if it's Tuesday...

... then this time it must be a Snowdrop at the farmhouse day! It is something to look forward to! But first, I have to make up for lost garden time. Away goes the rooster (behind the fence) and out come the garden tools.

Well alright, breakfast comes first. With freshly picked peonies for the tables -- porch and kitchen. There are so many right now!











Walking the gardens, I take in the June siberians too. Now accompanied by campanulas...






Though after early morning rains, the irises look misty wet and grand, even without accompaniment.






Work time. Weeding, deadheading. Encouraging new growth, new blooms. One goes out, another comes in -- like the jump rope rhyme from my childhood (tenement for rent, inquire within, when one jumps out, another jumps in!)

And as I move through the gardens, I always find something unexpected: a green frog that each year emerges right in the thick of the lilies, a cheeper burrowing behind the lupines, a self sow cosmos -- always there are the surprises!







Then along comes Snowdrop.


 



The inquisitive, cheerful, trusting Snowdrop.






At the farmhouse, she looks for grandpa Ed and when she finds him, she works endlessly to cajole a smile. Yes, she succeeds. When he leaves, she stares at the couch where he once sat wondering why the bearded guy is no longer there.

Eventually, she tires of all the activities and I put her in her chair where she can keep an eye on things without too much effort. Mozart piano sonatas are playing on my computer and Snowdrop is at once interested...






...and delighted!






She rests, she eats, she sits, she stands and finally, we go for our long country walk. Here's her stroller face!






What do we see as we walk past up the rural roads to our east and to our north? Here, follow along:


 


















A dog runs out from a neighbor's home barking energetically. The owner comes out to apologize. He's a border collie. Don't mind him! He'll chase you if you move. Maybe nip at the wheels of the buggy, or your heels.. It's what they do!

Sounds not too dissimilar to Oreo, the rooster.

We walk back to the farmette. It's been a very warm day -- upper eighties -- and I wonder if Snowdrop would like a trickle of a hose on her warm body.

She doesn't. Enough excitement for one day. We return to the cool farmhouse where all is calm, all is familiar and as it should be.





How this little one loves the familiar! Even as she strains to master the unknown.

Monday

Throw me some good weather, a spring landscape and a free morning and you can rest assured that I will be outside working.

Unless the day proceeds like this one: full of the small twists that cause it to veer in different directions.

Let's start with the sweetly predictable breakfast.





It's prompt and ready at 9, since Ed has a morning meeting to go to soon after. He promises he'll lock up Oreo so that I can roam freely and work without a rooster hanging (quite literally) on my heels.

We do take a few minutes to pick some weeds (Scotch watches, hoping for worms)...


 


... and, too, to wash a chicken.

That may sound strange, but we've noticed that one of the white hens has been slumping lately. It could be the heat. It could be a nibble at a indigestible plant. I offer another explanation: her butt is so dirty! I tell Ed that maybe she can't push eggs out in all that mess. Since she is lethargic, Ed picks her up easily and I work the hose on her rear and scrub her (almost) spankin' clean.

And then Ed takes off for his meeting and I note that he has forgotten to lock up Oreo. Since I have no intention of messing with his moods, I spend the morning inside paying bills and doing the type of general accounting that one does on a rainy day. Except that it is a very very lovely day and here I sit, trapped indoors because of a rooster. At least the view out the kitchen window is a good one.






The second part of the day, on the other hand, is plenty nice --  I proceed to Snowdrop's home.

I walk into her bedroom just as she is waking up from a long morning nap and I note right away that she has turned the corner: she certainly knows how to quiet her anxieties (if such there be) with recourse to her thumb. It's such an important step toward independence!






And what else might she show you today? Oh, you know she'll be practicing sitting and standing, with her usual energy and determination...











Realizing that this is my last week with her (I'll be taking off this weekend for a little while), I revel in all of it -- the walk around the lake with Snowdrop and her mom, the smiles, the bounces, the stroller face...





... all of it!


