Saturday

If you are routinely up at dawn, you come to appreciate that the sun never rises in exactly the same place. You tell yourself -- how wonderful that you can see this! What a privilege to be up this early! (But you know that it's just talk. You know you'd really love to be dozing in bed and that even though you'll try to get yourself into that dozy state again, the last bit of sleep has been shaken out of you and so like it or not, the day is up and running.)






(A repeat bloomer that is so fresh and springlike in color that it's like a bit magic at this late part of summer.)






Breakfast. It's beginning to feel cool outside at this hour and I wonder home many more of our morning meals I'll want to eat outside. Don't pay attention to Ed's short sleeves. He only has two possible attires in the course of the year: shirt, or shirt with jacket.






It's going to be a glorious day! Sunny and not too warm.

And how is the garden fairing? Oh, I have no complaints! Here's the large flower field, looking toward the sheep shed...






And here it is looking toward the farmhouse.






It's a perfect day for walking and normally, I would go with Snowdrop and her mom to the downtown market, but the first weekend of September is reserved for an event downtown that ousts the market to other locations. The three of us (Snowdrop, her mom, myself) decide to take a different walk -- one around the lesser lake. We'd done it a thousand times when the girl was just a babe. Will she still put up with the lengthy stroller ride?

She does. She is of course older and so she looks at the world differently. For example, she surely is more aware of the magnificence of seeing fall coots out on the water...





We pass the coffee shop where Snowdrop and I have spent many a wonderful moment. We pause for a refreshment. It's so familiar to her!
Should we sit down? -- she wants to know.







I think we need a high chair...
I'm on it!






And yet, there are changes. Today, there is no way you can hold a glass of water for her. She needs to do it by herself. She is so good at pushing your helping hand away when she wants to take charge of her own world!






I'm a school girl now, grandma! Don't you forget it!



 


Back at her house, I linger just for a little while. We play ball.

Watching her attempt to dribble is possibly the cutest sight on the planet, but I have farmette plans for the day and so I leave her to her antics.






I'm on Rosie (the moped) and I take the longer way home, just to breathe in the loveliness of this early September day. (These fields are just to the east of us. Will they disappear next year when the planned development that has finally won approval moves forward?)






(Here's a tiny piece of the long flower bed that is now at the front of our farmette land.)






I could call it quits for the day. I've had a lovely walk. Ed has finally done some grass cutting. We've paid our dues. But we promised ourselves an outing for this weekend and this afternoon seems perfect for it. We want to do a bike ride -- one that tracks the path he rode by himself earlier this summer. You'll like it! Not at all too hilly! -- he promises.

He and I used to do many such rides together, but over the years, I've backed away. He's a much strong rider and I feel I hold him back. But today he wants to go at my speed. And it feels so good to be pulled back to those years when we navigated these rural roads together!

It's always best to go toward late afternoon or evening. The air is cooler. The colors are at their loveliest.

True, the golds and purples are not necessarily something you want to celebrate. The goldenrod flower is for us what heather would be to the hills of Scotland, but our own purple is oftentimes loosestrife -- an invasive that threatens many of the wetlands. I'm not sure if it's the culprit here, but I really do find the entire pastoral route to be breathtakingly stunning!






(Another view -- mainly of the goldenrod...)






(A parade of our beautiful sandhill cranes...)






It is, of course, mostly agricultural land.





And without doubt, corn dominates.






But, too, we ride past the old tobacco barns. (These days, Wisconsin tobacco is used mainly for cigar wraps.)






Sometimes, Ed pedals ahead...






But mostly, we ride side by side, pausing now and then to appreciate the beauty of all that we see around us.















We end alongside the Yahara River and yes, the colors are definitely those of early fall.






We had left our car in Stoughton -- a village just to the southeast of where we live. Ed proposes supper here, but I'm reluctant. I'm not a great fan of bar food of the old fashioned kind (fried foods, grilled meats). Still, as we walk up and down the short one or two blocks of "downtown," we see that things are changing, at least in this village (a mere half hour from downtown Madison). There are two restaurants that easily could satisfy the fussy "fresh and honest" eater and we pick the casual one -- Wendigo .

And it's lovely! Ed has a tomato po'boy and I have some mussles and eggplant fires and we walk away happy and satisfied.

Pull over! It's a beautiful sunset!

And he does.





And it is.

and then it's Friday

I come straight up to the bedroom and I say to a barely awake Ed -- they're gone!

He knows right away what I'm talking about.
They'll probably come back. Or, maybe they're hiding because it was a cool morning?
It's not that cool. I had been out to the coop and I didn't even need a sweater.

In the end, he was right. Too good to be true to be finally rid of them for good. But certainly in the wee hours of the morning they weren't there to bother me.

(I'm talking about this summer's mosquitoes, of course.)

I felt akin to what a victorious warrior must feel having reclaimed her land from the occupying forces. Not since July could I push through the dense plant leaves and take stock of what's weed and what's flower without slapping myself and waving a paddle around to keep the foe away.

