Tuesday

Morning:

So many gorgeous spots at the farmette right now! It hardly seems fair that this month should be this rich in beauty. And of course, there is the bonus of great weather this week.

We eat breakfast on the porch. It's a bit of a stretch, because it's early and so the morning cool air hasn't quite left us yet, but still -- how could we resist? (We're back at the round table because I'm washing the long table cloth right now.)





Ed has some work meetings today, but me -- I plunge into gardening. Right away. No pause or interruption. I want to finish most of the planting so that I can move on to seeds. Our nights will be warmer now -- the soil is good enough to start working its charm on the little flower seeds I have ready and waiting.

In the meantime, let's see what's blooming: the late season tulips of course. They take the prize for color!

(in the distance, you can see Ed hauling over a wheelbarrow of woodchips for me just before he takes off ...)






Our crab apple is almost popping into full bloom. Almost!






But we certainly have plenty of blooming fruit trees elsewhere to admire. Take the giant apple in the old orchard. Ed has cleared away some dead wood around it and it looks positively regal now!






In the front, we still have the late daffodils going strong along the whole length of the bed. They grow in clusters of three on each stem and they're very eye catching!






But, you have to admit that, in terms of color, the tulips take the cake right now. They're in their final days and they remind us that orange and rose and violet do not clash, not in nature anyway.





Afternoon:

I've kept three potted annuals to the side -- to be planted when the daffodils are finished. Otherwise -- I'm done with planting bulbs, bare roots, and potted plants! I'm done moving plants out and into new spaces. I'm done digging out over ambitious bees balm. I'm done with the major stuff!

Tomorrow, I'll start in on the seeds and perhaps I can convince Ed that it's time to put in the tomatoes.

Snowdrop is here of course, but we don't spend too much time outdoors.

(my little christopher robin, but with a cuddle sweater rather than a bear...)





She has a play agenda and I'm happy to simply keep the porch door wide open so that the music of twittering birds is with us even in the farthest corners of the farmhouse.

(books and cherries come first...)






(stories and pretend play next...)






(I said something funny. Well, Snowdrop is generous in her appreciation of gaga humor!)





And the afternoon spins to an end. I take her home.


Evening:

It's busy. I have a meet-up with my daughter, followed by dinner with former colleagues. Still, I'm back home before the sun sets.

Come walk with me to the young orchard, gorgeous.

We inspect the grapes. The fruit trees. The blueberries. The newly planted peaches.

Take a selfie! We haven't done that in such a long time!





The sun is setting. Will you be putting the cheepers away?
The hens and Happy are all up on the barn wall. Except for Tomato. She's still searching for worms.

I'll get Tomato, you can deal with the rest.

Good night, cheepers. Goodnght farmette growing things!

pick a day, any day...

Each day has elements of beauty in it. Then there are days like this one: it's overflowing with loveliness! Honestly, for me, May has the hold on the most glorious weather, giving light and life to the best colors outside. It's all fresh and beautiful.

Normally, I would have Sparrow on a Monday morning, but we're shuffling the schedule a tad, now that the academic year is over. Different work agendas dominate and so we're moving things around a bit. Consequently, I have the morning to myself.

And of course, I give it all away to the flower fields. Well, after breakfast.





The Big Bed is pretty much in order now. Time to fix up stuff elsewhere. That includes facing the loooooong front-of-the-road bed. It's damaged by winter salt. It's rooted by the giant maples that grow too close, and give too many hours of shade. The soil is awful clay and I have to throw organic matter  into it each year, or else nothing will drain. And it's in a spot that is readily accessible to herds of deer. Lilium? Yum! Phlox? Penstemon? Delphinium? Malva? These plants rarely see the summer through. Nibble nibble nibble.

I'm going to try a different approach this year: I'm adding many more annuals to the mix. The days when I proudly wore my t-shirt with the statement "no more annuals," (or some such orthodoxy) are long gone. In fact, I had seen this in Giverny, the place of the famous Monet's garden: by midsummer, cleome and cosmos, dahlias and nasturtium  (annuals, all of them) would fill empty spaces. At the farmette, I've used annuals in tubs and I've sown cosmos and nasturtium seeds in the courtyard. But this year, I want other, less known annuals to do some of the work for me in the front bed. It's the only flower field anybody ever sees (unless you're an intimate friend or family member or the UPS delivery guy)! It has to look decent!

I stop by a couple of greenhouses  and again return with a box full of flowers to plant. Ed shakes his head with wonder. But, it is my final planting push. And oh, do I have the weather for it!

(looking across the big bed and the lily field toward the farmhouse...)






While at one of the greenhouses, I noticed a shelf of pots (for sale) that made me smile. As you know, Ed and I don't spend money on flower pots. Old crates, some plastic containers and the occasional cracked and ancient clay pot -- this is what we bring out each year. We try not to "decorate" the farmette (with the exception of placing the bronze statues Ed's mom made). Still, a bunch of years back (Ocean tells me it was 11 years!), my younger girl and I went to Morocco. And we both fell in love with the colors of the country and, too, of the garden we visited there. The use of carefully painted pots was magnificent and I told myself that someday, I would introduce such colors into the yard.

