Sunday

Farms, working farms, aren't always the safest places: the machinery, the fast paced operations -- all this creates some risk. But who would think that a threesome of hens would turn out to pose their own hazards?

The farmette isn't a working farm, but it does have those lovely little girls -- cheeper girls -- and today they really did me in!

I step out early to take a look at the state of the garden. Immediately the cheepers run to greet me. They want bread and they're hopeful that I come with some in hand.
I don't have any bread for you, now step aside! -- I tell them. I use the same words each time, hoping that one day they'll get the message.

Not today. Each girl wants to be the closest to me, in case I throw out the coveted crumb. I'm used to this: I shuffle along, sidestepping over eager chickens. But today, Java steps right in front of me and my foot goes straight down on her claw, leading me to quickly back off, but by that time Henny is behind me and I tumble straight down on top of her, as the hens screech and feathers fly.


(For the rest of the day Henny runs whenever she sees me. See her there, to the right?)






I'm plenty wounded, though the gashes in my leg and arm are more of a visual marker of my mishap than an indication of real damage. (When Snowdrop sees me later in the day, she demands an explanation. I tell her what happened and she immediately goes to her parents and recounts my woes: "Gaga fell on the chickens and hurt her leg and ahah helped her!" For Snowdrop, all stories have an element of the good in them.)

I continue to survey the garden...







... then retreat to the farmhouse for breakfast.
Ed, it's ready!






I'm here, gorgeous.





My fall provides a good excuse to take the rest of the day off. I don't do that. I scrub the farmhouse from top to bottom, take a long and luxurious shower, and then I go outside and spend nearly two hours watering the flower fields that abut the courtyard.

Many people regard such protracted watering as a tedious element of gardening. Not me. I rather love it. Ed asks -- why?
It's really quite simple: I imagine the flowers to be parched. Dry in the mouth, so to speak. And I have the ability to relieve that: to give each plant a good dose of the water that it craves. It's so rewarding! How often in life do you feel yourself to be the conduit of something so beneficial, so helpful, so lovely? Water, delivered to the plants that need it most (I set out to water just the newly planted stuff, but of course, I don't stop there...).











In the afternoon, Ed and I drive the few miles down the road to our favorite annuals greenhouse. I need to replace the ancient geranium plants in the front room. It's a curious thing about the sale of plants: it's all very seasonal. Our indoor geraniums should have been replaced many month ago, but you can't get those blazing beauties except in May or June. So we pick up a threesome today and I am sure they will add radiant color to the farmhouse for many years going forward.

(On the way, we see the truck farmers to the east of us, working the fields in the way that is their habit: with a bent back and little more than a hoe to help yourself along. You may be curious as to why we have farmers moving about rather than a development sprouting up. The answer is confusing and possibly not together honest on the part of the decisionmakers here: there appear to be permission delays. Yes, we'll have a development soon enough. Only not just yet.)






Evening: The young family comes running. No, Snowdrop comes running and the parents toddle along...






These summer-like dinners outside are heavenly. The air begins to cool down, the light is especially beautiful then...






(Chantilly raspberries for dessert.)






For whatever reason, I am reminded of an excursion I took with a Thai friend up to a northern part of her home country some fifteen years ago. We drove to a large lake and the air was warm and the breezes were lovely. Everywhere you looked, you'd see families and perhaps friends gathering to eat an evening meal outside, by the lake. These were no small picnics: food was grilled, roasted, plates were filled, children were everywhere and if you slightly knew someone (as my friend seemed to be at least acquainted with this person and the other), you were invited to join in. And my friend did have us join in and she lapsed into her native language and in her love of the moment she sort of forgot about me, which allowed me to exhale and really look around..

All this came to me as Snowdrop cavorted between house and porch and food was consumed and it felt like this is the moment we wait for during a work-filled week -- the time when we can be outdoors, together, over food, without fuss or worry, relaxed, happy.

Saturday

I had this thought this afternoon -- it's like Paris, only different!

I was at the market (with my daughter and Snowdrop), buying sumptuous asparagus, gorgeous flowers and my favorite mushrooms, and it was hot. Like in Paris! Only different.

How is it that summer came so fast?

But let's go back to the earlier hours. As always, I walk the gardens, to make sure everything is as it should be and really, because it's just so beautiful in the early moments of the day.

It's hard to describe, even with full use of photos, how a flower can take your breath away. For example, in the big flower bed, I have a clump of "butter and sugar" iris plants. They're heavenly!







It is, too, the month of the peonies.






... and yes, the irises. I check to see if any have fallen. I stake them, I clip the spent flowers, and I admire.