Toward the end of the afternoon, the little one grows tired. The thumb comes up once more to soothe her. She sighs, like you and I might sigh when we've reached that point in the day when nothing can go wrong anymore.






Into her mom's waiting lap now...





...and off I go.


Later, much much later, after dinner, after the sun gets mightily close to the horizon...





... Ed asks -- want to go to Walmart?

He knows I dislike the store, even as I cannot resist a trip there with him. He wants to pick up a half dozen t-shirts (I'm hoping his torn ones will be retired now, but I doubt it!) and he wants my help in picking out good colors. At $3.69 a shirt, I think you can't possibly have good choices, but it turns out I'm wrong. As he picks up one, then another, I ask --  Pink?? You're going to wear pink?
Why not? -- he responds, in that tone that lets me know that he is beyond gender stereotypes.

There had been a splatter of rain and now a swirling low mist rises from the road. A pair of baby raccoons bounces just before us. Infants! Must they always be this adorable?

Sunday

By my calculation, the next very normal Sunday doesn't come around until July 19th and even that one is a bit iffy. You may be yawning when you read this post -- nothing happens! same old, same old! -- but for me, the routines fall into place beautifully, forming a pattern of habits that I rather love. (I love disruptions too. I'm conflicted that way.)

I suppose scrubbing the farmhouse -- my Sunday morning special -- can't fall under the heading of "love this!" but I do adore the freshness that comes immediately after. (Ed is less comfortable in the clean house. It usually comes with many directives -- just for today, don't do this, don't do that, put this away, please don't leave that on the floor... etc.)

Breakfast outside -- that needs no introduction or amplification.






And then we work outside. Not of necessity, but because it feels good to labor in tandem, hauling chips to places that need them, trimming, pulling out, cutting down -- the usual stuff that keeps us busy, especially now, before we have any signs of mosquitoes. (Last year, they started to show up in the second week of June and by mid month, we used our paddle zappers every time we went outside.)

It is warm and breezy. Storms were to rumble through but they seem to have passed us by. The sun pokes through now and then -- it really is the perfect day to be outside.













In the evening, the young family comes for dinner.






Snowdrop is her most wonderful self...






... and we spend a blissful time eating on the porch.






Later, much later, the doorbell rings. That's curious. No one ever comes this way unannounced. I send Ed to answer it and he comes back with a big container of perfectly amazing strawberries. Just like my grandma's!


 


They're from one of the Hmong farmers with whom we share this glorious landscape. A gift. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yes, the day shines. Inside and out.

the twists and turns of a Saturday

When I think about how many breakfasts Ed and I have managed not to eat together (when I'm not traveling), the answer surprises me: it's zero. Even when I still worked and had to be up before dawn to prepare classes, I'd wait for my cup of coffee until the morning meal. If Ed had been putzing on his machining project and feeding a sudden appetite late at night, he'd cut back on morning foods (just fruit today, he'd say). But it would still be a breakfast, at a table, me with my granola or oatmeal, Ed with his bowl of fruit.

But today, that breakfast became a problem. Ed had forgotten an event scheduled for 9 that he wanted to attend. I was just putting out plates on the porch when he rushed in to tell me that he was already late. No time for a meal.

I would have waited, but I myself had a date with my daughter and Snowdrop -- market time! -- and so I proceeded to take a photo of a place set for once just for one -- me. And of course, that's when I hear the sound of his motorbike and I see Ed whiz into the photo, returning from his meeting...






...in time to eat with me after all.





So -- zero. Somehow, without much effort, we have never missed that morning meal together.

Alright -- let's talk flowers. This time, you get the peonies again, but these guys really are special since they give depth and color to the lush garden by the farmhouse when little else is blooming. They look especially sublime in the early morning light.






And now here's another curious thing about today: when I arrive at Snowdrop's home, I find her ready and waiting for the stroller walk downtown (about 40 minutes each way, plus however long it takes to walk around the market square on this most crowded market day ever!).



I'm waiting patiently, grandma!


