your most splendid April day

No question -- today's a winner. Blue skies, plenty of sunshine. 

(Pepper, our self-appointed matriarch of the brood, turning her face to the sun)

 

(cherry blossoms)

Cold in the morning, true, but we brave it, taking our breakfast on the porch even in the nippy weather. 

You have hope on days like this. The potential for greatness is right there before you and your energies soar.

Well, at least ours do. Ed and I begin loading and unloading wood chips even before breakfast and we continue until my daughter arrives with her two kids for our Saturday lunch. (And we return to it after they leave. We're motivated!)

Daffodils still dominate.

But by now, it hardly matters what's blooming, because everything in our gardens is enchanting. The shades of green alone are gorgeous!

The kids do take a brief run through the farmette fields...

And I'm happy about that. A garden begs to be noticed. And they do notice.

But eventually, that old orange couch beckons. Hunger for books, fruits and snacks drives them inside.

But warm weather is on all our minds. The kids insist on playing in their swimsuits (reminding me that they need new ones for the season ahead). I hear a lot of pretend splashes in the background.

(a miracle! Sparrow eats a strawberry! the little guy's two year old rebellion has been to say no to all form of plant life)

 

 

The young ones leave. I have no great thoughts today. I clear my mind as I work outside. During a brief pause, I read the simplest stuff, for example, a fun article about the proliferation of taco places in France, much to the chagrin of the Mexican population, since the tacos don't look like anything you or I or they might call tacos. It links to a very funny youtube, where one man confronts the gigagtaco challenge: you have to eat a five pound taco in less than two hours. It's in French, but you dont' have to speak the language to crack a smile.

 

Breathe in the spring air. Go ahead, do it. Let your mind run on empty. It's splendid, really it is!

grabbing sunshine

It's cold, but not really cold because the sun is out! I don't get this -- how is it that you feel just fine, even in the shade, merely because the skies are blue? Whatever the logic, I'll take it!

We're in the 40sF (maybe 6C) and yet, I'm in favor of putting the chicks out and I'm in favor of eating breakfast on the porch. 

Afterwards, I return to the weeding, but I restrain myself with planting anything. We're getting a hard frost next week. Putting in baby plants just before is not a good idea.

And so the entire morning is spent on gardening, interspersed with  phone calls. And we get a delivery of wood chips from the Madison Gas and Electric tree maintenance guys, and I am hoping that distributing them will slow down the weed growth that's been driving me nuts the past few weeks. So, progress!

And very quickly it is the afternoon. Time to pick up Snowdrop!

She isn't fully convinced we should spend time outside. Oh, she makes her rounds: chicks, tree, flower overview...

But Fridays are tired days. She'd much rather snuggle inside with her bowl of fruit and a good book. And Gogs.  (Gogs, what did Abe Lincoln mean when he said "A house divided against itself cannot stand?" Hmmm, who knew I'd be explaining the Civil War today...) 

(The sunshine follows us inside...)

But late in the evening, after I drop the girl home, I return to the yard. Ed had dumped mountains of wood chips on the new flower bed. I can start making inroads spreading them around. Pitchfork, here I come!

Dinner is very, very late.

return

It is abundantly clear that all my vaccinated friends have come closer to a normal life schedule than I have. Sure, I've kept up with medical appointments. And I finally spent time with my visiting friend last week. Importantly, I'm fully integrated into the life of my grandkids, albeit not at the same time, as my younger girl and her husband are not yet vaccinated. So progress, right? Indeed. But I am nowhere near normal. I still don't go to stores, cafes, restaurants. And I don't travel.

But some of this may change. Because, well, if we bounce around surges and ever the newer variants in the next half year, shouldn't one take advantage of the window of protection offered now to those who are fully vaccinated? 

It's cold again. And we're going to stay here, right around a high of 50F (10C) for a few days. Still, the early onset of spring-like weather gave a huge push to everything around us. On my morning walk for instance, I noticed the first cherry blossom.

I can't ever remember a cherry blossom as early as tax day here, in south central Wisconsin. (No, I haven't done my taxes. Yes, I should have gotten them out of the way. Yay extensions!)

(Breakfast...)

 

 

 

Outside, daffodils still dominate. 

But they are not alone. Some of the tulips survived the groundhog chomp fest. They're nearly ready to add some color to the landscape.

And Merrybells! You have to love the name, no? (A.k.a. Uvularia, which sounds more foreboding, unless you know that the name derives from the Latin name for grapes. Not that these are related to grapes, they're actually a cousin of the lily family.)

