one more time

Crash, slash, thunder! Steam, heat, oppressive climb of temperatures to levels I usually associate with Florida. In the summer. One of those days. But hey, I do believe it's the last one! Consider it a gift: it's there so that we can admit that inevitable seasonal truth: we are so done with summer! Farmers are struggling to keep the energy going -- I read it in their newsletters: overworked, burdened by a good crop but also by abundant weeds and bugs. And us gardeners -- well, show me someone who is still meticulously attending to their flower beds and I'll tip my hat in total admiration. You wont find any such person here, at the farmette.

It's Saturday -- the one morning in the week where I am happily in a rush. I like all my early bird chores. Well yes, the animals, that's just sort of mindless. (Though I never fail to admire what's growing out there... )

But then I go to the market for my mushrooms and my flowers...

And I pick up my bag of preordered produce: peaches from Door County, tomatoes, always the tomatoes!

And finally I go to where I am to meet Snowdrop and her mom for breakfast -- the wonderful La Baguette Bakery. I get there early so I can nab an outdoor table. And watch her come running...

The girl is excited because La Baguette has several treats she loves: macarons! (And chocolate tarts -- I pick up some tarts for tomorrow's dinner.)

La Baguette is the kind of bakery I would love to have up the street where we live. It's authentically French and the baker's wife is happy to indulge my speak French whenever possible habit. I try not to miss visiting that country. Ah well! We have this one bakery that will always transport me in some fashion to that land of croissants and baguettes and tarts and macarons. I am grateful!

Afterwards, Snowdrop comes to the farmhouse for a morning of reading, for lunch, for some play with her little ponies. For pillow fighting with Ed.

For climbing her tree...

And for going with me to pick up corn. (Well, she now passes on picking the corn out of the truck. She just wants to play with the kittens and say hi to the Stoneman farm grandkids.)

Back at her house, I have a chance to visit with both brothers as somehow magically I manage to avoid their naps.

Last weekend before school starts for the older duo. There is palpable excitement! 

(Well, Sandpiper is pretty relaxed about the school thing. No school for him this year. So sorry, little guy...)

And now I'm back at the old farmette...

It's the late afternoon. I really want to keep that brisk walk habit going. There are spotty storms and little bursts of rain, but mainly it's just hot and steamy. Nonetheless, I nudge us out to the local park. We do a loop. Not quite the wonderful nearly 20,000 steps at the State Park, but still,

(a woman with a parasol)

(This is why we'd hate to live by a lake: loud.)

Evening. A moment of contentedness here, at the farmhouse. And some reflection. I'd listened to a few minutes of an interview with a writer (George Saunders) on Public Radio this morning as he talked about his first encounter with Chekov's story "the Gooseberries." (I totally recommend it: it's only 25 pages long!) I'm not going to do justice to it here, but I'll pick up on the theme that was also highlighted on the radio show -- the idea of happiness and at what price we seek it. At what cost to others. Because, of course, there is always a cost. Is it better, therefore, to change your course and instead aid in the happiness of another? Does that lead your closer to your own feelings of satisfaction or even joy? Or maybe not? In the end, who is the happier person: the one served by others, or the one who, after hard work, successfully gets to where she or he wants to be? Is there a right answer to this? (Hint: there is not.)

 

Night. One last warm one, where opening the window does no good. And then we do a turn around. Away from the heat. From summer lethargy. From the dog days of August. It's been fun, but I'm ready for the change to something cooler and snappier. Ready for sweater weather. Ready for the end of summer.

With love.

farmhouse routines

While I was hiking with Ed at Governor Dodge, watching the clouds roll in and thinking, then writing about probabilities (yesterday), as it turns out, Snowdrop had just had a conversation about the same with her mom. They were getting ready for a meeting with her first grade teacher and her mom was encouraging her to think about goals and hopes for the year. Her teacher would be asking about that. In hearing her little girl's reply, my daughter must have nudged her a little. To perhaps come up with hopes that at least had some chance of being realized.  Here's my daughter's summary of Snowdrop's response: “Nothing is zero percent. Everything is at least one percent.” — my hopeful child of a professor of statistics and probability, discussing her chances of growing a rainbow mermaid tail.

 

*     *     *

How quickly you slip into old habits once you're back from vacation! Admittedly, that was not a very long vacation. Less than thirty hours of being away. (Was it really that short?) Can you even stop thinking about rote activities in a day and a night away from home? Well, I have Mr. Stay-at-home by my side and so I have to take what little is offered in terms of getaways. Already I'm hearing mild mumbling about perhaps canceling our September hike. (My answer so far: no! But Ed has a way of chipping away at my defenses...)

Still, there is nothing wrong with our routines. Even on mornings with a threat of rain.

I continue to pick off some spent lilies, but I'm putting off even thoughts of garden work until.... oh, maybe October. Not this month, not next month. Let's get rid of the bugs first.

