rain

It was a welcome shower. If anything, I'd complain it wasn't long enough, forceful enough, deep enough to really get to the roots of the thirsty plants at the farmette.

Pouty skies: they let out a short drizzle, then clam up again. All day long.

And so I work.

But in the afternoon, I need a break. These are the last days when I can put in plants for a June bloom period. Bearded irises, for example. Dave, over at the Flower Factory promised he'd hunt me up some leftovers. Ed and I set out to pick them up.

Past fields of brown and just a touch of green.






The Flower Factory is ever tempting. It's like setting loose a kid in a candy shop.






Irises. Stick with those. No more other planting this year.






At the farmette, I have this deep gratitude for the late bloomers. I hardly plant for late summer at all and yet, come September, there's still plenty of color in the garden.






Evening. Ed has been waiting for me to help him lift some of the fabric under the far end of the raspberry patch. It shouldn't take long -- famous last words. We struggle with just one strip (you need to lift a lot of sod before you can get to the fabric) for half an hour and it is such heavy work that we give up the rest for another day.

Besides, I have dinner to fix for the four of us -- a Sunday meal, with my daughter and her husband. It's cold tonight. We eat inside.






The skies clear at night. And again we wake up to a bright and sunny day. A Wisconsin fall -- quintessentially upbeat. Quintessentially beautiful.

Breakfast. With a handful of strawberries from the patch.

this way, that way

I cannot tell you how much I have danced around endless ideas about how to go about my days in the year just before me! Is it that I am at an age where nothing aligns itself in a predictable way anymore and so your mind reels at all that you can do?

My family, Ed, my friends must be so tired of the emails, the calls -- guess what, I decided to... Fill in the blank there. It's been a steady stream of new and often short-lived ideas.

And so, once again, it's been a weekend of flips and of flops. Weather-wise as well. Saturday was a coolish but sunny day. Perfect for the market with my older girl.





She has a favorite flower vendor -- Mai -- and when I spoke with Mai's family at the stand, I found out that they grow their veggies and Mai's flowers just about a mile or two from where we live.






My daughter was having friends over and she asked to borrow some simple candle holders. I thought -- surely I can pick up something for her at the store! But no. Nothing was simple, cheap, straightforward. Ed asks -- why buy anyway, when you can make something for her? And he did. In a handful of minutes.  Here they are, made by him, from our old willow branches.






Predictably, the rest of the day was spent on work for me. And thinking through the what ifs that have plagued me all month long. And lunch on the porch -- the usual. Peanut butter, with Ed's peach jam.






This morning, I was so glad to wake up to rain. At least my field of operations is contained. And, I wont have to water the garden! Inevitably, after breakfast...





...there will be the hours of work. But, too, of scheming and thinking. It's just the way it is this season.

the lake

It is an annual event: the sunset boat cruise on Lake Mendota along with Ed's Tormach pals. When the trip is placed on the calendar, you can't predict the weather. There have been years of rain, years of clouds, years of hot air. Not any of those tonight: the day is cool -- topping at just sixty-five (the porch stands empty -- I work indoors)..





 ...the evening even cooler. I bring a scarf.

But the boat ride is, therefore, spectacular: a clear night -- the kind you get sometimes in the middle of winter -- electric and crisp -- with every detail (and every person who is still enjoying a water sport) for you to admire.





We eat, we drink, we talk and some of us record the slow shift of light -- from the glare of the late afternoon, to the last dip of the sun...


 



...to the shine of the moon on the lake waters.





The evening made up for an extraordinarily tough day (though the upside of the tough day is that, with the help of Ed, I make some good decisions -- more on that later in the month).


And now it is morning and the sun continues to work its magic.  Breakfast in the sun room -- for its warmth, for its cheer.










Good Saturday morning, all! 

it's about the corn

Even if your workspace is a beautiful porch and you're there on a beautiful day, with beautiful views to the sheep shed, the barn, the old orchard and raspberry patch...

...you need to get up and out every once in a while.

To play tennis maybe. Or to go to your local market, where your wonderful and thankfully still local farmer takes veggies off her table and sticks them in your bag, refusing to take the dollars you hand her.

Without hesitation, Ed and I will tell you that the truck farmers who came to work the fields around us some half dozen years ago, have added a greater excitement and beauty to the landscape. Still, this is perhaps the one week when it's hard to complain about the (otherwise) omnipresence of corn and soy in this region. If yesterday's photo showed off the golden patchwork of soy, today, it's all about the corn. From the seat of Ed's motorbike:

And speaking of the guy's motorbike, this afternoon he affixed this to the back crate:

Where did you get it? -- I ask, knowing damn well what the answer would be. A discarded Santa, lying in the gutter somewhere...
Ed's not a Santa fan, of course. So why this?
Whimsey! -- he says, grinning.


