Friday

There is a house for sale in Madison. It's really cool and it abuts Wingra Creek just as the little river flows into Lake Menona (one of the two big lakes that define our small city). You could tie a boat to your own pier and take it out on the lake every morning if you lived there. It's walking distance to coffee shops and schools. And to the downtown farmers market. I know, because I've walked these walks -- with Snowdrop of course.

Yes, the young family is likely to be moving and though their new home will be in the greater Madison area (so still close enough to the farmette), nonetheless it does mean that changes are in the air and there is now a constant flutter of activity surrounding showings, searches, viewings and the like.

On the upside, I get to see a lot of Snowdrop -- who, of course, hasn't a clue as to what this is all about. On the downside -- well, there is no downside really. Just the hope that all the pieces will fall into place and the young family will happily move into a new home that they will truly love.

Me, I'm just trying to remember which day of the week we're in -- not helped by the fact that today the little girl's school was closed and so it really felt like a weekend.

Thank goodness there is that predictable, leisurely breakfast on the porch to get me off to a good start.






And the garden walk of course.

(To me, summer is synonymous with day lilies. Their appearance in the lily field makes it official! Summer!)






(For many, June is the month when you watch the roses bloom...)






(Splashes of color in a sea of green...)







It's a hot day and my first Snowdrop task is to take the little one to the playground so that her parents can set everything in order for the numerous showings that are popping up. Houses on the waterfront are rarely up for sale and so interest is high.






As she and I play on the climbing structure, two sisters (ages five and eight) join us. How old are you? They ask her.
Two -- Snowdrop answers confidently.
Really? You're tall for two. When is your birthday?
When I have a birthday party. Okay, she hasn't gotten the calendar down yet. Geez, she's only two!







The girls like her and she likes them and if there is an age disconnect, she doesn't feel it and they don't mind it. I think once more how good school has been for the little one!






After, we (the young family and I) all go out to lunch together. To Madison Sourdough Bakery, which, I swear, is becoming a second home for me. They greet me there by name and ask if I want my usual croissants and cookies (the cookies are for Ed). Not today!







And then some of us retreat to the farmette. Snowdrop "swims," the parents come and go, Ed is away -- all very confusing unless you're Snowdrop. All that matters is that some combination of the people she relies on are there with her.

(Show mommy where your pool is!)










(While the cheepers watch, hoping for a magic appearance of worms and stale bread...)






Oh, the simple pleasure of warm air and cool water...






After her nap, the Snowdrop smiles continue. And why shouldn't they -- give the girl her family, a few pieces of fruit, and her babies to cuddle and she is one content child. We should all learn from that.






Evening. The late post dinner evening. Ed mows some portion of the lawn, I water some portion of the flower beds. The air is warm, the breeze is gentle, the scents are of flowers and firs and cut clover. Six months from now, in the dead of winter, I'll tell myself -- you didn't know how good you had it then! Except that I do know. So very very good...

Thursday

It is a day with its own twists and turns -- none of them harsh, none of them surprising.

To start with -- my day begins with an early errand. And because I am downtown in the pre-breakfast hours, I pick up the day's bread supplies early. And I think -- what's to stop us from having a Parisian breakfast today? I never break from my oatmeal habit at home (which amuses Ed no end), but why shouldn't I stray from the predictable every now and then?

It's odd how I have bifurcated my eating habits: those at home, which are fiendishly (attempts at) healthy and those during travel, which are decidedly less so.

Maybe the reason some of us love to travel is that it tears us away from tiresome routines? Maybe if I occasionally ate croissants at home, I'd be less excited to rush to Paris for my fix of wicked breakfast fare there?

That's probably an overstatement, but still -- today, this is breakfast:







Oh and a garden walk! Yes, there's that. There is always that.

(The dancing iris!)






(The venerable farmhouse.)






And then, because we're like every other civic-minded American, we watch the Senate Intelligence Committee hearings. Many, many years have passed since I clicked on the TV before the evening hours. Today, the set stayed on all morning.


