airport hopping

It's not that I did not try to rebook my flights, so that I would have a harmonious, linear progression to my destination tonight (Warsaw). I tried by phone. (Yes you can make the change! It'll cost you $3000.) I tried in Detroit. (We can do nothing.) And I tried again in Amsterdam. (You cannot skip segments: your ticket will be invalidated.) No bananas. I'm stuck crisscrossing Europe today -- east, west, then east again, just so that I can end up spending the night at my sister's place in Warsaw.

The larger question is -- what's my final destination? The immigration agent asked me that just minutes ago as I entered the EU in Amsterdam. I told him -- well, Helsinki, really and I am going there, but not today yet, or rather I am flying there, but then flying right out to be in Warsaw. He looked at me quizzically. I continued -- you know, I've been waiting for someone to ask me that question. Thank you for letting me explain the absurdity of my travel schedule this week. He laughed and stamped my passport (a ritual that I swear will soon fade into history).

But apart from the sudden insert of Warsaw, this trip was supposed to begin with a restful three days in Finland and after, we were to take the train to Russia.

You noticed the "we?" I'm not going alone. I'll be traveling with my friends Diane and Ernest. Longtime Ocean readers may remember that I've taken many a trip with Diane -- sometimes just the two of us, sometimes with her and her husband. This time, the three of us are to meet up in Helsinki and proceed together from there.

I wont even begin to answer the question of why Russia. In fact, it's rather grandiose to say we're going to Russia as Russia is vast and we're just visiting St. Petersburg. If you can experience only one city in Russia it should be, in my opinion, St. Petersburg, even as it is perhaps not very representative of the country, which tends to be rather inward-looking and St. Petersburg is not really like that.

But the truth is, I only know St. Petersburg from the time it was still Leningrad. I have very vivid memories of visiting it in the same weeks that the Soviet Union was invading Czechoslovakia. (Though I think the term used was "entering the country to lend support to its government.") But, I'm steering clear of politics. Not because it's Russia, but because politics and Ocean do not mix, unless it's something grand, like the politics of bringing sheep and royalty to the Royal Highland Show in Edinburgh.

Perhaps this trip is a test to see if memories are worth much, or if they blur into absurd images that have little relation to any reality out there.

But let's stick with this day of airport hopping. Because my longest layover is in Amsterdam, the post comes from there. You want a photo? Eh, it's just an airport -- the fifth busiest in Europe (after London, Paris, Frankfurt and Istanbul). But I will post my breakfast, which has a touch of the Dutch in it (note the dark bread, the slice of yellow cheese and the unceremoniously presented boiled egg).





Next post should be from Warsaw, but you never know!


UPDATE: Yep -- you never know. As it happens, a lunch at the Helsinki airport proved to be an irresistible temptation to open up today's post again. In a city known for modern design, the colors of my midday meal feel so... Scandinavian!





But I ask myself -- is it lunchtime? My computer, set to Madison time, says it's the hour to let the cheepers out. I can excuse the yogurt vegetable soup. The glass of wine, on the other hand, seems aesthetically pleasing, but is it in sync with the clock that still has me feeling awfully like I stayed up all night and now am ready for oatmeal on the porch?

No matter. Lunch at Helsinki airport it is. [I should note that, frequent flyer that I am, all my airport meals, wine included, are free.]

travel days

Morning at the farmette. How beautiful it is today! If June was lush and July was color packed, August feels serene. Like it's settled into its prime, hanging on, not releasing its abundance just yet.

Oh, beautiful farmhouse, you! Every bit worked over, continuously worked over, so that the ladder still stands, the projects continue.






The gardens -- Ed asks: how can you leave all this?





He expects no response. He knows the response. I am that way.


I water just a few of the recent plantings. In the morning, the gentle light and the wet mist from my efforts create delicate canvases all around me.






I dare not linger though. Packing a very light, tiny suitcase (from Ed: I'm so proud of you!), tending to the farmhouse -- getting it ready for the weeks of Ed use.