And while I am on the subject of color and, too, a return to (something closer to) normal, today, our neighbor (well, of about five miles away) Natalie opened her greenhouses for the season! Last year, we were under lockdown in April. We knew so little about the spread of the virus that Ed and I did not shop even in outdoor spaces. Natalie delivered plants to us and eventually, we did curbside pickups. But science never fails to astound us with its miracles and here we are, vaccinated and ready to go inside her greenhouses. It's too early to pick up the annuals for the pots -- next week's cold blast will not treat theses tender babies well, but we can at least pick up a few of the hardier annuals: pansies come to mind.

Okay, and one hanging basket! I can carry it inside if it really gets cold. 

So, not quite a normal shopping expedition, but a big one for us nonetheless. And yes, it felt luxuriously wonderful.

[On the way to Natalie's, we passed what is such a familiar sight to us -- sandhill cranes. But we never take them for granted. Did you know that back in the 1930s there were only about two dozen breeding pairs of sandhills left in Wisconsin? Thanks to legal protections, there are now close to 10,000 and I swear, 9,900 of them live all around us. It's a real success story -- you can read a little about sandhills and other migratory birds in the NYTimes today, here.]

In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop at school. Yes, the usual spirited run to the car...

And a quick check on the chicks, the cheepers and"her tree" at the farmette...

Our usual review of the best and worst aspects of the school day have her tell me that the worst part is that she feels exhausted at the end of it all. That's can't be too bad then! Exhaustion is far better than, say, boredom. Adjusting to this, I suggest a quieter afternoon in the farmhouse.

Honestly, she does not seem that tired to me, but we take it easy anyway. Lots of reading, lots of art. And some admiration of the tomato plantings that Ed is tending right now.

Me, I'm waiting for a return of more spring like weather. Maybe a coffee at an outdoor cafe would be nice. Maybe.

couch time

Cold is relative. A high of 44F (6C) isn't objectively cold, but for us northeners, anxious that we are to get moving with our gardens, it feels chilly. An added ten degrees would help. Or at least a long spell of sunshine. Or both. (This is what you have to remember about April: it can test your patience.)

A brisk walk, a look at the growing gardens, when there was still hope of a sunny morning...

Breakfast, giving up on that sunshine...

And then a retreat to the couch. Not permanently, no, not that. Having bragged to a doc person yesterday that I do solid exercise of some sort every day, I now feel compelled to deliver on that statement, so I take the large heavy duty shovel and transplant a hosta and dig out a bunch of tiger lilies (behind Ed's back: he is the only person I know who is fond of tiger lilies).

But afterwards,  I retreat to my spot on the couch. I have an excuse! Two fabulous Zoom calls with friends far and wide. Say hello to the gang in Poland...

 

 

... and the awesome twosome down south...

 

 

 

A real social day! But on the couch. And interspersed with arguments with providers about the level of care that my mom needs. Unfortunately, it has come to that. I hate arguments.

Somewhere in those hours I dumped the chicks outside. They are restless. They need something more than a box in the sun room of the farmhouse. Still, we have a couple of frosty nights coming up next week and, too, they're not large enough yet to withstand a cat assault. So we carry them -- outside for the day, inside for the night. Back and forth, like taking children to day care and bringing them home again.

Evening: I reheat chili for dinner. I'm spent. Between phone calls and zoom calls, I've talked more today than I have in many a month. Funny how couch time can wear you out! Even more than heavy duty weeding in the yard. Who would have known...

going back in time

I am either getting old or getting lustful for far away places: this morning I reread my posts about my wanderings in Alsace, France. There was a prompt: I received an email from a couple who own the studio I rented while visiting the region several years back. One of those cheerful group emails saying  -- we're open and waiting for you to travel again. Reading it, I was trying to decide if indeed Alsace would be on my list of top ten places I'd like to return to before I get ridiculously ancient and weary of travel. (Reading my post I decided it would probably make the cut, even though the competition is fierce.) Still, I don't often reread Ocean stuff. I'm more inclined to think forward (where to next?) then look back. So -- am I getting old?

Somewhere in the press today, I read that once the pandemic is behind us, we're all going to go roaring crazy with excess, having been ravaged by isolation, fear, loss and grief. I can't see Ed partying like there's no tomorrow, but I am wondering how I'll approach travel then. Will I rush back to old favorites? It seems that a return to past haunts invites a comparison: I was so innocent when I was here before! Little did I know that a pandemic would shut us down and destroy so much in life for so many! Perhaps, instead, I should make up a list of brand new destinations?

These are perfect thoughts to have on a cold April day. And it is cold. But pretty! There's no going back on spring pretty anymore!

Though breakfast is, of course, inside.

(with a view toward the farmette gardens...)

The chicks stay inside as well until I tell Ed that the sun room (where we keep them) is beginning to smell like the barn. Out they go. Get hearty, little girls! Soon, this will be your life!

But I cannot rev myself up for much outdoor work. A few weeds and I retreat. Maybe tomorrow!

