flipped

My daughter sends a morning text: can we switch Snowdrop's farmette visit to this morning so that she can go swimming in the afternoon? Me, I'm full of weather information! I quickly respond: she is going to be disappointed! There will be storms all afternoon. 90% chance. She may as well come here then.

And once again Ed and I get to work early. I have some garden adjusting to do: transplant some flowers that will do better elsewhere. Weed, snip, take stock.

And pause for a late breakfast.

 

 

Immediately after, I return to work. To beat the rain. And it is hot. And the clouds move on. And I'm thinking -- if it's going to rain, then it will have to come from sapphire blue skies. There's not a cloud up there!

And so Snowdrop does go swimming and I continue to work until Ed says (three times) -- Nina, you have to come in from the sun occasionally. You'll get heat stroke!

Ed never urges me to do anything that's safer than what I'm doing and he rarely calls me Nina, so I know he is serious. But I can't come in! I want to put in this lily and divide that one and there are so many weeds in this bed and why don't I move that lavender plant...

And what June flowers are blooming now? Well, there's the ever lovely penstemon (you may know it by its common name -- beardtongue), this one called "Mission Bells."

Here's a cheat, because it's not really a June flower: Hemerocallis Primal Scream. Out of the 232 new perennials I planted this year, 80 were day lilies (aka Hemerocallis). It is an exercise in patience since the day lily hugely under-performs the first year in the ground. So often it will put out one or two early blooms and then call it a season. That's what's happening with this one:

 

Keeping me company: the two little pullets. Here's Cherry:

... now joined by Unie:

And by early evening, I catch up! With just about everything! Planting, dividing, deadheading, chipping, weeding. I do not have a to do list anymore. Weird to be looking at a blank slate!

Oh, I could walk the fields and always find another handful of weeds. Too, I'm sure I'll need to water later in the week. We had sunshine all day long. Not a drop of the predicted rain. But in the end, it's the deer flies that cause me to stop for the day. They aren't the worst we've ever had (so far!), but they are pretty annoying and I have many itchy bites to show for it. Hateful things. Luckily, their season is typically short. I'm hoping in a couple of weeks we'll see the end of them.

To celebrate the incredibly productive day, I take an evening scooter ride again. That cool breeze that comes with trotting along at 35 mph is heavenly and when you're scooting, there are no biting flies. Nothing but the views, the chat with animals encountered along the way, and good thoughts about the incredibly good fortune of being alive.

luck of the draw

This is all we talk about in our fleeting exchanges -- with the plant sellers, the farmers, even with each other: it's so hot and dry! Dusty, parched! We need the rain.

This morning I set to work right away. Carry those buckets of water to the meadow, dump some, too, on the new lilies, keep at it for a bit -- the plants need it. They're getting by, but they sure would be happy with a nice steady rain shower.

Still, there's stuff to admire in the farmette fields. Slowly the late spring flowers are opening up.

The first phlox paniculata is one such early bloomer. This native to North America is one of my favorites: the clumps of flowers are often fragrant, but even if you can't really pick out the scent, the look of a phlox is just enchanting, no matter what color you choose as your favorite. The first one here is always white. I have it throughout the gardens, one right by the path to the door.

The tiny dianthus is also blooming, if you can find it! (It gets a little overwhelmed by the bigger flowers in the yard.)

And of course, the campanulas (here, mixed with the white iris) are really lovely now. I don't plant many, but in June, I totally appreciate these gentle bells.

Breakfast. 

 

 

Quick, because I have a dentist appointment. One of those prophylactic ones where the technicians yell at you because according to them you never floss enough. I did enjoy checking in with my dentist -- we exchanged stories about predators. Bunnies eat his hostas. That's bad enough, but I could up that with my stories of raccoons that eat our chickens. [Yes, we identified the culprit last night. It's an unfortunate consequence of having the development nearby. We never had problems with raccoons before. Hawks, possum, skunks, coyotes -- all those are real threats, but raccoons were not in the mix until the buildings went up and the people moved in.]

