Wednesday - 96th

The second half of June. Is any summer flower blooming yet? Well, there is this very unusual color in my June garden.






Mostly though, I see the remains of spring. This peony is having a second wave of blossoms.  Then there's the white David phlox next to it: it's your transitional flower: one foot stuck in spring, the other testing the waters of summer)...






Oh, but see this? A day lily. That is one sweet summer girl.






(Looking out at the beds from the porch, you still mostly see a sea of green...)






We clicked on the AC today. Hot days are back and they bring with them the lethargy of a lazy summer season. I smelled that idleness when our breakfast lasted way past the normal fifteen or so minutes we typically allocate to it.






And I could also see it in the kids. They arrived peppy...






But our nature walk resulted in this:






And no one felt like running on the way back.











(A pause at the barn: he wanted to see Happy the rooster, she wanted to see if there were any eggs. Ooops! Two girls are laying right now!)






So I flipped the switch and the cool air filled the farmhouse (it's never really that cold -- I truly dislike an over-air conditioned space) and everyone felt bouncy happy again.


I'm only in the third day of Gaga's Summer School, but already I'm spotting some pretty determined students who are happy to guide me through what they feel would be an optimal school schedule.

Gaga, we always start the day with free time in school. Always! -- from Snowdrop. Sparrow let's me know this as well by getting up and leaving "group time" in search of his favorite books.

You mean you want to go off and play first?
No. I think we should have choice and one of the choices should be painting.
But didn't I say we'd do painting every other day? (My theory is: keep the excitement going by taking pauses.)
No, Gaga. Absolutely not. In school it was always available -- she says with such great hope. Her pleading eyes melt me to the core.






I do suggest a theme. We'd been to the meadow. Let's paint meadows!






For Sparrow, this meant introducing blue to his already available yellow. He got the green grass going pretty quickly and so vigorously, that even the sturdy art paper wilted under the onslaught.






Happy kids and clean kids. If I expected Sparrow to take the brush to his clothes, to his toys, indeed, to the walls, I was to be pleasantly surprised:. He is a very neat painter and so is Snowdrop. The smock hangs, unused, unnecessary for these two.





Music follows. I had tuned my guitar and I came up with a repertoire for the summer where I might teach them some classic folk songs. Ones that wouldn't make anyone wince. (I hesitated before throwing in Home on the Range, but then decided I could interpret it as a person's lament over the degradation of the environment and a longing for what once was. I mean, if you look at the words of the original poem (written in 1872) that was then set to music, you may conclude that my interpretation isn't all whimsy. Every American knows the first verse:

Oh give me a home, where the buffalo roam,
And the deer and the antelope play,
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,
And the skies are not cloudy all day.

 But add now the last two verses:

I love the wild flowers in this bright land of ours,
I love the wild curlew's shrill scream;
The bluffs and white rocks, and antelope flocks
That graze on the mountains so green.

The air is so pure and the breezes so fine,
The zephyrs so balmy and light,
That I would not exchange my home here to range
Forever in azures so bright.

Wildflowers and curlews running through prairie grasses... How evocative is that!

Where did the rest of our time fly? Oh, the usual. Books. Pretend play. Arithmetic puzzles. Buffing up little frozen pizzas with extra cheese for lunch, eating watermelon and ice cream bars. Take a look:















In the late afternoon Ed is off biking. Should I at least take a walk? It's a splendid evening!

But the very idea that I "should" pushes me away from it. For the first time in quite a while, I am not terribly busy. Oh, I have a mountain of mom paperwork, of my own paperwork (taxes come to mind), of delinquent chores and projects, but it can all wait. I put on music and do none of it. Reheated soup for supper, burnt popcorn (Ed! You need to finish biking in time for popcorm!). But, too, a sense of inner quiet.

How I wish everyone had the time and life's circumstances to reach, even if only for a few minutes each day, that sense of inner quiet!

Tuesday - 95th

Gaga's Summer School went into full operation mode today. The headmistress and the teacher and the teaching assistant had a brief strategic planning session (meaning I talked to myself at the kitchen table this morning) and a plan was put in place.

The morning was a little hurried. Animal care is easy enough  -- half the cats don't show up for their breakfast anyway (the two little guys have run away from the terror teenagers, and some of the terror teenagers are out hunting mice in the wee hours of the day) even as the cheepers are as reliable in their behavior as a Caesium Atomic clock.