Breakfast on the porch. We talk about the cats.

Dance, our matriarch here (even though she's not the mother of any of the rest) and our most "attached" cat is deliberately avoiding us to let us know that she did not appreciate being shut out of our lives in the past day or two. Think I'm making this stuff up? Well, you didn't see her reject the shrimp I offered her as a gesture of peace and mutual admiration. Nor her jumping off the couch when I sat in my usual spot next to her. She chose to hide in our bedroom, probably because she knows I hate it when she spends much time there. (Achoo!)

Well, no matter. All other cats and chickens are as before: happy to be fed, happy I suppose to see us here again. (Though the concept of a happy chicken is, I swear, a human fantasy. Chickens never smile. They just peck around the garden and lay eggs and every once in a while take a dirt bath. That's it. Content? Maybe. But happy? That's probably a stretch.)

 

In the afternoon, I suggest a walk. 

We go to our local county park. Surely the bugs wont overwhelm us! 

And here's a pleasant surprise: the goldenrod is just as abundant and beautiful here as it is in the prairies of Governor Dodge State Park!

A sweet little reminder of our vacation. 

I wish that we'd had done the longer trail today, because for once we are so fit! But, the heat was oppressive and Ed was ready to get out of the sun.

So an easy slide back into our farmette life! And yes, you guessed it: even a frittata for dinner. With green beans and mushrooms and corn.

chances

If something has a 10% chance of happening, you have to assume that's not zero. But if you're told it's 1%, well, you kind of assume your paths wont cross. Even though even 1% is not zero. And here's the thing: even 0 isn't really 0. You can always say -- well, it had a 0% chance of happening, but new data appeared and we've revised it so not it's way higher. 

I thought about this as I woke up in our huge soft bed in Mineral Point. The stone walls had kept the heat out -- we'd turned off the air conditioning -- but still, I was quick to read that we would be reaching some pretty toasty temperatures today in south central Wisconsin. But here's the surprise! All those predictions of storms and rain? Out the door! I read that for the better part of the day, the chance of rain has gone down to 1%.

That's great news for us! We'd already decided to return to the farmette today, but now we have a chance to return to Governor Dodge State Park again for another hike. No need to fret about rains and storms!

But first, we go down to the main street of Mineral Point and find a place for breakfast. Cafe 43. This one:

I knew they had tables outside and they offered all the good stuff I love for a breakfast away from home. Ed was feeling that it's maybe a tad early to be thinking about food, but no matter: we sit down, I eat.

He watches.

I have a different perspective on Mineral Point this morning: some of the shops are open, there is a little more commotion out there. As people come in and out of the cafe and as I watch a group of very senior women gossip over their cups of coffee, I think -- well now, this town has some lovely stuff going on here!

 

 

 

Ed and I dont take any of the architectural walks that one could do. He's anxious to get to the forests. I'm fine with that. But we do pop into a cheese maker -- Hook's. We have a Hook's 5 year cheddar every single Sunday before dinner, because the kids love it so very much (the adults too, but our tastes are broader than just that). Time to say hello.

They're not making cheeses today, but that's okay: Ed and I have visited plenty of cheese producers over the years in Wisconsin, and in France, and in Italy, and honestly, there's a lot of similarity in the process for all. Still, we chat a little about the cheddar and, too, about a Ewe's blue cheese that is exceptionally wonderful. (They get the sheep's milk from a woman who has 800 sheep up near Fond du Lac. That's a lot of sheep!) And of course, we buy a chunk of the Ewe's Blue. And dig in as we leave their place.

And then we drive out. Past Pendarvis -- the site of some of the first miners' cottages from the 1830s.

(I should note, too, that our Airbnb was in a house that was built in 1839: we slept in the old kitchen area of the rather stately home.)

And then we drive north and east, just a handful of miles, back to Governor Dodge Park. We are ambitious: Ed proposes the Meadow Valley Trail, which is rated "difficult" because of the amount of ups and downs and the distances involved. Perhaps we are excessively ambitious: we zap onto this the Bat Cave loop. Ed will not ever go inside a bat cave (humans can bring a viral load that can sicken bats), but we are happy to walk the area outside the caves during the season where it is considered safe to be there.

 

 

 

 (tall stuff)

 

 

(short stuff)

 

(from up high)

(then down below)

In all, we cover a lot of ground! Yes, it is a sweaty hike, but really not too bad! The woods give us a cool shade. Occasionally, a breeze comes out of the blue, refreshing us. Well, not out of the blue. The skies stay mostly gray and some of them do look like they might explode into something wet or maybe even stormy, but the 1% prediction holds: we get nothing threatening at all. And not even a drop of rain.

(favorite moment: sitting on a bench and looking out on this...)

(oh, the goldenrod!)