My dentist happens to be close to where the young family lives. And so I pop in on them. Of course I do. So many kids to say hello to now!

(from youngest to oldest)

The two older ones are setting out with their sitter for their first swim in their neighborhood pool! First of the season and, too, a significant first, because last year the infection rates were too high to safely go to the pool at all. I am told that Snowdrop was in heaven in the water today. Sparrow had, of course, forgotten what "going to the pool" was all about, but I hear he got into the swing of things as well.

And because of their water play, I had to groan when I got home and climbed on to the tractor mower to mow down our paths: I felt the distinct drops of rain. By the time I was done mowing, the drops were multiplying rapidly and I even heard a distant rumble of thunder. 

We hadn't expected a rainfall and I put aside my drought concerns to shake my head at the timing! The kids were enjoying their first swim in the pool! How can it storm now!

But, as it happened, the rain was not widespread and Snowdrop and Sparrow were in a pool ten miles away from the farmette lands and that proved to be enough to keep them dry, even as we got a nice steady shower that amounted to about three fourths of an inch of water dumped on the flower fields (and elsewhere!). Like giddy kids, we left out cups to measure!

Well now, what an unexpected surprise!

 Meanwhile, down in Chicago, a little girl tells me (while slurping on a cool drink) that it was very hot!

 

And here's another pleasant surprise: earlier today, Ed worked over and spiffed up my scooter.

I missed those rural little scooter trips to catch a sunrise or sunset, or to check in on the cranes at dusk! I used to use the scooter to get to work, but of course I do not go to work anymore and if I am out and about, I typically am carting kids or driving with Ed, or lugging supplies. So the scooter collected dust and the battery gave out and so it stood, abandoned.

But tonight I went out on a quick scooter ride. Twice! It was good to see the fields wetted by the showers here. The air smelled so fresh, rinsed clean of the the heaviness that sets in with a drought. 

And as always, there were the encounters with friends. Sandhill cranes, deer...

And a more unusual one. Big. About two feet long.

I pause, wondering if I should move it away from the road. A guy, our neighbor of sorts (in rural areas distances are large so we've never met him before), comes out.

We've been watching her all afternoon. Waiting for her to lay her eggs. She's done it now.

Here? At the edge of the road?

She likes the gravel. She's tired now, but we'll make sure she gets down to the creek.

And what will happen to the eggs?

Oh, they'll hatch. Some of the babies will make it down to the creek as well.

Good thing I didn't move her myself. I was just getting up the courage to do it.

Oh, you need to be careful around her. She's a mean girl. She'd snap your fingers right off!

I wave and continue back. The sun has set now, but the sky is beautiful! On all sides of the road!

Lucky to have had the rain, lucky to have my fingers still attached to my hand, lucky in so many ways. 

With love.

hot

That one word says it all. Hot. You could add "dry" and then you'll have the complete package. Our day is built around this prolonged blast of desert like heat.

We are up early because we're still on edge about the lurking nocturnal predator. I know the orange cat has been hanging out here when it's dark (I see its tiger-like large form moving stealthily in the courtyard just before daybreak), but surely he can't be the one who snatched our young hen!

Today, though, the morning is calm. No sign of any disturbance in the barn. And since the morning air feels fairly pleasant in those early hours, I stay out and tend to the flower beds before even a thought of breakfast crosses my head.

What am I doing with the flowers now? Well, they need to be watered. Most of the established ones will get by without rain for a few weeks. But the new ones need help. I'm thinking it surely is unfortunate that I planted so many new ones in a year cursed by a drought. Between the 225 new perennials, the 67 trees and the 70 tomatoes, we have our work cut out for us!

In truth, I like watering plants. It's a chore that I find deeply satisfying. I imagine their dry roots gratefully filling with water, ready to grow, to deliver needed nutrients. I refresh one little one and move on to the next. Sometimes with the hose, sometimes with a watering can. As I've said before, it's meditative work.