A quick look at the garden...






... leads me to conclude that I must water the pots and so I do that,  some thirty of them -- a mishmash of recycled planters and once pretty now rather run down tubs, but who cares, it's what grows inside that counts.

(Walkway, lined with white bloomers: phlox, begonia, campanula.)






And finally breakfast...







And now I'm ready for the arrival of Snowdrop and Sparrow.






I have very enthusiastic pupils.

We cover a lot of ground, starting with a nature hike along mowed paths of the farmette. Snowdrop is proud to show us her own secret path to the patch of daisies growing in one of the meadows..






... and I'm happy she considers is her own secret path. I remember well my secret spots in a country garden. They have a dusting of magic as you return to them again and again for secret thoughts and quiet moments. They're yours.


(A meadow with grasses as tall as Snowdrop...)






(Sparrow with daisy)






Inside, we do a group meeting, to go over the plans for the day. Sparrow tries really hard to copy his sister's "criss cross applesauce."


 


There's no question but that the little girl wants to begin with the paints at the new easel -- an investment on my part for the summer. I had often picked up a Snowdrop absorbed in her painting at school. Having a comparable art venue here makes this summer less removed from her school experiences.






Sparrow takes a shot at it as well. I limit him to one color (his favorite appears to be yellow) and he does a fine job covering his canvas with bold brush strokes.






(Unquestionably, Snowdrop is much more sure of where she's heading in her painting.)







One student begged for some free choice time then, and the other student had already taken out his favorite books for me to read and so after a quick wipe down of all splattered surfaces, we move to our regular play-read cycle, infused with some more structured learning. (I write that with a wink wink, since I do believe that for kids this age, learning happens without interruption whether or not you choose to call it that, but there is the basic reading/writing/arithmetic that seems more schoolish, no? In any case, Snowdrop loves this stuff, even if Sparrow felt a little like the curriculum had suddenly taken a turn in a direction that left him out. I must correct that tomorrow!)

Lunch.






The goal is to get both kids back home in time for Sparrow's afternoon nap. We nail it, but just barely. I swear, two more minutes in the car and the little guy would have zonked out.

The rest of the day? It's still a busy one for me. Groceries, sister in Poland, mom in Sun Prairie, friends in Florida and New Mexico.






All important stuff! But definitely it's an evening for an easy supper of chicken brats, salads and corn.

I know we're in for the more typical weather of heat and scattered storms right on the official start of summer, but I have to say, this has been a stellar ending to my favorite season of the year. Spring has been just spectacular!

The sun sets, the popcorn is popped, the couch feels like the most comfortable place on the planet. Feet up, glass of wine next to a glass of fizzy water.

I have not forgotten that we are the lucky ones. That our family has not been harmed. That food comes to our doorstep and the grandkids have radiant smiles and plenty of love to fill their days. I have not forgotten that too many others have a significantly sadder and stress filled spring behind them. I wish it weren't so. I wish everyone had a shoulder to lean on and a bowl on their lap.  Filled with popcorn. And a day filled with love.

Monday - 94th

What stood out for me was the intensely fragrant air: first, from the pine trees, then, on the ride back, the warm scent of grasses hitting us squarely in the face. This is the pleasure of riding behind someone on a motorbike: you can close your eyes and take in the smell of late spring.

It was late afternoon and we were returning from a game of tennis at our local tennis park. I couldn't believe it when Ed reminded me that we hadn't played for two years! Was last summer that busy? I always think I'm in the thick of a big rush and yet I do wonder if this isn't somehow an illusion. Maybe I'm inclined to fill my schedule no matter what? Maybe I have yet to enter a do nothing (of great import) retirement mind set? I seem always to be so busy! In any case, we hadn't played and now here we were, on an empty court and the sky was faintly blue and the breeze was gentle and the scent of the white pines towering over the courts -- intense!

Earlier in the day I had run through the usual morning stuff. (It's a very green world out there...)






(Breakfast...)






