summer.

Warmer than just warm. Skies bluer than the deepest blue. Bird whistles, the cicada buzz, and of course, the inevitable chirp of chipmunks. Summer.

It's pronounced si-KAY-dya, Nina. (This from Ed.)
No it's not. It's si-KAH-dah.

For my efforts at correcting Ed on this, I get a lecture on how people have variously pronounced this insect's name over the centuries. But however you say it (I'm sure it's si-KAH-dah, but I've also heard SI-kah-dah, which sounds weird, though I do have a soft spot for chi-KAH-dah, because everyone knows that and "i" after a "c" in mediterranean countries gives you a "chi"), the buzz is unmistakable. Like agitated power lines!

I explain the cicada buzz to Snowdrop toward evening as we sit on the porch taking in the sounds of the farmette. The little one is extremely attuned to noises in her environment, asking for explanations for anything from the ping ping ping of trucks going into reverse, to a distant siren of an ambulance. She wants to know what and why. But the insect world is still a great unknown to her. Bugs shaking in excitement to produce a buzz? Really?

It's that kind of a beautiful day.

It starts with more yard work. I say to Ed that it's a futile kind of work because no one will notice if I clip the spent monardas, phloxes and heliopsis.
I'll notice, he tells me. And I believe him. (But I would do it anyway, even if he didn't notice.)





Breakfast on the porch. Ed is a big fan of the ancient pear tree that abuts the driveway. He tries to convince me that the fruits are grand. That we should eat them for breakfast. I humor him by nodding my head.






We watch monarchs and wonder -- shouldn't they be heading south by now?










When I pick up Snowdrop, the topic of "heading south" comes up again. She wants to know why we no longer see cranes in the fields across the road.
Because they're heading south... because now it's fall and soon it will be winter...






At the farmhouse, we play intensely! Every toy is relevant. Every story is told with passion.






She napped in school today. She is in top form thereafter. Toppest of top form!






(I say something silly. She laughs to high heaven.)





Heading into fall, but ever so slowly. Today, it's pure summer.

summer?

On our walks after her school day, I try to explain to Snowdrop that we are now in the season of fall. Even though we aren't, calendar wise. But a toddler's fall should be only loosely bound to dates and day lengths. They should, I think, have the visuals in place: cooling temperatures (so, more sweaters and jackets), drying leaves, pumpkins, harvests -- that, after all, explains the season far more vividly than the statement -- in ten days, we will officially begin the season of fall.

But what if you get a day like this one? The sun is brilliant, the temperatures are climbing, really climbing, a few summer plants are throwing out new blooms.







So is it summer? If it is that, then why isn't the pool open? Where have the sandhill cranes gone?





Those are late afternoon thoughts. In the morning and well into the early afternoon, I work to water and clear several more of the flower beds.






Breakfast for us is late. Very late. Close to noon late.






And not too long after, with a sore back but a much less parched garden, I pick up Snowdrop. A tired girl who is one of only two who are not napping during nap time in school, but a sweet and happy child...






And so it's summer, right? Well, maybe for a moment. Today. This afternoon. At the farmette: summer.






Can't play outside too long though. Must feed the babies indoors!






Babies taken care of. Time for real play. Wait, do I see Snowshoes on your feet, Snowdrop? What season are you in exactly?





No matter. It's what it is: a warm and beautiful day with sunshine streaking bands of gold all through the farmhouse. 

moving to normal

My calendar says it all: there is nothing unusual about the week before me. For the first time in months, I'm coasting on normal.

Oh, how I appreciate a touch of normal! It's not that chaos, travel, moves, weddings, new school, new home, new schedule are objectionable. (Storms and mosquitoes on the other hand are objectionable; and we're mostly done with those as well.) But when normal appears on the horizon again -- I feel grateful.

A regular ol' breakfast.





We talk about how we might treat a day that is sunny, breezy and mild. A walk maybe? Something outdoorsy! Work in the yard? Yes!