The day gets a little tricky then. I pick up an eager girl at school...






And we do go to the playground, but so does the local kindergarten class. Snowdrop is transfixed: all those kids dashing madly this way and that! She sits in her swing and from this perch, watches and listens and then, deciding it's safe to participate -- adds her own two cents on what's happening around her.

Only when the class leaves, does she want to go back to her climbing routines.

(The captain of the ship!)






(Back to liking the slide...)






(Duck gets tail-end of croissant.)






The clouds roll in and though it's supposed to reach 80F (26C), it doesn't really feel like wading pool weather. She settles for playing with ahah in the sandbox...






... while the cheepers take advantage of the pool.





And of course, Snowdrop gets so sandy that I decide to throw her into the wading pool anyway, just to rinse her off. Once in, she doesn't want to leave.

Nap comes very late today...


In the evening, after Snowdrop is back at her home with her parents, Ed and I go to our local farmers market. It's a Thursday late in the day event and both he and I love it, though perhaps (or maybe not?) for different reasons. I love (among other things) the preview of what we can expect from the fields in the days ahead. He loves picking up cheese curds in exchange for our farm eggs.

And here's a fantastic surprise! Strawberry season has begun!







These berries are exceptionally flavorful (I'm fussy: I find most strawberries at the market very average) and we pause to talk to the farmer (and his daughter) about how they handle berry-lovin' groundhogs, chipmunks and squirrels. (Once again this year, we lost our entire ground berry crop to these critters, though we still have some hope that our raised berry pots may deliver fruit!)


And now the day ends. I wish I could show you a photo of a full June moon (called "strawberry moon" -- with good reason!), but the clouds have taken hold and besides, the full moon is due tomorrow. Even as the strawberries appeared today.

P.S. To the commenter whose question dangles unanswered because I lost my way in the demands of the day -- I buy perennials at Flower Factory, and bulbs -- well, there's always Farm and Fleet, but for the more unusual, you might want to try out the fall catalogues of White Flower Farm in Connecticut. I've been their customer since 1988 and I they've saved me from many gardening disasters with clever ideas and good solutions.

Wednesday

A Wisconsin winter has a beginning and an end. There is a definite progression, a movement forward as you count the weeks until spring. Minutes of daylight gained each week are a treasure. And when the day comes when you find yourself eating dinner by the light of the sun, you rejoice.

Summer is different. Oh, there are those who can't wait for the hot and humid and oftentimes buggy spell to move on. They talk wistfully of the crisp autumn day, the colors of fall, as if these were the highlight of the year.

They don't fool me. No one looks forward to the coming of winter in the way that we all look forward to the coming of spring and summer.

We're in a string of perfect days now and perhaps they seem interchangeable here, on Ocean. One day there are lilacs, on another I'll post peonies. The porch breakfast is here to stay. Snowdrop has her daily outing to the playground and at the farmette, she is beginning to appear rather regularly in a swim suit. If not tomorrow, then the next day -- it's all a mixture of the same, no?

To a person who pays attention to what's growing all around us, the answer is no. It's not all the same.

In the garden there is a season of change. Flowers come, flowers go. I know what's coming. I know tomorrow will not look like today.

The irises of May and June:






And yes, the peonies: early ones, late ones.






(They always make it to the breakfast table.)






And there is a difference in the light, no? Early spring is gentle. Early summer is bright, so bright that you welcome any shade, just to temper the light around you.






At the farmette the routines don't shift much, but that's because we haven't had our fill of outdoor time. The sandbox just went up less than a month ago.

(Java is ever hopeful that it will be a source of chicken treats. No, Java, there is nothing in it for you!)






And Snowdrop -- she is developing a summer look. Despite the daily use of sun screen, she has the appearance of an outdoor child. Too, her hair turns blond, her eyes sparkle.






(Ahah, your hair is all white! How true...)