Nonetheless, this year the typically satisfying task has been a challenge. I'm never done! I do two fields one day, and the third and fourth the next, and by the time I've cycled through the entire rotation, a week has passed and I need to go back to fields number one and two again. 

When is it going to rain?

(water drops from the hose, not from the sky)

(Unie with her unique cheek plumage)

(what's a peony without an ant...)

(Cherry, picking on my tub flowers)

(the two oldest ones...)

(Dance, keeping an eye on... everything!)

Sometime toward noon we pause for a very late breakfast.

 

And then I continue watering. All the way until it's time for me to drive over to the Flower Factory, where I've been cleaning them out of their last ancient day lilies. They're getting rid of all of them and I am just the sucker to bring some of these gorgeous flowers home.

In the late afternoon, I leave the garden and start in on dinner. The young family is here again, for the first time as a family of five.

(the middle child)

(the oldest)

(the youngest)

It's hard to think of Sandpiper as just less than two weeks old. It seems he's been around for a while!

We have the fan out on the porch, but no one's really complaining about the heat. I think the first weeks of this intense summer-like weather is a bit of a gift to winter chilled northerners. It's only after a week or two have passed that you begin to wonder if you've been cheated of a typically milder month of June.

Later, much later, I sit back and think about the summer before us. I'm sure it will speed by too quickly. It always does. For now though, I have grandkids in my days and a whole season of lilies to look forward to. How beautiful is that!

struggling

If you live in south central Wisconsin and your garden looks great right now then you must be standing over it with a shade umbrella in one hand and a hose in the other. We are in drought conditions. The sun is hot, relentlessly crisping and wilting everything in its path. The peonies started the day well and upright but by evening, they looked like all the joie was zapped right out of them. 91F (33C) in the first week of June is just not right. The lilies haven't even started their bloom and already the garden looks like it often does in August: tired.

But let's go back to the early morning, when the heat wasn't yet oppressive and the peonies dominated the flower beds (we have about a dozen peony bushes here).  

 

 

 

(And let's not forget the siberians and campanulas by the path to the door!) 

Once again we slept too little and were up way too early. Ed kept coming in with animal reports ("someone knocked over this or that and pushed it all the way down the path..." "someone dug under the coop trying to get in..." and so on). And just as I was settling in for a final lap of sleep, Ed tells me that the water pump is going nuts: it wont stup running. There is a leak somewhere, only he doesn't know where, and so the water must be shut off indefinitely.

That drama lasts for several hours. By the time he finds the problem, the desire to sink into more sleep is long gone.

We eat breakfast on the porch, but it's not really a leisurely meal. We're running the AC inside so that the bedroom upstairs doesn't turn into a toaster oven set on high. I'm sure Ed would have preferred to be in the coolness of the kitchen, but I haven't had my fill of porch time yet, se we eat outside.

Afterwards, I drive out to my mom's place to coordinate a visit with my daughter and her family. 

 

 

 

Still masked and outside, but at least she has a little time with her great-grandkids.

At home again I think about vacations. Should we do a quick trip somewhere? Maybe with the young families? Isn't it time to step outside the boundaries of our pandemic life just a little?  Every time I glance at the paper, there is an article about where you should go this summer. Shouldn't we be driving somewhere too? 

Ed, always the homebody, tells me -- how about checking out Lake Waubesa?

I can't say that going to Lake Waubesa is going to challenge us and take us out of our pandemic comfort zone -- it's just one or two miles up the road from the farmette. Still, we hop on the motorbike and go the short distance to where our road dead ends by the water's edge. So many people here with boats today! And there are parties at the lakeside picnic tables: a 40th birthday, a 15th birthday -- it all seems so joyous, especially after the quiet of last year's spring season.

The little beach here is pretty empty. That's a good thing. Certainly the grandkids could play here if they have a hankering for sand and water.

Ed and I walk along the road -- to the lakeside pub (crowded!) and back again. We are not yet immersed in anything near a normal life: another time we may have gone in and split a beer. Not today.