In the evening, after a supper of leftover chili, I take the bike out on the country roads around us. Fields of corn, at their evening best:

Not for long, maybe just this week, but surely they, too, can take your breath away.






We talk about travel, Ed and I, late into the night. And even as he sleeps, I grab some sale fares to head out somewhere when the semester ends. I can't think about anything beyond December right now. But I can surely think about December.

I left the windows wide open for the night, forgetting that we're beginning the night time dip in temperatures. Mid forties! Soon it will be time to bring the potted guys in for the winter. Soon.

In the meantime -- breakfast is in the sun room.





So long as the days stay this bright, nothing seems difficult. Not even the work that's going to fill this day and the one after and the one after.

later than expected

The dainty achillea millefolium is having a late go of it. I planted three, from different nurseries and they are just now starting to unfurl their pretty little faces.





As if saying -- now, you will notice me! Back then, I was just one of many.

Is it like walking away from a deal? Now, you'll notice me. Back then, I was just one of many...


I leave work later than expected. Classes end for me late and I am forcing myself to stay in my office after to write drafts of exam questions. It's better to do this when the material is fresh in your head.

I turn Rosie on to Park Street (one of several competing ways to go home) and as usual, the traffic kills the joy of being on her curvy saddle, so I turn away, to the east and track the quiet road by the secondary lake.






It's really nice to have options in life.

The country roads though are perfect. They said storms might be passing through, but they were wrong. It is the kind of evening you dream of, come November or March. The soy fields are at their best. The sun is warm enough to ride with only a thin sweater. The air smells of a brilliant autumn.






I make chili at home. Those tomatoes are spilling out on the counter -- I've frozen so many, but they keep coming, at various stages of ripeness and oftentimes I don't catch their perfect freezing moment -- this is the time to make chili.

Ed comes home from his bike ride. If you hurry, you'll see the sunset, he tells me.

I go out, but it's too late. Wisps of red cloud remain. Nothing more.





Late, too late -- relative terms. Too late for one thing means a chance at something else. Would a view of a setting disc be any prettier than the above?

I turn toward the farmhouse, which to me, always looks beautiful, even in the growing darkness of a summer evening.






The night is made restless by Isis. Up, down, meow, clear the stomach, (Isis!) meow, out, in, out again.

I try not to glare at him as he ambles over during breakfast. He is only partly to blame for sticking so forcefully to his preferences. Why shouldn't he make demands? We (Ed!) pander to his requests. He's merely competent at stating them in a convincing fashion.






We eat breakfast on another one of those glorious Fall days that you love for its strength of tone and color.






Skies of blue, lands of a dusty green. After walking the gardens, I come back to the porch. A good place to work, a good place to imagine what next year will be like.

negotiation

It got tense toward the noon hour. I was finishing up lecture notes on the farmhouse porch. It may well have been 95 degrees out there, but I still love being outdoors and so I persevered. Ed joined me with his own readings and for a moment, I thought the world to be a very kind place indeed.

But in a short space of time, things started cracking. My old Apple tends to balk at odd times and she balked for me today. Twice I sent myself notes to my lecture, in case she balked her way into a crash, never to wake up again.

If only you'll carry me through this day, I promise I wont put you in a tight squeeze of time again! -- I whisper to my computer.

I must have said something right, because she bravely held steady and I finished my work with ten minutes to spare.

Late in the evening, I turned rosie against the record breaking heat toward home.






How I love those final few steps toward the farmhouse after a long and hard day of work!






At home, I talk to Ed about why it is that, despite having the benefit of asking for something that most everyone (if polled) would regard as reasonable and fair, my negotiations, in a wide variety of settings, historically always fail. (My success with my Apple this morning notwithstanding.)

He tells me -- you care too much. You don't exude power. You exude weakness. You argue reason, as if there lies some golden truth. People want what they want and then they invent the reasons for their position. Don't argue reason. State what you want, listen to the response, counter it, listen again and then take it or leave it. If you want it and can't walk away, your negotiating position isn't very strong.

The fact is, Ed is a superb negotiator. I've seen him do it, countless times. It's not that he always gets what he wants -- it's that most often, he doesn't care enough to stay with a deal if he doesn't think it's fair or right.

I think about how when you live with someone in a peaceful coexistence, no matter how independent you are, you nonetheless so often take on at least some of the traits of the other. I think about how more and more, walking away from bad (for me) deals seems like a good idea.