But it was all rather brisk. The kids are here now every day in the morning and I'm trying to come up with some new activities for them, in an all out effort to create something fun this summer (as an alternative to the summer school they would be attending under normal circumstances). I'm thinking that adding more structure to their time here is a good idea. And with that structure comes a schedule. Gaga's Summer School would follow a preset timetable where we would  be moving seamlessly from one activity to the next every day of the week.


(Sparrow loves Happy. Who knows why. Luckily, the rooster is totally on the friendly side. A rare well mannered bird!)






(Snowdrop is less excited by the cheepers. They've been here as long as she has. They're part of the farmette landscape.)






(Sandbox... Just for a few minutes.)






That is the plan. Snowdrop is on board! We'd be "playing school," after all. She loves pretend games!

But of course, Gaga's idea of summer school does not necessarily jive with her idea of pretend school. She quickly explains her preferences and before long we are back to where we have always been -- in a loosey goosey pattern of reading, with some art time, and a lot of unstructured play.

I vow to do better tomorrow!











The kids leave immediately after lunch... (wait, is it a standing lunch??)






... because this is the day for my Zoom call with my Polish friends.






And again, I marvel at how they are all in such a different place from where we are here, in the US. Nearly all of them have reestablished connections with others. Some orbit only within the family unit (children, grandchildren), but others have now had social outings and in one case -- a weekend away with friends. Poland's infection rates continue to be lower than say, in western Europe, but they're not declining by a long shot. Indeed, the data tell me that Poland is one of the few European countries where infection rates are still on the rise. (Sweden and Norway are other such countries.) Still, people are tentatively and with some protocols letting go of strict adherence to distancing. This is the trend here, too, of course, but I think Poles have concluded that for whatever reason, the statistics that terrified Italy, Spain or the UK, are just not going to take hold in their country. A slow trickle of infections -- yes. But a super-spreading and overwhelming pandemic, knocking out whole cities? No. And with each Zoom chat, I see that they are inching closer to some form of normality. Oh, the kids are all staying home: no camps, no schools, no summer programs. But the adults are moving around more. Going to parks, taking river walks, perhaps indulging in an outing by the Baltic Sea.

Ed and I -- we continue to isolate. Nothing has changed for us. We remain cautious. Had there been other players on the tennis courts this afternoon, we would have left.


Evening: such a beautiful beautiful time now! Crisp air, calm winds. The sound of birds, cranes, of frogs, the smell of a garden readying itself for a summer of flowering. It could not be a more beautiful June.

And oh! Primrose calls! We are back to FaceTime visits. And yet those ten days of their real visit transformed our FaceTime. We have memories. We recall stuff she did when she was here. On this porch. Eating many meals with us.






As for Ed and me -- I cook up a dinner of soup: with beans, with rainbow chard, with a handful of other veggies. And a new show to start watching. Ed is determined to bypass a Netflix signup. There's so much free stuff! -- he reminds me. We're trying out the BBC series Scott and Bailey with our popcorn. I'll let you know if it's a good call!

Sunday - 93rd

The reality of outdoor work is that you're never caught up. Take this moment: you've weeded the flower beds. You planted everything that you intended to plant. You sowed seeds, you mowed paths, you clipped spent flowers and trimmed vigorous shrubs. So, sit back and admire it all from a comfy position? No. The minute you step outside, your eyes are drawn to the place that needs work. And so you dig in: trim the edge of a bed. Or two. Or three. Clip those irises and remove their supports. And weeds: how did I miss these? They're tough!

This is my morning. And a beautiful one it is: sunny, cool, perfect once again. Working outside is a pleasure!






But by 11, I am so ready for breakfast. Somehow three hours ran past me and I hardly noticed. Ed, wake up!






We sit for a long long time on the porch, enjoying this stellar June day.

Ed suggests then that we walk the farmette lands. The goal is to look around, to take pleasure in the small corners of this vast space, but of course, inevitably, we take pauses and new projects fall our way: the crab apple has some dead branches. Off they go. And in the young orchard...





... a black walnut has grown to such heights that it's blocking the light to no fewer than four fruit trees! It has to come down.

Ed attends to the tree, I mow down the grape arbor. Someday we may get grapes out of it, but thus far the beetles have taken all the fruits. Still, it's a pretty place and de-weeding it helps keep the grape vines healthy.

