepers are programmed to run then, chasing us in a way that is so unbelievably cute that I always wish that I could have my camera out and ready for this moment (they're too fast, so I don't even try).

Breakfast? Oh, we do go out on the porch. The sun is temporarily behind something that is a cross between a fog and low lying cloud cover. So this is it -- our moment outside!





Friday is Ed's machinist meeting day and my grocery shopping day (a split so completely gender predictable that it makes me laugh) and so the muggy weather is rather irrelevant. It comes as a bit of a shock to learn that my '93 Escort has a functioning AC, which I don't use going to the store, but most certainly crank up coming back. And am grateful that the commute is such a rare event for me.

In the afternoon, when I go out to collect eggs and clean the coop, I notice that Scotch, for the third day in a row, has not laid an egg. There are the known reasons -- of shortening days, a molting interlude, etc. One of the white hens had a period of rest and then leapt right back into full production within a week.





In googling things to consider with chickens who pause (or stop?) laying, inevitably I come to the text on the aging chicken. Scotch isn't aging, I don't think. Her owners claimed she was a year when we got her (of course, that is what you're going to tell the enthusiastic new chicken keeper!). Still, inevitably she will get old, as will the others. And it strikes me that we will have to deal with that. There are many Internet instructions on how to kill your chickens. And this is when I realize how short-sighted we were when we get involved in chicken care. With cats and dogs, the vet conveniently does the job for us. The animal is old or sick, you say your good byes, shed a tear, move on. But an old chicken? Get an ax, calm her down and be sure to let the blood drip out before you throw her into the pot.

And if you're not saying ewwww to yourself yet, then maybe you should be the one keeping chickens! And maybe we should be thinking of what happens to these cutest of cute birds when they get old.

But, we're not programmed to think like that and so for now, I close the lid on internet searches and go back to hoping that Scotch is just having a pause. To rejuvinate herself for the months, (years?) ahead of her.

Supper? Well, we have a pot-luck to attend. We're mightily interested in the future of the land around us. In addition to liking the quiet of the farming community, we worry about the potential impact that any large scale development will have on our waters -- springs, lakes, wetlands. And we are surrounded by waters: we live in an area of nine natural springs, feeding the marshlands south and east of us and ultimately, draining into lake Waubesa.  So we go to community events (such as tonight's pot-luck meeting) and we listen to the latest studies and findings and we continue to hope that the prospect of high revenue (we are so close to the city center that we definitely tempt development) for those who have stakes in the land here wont lead others to stay blind to the impact this will have on the quality of the wetlands and the ecosystem supported by them.

I make a mediterranean chicken quinoa salad for the potluck. Why? Because we have the garden tomatoes and the cucumbers and the garlic and the onion, (we have the chicken, too, but as you can see, I'm not ready or willing to wield an ax over our hens, so the meat ingredient has to come from the store), and Ed really wants me to move the quinoa out of our cupboard and onto someone else's plate. Honestly, the man seems to have no stomach for good foods!


Flowers from today: still delightful. From just by the porch:

how wet was it?

It was so wet, with repeat periods of pounding rain, that my newly supported flowers gave up and fell down again. This time in unison, as they were tied together in a clever figure 8 pattern that turned out to be not so clever after all. And we're not done with the rains: there is a whole week of iffy weather ahead of us.

On the upside, I do not have to water the garden. And so I am making fine progress on my writing.

Nor did I get up at dawn this morning. We had both fallen asleep on the early side so I thought it surely must be his turn. It's a fair division: he'll get the cheepers out, but I still clean the coop, as I truly think my cleaning skills are far better than his. Unfortunately.

Breakfast is not on the porch. I would not have minded the occasional downpours, but there is a constant threat of storms and it seems pointless to drag everything out in crashing thunder.





(Yes, a different yellow shirt! Many hugs were given in recognition of this!)

After breakfast? I never do move out to the porch. The outdoor world feels too wet. Warm, yes, but very uninviting. (Here it is, looking out, briefly, from the porch.)





In between rain showers, I try to straighten the tall yellow bloomers that usually have such an easy time staying upright, but not this year!

And I do some weed pulling. One must pull weeds when the rains come down!

And in the afternoon, we go to the farmers market. The rains pause then and we stock up on corn, cheese and say no thank you to the zucchini. The market has a new vendor today -- a man who appears to keep beehives in locations close to us. One of them comes from a paradise of a garden just a mile or so east of us. I am a complete fan of local honeys and so I add this gentle pale one (bottom right) to our shopping basket.





In the evening I make a tomato-potato stew which sounds so terribly indifferent, but in fact, it is so fine on a damp day and especially if you have an abundance of tomatoes, potatoes, garlic and onion -- all growing in copious amounts at the farmette.

I'll leave you with a pair of flowers that did not give in to the rains today. Yes, you guessed it -- the ever brazen and gutsy daylilies.