And of course, breakfast.





All so predictably lovely!


He drops me at the airport, there are the final instructions, the questions, the assurances...

And I'm off.

It's a complicated trip. Tomorrow alone I will have four flights to connect, one to the next. It goes like this: from Madison to Detroit (that's today), from Detroit to Amsterdam, from Amsterdam to Helsinki and now comes the anomaly -- from Helsinki backwards, to Paris, from Paris to Warsaw (where I will spend all of 18 hours).

I thought I had some paperwork to attend to in Warsaw and so I inserted that quick stopover, even as getting there from Helsinki is not easy. So I have this string of silliness to show for it.

Never mind, the destinations are all good, important, worth the effort. I will, of course, try to keep to my posting schedule. If things appear a bit erratic -- well, you can see why!

To interesting days ahead!

this week

When I think ahead to this day, I get a tad worried that perhaps I wont get to all that I need to get to. I reassure myself: at least I'll have time to put up a post!

When I think ahead to this week, I get a tad worried that chaos will reign and nothing will go as planned.

It is setting out to be an incredibly complicated set of days!

Let's consider each day as it presents itself. I favor the attitude Ed and I tend to adopt when we face too many challenges all at once: take each as it comes and don't worry where you wind up at the end of the day.

So let's start together, with today. You know how it begins!











In the middle of the day, there is all the stuff that fills my calendar page: appointments, last minute shopping (I MUST have a better fitting pair of pants!), pick up this for Ed, wash the car (try parking an automobile under a willow in mid-summer... you'll understand), get that, mail this... on and on and on. Let's bypass it all and get to the afternoon with Snowdrop!

Oh, do I love that girl! A commenter asked -- who'll miss who most? That's easy! Me her.






(She is now officially moving forward on all fours.)






(And her smile is ever present, ever contagious.)






And eating? Is she into her banana? Workin' on it.






Time for me to go home.

This is always the tough part -- leaving my beloveds.


At the farmette, I do a quick tend to the flowers and I give a grateful nod to the lily ladies that so make my summer complete!





And then I return to printing out this, and washing that, and cooking supper and doing all that is quite normal except it's not so normal, because tomorrow, I'll be up up and away.

Sunday

This is the kind of day where you feel the weight of work -- housework. Or, more accurately -- farmette work.

I am not referring to the usual farmhouse cleaning. That happens, yes, I do finish it and the place more or less shines. But there is that other work that must move forward. We cannot sit on our hands and rest on the weekend because if we don't labor now, then when?

Ed has the bulk of the "repair and construct" jobs before him and so I try to take over tasks that aren't mine but that I haven't the heart to load onto him right now.

I'm up with dawn...






... to release the cheepers, clean their cage, feed Isie boy, examine the flower fields...







And I do the cleaning inside the farmhouse and then, right after breakfast -- which interrupts his step building...






... in a good way...





... I tell him -- I'll mow the lawn.

Our visiting friends had made a great dent into this laborious task, but that was already weeks ago and there are areas that we should mow down that haven't been touched for the better part of the summer. But here's the thing: we have ditches and ruts and rolling bumps (surely are attributable to whatever wildlife burrows its nose in the ground). It's a devilish piece of land to mow.

I do a very thorough job. On half the property. And then I can't take it anymore -- the bounce, the twist, the turns -- it's like the worst ride at the amusement park, only without the height. I am not an amusement park ride fan. I don't even like swings on a children's playgrounds. 

It takes me a solid chunk of time to recover.

So we have a half finished mowing job, but hey, a half a loaf!


In the meantime, Ed continues to work on the quirky step project. I help him saw the ancient sheets of plywood he dug out of God knows what crevice of the farmette...






We make progress.

And it's the last day for it. Tomorrow, he works at Tormach and I look after Snowdrop and on Tuesday I'm off.

But let's take this Sunday in its full glory. It's family dinner night and though the air is sultry and uncertain, we have a fine meal out on the porch -- all five of us of course!  Even as it's hard to fit everyone into a photo. Here are the young parents, glancing down at their Snowdrop...