Breakfast. Ed! Hurry up! My oatmeal is getting cold!






The day starts off with clouds and you think it's going to be cool and then the clouds disperse and the sun is out and it is so warm!

We are at the market -- Snowdrop, her mommy, me -- and we pick up our needed items and I think -- all this, it's just too gorgeous!






Toward the end, the little girl has a lovely run on the grass ...






... and then it's time for her to go home and for me to eventually make my way back to the farmette.


(This is the first batch of flowers that lines the farmette driveway. Irises.)






In the flower fields, things are looking fine, but I am concerned that there is no rain in the forecast. The established flowers will be fine. The newbies need a little help.

I spend time watering the front bed. Butter and sugar irises here as well!

Evening. I'm thinking: wouldn't it be ever so lovely to have, at this hot hot moment, an Aperol Spritz?





It's a fizzy drink that you would normally associate with Italy -- it's place of origin -- but it was so warm in Paris, that if you walked the streets in the early evening hours (you wouldn't want an Aperol Spritz too early or too late), you'd see that bright orange drink in nearly every cafe restaurant.

So, like Italy, only Paris, only different? 

Friday

A return from travel, the beginning of a new month, the continuation of great weather, the  proliferation of flowers. Each of these is so important, even as it slips into the routine -- barely recognized, barely acknowledged in the whirligig of time.

I tell myself -- I've passed the crazy busy month. I will slow down! Yes definitely!

Maybe.

Morning flower walk:






Who would not like this season??






Breakfast on the porch.






And eventually I pick up Snowdrop. Would you believe it's in the 80sF (or upwards of 27C)? The little one has a very fierce attachment to her sweater.






We go to the lesser park. She is very warm, but she just loves that sweater... She munches on a croissant. We give the remains to an adorable duck family...






At the farmette, I haven't a doubt that this is a good afternoon for the pool. She readily switches to play clothes and plunges in the cool water.

(Watch it, Scotch. Most likely she hasn't forgotten that you once snatched croissant remains from her little hand. You may get "inadvertently" soaked.)






Snowdrop's splash play with ahah is utterly disarming....











Hey, little one -- your play buckets match your tshirt ribbons!
Indeed! Isn't life just the bees knees?!






Inside, a rush to take care of baby...






And very quickly, the afternoon moves to evening and Snowdrop goes home and I return to doing light garden work.

(The first daylily heralds summer. It's always a joy to spot it!)





I haven't quite returned to regular sleep patterns yet. But June is upon us and I'm sure the gentle pace of early summer will set things right again. Really, You'll see.

Thursday

Let me put it bluntly: today I admired a few stellar flowers in the farmette flower fields, I took care of Snowdrop, and at all other times, I worked on a book for Snowdrop about her trip to Paris.

I had done such a book for her last year and I am certain that most of her recollections from that trip are actually tied to the pages of the book. With time pushing away memories of this year's travels, I wanted to be quick about giving her a photo journal, so that she can hang on to something of Paris.

Of course, it takes time. But I'm on it! Only don't expect great wisdoms in my post today. I"m focused on writing something sensible in Snowdrop's book instead.

So, the garden highlights:
















It's all rather like a magnificent canvas right now!






Breakfast. Hurry up, Ed! My oatmeal is getting cold.






Snowdrop and I go to the park by the lesser lake. But oh, the perils of summer-like weather! She finds the swing seats to be too hot.

She watches the boats on the lake sweep up the lake plant debris...






... then climbs up and down the little play structure.






Whenever there is another kid nearby, her attention is riveted in that direction.






And after a while, we return to the farmhouse. Sandbox! With Ed! And I suppose Scotch...






On the way in, she helps me sweep any remains of chicken poop.






And inside, she is overjoyed to be reunited with her toys. Especially baby.






Too, the Duplo airplane. Ah, memories...






After her nap, she just plays in total contentment with her tea set. Does she note the macarons? The croissant? Yes, I'm sure she does...





And now here I am, reheating bean and kale soup for supper and returning to my book project. For the little one, for me. 

reflecting

(The prologue to this post is rather long. If you're not in a reflective mood, do move straight to the photos!)

So often, the end of a trip is very final. The minute you let yourself into your home, you are in your groove again and though you retain your fond memories (or un-fond, if it was a trip from hell), they come and go. It's as if your attention is always on the present and the future. Past events -- well, they're in the past. True, you may be a changed person, but you don't think about that much. You think about what you need to do to get through the next day and the day after.