I never did. It's just not where I put my money.

Still, today, I gave in to a wee little longing for that garden in Marrakech. Just two small pots, but I love them for all that they trigger for me -- memories of all the fantastic visited gardens of this beautiful planet.






In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop.

I'm excited to take her deep into the garden. I have a surprise for her -- some of our old asparagus plants have sent up beautiful spears this year. She is thrilled to see them and eats our whole batch right there on the spot.






We play in the young orchard. Once again I try to weave her a crown of dandelions, but it's a miserable execution of this noble bit of meadow play.






I try it on. It falls apart. She laughs. Gaga, it's awful!
I should take a selfie...
No, let me take a picture! 
She does.






And then we go inside.






... where we play restaurant.






More babies needed for our game!






Snowdrop leaves in the evening, at a time when it's still faintly sunny outside. I return to the flower fields and plant a couple of dozen marigolds along the pathway by the sheep shed. Ed prompts me each year to do this. He's a guy who loves this kind of continuity ("we had marigolds outside our summer cottage when I was growing up!").

I walk the farmette lands, taking note of what needs work still. (Some things are so very perfect without much intervention. Take the meadow grasses filled with violets  by the old orchard...)







In a week or two I'll be switching over to maintenance work. But not just yet. I'm still in the creative stage, where anything is possible and the grandest schemes seem doable.

As the sun sets, Ed rests for a long long while by the picnic table. I tell him that I am reminded of my childhood summers in my grandparents' village house in Poland. My grandmother used to love to sit at dusk at the wooden table just outside her country home.

Did she like to talk to you then? -- he asks.
No, we'd sit quietly and watch the light fade. Like you now.

Mother's Day

Being a mother. Whoa, it's the biggest challenge! The head spins! Just so you know, you can fill those mommy-type shoes even if you do not have children. And the flip side of this: you can have children and not be engaged much in the mommy life, for whatever reason. Still, for most moms, I do think kids make you rethink life. They're a preoccupation, an emotional high, riddled with a touch of anxiety. Mothering is a process: you never stop figuring out how to do it well. It's a belief system. Something that fills your soul every day of the year.


 



So happy mother's day to all you mothers and motherly dedicated souls. Sit back and reflect on how wonderful it all can be!

(here's someone who has mommied her way through several litters of little ones...)






In south central Wisconsin, it's yet another cool and mostly cloudy day. But it hardly matters. Throw a fleece jacket on and you'll be fine. And if you're working outside, chances are you'll unzip it.






Ed and I do another big push with yard work. I'm still moving and removing plants in the Big Bed. That's this one:






I know every single plant intimately. It's like having a thousand children -- you learn their habits pretty quickly.

The animals keep pestering me -- the cats want food (constantly), the cheepers get in my way as they try to scoop up the worms I dig up. Still, it's grand to be making so much progress! Honestly, the Big Bed has never had such a good tune up. And most of the new plants are planted -- in all of the nine fields I have to work with.






We pause for breakfast...


 


... and I have a lovely video-visit with my daughter and granddaughter in Chicago. Too, I squeeze in a quick house cleaning. But mostly, I dig the yard up and heave dirt all day long (thinking motherly thoughts of course!).


In the evening, the Madison young family comes over.  The packages speak to the holiday today! My daughters are singularly responsible for me to sometimes look decent in the summer months!






This mommy had been away for work for a couple of days. The little girl is thrilled to have her home again.






Snowdrop, building with Sparrow, who is more adept at knocking things down at this point....






Dinner.






And the day is done. Oh, but what a full day! And the plants grow, and the kids get older and it all somehow makes sense. Your work eventually pays off. How sweet is that!

Saturday favorites

It's true: one year you prefer one over the other. You pay attention to all of them, but you find yourself really investing your energies and pride in the chosen one. The good thing is that over the years, your preferences shift. Most make it to the favorite status at one point or another.

[What?? You thought I was talking about kids and grandkids? How silly of you! I have never felt preferences. I love each intensely, completely, without placing any ahead of the other. In my opening paragraph, I was referring to flower fields.]






And, too, over the years, flower preferences shift. Once, I was smitten with coreopsis (tickseed) and monarda (beebalm) and tradescantia (spiderwort). By now, I've moved most of them out of the way. A few years back, it was all about acquiring new irises. This year I didn't even enter the greenhouse with irises for sale. Peonies? No more! I have enough! It's only the day lilies that never ever fail to excite me. Otherwise, my attention wanders.






All this to say that this year, I am focused not on the front bed, right there by the road for all to see, and not on the side beds (on the east and west sides of the farmhouse), but on flower fields that surround our courtyard, and especially on the big bed. Which is very very big.

(one tiny corner of the big bed)






It has grown incrementally, erratically. There are no paths, there is no logic. Sometimes, plants grow excessively and block less aggressive ones from view (and light). It's time to get serious and move things around and these are the days to do it -- before the flowers get too big and are liable to be damaged in the transfer.

