Saturday

I am up too early. That's it, I'm sure of it: that's the reason for the mosquito uptick. Things will settle down as the day progresses.

Wont they?

They do settle down a bit, Ed tells me later, even as I'm not there to find this out. I have only my early morning walk through the farmette lands and so I wave my arms and make do.

And it really is a lovely walk. A few of my favorite moments:

The corner of the lily field:

And here's a reason not to snip off all the spent lily blooms: our resident green frog (she is here every single year) likes the juiciness of that wilted flower!

A commenter asks about our tomato patch. I braved the bugs to go out and do an inspection. So far so good! And I got two ripe tomatoes (the first ones!) for my efforts!

The rest still are at this stage:

Back to the lilies! So tall, regal, colorful!

Here's a photo that puts things in perspective: the lilies do not stand alone. They are in the company of other perennials to the front and to the side, and even some annuals at the base of their bed.

Breakfast...

With a view.

And one more garden photo -- Ed "commissioned" this one, asking me -- did you catch that one of the golden flowers over there? The sunlight on them is incredible! Okay, Ed. This one's for you.

I have a rather early meet up with Snowdrop and her mom. We're off to the farmers market and we need to do this efficiently as our afternoon is blocked for other events.

(The market is, of course, bursting with flowers as well. Here's one family vendor out of oh so many!)

(Snowdrop admires the mushrooms I pick up every single week here...)

Smart girl: she finds it easier to move on the grass, where the crowds are less dense...

Every little one needs a respite and a hug in mommy's arms...

After the market, we pop into the toy store, just because. Snowdrop shows me that indeed, she has ridden the scooter many times (at school).

Back at her house, her mom is getting ready for a baby shower for a good friend who no longer lives in Madison but who is here for this event -- along with her whole family.

(Snowdrop enjoys the preparations which include balloons...)

Summer punch!

What's remarkable about this duo is that these "girls" first met up at the beginning of first grade. They were the new kids in school. They quickly became friends. Seeing them today, and, too, the parents, was like rolling back the clock a good thirty years...

Toward the end of the gathering, Snowdrop comes downstairs. I didn't think she had much of a sweet tooth until I saw her dive into that cupcake, followed by a chocolate lollipop.

I did not return to the farmhouse until evening. I'd promised Ed a round of tennis and I almost backed out. I'd been up and moving around since that first morning walk in the garden. I just wanted to sit. Perhaps with an Aperol Spritz.

But I didn't back out. Our tennis game in the hidden and neglected courts out there amidst pines that spray spent needles everywhere are like an escape into a world that is without chaos or worry. It's a quiet space, thick with the fragrance of spruce and pine. We didn't play well today, but it was a heavenly game nonetheless.

Later, much later, I sit on the porch, writing, watching the sparky fireflies, the diving bats, listening to the crickets and the final call of a few persistent birds. The swallows, which have adopted the farmette for their extended family use, have long retired. We'll see them again at breakfast, swooping gracefully from high above, into the garage, then out again.

Inhale, exhale. It was a full and beautiful day.

keeping an eye on things

I am not the only one who thinks we've been dealt some pretty crazy weather this summer, and with it -- a steady supply of bugs. The annoying kind. The beloved butterflies, bees and dragonflies have come at a trickle. The other devils? In abundance!

This day has flipped temperatures for us again: it is positively cool. It's as if I woke up in northern Europe, where summer can often turn on you and deliver a cold snap.

Does the cold air influence the mosquito population? I can't even tell anymore. I go out in the morning to walk the garden, bugs or no bugs. I don't dress for it nor spray for it and yes, I do sport some marks of their despotic presence, but not nearly as many as the little kiddos, who always puff up extra hard when the mosquitoes and gnats go after them. You'll see evidence of this later on in the post.


It's early morning and I'm out there, in the garden. I'm going to insert a green, italicized comment on gardening, which you can skip if you do not have any interest in growing flowers. (It is, in part, an answer to questions asked in the comments section of last night's post.)