And so I work for a good ninety minutes in these wee hours of the morning, starting in on what was once the strawberry patch (overgrown and in need of a different life going forward) and also trimming and tidying up the brand new front bed, so that we wouldn't look like the slovenly and neglectful types to those driving by.

At this time of the year, the asters are starting to perk up and there are the modest reblooms on some of the daylilies, and of course, the annuals do their job as well by providing the much needed splash of vibrant color.





In all, things are looking okay out there, given that it's September!

By the time a few mosquitoes start to reemerge (though their quantities are low now and we expect them to keep diminishing in the weeks ahead), I'm ready for breakfast.






And then I slip into Friday routines: Ed's off for his meetings and I'm off to the grocery store. With a last glance at the garden that even in this late shape and form I love so very much.






And just after the noon hour, I'm picking up Snowdrop and marveling that this little girl has now (nearly) a week of school behind her, joining the ranks of so many children who say goodbye to teachers, wishing them a good weekend of rest (well, in her heart; she can't fully articulate this yet). See you next week!


Again we drive to the famette.





Snowdrop has gotten used to not lingering outside and I don't push her to reconsider. She has had a very full four hours. Let her take the lead on what she wants to do next.

Oh, I should have guessed: dance.






She has a burst of energy and I suppose I could have let her continue running full speed into the afternoon...






But I'm thinking some quiet time makes better sense.

Snowdrop's mommy is here, resting (the sniffles made the rounds in our family; only Ed and Snowdrop seem to have been spared), watching, reading.






Toward evening, I give in to the little girl's prodding to go outside. There are a few bugs, but I'm vigilant.

I ask if she wants to check out the tomatoes. She loves our tomato patch and hasn't been there since the tomatoes first started ripening in mid July.  It is also the epicenter of all our bug activity and so I am cautious.

Snowdrop tugs at a tomato and emerges victorious.
Let's take it inside! -- I urge her.
She chomps right into it.
Let's save some to show mommy!
Another chomp.

I quickly sit her down on the picnic table. No way is the girl going to make it inside with that tomato! I take out my camera just before the final chomp.






In the evening I cook supper for the four of us. It's Snowdrop's third dinner in a row at the farmhouse, which, of course, makes me very happy as she is deeply appreciative when you prepare some of her favorite food (she eats a wide range of stuff, so the task isn't especially hard).

The sun fades, but as before, it throws that last warm set of beams right smack in the middle of the gardens.






Sometimes we ask Snowdrop -- are you happy? And she'll smile enthusiastically and say with utter conviction -- happy! I don't know what she understands this to mean. But there's no doubt -- she's in a good place and she tugs everyone in her life right into it.

first day of September

Come look, the cheepers have ventured out to the front yard. It's picture worthy! They appear so stately!

This from Ed, who is probably trying to get me to acknowledge that they do indeed add beauty to our farmette life. Right now, they, like my flowers, seem to me to be past their prime. You give 'em your all and they move on to other things. No more blooms, no more eggs. 





Fact is, I do like both -- the garden and the cheepers -- even though both demand from me more than I sometimes want to give.

Still, I have to admit -- the bugs are receding. Maybe this was the last wave of mosquitoes for the year? Shouldn't I go back to working my flower fields?

I do some small maintenance around the edges. It's not perfectly bug free, but definitely an improvement over August.

Yes, I for one am welcoming September!






Come winter time, even this somewhat faded garden color will seem extravagant!






After the noon hour, Snowdrop is again with us at the farmette. As I help her jump down from the car, she turns to watch Ed, who is wrestling with the overloaded old orchard pear branches. Scotch, our old hen, wishes that there was something in the little girl's hand that warrants a pause. She is disappointed and moves on.







Snowdrop follows.






Once in the farmhouse, she does what she loves best: puzzles...






... books, writing at my desk (how does she get the pencil just so?)






When it appears that she is running this way and that, beyond what her energy level might allow...






... I carry her off for a much needed nap.


And after, she is like a child with a whole boatload of new ideas, projects, and surprises. I'll post this photo from our long, long dancing spell.







And this one from when I tell her we'll be going to our local farmers market. She's thrilled with the idea, but then uses the opportunity to.... well, run with the wind!






At the market, we visit our known vendors -- farmer with the best cheese curds in town,  and, too, the Greek olive oil guy who tells us horrific stories of what happened when he attempted to integrate young chicks into his brood of hens (they clobbered at least one of the chicks, leaving her so bruised that he felt compelled to sew up the damage. You sewed up a chicken? What else could I do....)

And we bought a tub of September raspberries. They weren't the most glorious berries you're likely to discover this month, but Snowdrop was happy as anything to sit down and eat them right then and there.








Emboldened. Yeah, that's one difference from how she was to how she is.








Emboldened and happy. But then, she already has a reputation for just this: being happy.
 

