Wednesday

There comes a day when picking up the camera is the last thing that you want to do. It's as if you're so preoccupied/dismayed/stuck-in-one-place that you just can't see anything visually presentable before you.

Today was not such a day, but it came close!

True, when Ed and I sit down to breakfast, I am so mollified, so happy to be sipping that coffee and eating that bowl of you-know-what across the way from a guy who brings serenity to the table each and every morning, that I always want a picture of that moment, before things get crazy (because you never know what a day may bring). And so here we are: Mr. serenity and whatever flowers we happen to have on the table.






But after -- well, it rained and I had chores to do and life's details to attend to. I did look up appreciatively on my drive back to the farmette -- enough to get out the camera (just across the road from us)...





And then I put it aside once more.

In the afternoon, I picked up not Snowdrop, but my mom who had spent some days in the hospital recovering from a fall. There was a grocery store trip thrown into the mix but honestly, none of it is picture worthy. On the upside, my mom is doing well -- being of hearty stock and having taken good care of herself, so I left her to her own devices and headed home, to be greeted with more rain, more mud, more this more that...

And then, toward evening, the rain stopped and the sky cleared just long enough to coax a smile out of me. Out came the camera.





I tell myself that in the future, I'll rise to the challenge and take inspired photos in the rain. But photographing routine chores? Never. Do them, check them off your list and move on to finer things in life. A cup of coffee and a cookie. One flower. A child's laugh, a chicken's run. Anything is more lovely to look at than a person slogging through a bunch of chores.

Tuesday

Well, time to get stuff done outside. The weather is surely right for it: a high today of 81F (27C), with storms holding off, giving me enough time to get out there and clean things up.

I don't cut back all the flower beds. That would be a waste of time and not especially good for the garden which appreciates additional organic matter. But I do pull out major weeds and I trim things in a way that gives a winter shape to everything. Sticks poking out look unsightly. But many dried perennials are quite pretty, especially under a snow cover.

So after a quick look around...






...I bring in the orchid pots and the rosemary, all of which need to winter over indoors, and then Ed and I sit down to a beautiful breakfast on the porch. Last one out there until April for sure!






And after -- hours of outdoor work. I'd like to say I finished all that I wanted to do, but you're never really done when there is so much land to take care of. I still have fields of weeds I want to attack before the ground freezes. And of course, the beds will need another comb through once all the plants are dormant. But for now, I'm satisfied.

(Toward the farmhouse...)






(Toward the barn...)






It's so warm! But it may rain. Or storm. Or neither.

Snowdrop, do you want to go to the playground? (This is after school. For a moment, she is too hot for her dress.)






She swings, we play "family..."






All in the very warm air of an October afternoon.






At the farm, Ed is chopping up felled trees. He'd been out on my moped earlier. She finds it.  
Why is there a basket?
For the produce I bring home from a farmers market.
Do you like to ride it too, ahah?
I do!






Can I try it?






Here's a more age appropriate idea: how about blowing some bubbles?






Such a day! It should end with this light note of a girl catching a bubble, but no: Ed has roped me onto watching a crime drama (Bosch) on Amazon Prime and after a hurried dinner, we run through the remaining episodes of the season, late into the night, guaranteeing nightmares for months to come. But the popcorn was terrific!

Monday

As I take Sparrow out for a brief stroll along our rural road (wishing so much they would hurry up and put in sidewalks in the neighboring development so I wouldn't have to veer into the mud by the road every time a car passes -- a precaution on my part since I always assume drivers are especially distracted on empty roads), I pause to say hi to our one neighbor.
Weird weather... I comment.
We are in a monsoon climate!

Indeed. It stormed and rained all night and now it's warm and humid again. There will be more storms, more rains this week, more humid weather. Wet monsoon weather.

Sparrow is with us from early morning. I'll say this much -- the sudden return of warm weather allows us a little more time outside.

(The cheepers look at him curiously. He is a bit taken aback by their presence. Who are these strange looking beings??)






We eat breakfast, taking turns juggling the little guy as we down our oatmeal.











He is his morning cheerful self. Want to head out? Sure!






As I push Sparrow up the driveway, I give a quick look a the flower fields. I must say, the front bed looks the best these days. The strawberries and cream hydrangea is fabulous as it moves from creamy white, to deep pink, to bronze. The false sunflowers are still at it and the cosmos adds that needed punch of color.






Looking out across the road, to the south, I can finally take in the beauty of this season.






To the west, north and east of us, the development slogs on. A half a year of digging and moving around dirt and all we see is mud and puddles and ponds and more mud.






We turn in toward the farmette again. Oh, let me use this moment to throw out a thanks to my friend, who gifted this awesome purple double stroller that her own kids recently outgrew. Sparrow likes it and so do I!






In the afternoon, we pick up Snowdrop. And here, things get a little crazy. Oh, the little one is happy to see us alright...






And she is intensely happy to come back to the farmhouse with her brother...






But at the same time, I get a call that my mom has had a slight mishap. This introduces a bit of drama, or at least uncertainty. Still, she is okay for the moment and so I return to my focus on the kids, even as the weather outside turns just plain wacky. I mean, it's starting to feel like true summer. Bugs and all.

It's a good moment to bring out the watermelon! (The girl loves her perch on the garbage can, though even at this elevated position, she looks small next to the big guy.)