I make a garden salad...





...Ed brings home a pizza. We watch the PBS show on Billie Jean King and Ed comments -- she exudes strength. Moves assertively. Knows what she wants.

Yes, that's right. Gotta know your own mind.

I'm gettin' there.


Early in the morning, the air cools down. Clouds throw a few sprinkles on the dry soil. Not much, but it's a refreshing event -- as if the dry hot air is history.

We eat breakfast on the porch of course...











...me with my oatmeal, Ed with his Cheerios. Except that sometimes this sweet guy now eats oatmeal. And sometimes I'll know not to take bad deals when negotiations fail.

hot air

Taking rosie to campus was incredible: a burst of summer air pushed the temps into the mid nineties. The world is one warm, damp sponge. A moped ride at top speed (rosie can never go above 40 mph) is the ticket to a cooler world.

Campus seems hazy; the air is sticky, people would just as soon eat inside.






A city is never well partnered with scorching heat. I'm so much happier, later in the afternoon, to be turning rosie back home. To the bands of gold in the now drying soy fields.






I take my work for the rest of the day to the porch, despite the heat. A fan will move the air. I'm happy to be outdoors still. Winter seems far off.


Early evening. We are to meet up with Farmer Lee and her English speaking daughter-in-law in their fields of flowers. We'll lead them to the place that Ed found -- a place where the landowner is willing (perhaps even happy?) to clear land for her. How much does she want? Three, four, maybe five acres.

Done!

The land will be turned over. Scrub, weeds pulled out. (It was once a farm but it had succumbed to the invasives.) We walk the jungle of brush...






...and I can see that she is happy. She sees the possibilities.






In fact, I've never seen her so excited.

As Ed and I drive off on his motorbike, I pat him on the back. You did good, buddy.
We turn toward the tennis court. I didn't take good shoes, so like Ed, I go barefoot. Ed tells me that my game has never been better.






At home, I place the glads -- a gift from Farmer Lee -- in my biggest vase, so that they can do their show off act -- their explosion of cheer.






A good evening. A quiet time.  An early to sleep time.


And early to rise. I walk the garden, telling my flowers - hang in there, just one more day of this heat!











We eat breakfast on the porch, but I keep my books open, at the side. It's going to be a hot and packed to the brim day.  To a gentler rest of the week. Cooler, gentler, I'll accept both.

let's flip things for a while

What if an Ocean post did not always begin with breakfast? What if it ended that way instead?

When I travel, most often I post in the morning, or at lunchtime. When I'm home, I'll wait until the day ends. After dinner is cleared, dishes are washed, I sit down with my laptop and pick some threads that will make up a story of a day.

Well now, what could be wrong with that? I'm carrying in my mind fresh images, my work is behind me -- I have a stretch of unencumbered time.

The problem is an obvious one -- daily blogging, started oftentimes after 9 in the evening, drags into hours of fighting sleep. You'd think I will have produced a chapter of a book rather than just three or four sentences. The mind is fuzzy. The word flow stagnates. Oftentimes, I just cannot stay awake enough to give my few sentences a final edit. My inner voice screams at me -- it's fine, let it go! It's nearly midnight, get some sleep! And of course, it's not fine and I wake up in the middle of the night picking up my laptop to correct the overlooked mistakes.

It's protracted and worse - I have no edge left in me then. If my day is simple, my sentences are even simpler.

Time to try a new approach! Save the late evening for such brainy work as paying bills and mending rips where there shouldn't be rips. Or work then on putting together my Polish citizenship papers -- that should fill up most late hours of the year! (Oh yes, that process is still in full swing.) But if I have something to write, let me do it early. Do it before the wind dies down and the dreamy drowsy world takes hold.

So, let's see how it works:

I wake up early, to a steamy day. The one that tells us that if anyone is to do work outside, better do it now, because by noon we'll all turn into limp rags. Hot and humid -- that's the forecast.

Ed drags out the cart and loads wood chips. The cleared soil on the raspberry patch needs to be covered now. That's his hefty task. Me, I just need to do a little composting.






I note the flowers that are bold today...






...and the dainty patterns of color that still define the bed in front of the porch.






But I also throw an appreciative nod to the flower bed we created just this year -- the one that leads from the farmhouse to the sheep shed. Its blooming period is mostly finished and yet it still looks strong -- no longer naked and scant.






And then it's breakfast and the weary guy comes in -- feet blackened by dirt, hair falling wildly to the back of the head, ready for a morning meal. Breakfast on the porch.