Thursday in photos

I think I ought to set a word limit for these days: no more than ten words per photo. I'm capable of ten. But not a whole lot more. Though perhaps that would lead to the posting of unnecessary photos just so that I could get my eleventh in! Never mind then, let me do the best that I can, given that the day is almost over and I am just now sitting down to Ocean.

Morning walk. It's dawn, but the clouds haven't fully dispersed. You'll perhaps notice the gray overtones to the photo. Here you have a mixture of the annuals and the perennials:






Let's take a look at that sky, that great great great Midwestern sky, over the fields to the north of us. Now that's what you call a promising day!






The venerable farmhouse.






The adored (by me) and indulged (by everyone else) breakfast.






And now to Snowdrop's! Hi little one, hi cats!






A book morning. I read about a dozen to her, then she "rereads them" on her own.






A few more...






And then we go out. (Finally, grandma! About time!) Coffee shop. (Cup is empty, grandma!)






Pushing the stroller home.






In the evening, I cook supper. My daughter, who has known my friend Diane almost from my girl's own toddlerhood, comes over with Snowdrop. (Snowdrop explains to Diane what's what in her play space.)






I finish spreading strained apricot preserves over the strawberry tart...






We eat.






Do I taste fresh oregano on my shrimp, grandma?





Oh, thank you for replicating my Parisian strawberry tart experience, grandma! No, I don't think you'd get best Paris tart award, but you might get best Fitchburg tart award!





I have to show you this, grandpa Ed!
Okay, but do you see that you can also put them in upside down?
Always the upside down guy...





Beautiful day. Perhaps you don't see it -- the acts are so small -- a walk, a kid book, a meal. But to me, they're what made a day move from lovely to sublime. Yep, sublime.

Wednesday in photos

It rained during the night. Pounding rain -- the kind the fells your flowers. Still, I'm glad. In the long run, the flower fields were made better for it.

In the morning, the clouds lingered. I surveyed the beds -- not too bad. Here's a purple on purple photo. If you garden, you'll recognize the phlox and the spiderwort (what a name!).






And here's a different spiderwort -- a more contained one that looks regal and lovely, especially with bits of rain still clinging to its graceful leaves.






The rabbit reminded me that, in addition to the trampling chickens, the groundhogs, the deer, the chipmunks, we have another powerful set of teeth at work in my flower beds. We're surrounded by fields of vegetables, market flowers, fruits -- why are you here, instead of elsewhere?






Here's a very drenched lupine and four hens going through their morning beautification rituals.






Breakfast. At first, just with these two, eventually to be joined by my friend's husband.






And then I leave them all and take the old rose-ah-roo to Snowdrop's home.

And here's a surprise! Let this be the day that I first see her displaying a strong interest in a doll. It was a first birthday gift and she has ignored it completely from the moment she laid eyes on it (well, except that she really enjoyed taking the baby's fake bottle and chewing on it). No one cared. The doll got pushed aside. Snowdrop focused on outer space. She really loves things having to do with rockets and astronauts.

But today, the little astronaut (see p.j.'s) decided to display ferocious nurturing instincts. No one could quite understand the wheres and whys of it, but suddenly, Snowdrop is into this piece of plastic that she affectionately calls "baby."






After her bath, she and I walk over to the distant coffee shop. It's beastly hot, but she doesn't mind. We are, after all, going out!

I tell her we will see my friend there (Diane has work to do and she is doing a bit of it at this same coffee shop). Snowdrop has never met her and she is a bit surprised in a pleasant sort of way by the unexpected encounter. She does her most genial hand wave and high five.






That's it for cookie crumbs, grandma?
Yep.






We leave my friend to her stuff and now, perhaps fortified by the raisins from the cookie, Snowdrop wants to do her most favorite bit: push that darn stroller. In the heat. (I'd forgotten her sunhat. She has now turned into a summer blond.)






At home, it's a sweet, sweet combination of rockets and baby doll.






And then it's time for me to scoot home. This is the best kind of day for a moped ride. The air is warm and the breeze of zipping fast creates a tunnel of coolness for you. I take the longer route, coming in on the back of the farmers' fields. Are these the same strips of land that just two months ago lay bare and lifeless? It's so lovely here now!






In the evening, Ed goes off for his weekly bike ride. I pan fry Wisconsin trout and steam Michigan asparagus. I bring out the farmette rhubarb cake, and serve a prize winning Wisconsin cheese with it all. Remember your Midwestern roots, my friends!






As the light fades, the bats and fireflies come out to give us their version of a spring dance. Remember this season, they seem to say. Remember all that it gives us each year.