(Snowdrop finds a toy fish I had purchased for Sparrow. It becomes the focus of her story about feeding a pet fish. Sparrow goes along. He always goes along.)






We all sense the weather change. Snowdrop wants to be out. Well, okay. Sparrow, are you up for more stroller time?

(Ed goes to clean the coop, Snowdrop follows. With Sparrow.)






(Along the way, she picks flowers. Might as well. I understand by the end of the week, we'll have a killing frost.)






Can I feed the cheepers?
I love how she knows the ropes. The feed first, then the bin with the corn. Scattered. 






Where are you going, ahah? Sometimes he is grandpa Ed, mostly he is just Ed, sometimes he is still good old ahah.






They climb the wood chip pile. Total happiness.
Ahah, you are the queen, I am the princess! (In her mind, a princess has the rule of the land.)






Look! You can see the clouds everywhere!






Not done yet. She blows bubbles. And then she does what she claims is her "very favorite thing:" she works the hose.






At some point it spins around and soaks her solid. She feigns being upset...






But in fact, she is delighted to spend the rest of the afternoon playing in her undies. While Sparrow looks on. Sparrow is nearly always happy just to look on.


In the evening, the happy duo goes home, I talk to my mother. Things are looking good. She'll be out and home tomorrow. We'll take it from there.

Sunday

Such a day. After several weeks of frenzy, sniffles, political drama, I look to this weekend, this Sunday, as giving me an opportunity to regroup, as they say. To find my center. To shake the last sniffle. To move forward.

The weather is most uncooperative for this effort. I limit my outdoor time to moving back and forth between farmhouse and barn.






Breakfast is again very late. So much so, that Ed actually eats something out of hunger, rather than because I called him down for the morning meal.





He and I are definitely not on the same ship today. He's off helping some maker guys install a furnace, I'm cleaning and cooking and taking care of chickens.

In the evening, the young family comes for dinner. Hi, Sparrow!











There is time for some playful stuff after. I'm not sure this is a good thing going forward, but Snowdrop has learned to use my camera and she is giddy with joy when I let her take pictures with it.






I wont post her work here, but it is delightful. The world, as seen through the eyes of a child.

And so we wrap up one week and move on to the next. I'm looking forward to it. I hope you are as well!

going for the gold

It isn't a good day for a stroll around the farmers market. Too cold, too wet, too threatening. Still, as I will myself to get out of bed, I'm remembering that the corn farmers -- the ones who really know how to push the season -- promised one last day of corn today. And it's an exquisite corn: even after five days in the fridge, the flavor is extraordinary. I putz around downstairs, Ed sleeps. I fix breakfast, Ed sleeps. It's 10 a.m., I tell myself. Go now eat later. They'll likely sell out in an hour or so.

I put on my puffy jacket for this one. And gloves. And I take out Rosie the moped and scoot downtown.

I remember the first time I ever rode with Ed on his motorcycle -- it was late October (thirteen years ago!) and it was a cold late afternoon. Ed was so happy to expose me to the joy of riding a motorbike. I was so cold! Every time we went through a valley, I felt like someone had opened the refrigerator on an already cold interior. Today I reminded myself of the old Danish saying -- there is no such thing as weather that's too cold to enjoy; but there is such a thing as being improperly dressed for it. Bundled and zipped tight, I get going.







And it is worth it. Here is the truckload of gold! (Next week they'll flip their tent banner to face the market: instead of fresh corn, they'll be selling the frozen stuff.)






I buy a lot, telling myself I'll do something creative with it this week.

I don't really walk the market. I scoot around at its periphery. Catching sight of our farmer friends from up the road, I pause to pick up a bunch of sunflowers from their stand. Also the last ones this year.






What I did not know then was that Jacques Pepin, chef and cookbook author extraordinaire, was also shopping the Madison market today. Such an odd time for him to come here for market shopping! The truth is that our growing season has come to a close. True, a small handful of farmers will grow foods year round (spinach comes to mind), but mostly, they're done.


At the farm, the cheepers are hovering near the driveway, wondering why I went off without feeding them (they're by the young quince trees which this year did produce the first fruit ever).

Okay okay okay! Follow me!






By the time I am in the farmhouse, Ed is awake. We sit down to breakfast.






You have to really twist my arm to go out again: our sweet, warm farmhouse (painted Caribbean yellow!) is like a comfy blanket on a cold night ...

 



But the fact is, it's only going to get colder. You cannot grow soft!

We hike our favorite trail -- one that was unattractive during the entire summer because of the bugs this year -- the Brooklyn Wildlife Area. It's terribly wet and muddy at the prairie end and the day continues to be cloudy and a bit drab, but despite all this, the walk is beautiful.






I am instantly reminded how gorgeous a forest can be in autumn. Even before the burst of color, it displays enough variety to set your senses spinning.






Around every corner, there is something grand.






On this trail, we always climb up to the viewpoint, where we sit on the bench (put there by the Ice Age trail builders) and take in the landscape around us.






Into the forest once more...






... and out again.






Evening. I clean the corn, freezing some kernels for winter stirfries, saving the remaining cobs for dinners this week.

For the last time this year we have a dinner of corn picked just this morning. It is like a plate of comfort food. I'd say at this moment, we all need some good, warm comfort food.