With so much talk of rain in the south and, too, with such a wet spring here, in Wisconsin, you may have a hard time wrapping your mind around the fact that right now, we need rain. But in fact, we do. We haven't had much in recent weeks and though the blooming period is nearly done, I think it's a mistake to totally neglect the water needs of your flowers now. The care you give them in autumn will be amply recognized and rewarded next spring.

And so I water a few of the flower fields, including the front bed.






I spend many many hours watering, clipping and trimming. And of course, I can only enjoy all of it now because the bug population is so diminished!


And now it's time to pick up Snowdrop.
Did she nap? -- I ask the teacher.
Well, she did not sleep...

Oh, Snowdrop, you, more than many kids your age, you need your sleep!

Well, no matter. We do our adventuring, delighting in the late summer flowers in the neighborhood. Not many two year olds can name flowers the way she does!
What's this one?
Goldenrod! -- she says proudly.











We're at the playground. A couple of kids are playing in the sand. Snowdrop watches.






... and then decides that sifting grains of gold is a great thing to do on this lovely September day!











Indeed, when we come back to the farmette and I offer her time in the sandbox, she dives right in!






But it's not all grand. The bugs that were dispersed and diminished in the morning seem to make a fleeting appearance now, in the late afternoon. And so I urge her to call it a day and come inside.

First though, she needs to be de-sanded.

The Montessori School approach to life is to allow the child to do things on her own. To give her age appropriate tools and then to let her fly.

I give Snowdrop an age appropriate hose spray and I let her fly...






The day is calm, bright, beautiful. Normal. Wonderful.

changing landscpaes

We watch the hurricane creeping up the coast of Florida and we wonder how it will change the coastal line. Will water come in, think twice and retreat? How will it all look tomorrow? Ten years from now?

(Breakfast with our visiting friends...)






It's a beautiful day here, in Madison -- bright, brilliant, breezy. Ed and I mean to take a hike, but as our friends take off for a few days of visits elsewhere, we wander across the farmette lands and the pull to clean up stuff in need of pruning or weeding is too strong. So I turn my attention to the yard. You know, to that stretch of land that once bore a bounty of flowers, berries and the occasional cherry!






I take out the tractor-mower and I set out to cut down (the hope is to eliminate) 90% of the raspberry bushes.

They're out of control. They've always been out of control. They grow even in shade, producing few fruits, but serving as home to many of the mosquitoes who visit us each summer. Of course, many of my flowers are also a haven for bugs, but I point out to Ed that there is a benefit to growing flowers. I do not see a benefit to letting the raspberries spread out in all direction. And the weeds between the canes! Oh, the weeds!

When I tell him I intend to take down most of the bed, Ed acquiesces, but retreats quickly inside so that he doesn't have to see what it is that I am doing.

It's a terribly onerous job and after an hour or two, I've had enough. (I know you cant tell how much I've cleared, but I can!)





There isn't much time for hiking now, but we do allow ourselves a quick bike ride... (past the truck farmers' fields to the east and here's a change that has not happened yet -- the development hasn't pushed forward as rapidly as we had expected!)





... to Lake Waubesa. There, we take a very pleasant stroll through the small lakeside community that has cropped up at the shores. No danger of great surges there. Our problems remain tied to agricultural and development related pollution.

(A quiet pond to the side...)






In the late afternoon, I pop in briefly to a going away party for my friend who is moving to Mexico.






There were years when she brought music and a bit of Latin culture into my life and I was so enamored with it all! Our lives eventually segued into other forms, other landscapes and I've seen little of her or her husband or their world in recent years. Still, today there is that one last sidestep into a very familiar place...

I cannot stay long though. I have a dinner to prepare at home. For these guys (the young dad is busy with work this evening):






Oh, happy girl...






A happy time, on the porch still, despite the cool evening breeze...






Want some (toy) pizza, ahah?






Want some macarons and fruit, Snowdrop?