We never finish our farmette walk. It's late afternoon by the time we're done. We go inside.  Ed needs to bake cookies (tragically, we have none left!) and I need to cook dinner.

The young family is here for our Sunday evening meal. Sparrow is happy to settle into his Duplo Lego land...






Snowdrop's thoughts are elsewhere (with a song she was hoping to hear on the car radio on the drive here)...






But it takes no time to have her perk up (Ed helps by playing the longed-for song...)






Dinner. On the porch. Of course.











And after, the kids and I head out for a walk along the mowed path.






I want to show them the felled tree. We count the rings. Snowdrop thinks it's nine years old. That may well be correct.

The young orchard is lovely in the evening: the sun still shines down on the grasses and the young trees. The colors are gentle. The kids like it as much as I do.


Later, much later, Ed and I tune in to the last episodes of our crime drama series. I hated it yesterday (killing off beloved characters is not my idea of a good script), but we've watched it this long, so we may as well finish it. Popcorn helps. And a glass of white wine. It's a good way to end a day where the muscles are stiffening up from the hours of work outside.

Want another chocolate chip cookie?
Of course!

Saturday - 92nd

Rumor has it that the farmers who lived for the better part of the twentieth century here, at what I affectionately call the farmette, were not good and noble stewards of the land. They were careless. They were sloppy. I gather they threw garbage out the window. The barn caught on fire, the silo smoldered for years. The rubble of that original barn is buried somewhere under my Big Bed of flowers. We find junk when we dig around the farmhouse. Tin cans, bullet shells, metal scraps.

But my oh my, did the family grow good rhubarb! They planted some right by the back door (which we use as the main entrance to the house) and it explodes each year with ruby-green stalks. I've taken out big chunks of it and transplanted them elsewhere around the farmette and they now, too, produce tart stalks in abundance.

In other words, we're swimming in rhubarb.

Ed suggested we harvest most of it and freeze it for winter use. I finally agreed, even though I'm generally opposed to freezing stuff we're not likely to use. This time he convinced me that making rhubarb cake in the winter would be delicious fun. So we picked rhubarb.

That is the lightest of my gardening jobs today. On a day that is so completely, unabashedly beautiful, both cool and sunny, just downright perfect, we're going to work hard at catch up outside. Weeding for me tops the list. And sowing seeds on our now expanded meadow out by the new orchard. (Slowly but surely, we're laying on dirt and sowing flower seeds, which we hope will blend with the grasses already slated to grow there.)

(People aim for neat, short lawns. we aim for this...)






(The rooster, following the big guy...)






On days like this, you just have to love life!






The horseflies have a very brief season and I swear it's nearing an end. Today I only fought with two or three during my work. And no, there aren't the mosquitoes yet. In other words, life for the gardener is pretty good right now.

Breakfast is close to noon. Ed tells me it's his prelunch snack.






And the afternoon? Well, that's an easy one: more outdoor work! Ed attacks my car breaks (despite a replaced brake disc, the old wreck still shimmies as if it were on the dance floor, so yet another disc has to be switched), me -- I attack weeds.

And we survey our veggie patch: the tomatoes are finally picking up after a fertilizer boost. The lettuces are actually doing nicely as well.

One last task: the trimming of our second lilac. I mean, why stop at just one!

We walk back along one of my mowed paths, feeling really good about some of this year's projects. Almost no one sees the heart of the farmette land, but to us, it's a place of great loveliness. Quirky in places, well cared for in other spots -- overall, a sweetly satisfying work in progress.


And now I'm done for the day. It's time to pick up our CSA box. Here are today's treasures, next to my own rhubarb mound:





Lettuces, garlic scapes, the last bunch of asparagus, rainbow chard, kohlrabi, dill, rhubarb (!), pea vines, and a real treat -- the first Wisconsin strawberries!

I finally get to my lunch coffee break. At 5:30. And it matters not at all. The sun sets today in Madison at 8:38. Even though our dinner of leftover frittata and a huge salad (have to use those lettuce heads, pea shoots and kohlrabi!) isn't until after 8, it feels right to be late with it. Evenings in June are beautifully long. One must grab them. In a week, we'll be shifting toward a shortening of days.

Later, much later, we watch the nearly last episode of our British crime drama series. The love interest of the inspector gets killed. I swear I'll never watch a crime drama again.