The farmette flower fields grew not by design, but by a gradual addition of new layers. At first, I thought I only had a wee space to work with: a fragment of the field by the porch. Ditch lilies occupied most of that bed and Ed did not want me to trash them (we've "transplanted" most of them by now). The great flower field that abuts the path to the sheep shed came next, but it was not so great initially. It grew and grew and widened over the years because Ed himself grew to love the results of my planting and so he finally gave me free reign to add as much as I wanted. 

This means that some short plants were once edging a bed and now are in the middle of it! I've had to transplant many of them!

Too, it means that the fields are dense. I'm asked often how it is that I can navigate a field without paths or walkways running through it. Just watch me! I can step in and over and around without ruffling a thing. You get to really know the growing habits of your flowers!

Here's part of the great field:






... and one spectacular day lily growing within it. 





With probably well over a hundred day lily plants whose blooms last only that short day, how do I keep the garden neat? (To say nothing of the other perennials that are in their midst.) Do I leave the spent flowers to wilt and eventually tumble on their own? 

I do not. I like the beds to look their best. But with the bugs and with so many plants, it's tough to snip off all the flower heads. 

I do it anyway, cheating as I go along. Meaning I go after the ones that are in my visual field (by the path, by the road, by the porch, by the courtyard, etc.). And I surely go after the ones that are going to be very visible in a photo!

(The great flower field, looking toward the barn.)







I so love these flowers! I'll not neglect them now, when they're at their finest! 






(At breakfast, enjoying the view toward the fields...)






It doesn't take much time to snip off spent lilies, but it does stir up the bugs when I do it and so I work less than I would in more pristine conditions. 

This field lines our driveway. I rarely photograph it, but it, too, has an abundance of day lilies. And lavender.






This, of course, is the new roadside bed. I worked on it this morning. But is it work when you love your garden as much as I do? 






Where I'm negligent is in deadheading a day lily that's done blooming. I need clippers for it and it's hard to get motivated to snip away when the seed pods don't look too bad. But the fact is, many day lilies will repeat bloom and do so more vigorously if you cut off the stalk before the seed pods form, so it's worth the effort. (I don't bother with the yellow leaves. Frankly, I can hardly see them in the dense beds.)

Do I fertilize my flowers? Yes, at least once a year, in spring, sometimes again in the fall, especially the newly planted ones. I use a slow release application and possibly I don't use enough, but I am well aware of the fact that we use TONS of wood chips and before they break down, they tend to drain the nitrogen for their own use, so I feel I need to compensate.

Here's a new day lily in the front bed:






You could say then that I keep an eye on things until the end of August, when the garden shows signs of wanting to be left alone. Or so I reason!


And speaking of keeping an eye, just one eye open, here's my daily Snowdrop fare -- our walk to the playground after school...






(Do you see the problem? Some bug bite has caused her one eye to swell. She doesn't complain much, but it's there and the teachers tell me she's not the only one puffed out by the school playground bugs. They do use bug sprays, but the gentle, meaning ineffective kind.)

Snowdrop is a happy girl even with a half-closed eye.






At the coffee shop...






Laughing at a Gaga silliness.






She is disappointed that there is no pool time today, but on a cloudy day, at 63F (17C), I have zero interest in going swimming.

At the farmhouse, she is delighted to discover golden cherries.






And, as has been her habit for the past many days, she asks to read the Snowdrop goes to Paris book. This is when I curse the length of it! It goes on FOREVER, day by day, and she loves it all.






Oh, but when Ed comes in from the sheep shed, her focus is on him!

Tap your foot, it's polka time!






She studies the dancers...






... then hops to it. And insists that he join her. Not me. I can sit this one out, but ahah has to dance!