The air cools, the faces of the flowers perk up.

It's still spring after all, the hot dry days to the contrary, notwithstanding. Let's hope for some rain this week, okay? For the farmers and gardeners among us. For these guys too.

Rain, okay? We would like some rain.

what if...

Do you find yourself sometimes spinning in thought to another reality? Here's one that's been floating around for me: what if we were all born to consume just plants? No animals at all. Protein derived from vegetables and legumes. What if all mammals foraged on stuff that grows rather than stuff that runs or crawls? I mean, if a giraffe or an elephant can live on roots and fruits, wouldn't it have been cool if all animals evolved to do the same? Ed and I used to watch a lot of nature shows but lately I've turned away from them. Too much violence! Nests raided, young animals hunted down by lions and tigers and humans and hawks -- it's one big massacre out there. I can't watch it anymore.

Though we eat almost no meat, Ed and I are not purists in this. If served some, we wont refuse it. And we routinely eat fish. But I can't help thinking that it would have been truly awesome if we were born to be like groundhogs or deer: roots and shoots and fruits. That's it.

This idea came back to me full force in the middle of the night when Ed came in and told me that we'd lost Rosie, our young pullet, to a predator. She'd been impossible to corral into the coop in the evening (such a bird brain! she often has a hard time aiming for the door!) and so Ed paused for a while to let her settle down. The hens get drowsy at night and they're easy to handle then. But by the time he returned to the barn, we had had a visitor. Some beast had come and taken her away. He'd also attempted to destroy the coop, judging from what damage was done to the roof, but that proved to be a futile effort. Still, the little girl became someone's late night supper.

The morning walk was deflated. Definitely some air had gone out of our spring balloon.

(just two little ones now...)

Breakfast on the porch.

Sigh...

We've shared news of other chicken casualties with the kids, but this one feels too fresh and so we put the topic aside when Snowdrop comes over after school. It was her last day as a kindergartner and honestly, it's cause for celebration of sorts. I mean, what a year!

From remote learning, to a hybrid model, to in-class instruction, but with masks and distancing, though less distancing halfway through spring. Was there anything normal, steady, reassuring or reliable about any of it? Yet the girl sailed through and managed to come out with a smile today. And of course her smile is our smile.

(the kids wrote and illustrated books marking their faves and their milestones...)

It's a hot day, but the breeze kicks up and you feel almost okay with it. At least in the shade. Heading to the farmette I ask her -- would you like to go to Bernie's Beach? It's almost on the way...

She and I used to go there after school -- it's the park with a small sandy beach that borders the "lesser lake." By summer, most of the lakes in Madison have algae levels that make them unhealthy for swimming, but at this point the beach is still open for business and in the hour after school, it's pretty empty.

Oh, how Snowdrop loves splashing in the water! I did not bring a swimsuit, but with minor adjustments, we get her ready to hit the water.

We don't stay long. A number of other kids begin to arrive and I haven't the confidence in how much anyone is following precautions these days. But it is enough to give her that joy of sand and water that truly marks the beginning of summer vacation. 

At the farmhouse we're back with the books, the fruits, the trees outside and the check of her favorite flowers.

Summer stuff, all of it. Well, maybe not the books!

As I drop Snowdrop off at home, I catch a moment with Sparrow...

... and I take a very chill Sandpiper for a little bounce on the knee.

Evening. I had promised myself a new cooking idea for tonight's supper and so I put in a small amount of effort to produce this pie with spinach, escarole and a few turnip greens. Onion, garlic, a couple of cheeses.

Good taste, good smells from the oven. I ask Ed if he likes the "pie.". He says "yes," but it's not a bouncy yes. 

So, should it go on the rotating menu?

Maybe not. When pressed, he tells me it tastes like it's on the heavy side. I suppose it's the pastry, since the stuffing is rather on the lean end of things. Certainly no heavier than that of a frittata. But then he adds -- I like that you're making new things again.

Yes, I like that too.