Yet this trip -- the family trip to Paris -- was somehow different. Maybe it's because the apartment was so small that we were always sharing the same space -- there were no escapes! You really have to like your family (and I do really like my family) to engage in this kind of travel.

But this would not cause me to think back so much about a trip. For that -- I blame Snowdrop. Being with her, and especially being with her alone for so long really stirred me up a bit -- both before the trip (wondering about how it would all play out) and now after.

My daughter, who is the quintessential busy young mom, is a pretty tired person these days. I am always marveling how taxed young families are, until I remember that I was that way too way back when. In fact, when my older daughter was just a few months older than Snowdrop, I was pregnant with my younger one, attending law school, moving to our first ever house, and planning a three month trip to England where her dad had work to do for the summer. So I vaguely remember having ten things going in my life, all at the same time. But now, in Paris, I really wanted to help my girl and so I took on the project of keeping Snowdrop busy so that my daughter could rest.

All this to say that I spent a lot of time thinking about families and little kids and of course, about Snowdrop's reactions to things she experienced in Paris.

When you're a grandparent, it's not a do-over: you don't get to play the parent again (thank goodness!!). But you have this fantastic opportunity not only to be the helpful grandparent, but to see in real time parenting done in new ways, though always with a touch of the old, because your kids are going to pass on some of your habits, whether deliberately or inadvertently. It's a fascinating thing and I got a front row seat these last ten days.

And I'm still thinking about it. Because this is the beautiful thing about being older: you get a perspective: your own, as matched against a newer, fresher one.

Then of course, there was the Snowdrop in Paris part. How she experienced being in France, how she took to this very different world, full of the chaos of a big city and one that functions very differently than what she is used to -- this was just thrilling to witness and I've been thinking a lot about it since.


But too, I am happy to be home. When Snowdrop and I stepped out of the airport (her parents had taken a cab home, because we could not all fit in one car with all our luggage), into the cool night air and Ed came towards us, I understood how much I do lean on him and how suddenly even carrying the little girl felt very light indeed. (And though it was after 10 p.m., which would have been 5 a.m. by her Paris clock, Snowdrop chatted away happily, informing him that his beard looked very white and his hair looked white too, and oh, isn't that the moon, and yes, she rode a pony in Paris!)


This morning, I wake up to a cool breeze coming in from the outside (just in the 50sF -- so about 12C). But the sun is brilliant! Ed tells me it had rained a lot when I was away and so when I step out to survey the garden, I am not surprised to see that everything has grown voluptuous and dense.

And of course, the colors are now very much taking hold in the flower beds! June is when the perennials start to define the outdoor spaces here. So these are my views on this last day of May:






It's all about the peonies and irises right now! (Well, maybe a few others too: I see a yellow false indigo in the forefront here...)






The flowering pots of annuals still provide that abundance of shape, color and form...






... but truly, the eye turns toward the iris and peony.






No matter where you look. And each year, this show takes my breath away! This is the reward for months of outdoor work!






Despite the cool temps, Ed and I eat a lovely and leisurely breakfast on the porch.






And then it's the same old... Only actually not very same at all, because, well, I've got this Paris trip still on my mind. I grocery shop, thinking about the fruits I had purchased just a few days ago at the Buci market. And then I pick up Snowdrop, who, despite yesterday's late arrival, made it to school pretty much on time today. It's not as if her parents had to rouse her from deep sleep -- she seems to have fallen back instantly to her regular schedule. The teachers affirmed this, telling me she had shown no sign of tiredness or jet lag.





She is excited to see me and instantly clamors to go adventuring!

As we walk the neighborhood and she points which way I should go, I talk a little about Paris and she listens, and I can tell it's a little unreal for her. The memories are definitely vivid, but somehow they don't fit into this landscape. Still familiar, but remote at the same time.

I give her a bowl of cherries (and other favorite fruits)...





... and we pick up a cherry scone at the coffee shop. Coincidence that it should be cherry. But still, it brings back images of, well, cherries in Paris.

We go to the park. Snowdrop had missed her last session on the park swings in the Luxembourg Gardens. She gets her fill today. (The wind is so brisk that she is happy to keep a pony tail in place. At least for our time by the lesser lake.)






A climb up the lifeguard chair...






... for a munch on the cherry scone...





... and then I take her home. Snowdrop's mom asked me if I wanted a little time to rest after the trip and though rest isn't exactly in the cards, I do have stuff to catch up with and so I agreed to be replaced for the better part of the afternoon by a babysitter.

I spend the rest of the day in the garden, weeding, staking, attending.

And of course, I have my breaks. On the porch, for example (with cuttings of fallen stems from the garden)...






... reflecting. With a smile.