Evening. The start of a weekend. But here's the thing: for the rest of this month and the month after, none of the weekends are slated to be typical. This summer is chock-full of the unusual. For example, we're doing Sunday family dinner tonight (though without a very busy Snowdrop dad). The little girl's mom comes over, they "sip tea"...






... I grill up spinach chicken brats (I know, what a cheat for the true brat lover!) and corn (still not local, but soon!) and we have a delicious meal on the porch. It doesn't even feel that cold out there. (You get used to everything...)






What are you putting on your hot dog, mommy?
Mustard...
I love mustard too -- claims the puffy eyed wonder girl...






And as if all this isn't enough to make Snowdrop tickled and happy, I use this opportunity to introduce her to ice cream sandwiches. Does she like them?





Yes she does.
Can I have yours mommy? Please?

Thursday

The life of a day lily bloom is one short day. It opens in the morning and is finished by nightfall. True, a stalk has buds ready to bloom in succession, so that you're likely to have several weeks of flowers from one day lily plant, but nonetheless, the beauty of any one bud is intense and very short.

You cannot be surprised that I want to hold onto these days of peak day lily flowers. I thought about them in the winter -- buying a few new ones, studying books and catalogues. And I pampered them in spring. No rain for two days? You poor dears, let me run the hose for a bit.

Come summer, I always am astonished when they burst into full bloom, because even though I've seen it before, the show is beyond magnificent!

Some people love fireworks (also fleeting and to some -- beautiful), I love my day lilies.

I say this so that you will understand why I must devote so much space to seemingly similar flower beds. To me, each angle is different and of course, for reasons stated above, each bloom is fresh, deserving of rapture.

From the middle of the grand flower bed, looking toward the farmhouse:






From the middle of that same bed, looking toward the sheep shed:






From the northern corner of the grand bed, up the path to the house:






(Java, watching, hoping...)






And of course, I have to include a corner of the porch-hugging day lily bed.






Breakfast. I include a little dish of freshly picked berries, because it was so hard to harvest them (mosquitoes!) and so I think they deserve special consideration.






This is our view from the porch every morning. Well, except it's different every day because, you know: one day only for each bloom.






When I pick up Snowdrop after her school day, she is, as always, just a wee bit tired. All the kids in her class who stay the full day are napping when I arrive just after noon. But from experience, I know that she is not ready to sleep now. She has always been a late girl: late to get up in the morning (on non school days), late to nap, late to go to sleep (if allowed to stay up).

During the winter, her afternoons are serene. She plays, builds, draws, learns, reads. Her social hours are in the morning and on weekends. In the afternoons, it's just me and Ed.

During the summer, I shift my focus to the outside world. And because we are so buggy right now, I take Snowdrop to places where I know the bug problem is not too severe. This is the time when I do a lot of watching, but I step back and let her take the lead.





Today, a much older girl tried to engage her in a discussion about the merits of various pieces of playground equipment. Undaunted, Snowdrop explained to the girl her own take on what's worth doing and where she needs help with a climb (my gaga has to help me climb up that ladder). This to me is delicious to watch: Snowdrop has the verbal confidence of a kid who can talk her way out of many interesting situations.

(I know you're a big girl, but you're still not big enough to drink alone from that fountain!)






On these walks, she often sets the rules: you hold this flower gaga... No, I don't want that one... etc.
(In case you're wondering, I have to think she has a mosquito scratch on her neck and thus the bandaid, even though it does look mighty terrifying to see her with an injury just at the neck level!)






Today, she again asks for the pool and this time I am agreeable. Moreover, having seen another child play with a little doll at the pool, I have packed her little baby, the one that is meant to be dunked in water. She spots it right away and her excitement is obvious.











Again the pool fills. Many school buses bringing many groups of kids from day camps and school programs. My job now is to do two things: say to her "come back here, that's too deep for you," and protect her from the rush of older kids.