Wednesday

Sometimes I feel my late summer garden is like the kid you groomed, coached and cajoled to be a proper, polite and well dressed member of society, only to see him or her turn scuzzy, unruly, and terribly indifferent to your admonitions.

In other words, the garden looks a mess and honestly, there's not much I can or want to do about it.

Even as there will be the occasional outlier plant. The late bloomer, or the do-gooder of the bunch.





Breakfast is late because suddenly my mornings are less rushed. Oh, I'm up early (damn free loading non egg laying cheepers!), but I don't rush to get the day started.

(On the porch.)





The bugs, though less in number, still make it difficult to do much outside and so I appreciate the flowers in the yard that keep producing color without help or interference. (If you plant sedum autumn joy, or some such variant, you're going to get color. In autumn.)






As the clock strikes the noon hour, I'm off to pick up the little one.

As I enter her school, I see her right away. She is wearing some other child's shoes -- not that I realize this -- and she seems entirely engrossed in trying to understand something (possibly why a strange pair of shoes adorns her feet).  As I ask about her day, I hear again those wonderful words -- she is such a happy child!


Today, she has a bit of a longer day with me and so I pack her into my car and we drive over to the corn farm for a few fresh ears of corn for supper.

And oh, what a shock! They're telling me that this is their last sale day! Their last day? The reality sets in. Summer's done.

Oh, but Snowdrop - how she's grown this season! The first time we came to the corn farm this summer she was terrified of the John Deere. Not anymore!






She helps me pick the best ears of corn...






... and then we go home to the farmette. It's still buggy, but not so much that we can't walk slowly, taking in all that is around us.






And not so much that we can't feed the chickens some of their favorite bread, which the girl likes to share with them.






(Cheepers fed, she runs home to the farmhouse.)






Happy. Yes, it well describes the girl.






I gave her a new book (one with a strange little tale, but I'm trying to be less predictable than I was with my own daughters with my choices) where a penguin toy figures prominently in the story line. She insists on sharing it with her three farmhouse penguins.






She and Ed chase a paper airplane...






And eventually, Ed goes off for his Wednesday night bike ride and Snowdrop and I eat dinner. Which includes the delicacy of delicacies -- freshly harvested corn.





It's been a fine day for us all.

her first day of school

Though Ocean isn't only (or even predominantly) a Snowdrop story, there are certain days when my granddaughter figures so prominently in my psyche that you may as well call it her day here.

Today, marking her first day of school, is surely one such time.

You could say that nothing about this day is ordinary. Because I want to see Snowdrop prance off to school and because Ed, too, has an early morning commitment, I do not even bother trying to fit in a leisurely breakfast for the two of us.

I'm not involved (today or any other day) with the drop off of the little girl at school, but this morning I am at her house (oh so early!) just for a few minutes, camera in hand. I mean, schools will figure prominently in her life for years and years. And today marks the beginning of it all. We need a photo!

But in the end, which photo says it best?

In many ways, I like this one: I have just come in, she is fresh out of her bath, she knows the day is different and she is curious as to what's next.






I try several times to take a photo of her with her (penguin!) backpack. Here's the first attempt.





She takes it right off.

I show her her (penguin!) lunch pack. She seems rightly puzzled when I tell her it contains her (freshly cooked this morning by mom) lunch. What, am I to eat lunch now? Right after breakfast?






She runs to the kitchen to confer with her mom about this.






Ah, but it's time to go.

Let's try the back pack again.

I already told you I do not want something hanging on my back!






And then she is distracted by the workers in big trucks who are fixing some power lines in the neighborhood.






I suppose each one of us has a favorite photo of a child's first day of school. Or, if you're like me, you'll think that there isn't one that tells the story well and so you put up a few and end the series with this one, where the proud parents are walking with her to her new learning adventure. Ah, there's that Snowdrop grin!






Back at the farmhouse, Ed has just sat down to slosh through some cereal...





I resist the temptation to join him for this rushed bit of eating. Instead, after he takes off, I carry my own breakfast outside, to the porch...





... and spend the next several hours catching up with everything that has fallen behind in the beautiful but crazy rush of travel, visits, and Snowdrop time.


But just a tad after the lunch hour, I am at Snowdrop's school, picking the girl up -- as will be my habit for the months ahead.

How was your day, little one?

Oh, that question asked a million times over by every parent and grandparent, receiving every imaginable answer in return! Will Snowdrop someday chat her way through a walk home? Will she think back, pick out the unusual, or the problematic, or the happy recollection and share it with whoever happens to ask?

Once school starts, a bit of control is handed to the child and you no longer know all that you might want to know about her day. But in these early years, you still get to exchange a quick word with the teacher. After answering a few questions (she's wet? she watered plants... how cool is that!), the teacher glanced over at Snowdrop and commented -- she's such a happy little girl!


At home, I swear Snowdrop seems more emboldened. In control. And yes, as before and as at school -- happy.





But following this extraordinary adventure, she takes the longest nap I ever remember her taking.

Excitement, followed by recovery.  A perfect balance. A splendid beginning.