No, no, I can't leave her down there, in her chair. Snowdrop, come over and cook with me! (We're making risotto.)






Alright, dinner's on! We take the food out to the porch. Snowdrop sits on my lap and contemplates risotto and breaded chicken. She looks to the right and left... Ed, she's reaching out to you! Want to jiggle her on your knee?


 



Oh, she's bouncy tonight! I finally bring out her jumparoo and she gives it its full workout.






Such sweet, sweet minutes. They'll be with me in the weeks ahead, that's for sure.

 

Saturday

Sometime late Friday, Ed falls asleep on the couch and I drag myself to bed and give in to sleep there. But within an hour, I am awake. I glance at the clock. 1 a.m. What's bugging me?
Ed?
Yeah... wha... -- comes the groggy response.
You forgot the cheepers.

He goes out, locks them in and comes upstairs, now fully awake. And so I am as well.

We talk.

All through the night.

I haven't done that since my early twenties -- pulled an all-nighter just to talk. About work. Boats. Emails. Decisions. Boats. Work. It's as if the last month demanded that kind of a review and somehow it didn't come to pass until now, tonight, all night long.

By 6 he is up again, releasing the chickens. I fall asleep for an hour, not more. We have things to do.


For a number of reasons I begin Sunday farmhouse cleaning this Saturday morning. That and tidying the yard takes a while. Ed comments -- we're eating breakfast just before lunch.

A neighbor (in rural areas, the term neighbor has broad application) drops in and we apologize for eating this strangely late morning meal, but we want to log it in. It has become important -- for me, maybe for him too.






And then I tend to the flower fields. It had rained yesterday after all and I am grateful for it. No watering needed. I make peace with my garden now while it is in its the last days of glory.












Ed takes off on his too small but just right for him ancient motorcycle to pick up lunch quiches at La Baguette.

Our friend and Greg's wife, Jacqui, is our guest this afternoon and we spend a wonderful set of hours sitting on the porch, eating, talking, eating -- the porch was meant for just this.






Later in the afternoon, the young parents come over with Snowdrop. She wasn't scheduled for a farmhouse visit but plans change and I am so so happy to have her here.






She exudes joy and her smile invites you to participate in her small world of happiness.






Ed naps, I play with the little one.






Not for long though. He returns to working on the porch steps. He so wants to move this project forward for me! I take Snowdrop for a walk along the rural roads.











At the farmhouse again, Snowdrop's gaze keeps migrating toward the top shelf where she clearly spies the book that for some reason has totally captured her imagination. I bring it down and she gives it a very industrious once over.



(...who lived in a shoe...)


Ed comes in, she gives him an affectionate acknowledgement...






The day draws to a close. Leftovers for supper. Be glad there is a supper!

We are. Very grateful. And very tired.

Friday

The pattern of each day doesn't change. And again I am writing far too late into the night. That's not the best time to transcribe thoughts into text. But, there was much to be done on this last day of the week! The hours ran away with the moon.

The skies are gray and I am glad. We need rain, or else I'll have to scramble to find even more hours for watering the garden. For now, I ignore the hose and concentrate on deadheading spent lilies. It's an art, this snipping off a depleted flower. If you falter, you'll get your hands and clothing into the soppy mess of their not yet dried up juices, dusted over with the pollen from the protruding stamen. If you snip too hard, you'll take away the remaining buds.

But, oh, I do love my Hemerocallis (let's get proper here)!






When I'll be returning from my travels in a couple of weeks, most of the lilies will be past their blooming stage. And so forgive me if I indulge myself now. These are the colors I think about in the dead of winter.






During the summer, I need only glance out the kitchen window and they're before me, filling each bed with their magnificence. They are a gardener's beloveds.






Okay, let's settle in for a good breakfast. Ed and Isis (who has ventured outside this morning) are waiting.