As I watch Snowdrop, I am convinced that the pool teaches her far more than I could in the hour we are there. True, she does imitate stuff that makes me cringe (but with a smile!): she'll repeatedly dash into the water, screaming (and like them, she can pack a piercing wallop!), just like the big kids. But the real lessons are when she watches how others play. I think she gets that the kids who are blessed with better social skills, play well with each other. The others are more pouty, less exuberant. She takes it in.






It's always hard to get her to leave. But we must. Snowdrop's gaiety is running on borrowed time. She really does need to nap.

Our time at the farmhouse is really not free time at all, it's me trying to wind her down. Get her into quiet activity. And eventually book reading.

She finds this magazine on my table...  I want to read it! -- she announces. No wonder: it's a fantastic sketch of dogs playing in a children's playground.





Not this year, Snowdrop. Not this year.

Wednesday

And the storms rage and the mosquitoes rejoice and -- wait, wasn't that yesterday's post? Has anything changed?

In fact, it has. You can't stay mad at the world forever: it's time to do your crazy dance of waving arms and kicking legs (bugs hate motion) and forge ahead with the day.

In the early morning, after the night storms have rumbled away, I go out without protective clothing to survey the (very wet) flowers...






... and to pick (the very wet) berries, waving my arms, kicking my legs...





I am reminded of when, nearly seven years ago, a construction guy who was helping with the fixing up of the farmhouse said to me -- I see the footprints of mice in the dust.
Mice? Really? How do I get rid of them?
You can never get rid of them in an old house. They have thousands of routes of entry.
So... I live with mice?
No, you learn to play the game: you try to outsmart them. You win, you lose. It's a challenge.

Since then, we've trapped and released dozens and dozens of mice. It's not that you get used to it, but you learn to live with it. It's a late fall and winter game that completely goes away in the warmer seasons.

To be replaced with the buzz of bugs.

Breakfast. We watch the swallows (raised in the garage) dive through the air and we wish them a happy hunt! Hummingbirds are enjoying the bee balm (which spreads like crazy but I love it anyway -- I pick some for our table), the occasional monarch pops into view.






The raspberries are rich in flavor, the blueberries, harvested yesterday at dusk, despite the uptick in bugs then (who goes out into the fields at dusk??) are large and delicious.






The sun pokes out for a few minutes -- lovely after a period of heavy rain!

This is our summer this year. Still uniquely beautiful.


But when the time comes to pick up Snowdrop, the storms come back, fast and furious. Well, there's always the library, I mutter to myself as I get in the car. Yet by the time I am at her school, the waves of thunder and streams of rain have moved on! The hot, steamy air returns. Impossible to make plans!

We go to the playground. There's shelter close by if the rains return. And the girl insists on rubber boots. Just in case. (Hey, sweet one, the girl on your shirt is also wearing yellow boots! And look! A yellow leaf! The day is full of gold!)






But the air is the opposite of crisp. You feel wilted, sweater or not.






Or maybe it's me who wilts under the blazing heat. Snowdrop seems to manage just fine.






A coffee shop respite (a gold finch!)...






And we return to the farmhouse.
May I have a pony tail, gaga?
Let it not be said that the girl is always predictable. Maybe someday she'll say -- can I take off this sweater already?

Happy to see ahah...






Happy to play in her own corner of the farmhouse.

As I try to move her toward a nap, she grows a little pensive. She finds a photo of her mom and studies it intensely...






... then asks to read the book about her own trip to Paris. Mommy photo, Baby Raffi and the bowl of fruits, right there, by her side.






If family relationships are on her mind, they are on mine as well. I have a daughter in Chicago, a sister in Poland and a mother in California (to say nothing of nephews in still other countries). In many ways, I am the lucky one: because I don't dislike travel and I'm able to do it, I can and do see each at one point or another. But it's unlikely that all of us will ever meet in one place, at the same time.

I take another garden walk -- braver, bolder...

(Scotch, hoping for a handout...)






The wind picks up. Will there be storms tonight? You can't tell. You can never really tell.