And because it's early for her and she is rested, fed and excited to begin her day, I bend down to take the famous serious faced stroller photo and instead, I get this (she's returning her mom's smile):






The walk is lovely, the market is pulsating with people and produce -- and here's something new this week:



strawberries! already?!


It is grand to be at the market in these early weeks of the growing season -- each new food is a wonderful surprise.


After, I say goodbye to Snowdrop and her mom back at their home...






...with a wave and a see you later, old chum! -- and I will see her later, as she will be spending the evening at the farmhouse while the young couple goes out.

At the farmette Ed asks which of the many farmette jobs I'd like to get to this afternoon. Perhaps foolishly, I suggest we weed and chip the tomato field. It needs both. Badly. We do have a lot of tomatoes -- it's hot and tedious work. But, in a couple of hours we're done!



(the field goes on forever...)


I call it now the tomato field (rather than a veggie field) because a horrible thing happened overnight -- all the peas and beans were completely devoured by some animal. Honestly, I think we should give up on growing things that sprout tender young shoots. There are too many interested parties lurking at the sidelines, waiting for the most perfect moment to begin their feast.

I cannot easily bend and dig, so I sit and dig and move across the tomato field on my seat. My back is sending signals that perhaps I should not overdo. So I do not overdo.

Returning to the farmette courtyard, I note that the cheepers are waiting for us under the willow.


 


The hens like our company. Oreo? He and I have another one of our usual skirmishes, only this time he's not deterred by my water gun. He's soaked solid, but he wont go away and again Ed has to lock him up.

Anyone wanting to take in a lame rooster who hates everyone except for Ed?!

Once Oreo is behind his fence, the farmette grows blissfully quiet again. I take the time to admire each new flower...






... a speck here, a cluster there -- the bed is beginning to show off its true colors.






And now it's time for supper preparation. From the kitchen, the views at this time of the year are great in all directions. I always favor the front beds. Let me give a grateful nod to the flowers at the side.






And what's cooking at the farmette today? Pizza! Ed suggested that I make the NYTimes crust and that's just fine, since it's easy and delicious. Add to it mushrooms, onions, garlic, basil -- over a marinara sauce with two cheeses on top -- what's there not to like?!






Snowdrop comes over and we have a playful set of hours. Because it's a beautiful evening, we spend a good bit of time outside.






There really isn't a more beautiful sight for me than that of a little Snowdrop luxuriating in the grass...






Or reaching for the dancing leaves of the birch...






I'll leave you with that last photo. An evening doesn't get much better than moments spent watching a little one clutch birch leaves. Somewhere in that wee head there must now be an association between what's in the hand and what grows out there, on the farmette lands.

Amazing.

consummerism and love

When I was young, I didn't want "things." I was in Poland at an age where things of interest to many girls (if you'll excuse the stereotyping) -- records, clothes, make up -- were not readily available. Too, there were no commercials instructing you to want something. That's not to say we wanted nothing. But say you saw people wearing leather boots (very popular in winter). So you want them. Others want them too. Indeed, every young person wants a pair of leather boots. Okay, but you had to wait for a shipment and then take whatever is available. There was no choice -- that great engine behind consumer spending. Without choice, you take what's there and if there isn't much of anything, then you shift your attentions elsewhere -- to long walks in the park and cafe meetings with girlfriends, during which you talk about what you really want -- in my case, the attention of a boy I loved.

When I moved to the States to finish my studies here, I didn't immediately switch to the world of want. What money I earned from many (many!) part time jobs, I spent on travel back to Europe.

But gradually I discovered stuff. For me, it was kitchen stuff! How I loved the quality of it all! I acquired my first Le Creuset pot when I was still a student (I continue to use that same pot every single week). When I finally acquired an immersion blender (not until I was fifty), I was thrilled!

What I soon discovered though was that there's only so much kitchen stuff I could find in Madison stores. No, we weren't as spartan here as post war Poland, but the choices weren't grand and overwhelming. Too, when I struck out on my own at 52 (kids gone, husband divorced), I had to shut down this inclination to spend money on stuff.