Ah, breakfast. Always such a grand moment. We talk about the porch steps that will be built (I am hopeful!) in the next couple of weeks. The design has gone this way and that, but I think Ed is finally satisfied with one that uses mostly materials we have around the farmette and, too (for some reason this is very important to him), one that allows for light to stream into the basement from the window that is unfortunately going to be mostly covered over by the steps (think: transparent slats of a poly something or other).






And then Ed goes off to work and I go off to grocery shop. We are like two prongs of trail that suddenly splits, only to reunite toward the end of the day.


In the afternoon, there is the lovely, the affable, the ever energetic Snowdrop.






But as I settle in to play with her...






... I have a nagging thought that I forgot something at the grocery store. Chicken for Sunday dinner! Darn! (No, just scratch that thought -- I'm not sacrificing one of the cheepers for our meal.) I have no time in the next days to shop. There's no choice but to take Snowdrop to the grocery store now.

She has been to the supermarket with me and not too long ago at that. But this time, for the first time, I take her out of her safe and familiar car seat and plunk her like a big girl, right into the cart.






It would not be an exaggeration to say that she is not happy. I try bribing her with a toy off the rack and for a little while it works.






But for a good part of the shopping trip, I hold her and push the cart with my other hand, leading a very sweet older woman to ask me -- do you need help?

Ha! No indeed! I seem capable of doing everything with a seven month old on my arm! But the woman's friendliness is, in fact, a game changer for Snowdrop who thinks that her smile is worth a million and as if on cue, she relaxes and grins back.







Errand done, we return to Snowdrop's home. The little one is especially happy to be back again, in her exersaucer -- reminding us all that the journey may be fantastic, but the return home is even better.






Okay, sweet one, but we must take you out of your comfort zone and move along with the introduction of solid foods. How about that banana mush again?






Perhaps you cannot tell from the photo, but she is relaxing a bit today! It's as if she understands that this, too, is mealtime. That something else must be accomplished beyond a grab and a smear of the food. She tries to figure out what is expected of her. I swear she takes in at least three spoonfuls!


In the evening, we have a social hour -- I join Snowdrop, her mom, and her mom's friend for a summer wine tasting at a wine shop on the Capitol Square.



(photo by friend)


A full day indeed. Supper at the farmhouse is as late as I dare push it. And after? Oh, sleep! I'm as spent as a Snowdrop would be on a warm July night.

Thursday

Another day that has many agendas and seemingly too few hours for them.

Let's start with a leisurely breakfast.





Then various sundry appointments, quickly attended to and voila! I gain two hours in midday. Ed is home today and so he is there to loads wood chips into the cart and I throw them on the enlarged lily bed. It's like old times: we work in tandem in the heat of the day, we make progress.








(why do I love the lilies so?


But the fact is, flower fields are always a work in progress. There is never a done deal: a flower to move, remove, replace, trim, pamper and then another and another...





We have had quite a long while without rain and so today, for the first time this summer, I throw water on an established field -- the one of lilies, by the farmhouse. It takes time to hose down a field, but I never mind this chore. Giving water to a thirsty flower conjures up images of being an agent of help to a plant in need. The parched plant rewards you as it moves from a bedraggled limp state to something vibrant and perky.



After this rather wonderful set of hours, I'm onto another set of wonderful hours -- those with Snowdrop.

We play.
















She is in a beautiful frame of mind again -- full of play and darting glances of pure happiness.












We take a walk too - you really want to be outdoors on a day like this!






Back at her home, I try to feed her bananas again. Bleh!






A tired girl. Time for a nap?





Time for me to go home.

Evening. Ed and I haven't done much for ourselves since coming back from our Adirondack canoeing trip. And so it feels special just to bring in take out Thai food. To not cook, to not rush, to sit back together and eat almost as if this is was a continuation of our camping trip. Even as we know that it isn't. Halcyon days indeed!

No matter. He fixes the toilet, I clean up all that needs that intervention. Who needs a night out... We've got stuff to do.