And in the meantime, I do think the eye of the hurricane has passed my hunkered and bunkered friends in Florida and I'm hoping they will be lucky, riding this one out without too many trees uprooted, or landscapes reconfigured!

Saturday

A gift for you! A post of few words!

Beautiful sunshine here: so unfair when other states are being pounded by storms!






I'm at the farmers' market on the square: with Snowdrop, who always admires my moped!






Her mom and I watch as the girl takes to the grass. Then to the walkway. Then to the grass... and so on.





That was the morning.

In the afternoon, our friends -- Ed's buddy from college days and his wife -- arrive for a long awaited visit.

We head for the Ice Age Trail over by the Wisconsin River. Hard to wrap my brains around the fact that these two were college roommates...





A time release selfie!





And a second hike! To Gibraltar Rock, with those beautiful views over Wisconsin farmlands...





Another time release selfie!






And finally, a dinner on the porch. With the last of this year's corn for sure...





That's it! I'm retreating back to our visitors. A perfectly lovely evening discussing the fine points of building a house from scratch. Which none of us want to do, but all of us seem to have strong opinions on.

Still thinking of friends in Florida though... May their weekend be reasonably calm and may they not have to rebuild much of anything.

the unique qualities of a Friday

There is no complaint I can put forth about weather, about tedious chores, about unexpected burdens and inconveniences. None. Just take a pause and think about damage to the islands and states to the south. Everything there puts everything here in perspective.

We all do have our external circumstances that make life easy or tough. In Wisconsin, we have the heavy winters, the mosquitoes and the occasional tornado. They, over there, have the raging storms. The others have the earthquakes. And now there are the hurricanes. Heavy winters and mosquitoes with the occasional tornado are suddenly light fare compared to what is happening as a result of Harvey and Irma.

I'm not in the path of a hurricane, but my super close friend might as well be family is and so Ed and I study the charts, read the analyses and worry from afar.

To add stress to these days, Ed has been on the wrong side of the wellness equilibrium (how's that for a fancy way of saying he's picked up some cold symptoms) and so I feel compelled to fuss.

In this photo, he is letting me know that it is indeed a fine idea to eat breakfast outside today, even though he is cold and shivering as a result....





Let's switch worries (and granted -- none of these are even close to significant worries... they are microscopic frets): here's a photo of our three girls. Left to right: Java, Henny, Scotch. Java just today quit brooding (sitting in one spot all day long and not moving an inch, no matter what) and Scotch is not dead yet and so you have all three. It may be one of the last times that I have all three in one shot as I honestly think Scotch is finally reaching that peak of hen age beyond which she cannot function. Ed is in total denial about this, but in my assessment, she is old and she just needs to put it down and rest.






If I title the post "the unique qualities of Friday," then I suppose I must mention that, as every Friday, I shop for food for the week. As I unload the stuff onto the belt at the store, I look at the box of prepared sushi that I have in my cart and I have to smile: I'm like that person to make fun of, the one who buys all this nutritious stuff, only to stick a box of prepared sushi for dinner. The woman who is checking me out (and who happens to be my all time favorite checkout person ever) listens to me and she laughs: you do not have to apologize for what you buy. I'll come home and want nothing more than a reheated slice of frozen pizza for dinner.


And soon it is time to pick up Snowdrop.

The girl runs to me and dissolves. She loves school, loves life, loves her friends, teachers, tasks -- all of it, but (as the school person explains to me) she is two years old and it's the end of the week and life has thrown a bunch of changes her way and she just can't hold it in one second more.


Eventually, she regroups and we are at the farmhouse and she is her old happy self.






(Reading, with a bowl of fruit at the side, will do wonders...)






By late afternoon, she is signing songs she learned...






... and setting the table for a spirited game of "restaurant."






And then I return her home and come back to the farmhouse to eat that boxed grocery store sushi with Ed and to worry about my friend in Florida. Because really, that's where my Friday thoughts lie.