Ed helped. Don't buy new! Fix the old! -- is his motto. I tried not to be tempted.

Until today.

I received a notice in the mail that we are in the week of the grand opening of  the popular retailer, Sur La Table at our local mall. Now, I've been to this store in San Francisco. But having one in Madison -- ohhhh, that's just too tempting.

I had to go.

Right after breakfast...






...and a quick look at the flower fields...






...I set out to grocery shop which "unfortunately" forces me to drive right past Sur La Table.

I spend a blissful half hour there looking at cooking stuff. And like a true addict, I buy one small item (20% off any one purchase this week!), but it hardly matters -- I walk with a cup of cappuccino (freely made for customers on their beautiful espresso machines) and gawk and fondle one plate, another pan, a glass, a utensil -- all to the sound of jazzy music selections and wonderfully friendly staff members -- heaven!

I will make a point of not stopping there on my weekly shopping trips downtown again.


In the afternoon, I am with Snowdrop. She is five months old today!






Such an accomplished girl! In addition to her love of standing, scooting around on her back, bouncing in her Jumparoo, she has discovered, as of today, this:






No more the whole fist in the mouth! In comes the thumb!

Otherwise, she greets me with her usual vocalizations and grins and, too, her serious stroller countenance...






She is in fine spirits -- of course she is! Five months is no small banana!

And I'm in fine spirits as well. My back issues of yesterday aren't gone, but they're greatly diminished. I can play sit and stand with Snowdrop without (much of) a wince!

And here is the truth about babies, children, adults, the world -- if you listen hard to what they want from you, it's always the same: a sympathetic ear and an empathetic smile. A hug seals the deal. Your rewards? This:

pushing the limits

Just two more hostas! Oh, this one is hard to dig out! Mustn't disturb its neighboring coral bells! I got it, I got it! Just one more twist... What's that? Have I twisted my back out of alignment? Damn!

Last spring was the season of back issues. I had fallen hard on an ice rink in January (on a Greek island, of all things) and that was the start of the back muscle spasms that came soon after, when I biked too hard (March), or shoveled too ferociously (April). But, things got better. So much better that I never gave it another thought.

I felt I had overcome!

Yay me!

Stupid me.

In the late morning, I stop by my doc's office (on a whim -- I'm in the neighborhood) and ask for some magic pill that will make me mobile for the rest of the day.
See, I have to babysit my granddaughter and at the present moment, bending down is nearly impossible.
Well now, the best thing for you is rest and warm wet towels on your back...
You don't understand. My granddaughter is too young to put warm wet towels on my back!

In the end, I got my magic pill, just in case I absolutely cannot move. I went on to Snowdrop's home, where I explained to her that she should not be TOO energetic as I am of limited mobility today.

She properly laughed at that!


But let's go back to the beginning of the day -- a warm day, a beautiful day when the remaining peonies finally opened up their globes of loveliness.

And here's another favorite pairing for me -- this duo by the brick path repeats its synchronized show each year and it never fails to enchant me.






Yes, yes, we eat breakfast on the porch.






And I want to give a deep nod of appreciation again to those garden peonies  -- you'll find a sample of each in our breakfast table vase.






And after breakfast -- well, it was the run in with the hostas and the shovel.
Ed!
Coming, gorgeous...

And there was the clinic visit and then -- an afternoon with Snowdrop. But if I had worried and fretted about caring for her with a back that had worked its way into a magnificent spasm, I should have known better. Something magical happens when you focus your attention on the needs of another -- your own issues grow small and puny. She stands...


 



she sits...






she moves this way...


 



and that way...






and before I know it, it's time for our walk around the lake...






and boom! ...the day is gone.


I don't bother with dinner. I go downtown to the quiet, studentless main drag and pick up Chipotle bowls of good fast food and Ed and I enjoy a no muss no fuss dinner while watching the News Hour.

I know from experience that I will either wake up tomorrow and my back will be much better or I'll wake up and it will be much worse. I'm betting on the better! Yes, the better, for sure! Goodnight!