(there's a lot of seasonal magnificence that has had no input from me; like the old pear, blooming against a driveway of violets)






Moving plants around is an added job. Typically, I start the season with clearing the beds, weeding, trimming etc. Sometimes we expand a bed. And then I plant the new stuff. And seed the annuals. By the time I'm done, we're fully into summer.

This year, I'm far more ambitious. Ed is spending more time working outside as well -- removing not only fallen trees, but also the stumps. We both feed off of each other in terms of energy and determination!

Today was a 100% work outside day. With only a small break to pick up a couple of things at Natalie's Greenhouse and a few extras at the Flower Factory (oh, and for breakfast, of course!)






... we toil from 7:30 in the morning until dinnertime. And no, I do not cook dinner. Take-out Thai is perfect for tired limbs.

(evening: looking out from the porch)

Friday

Though we are keeping up with our outdoor tasks, it is true that in some ways, we are behind. The lilacs typically give us heady blooms for Mother's Day weekend. Not this year. Not yet. The crab apple is also holding back. We're all waiting for that string of warm days that push everything over the top. We've not had that this year.

But, comparing years is so very pointless. If you take this day on its own merits, you're bound to be satisfied! Remember how drab these trees looked in the winter months? Well, today, they are magical! Smothered in light pink buds and light green leaves.






But it is pretty cool. We eat breakfast in the kitchen.






When the sun comes out though, the tulips let go of their shyness and explode with color. (They'll close again for the night.)






I can't linger. I want to do my weekly food shopping quickly so that I can continue to work in the flower fields. I'm at the store just as it opens in the wee hours of the morning. From there, I go straight to my Mom's, Just to drop off some foods for Mother's Day.






And finally I return home. I have three hours and a dozen-ish plants to put in. And now it is time to bring Snowdrop to the farmhouse.






To her great joy, I found cherries in the store,






There's tine for a story. Or two. Right?





Well, nearly right, By the tine she is to go home, her energy levels are low once more. It takes a while to fully return to your old self after an illness.



In the evening, Ed and I continue to work outside until there is very little daylight left. Tired, hungry, satisfied. Finally, I am ready to throw down my gloves, my shovel. The cats stretch out on the garage blanket. They're up for an evening of play. Me, I'm thinking how lovely it would be to fall asleep on the couch.

Goodnight!

Thursday

It's a slow climb, but it is a climb, right out of the cold and damp, the sniffles and fevers, the countless fixes of broken this, broken that.

But it's slow. I'm only half tempted to spend any time outside!

And that's just as well because right after breakfast...






... Snowdrop is dropped here for the morning. She's still not quite up to speed. Another day of rest will give her the strength she needs to face life's challenges.






A good sign: she asks for lunch, even though I just finished clearing the breakfast table! She'd love a croissant, but I have none. Next best thing: pancakes!






And from there it's all up up up. She makes a book...






... she plays with her characters. She isn't dancing and prancing yet, but she surely is almost her old self.






When she leaves and I finish off another round of fixes for things that don't work quite right, I have before me several hours before it's time to cook dinner. I do have plants that need to go in, but honestly, it's just a little too cold to make it a pleasant task. I put it off for tomorrow and concentrate instead on digging out old stuff in the garden that should have been replaced last year if not the year before. You want to believe that perennial flowers will come back each year and that they will only gain in strength. While that's true for some of them (count day lilies as reliable in this regard), not all get sumptuous with age. Some can be divided. Some just have to be retired to the compost heap.

This afternoon, I pile on the compost heap.

I'll leave you with a few farmette photos. There are some stellar views right now, despite the gray skies. Well, at least I think they're stellar. May is the month with some of my favorite hues in the garden -- light green, complemented by pinks, whites and lemon yellows. Oh, but why favor one over the next -- it all looks so splendid! Really it does!







(Jacket, in the crab apple)






(the old orchard)






(the tulips)

Wednesday

Perhaps curious days walk in pairs. Yesterday's oddities didn't end with the setting of the sun. They spilled into Wednesday.

The coldness and wetness was expected. Predictably, we spent almost no time outside.

A quick walk, an inspection of the late season daffodils out front and tulips out back (it's such a tradeoff! late daffodils aren't lost to spring snows and late tulips aren't of interest to hungry animals and yet we crave those early bloomers -- they give us the much needed colors of early spring!). All's well with them!











... okay, that's enough. Crank up the furnace and eat breakfast inside.






What next? I spend the entire morning at the dentist's. There are many reasons for it (one such reason may be that said doc is very near retirement and this makes him very chatty, as if there is that realization that it's the last time we share updates on our comparably aged grandchildren), but the upshot is that there isn't agreement as to what should happen with this one solitary tooth. It's back to the drawing board. More visits, more consultations. How can one tooth be so complicated?!

Immediately after, Snowdrop's mom drops the little girl at the farmhouse. She is still under the weather and she spends a significant part of the afternoon on the couch...





... first, re-watching Mary Poppins, then chatting lightly with Ed about what's wrong with my car (the shock mount broke and it rattles like crazy).

It's tough to watch kids lose their oomph to illness. Still, Snowdrop is old enough to understand that this too will pass and that for now, rest is her friend.






In the evening, the rains return. One more soak and then we'll look forward to merry May weather again.