Tuesday

What you can expect on Ocean: four days of photos and not much else.

There comes a time when you cannot put together a credible story. There are two few minutes in a day. I have mornings with Snowdrop and now, as of today, a multi-day reunion with my best of friends of many decades. And so you just get photos.

Morning walk: you have to give credit to what blooms inbetween the big seasons:






The cheepers follow.






An interesting sunrise...






Breakfast:






Snowdrop, after morning bath. So... are we going out?






No? Well fine.






Maybe now?






We do go out. For a walk. And it includes a coffee shop break with mommy.






A rush then. To the store. Home. Water plants. Bake rhubarb cake. Cook dinner. We have guests tonight! (And tomorrow and the next day and the next day...)

Dinner.





And then the storms come and I sort of notice, but not really. Funny how an evening of camaraderie can push the weather to the sidelines.

Goodnight, goodnight. Until tomorrow's photo post!

Monday essentials

I was not at all convinced that the day would be warm. At dawn, the air felt cool and the sun looked like it was making a rather tentative appearance.





I do a quick walk through the garden, noting all the signs of hope and the rare disappointment. A dried up heuchera catches my eye. I blame the chipmunks -- we have multiple families living here and I like them somewhat less than the family of groundhogs (who concentrate on devouring things closer to their woodpile home), or even the family of wild turkeys (whose little ones are, at this point, too cute for words). And I also see that the white phlox, along with the yellow achillea are starting to bloom. These plants were among the stalwarts during my daughter's wedding here two years ago.






Ed and I eat breakfast on the porch, but it is a cool and quick meal. Both he and I have checklists of things to do and, too, I am expecting the arrival of Snowdrop.






She comes ready for farmette adventures.





I'll just note a few of them. You don't want a Snowdrop overload, even though it is Monday and time at the farmette always invites more camera time, because, well, I love Snowdrop, but I also love the farmette and the two combine well together!

First adventure: feeding the chickens. You'd think this would be ho hum by now. But there is this twist. Snowdrop wants what they're having. Perhaps she's feeling like a little cheeper herself. Her size, after all, is closer to theirs than to big grandma's.






And here's a digression: sometimes, a very young child suddenly, for a fleeting second, looks not so very young. Did you ever have that experience? You look at her (or him) and you think -- oh! This is how she will look when she is older! The next photo has a bit of that older Snowdrop in it:






Okay, the cheepers are well fed. Snowdrop lets me know that she is still hungry. We go inside and have a mega lunch. Of course, it includes fruit. She likes to use a spoon...






But when she asks for more, I just hand her a whole container of blueberries and she's happy to dig right in.






Okay, Snowdrop -- can I interest you in some indoor play?

She considers it. Honestly she does. A quick read of a book. An attempt to empty out her toy airplane. That's it.






It's going to be an outside kind of day. And it is getting warmer!

Do you want to ride in the wagon?
I get the most perfectly articulated yes. With many exclamation points added. Off we go to examine the tomato plants.






And at our vineyard/buckwheat plot, she gets out and explores. Oh, this is just such a happy time for her!





Picking clover, running this way and that -- the girl is free and in control of her own fate.

I show her the very first of our cherries. Our young orchard isn't yet a heavy producer, but it all starts with small handfuls, no?






Another good ride, this time on the shoulders of the giant...






And then she does what she loves so much -- she pushes the wagon (in much the same way as she learned to love pushing her stroller in a Paris park).






It's getting close to her nap time, but the air is so warm now. I can't resist asking her the question that I know full well will elicit another grand yes:  do you want me to bring out the swimming pool?

Ed suggested that I use water in the warmed by the sun hose. It's just perfect for her. True, she doesn't have a swim suit, but that's hardly essential. We improvise (I keep a spare strawberry tshirt here, just in case).






She does spend some time in the pool (the hens look on with a hint of envy I think).






But she loves best pouring water in and out and in every which way.






Oh, summer!





It is summer, no? No?


Snowdrop wakes up from a late nap (with goat and penguin)...






... I drive her home, I stop for an outdoor coffee with my good good friend who is in town, I pause at an outdoor market to pick up freshly picked broccoli, and as I pull into the farmette drive, I notice that these beauties are going strong, right in the road-front flower bed.





Perhaps it isn't yet full blown summer, but it surely is the most beautiful beginning to a bountiful season.


Ed and I go out one last time long after supper. It's nearly dark, but not quite. I pick rhubarb for tomorrow's dinner, Ed locks up the coop. It's warm, but not too warm. Not too buggy yet. The perfect evening for a humble appreciation of all that the farmette brings to our lives.