But despite the clouds, we are hot. As we come close to the lake, the temptation to jump right into the water is overwhelming! Oh, it's not the clearest water on the planet, but the Park ranger had told us that they check the water daily for noxious stuff and so far it's been okay. We take a chance, clothes and all!

As we walk back to the car, I throw out some comment about having escaped bad storms and bad outcomes all around. I think about our good fortune and how much I lean on this guy walking now next to me. 

Ed, if you die, can I still talk to you?

Sure, only not too much.

Hey, you can't set the rules on that!

No more than once a week, okay?

I'm not promising!

Back in the car, we munch on fruits I had packed for us from home, and Ed digs into a slice of leftover pizza. 

This sure feels like a vacation straight out of the 50s, he tells me with a smile. I'm not exactly sure which elements make it so, but he is right -- a throw back to another era when trips were local, foods were straight out of a paper bag, and the swim was a quick dunk in a lake you happened to drive by.

And then we return home, with only one stop: at our favorite chocolate shop! For a box, to share for the next 16 days. (There are 16 chocolates in it.) A fitting souvenir from our very mini and very wonderful vacation.

not too far

Have you ever heard of Mineral Point? For us Wisconsinites, this little town (population 2500) is just far enough from Madison to seem like a whole 'nother world, but close enough that you could really do a day trip to it. Maybe even a half day trip! I mean, from the farmette, it's 55 minutes by car. South and west.

Mineral Point is part of the Driftless region of Wisconsin. Untouched by glaciation. You'll see bluffs and river valleys and there will have been minerals close to the surface. Such as lead ore, attracting Cornish miners and settlers in the 19th century. Homes build then out of local stone look not unlike something you'd find in Cornwall.

Mineral Point has had its ups (from the point of view of the settlers at least -- it was where the first governor of the Wisconsin Territory, Henry Dodge, was inaugurated) and downs (the gold rush lead to a fast exodus and the town suffered a decline until the later decades of the 20th century). Recently, it's been rediscovered. There is an economic uptick as the native grasses have provided great pasture for cows. Cheeses from here are famous worldwide. Too, Mineral Point is now known as an artistic haven -- a place where you want to live if only to mix with other local artists. In 1971, Mineral Point was included on the National Registry of Historic Places -- the first such designation in our state. 

Ed and I had visited Mineral Point a few years back. In the winter. It was cold. We did very little except huddle inside our room at a bed and breakfast. We decided it would be a good place to revisit now, during the time where local is best and anything close by deserves a second look. It's our first travel adventure together in years!

And for how long? Well, when the weather appeared endlessly sunny and we had no bugs to torture us earlier this season, we thought a few days would be great. Mineral Point is pretty close to Governor Dodge State Park. We could hike by day and walk the short blocks of this little town by evening. Now that the storms and bugs have moved in with a vengeance, we may turn around and come back quickly. There are no flights to set boundaries on when we must go or when we must return. We are free birds!

But first, there is the morning farmette walk. We keep the cheepers locked up. If we decide to stay away, someone will have to keep an eye on the place (we have a reliable house watcher). But no one can be expected to chase chickens into their coop at night. So in they stay. I give them plenty of food and water, just in case.

One glance at the garden...

A nice breakfast on the porch...

And we are off!

*     *     *

Of all the days this week, today has the smallest probability of storms and so we start our adventure with a hike at Governor Dodge's. No, better yet: three hikes.

We are rewarded.

Of the three loops that we do, the first is quiet, rich with forest greens and dampened by a somber waterfall. Outside the forest there is a splendid field of goldenrod. Just beautiful!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The second covers a diverse terrain, looping at the top of a bluff with towering pines (that we owe to the work of the glacier). This is one of the more spectacular hikes we've done in this park. Climbing up onto the bluff is well worth the effort.

 

 

 

 

 

 

(And down again!)

The third is tame, looping by the lake -- fitting for an end of day, gentle type of climb.

 

 

 

 

 

 

We wondered if we would get whipped silly by rains or worse, by pop up storms, but none of that happened. The bugs were tame, the shade was richly cool.

And toward evening, we drove on to Mineral Point, to our Airbnb in the historic district.

 

 

 

It's a nice enough place in an old fashioned sort of way. 

Ed points out that our home is more comfortable, but then, he is never a fan of staying anywhere other than in a tent or perhaps a ditch. Me, I appreciate the fact that it's not home. That we are not doing our regular chores. That I have no dishes to wash and he has no animals to feed when dusk falls. 

We stretch out a little and then I go over to pick up pizzas at Popolo's. 

(Driving down the main street)

 

 

And they're okay pizzas. We eat them outside, in the little garden.

 

Tomorrow we'll walk around town a little and if it doesn't rain, we'll return to the state park. From there, it's a short drive home.

Oh, it's good to be away for just a few seconds out of the year! I'm not reading the newspaper, I'm not pulling weeds, I'm just enjoying being elsewhere for the first time in a very long time.