In the meantime, there are a couple of more posts that I need to reread. Scandinavia? Scotland? Today I washed my winter sweaters and I irreparably shrunk the one I bought in Islay. Should I whisky my way through Islay again? As I read about the wild orchids on the island, about the local catch seafood dinners Andrew, my host, cooked up for me, I wonder about how he's doing. Is the Bowmore House bed and breakfast even open now? I check the website. Only for essential workers. With strict COVID precautions. Breakfast delivered to guest rooms. Phew. At least they're still functioning in some fashion.

I go back to other places where b&b hosts became friends. In Parma. In Giverny. Berwick-upon-Tweed. Marseille. Gargnano. Paris. Is everyone okay??

Yes, it's clear to me that when travel is safe again, a return to past favorites is in order. So that I can hug and listen. And smile at the future, together with those who have had the toughest of tough years and then some.

a kid's horizon

Everyone knows that children don't anticipate anything beyond the next day (if that). If you tell them "we're going to Paris in a year or two," with the hope of stirring within them an excitement for that grand adventure, it will pass them by completely. A year or two is a lifetime. "Next fall" is nearly a lifetime. Frankly, even "later in the day" seems remote. Kids really excel at living in the present. You and I wish we could be as good at that as they are.

 

A bit of wind, a few clouds, lovely pale green colors: an April-ish kind of day. 

Cool though. It stays in the low 50sF (maybe 11C). Still, when I propose breakfast on the porch, Ed pulls on his jacket and says sure.

(on the porch, looking out...)

And then the kids come over. As it happens, it is likely the last time that the two of them will be playing here together alone. Schedules are changing yet again. More school days for Snowdrop, starting next week. Ever the shifting structures in this tricky period where kids are forever needing to adjust.

Both kids experience a disappointment today, in that they thought they had brought something with them, eventually finding out that what they wanted was in fact left behind. Sparrow was quicker to forget it, but Snowdrop was, for a good handful of minutes, despondent. "You'll have it in a few hours" is not helpful. Only letting her grow limp in my lap, fully sad until all that tragic disappointment seeps out of her, allows us to then bounce back to the usual spirited play. 

Kids are resilient. We hear that a lot these days. And it is true that they can take a lot of bounce, even in the course of one day. 

 

 

 

 

But I don't know a kid who does not worry about one thing or another. And of course, we can't smooth the road for them and make it free of bumps and worries. All we can do is make that lap available when they stumble. (Snowdrop would tell me -- gaga, that was more than a stumble! Even though in a few hours the problem was fixed and she was made whole again.)

 

(lunch)

 

 

 

A few even cooler days coming up. Truly not a big deal. I read about the horrible sudden frost that just destroyed most of the budding grape vines in France and I think about how we here take weather reports as a day setting thing, nothing more than that. Never a lost crop, a lost year, just a day, one out of many. A short horizon, compared to that of, say, a grape grower, or any farmer.

Flowers for you? Sure, I have a few. April blooms. With love.

weeding continuum

Work outside accelerates. Yes, there is a drizzle this morning. We are ignoring it. We have too much to do. It isn't exciting work: Ed is experimenting with tree planting ideas. Me, I'm madly weeding. If in early spring I ferociously attacked beds to create new flower fields (one end of the weeding continuum: a ferocious attack), I then moderated. A couple of hours a day. Maintenance work. Not light weeding, but somewhere in the middle of the effort continuum. But now -- I need to get back to ferocity, madness, and speed. 

(morning walk)

(aside from daffodils, what else is blooming robustly?)

(breakfast definitely in the kitchen, with a new batch of fallen daffodils...)

The new plants will begin arriving in less than two weeks. Everything has to be ready.

And here's a preview of what's to come: today, we drive out to the perennial nursery, the Flower Factory, to pick up a very small bag of flowers. First trip, first arrival! [The Flower Factory, my go to nursery in past years, is actually closed for retail business, but they are selling a smaller number of plants online, for assigned pickup dates. Our first date is in fact today. That's early for Wisconsin planting, but spring came early and we surely are ready for it!]

None of it is going into the ground just yet, but it surely feels wonderful to welcome the first arrivals.

And speaking of welcoming farmette arrivals -- here comes the Sunday dinner gang!

Again, no one wants to linger outside. It's just a little too cool for that (at 53f, or 11c). We are a spoiled lot: in Scotland this may well be summer weather. Still, inside is good too!

(Snowdrop is intent on spiffing us up for dinner)

(Alright then...)

As always, a day of yard work gives you that sense of accomplishment. A day well spent, among a delicately greening flora. It also makes us sleepy. Ed zonks out on the floor even amid the kid noise. I think the young parents (who also had a lot of outdoor time) are not far behind in the heavy eyelid department. How good is that!