(Umbrella play: the shade is always welcome!)






(The power of a waterfall...)






That grin belongs to late spring. Or summer.






Will it be different tomorrow or the next day? Yes. Like the summer season, she changes. Constantly and beautifully.

Ed and I -- well, we grow older and wiser. Hey, I'm just repeating the words of my doc, who today, looking over my skin for signs of trouble (none) pointed to a few marks here and there and said -- signs of wisdom.

Tuesday

Oh, this day, this beautiful June day really does belong to the sweet sweet innocence of Snowdrop. We talk about her, play with her, chortle with her too and her spark become everyone's spark.

I should say -- if it isn't obvious from the photos -- that this is one glorious day! Weather-wise, it cannot be improved upon. Sunny, breezy, warm but not hot. Just splendid!

My morning garden walk:






I study a bee in one of the false indigo plants.










We're always so happy when bees and butterflies spend time in the flower fields. This year, they've been ever present. Frogs, swallows -- all our friends, all here, sharing this small piece of heaven.


Breakfast on the porch...







...with a view toward the flowers by our parked cars:






And near the noon hour, I pick up Snowdrop and she is as always full of smiles and explanations.

We go to the park by the beach and I ask her if she wants to swing.
Actually, I want to climb, she tells me with conviction. The word actually is a real favorite of hers lately.

And so she climbs.






She is the king of the mountain!






The captain of the ship!






There is, in fact, a lot to observe on the lesser lake today -- the boats are removing the weed growth and the ducklings are learning to navigate the waters and we watch a bit mesmerized by it all.






And it feels so warm out there in the little park, that I suggest to Snowdrop a dip in the wading pool at the farmette when we get back. I'd filled it with water earlier to warm it up some. She, of course, loves the idea and runs to the pool as soon as I let her out of the car.

Gaga, I got my dress wet!






That's okay. It'll dry in no time. Maybe you want your swimsuit?
Yes!






She and ahah spend quite the handful of minutes splashing each other.






And then she pauses and, standing in that pool, launches into a long soliloquy -- a story that she is making up, one about her "mother" (a word she never uses in her real conversations to and about her mommy), her "grandfather" and buckets and birds and umbrellas and water and work and the one thing that is obvious is that she does not want the story to end and so she spins it on and on...






... until I finally tell her -- Snowdrop, it really is time for us to go inside.






In the evening, long after Snowdrop leaves, after dinner, after all dishes are put away, Ed and I go out behind the barn, into the backfields, and, equipped with thick gloves, we pull hundreds, nay thousands of stalks of Canada thistle. We don't cultivate the land back of the barn, but we view the encroaching thistle like a hostile force. Why should they stop at the edge of the field? Why not dominate every inch of farmette land?

So we pull. And pull. And pull. Until we can pull no more.

You may wonder -- do Ed and I enjoy breaking our backs and puncturing hands pulling at thistle? That's a tough question to answer. In theory -- no. But working side by side like this, on something tough is so deeply satisfying that the "no" morphs quickly to a "yes."

Good night, good night! Don't let the thistle bite!

another day

They can't all be perfect, these beautiful June days, can they...

We wake up to a delightfully crisp morning -- the kind that really gets you out of bed with a smile.

A walk through the gardens...






A lovely breakfast...






And soon after, someone close to me gets some sad news and for the rest of the day my thoughts are with her.

Snowdrop, of course, doesn't quite get that Gaga's mood has shifted somewhat. She is all smiles leaving school...






All smiles on the playground...






Chatting up a storm, laughing, climbing, swinging, spinning...






All smiles at the farmhouse, coloring fiercely (she is so adept at this that sometimes you wonder if it's ahah's crayon mark or her own), playing with her babies.

That girl can make the most sour moment sweet. Still, it can't be all smiles every minute of every day, can it? Sometimes, you have to pause and take on the sadness of someone and keep it, at least for a while, as your own.