Saturday

It could be Saturday, it could be Sunday. We have elements of both.

The pace is slower. Yes, the day starts early -- it always does, on account of the animal feeding and, too, because I like mornings and I'm used to getting up with the light, especially when the light comes to us so late! (Sunrise today: about 6:45, though honestly, when the day is this cloudy, it's hard to talk about a sunrise.) But there is no hurry.






Tomorrow, two of the little ones are going to their new home and so I watch them one last time as they climb, tumble and scamper about.

(this one, who will be leaving, is the smallest of them all, but she is also the friendliest...)






(this one, whom we have taken to calling Gray Cloud, is staying...)






Because the day threatens rain, I do not meet up with my granddaughter and her mommy for a protracted farmers market walk. Instead, I take my scooter out very early and do some essential market shopping on my own (corn, peaches, pimento peppers, flowers, cheese)...

(it's the grandmas who arrange the bouquets; they're small women and they tend to hide in the mass of flowers before them...)











(Door County fruits, still going strong!)






(scooter basket is full!)






After picking up breakfast treats, I scoot right back to the farmette. Breakfast on the porch.






And now there's a flip to the day: we have a Sunday-ish family dinner.






You don't often have a chance to see Sparrow, so I'll end with a photo of the little guy playing blocks with Snowdrop. Sort of.






Despite the drippy weather, it's a beautiful evening. The kids are happy, the grown-ups -- full of plans for the year ahead. And the fresh corn, picked this morning -- you know what I think of that! Farmette life at its best!

Friday

I do love young people. They have convictions. They want to see a better world than the one to which they are born. They look for strength in numbers, because alone, they often feel small. They look beyond their back yard. They march.

My own morning though is more like that of a retired person: I go out... (foggy!)


 



(front bed flowers...)






(autumn reblooms...)






I feed cats. Call me the cat lady who fell into this role inadvertently.  And I pull some weeds. And for breakfast, Ed and I go to Finca Cafe. With our computers. Because we love this leisurely way to share space and a morning meal.






Just after the noon hour, I do something else that no young person would bother with: I go to thumb therapy. Yes, really. If you have thumbs like mine, you'll appreciate small tips and maneuvers to make those fat little fingers work more efficiently. My thumb person herself is young and cheerful and she laughs at all my jokes as if they're really funny and in addition, she gives my hand a soak in hot wax, which is truly original and somewhat Halloweenish. (It comes out caked in ghostly white wax.) A half hour well spent, for any number of reasons.

Snowdrop is here in the afternoon.






We read and continue with the trip to Snowland game.






Later, as I drive her home, I ask her about the bad kids in her class (so described by her). I ask for examples of bad behavior. I'm surprised that the examples she gives me are of verbal misdeeds. In the Ramona books we're reading, the little girl is naughty in physical ways (pulling hair, destroying another child's art project). She says plenty of no-no stuff, too, but I can tell Snowdrop is fascinated by the behavioral outbursts, ones that seem very edgy to someone like Snowdrop, who has a better control over her own impulses. (I'd say that as a child, I was probably half way between Ramona and Snowdrop.)



These days, my daughter and I try to set aside a few minutes to sit down together at the very end of a very busy week. No kids, just the two of us. Tonight, my Chicagoan girl happens to call at this time. I sit back and listen to the back and forth for a while and think -- listening to your grownup kids talk to each other is just grand. I suppose it's not unlike when your kids first play together and you sit back and think -- well, now, this is just so fine!





Well, now, this is just so very fine.

Thursday

A little rain, a little thunder. Enough to keep us indoors this morning. Attending: to paper work. To others. To future plans and today's necessities.

After breakfast of course.






A morning, washed away by useless (for us) weather. But, I filed all necessary documents for my share of the jackpot in the Equifax Credit Monitoring Breach Settlement: if all goes well, I will get some fraction of $125!  The morning was not a total wash!


In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop, who would very much like to show you how heavy her backpack is.






In an unusual twist to our routines, I take her straight to the Fitchburg Farmers Market. It's a special one: kids are the focus of it. There are wagon rides, crafts, treats. For Snowdrop, there is the double fun of being allowed to climb onto Farmer Natalie's truck to pick a huge number of tomatoes for our freezer. It's all great fun for her! As Natalie said to me -- Snowdrop is just like her grandma -- all smiles and happiness! I consider it the greatest compliment to be viewed in the same league as this:

(a ride)





(tomatoes!)





(cheese curds!)










(making a spider..)






(another ride!)






And toward evening, there is Storybook Ballet.





The day ends quietly. Meditatively. Autumnally.

Wednesday

Is it the last of the really beautiful days? Or will we have a rerun in later fall? Perhaps we should embrace it as a final hurrah, reveling in the splendid warmth, the sunshine, the gentle breezes. Yes, never assume a repeat of perfection. Love what's before you.

And we do.

(morning garden walk: the Big Bed...)






(the way things look out by the porch...)






(sunshine on our faces...)






(happy, who continues to be... happy)






We play disc golf. It's such a perfect day for it! In future years, as I recall these disc golf days, I'll think of this day, with that smell of sunshine hitting the golden rod. And I'll feel the wet dew from the grass which we soaked in with our bare feet on the disc fields.

(on the ride there...)






(it's bad news when your disc flies into the flowers and prairie bushes to the side...)





And we're not done with the day! We return to our county park, convinced that on this sunny day, we'll have a full swarm of Monarch butterflies.

We see not a single one. They've moved on!

(these guys, on the other hand, have not...)






As always, Snowdrop comes to the farmette after school. No, Snowdrop, I don't know if that flower is edible. Best not try!





We do a lot of indoor stuff. It just worked out that way. We read, we build with Legos. We play airplane ride to Snow Country.

And we tell the farmette animals they'll have to wait. It's not dinnertime just yet.





But oh my, are there a lot of them! Too many, right? Definitely too many...

Tuesday

It was a unique morning. I could give it many titles: "at long last..." fits well. Or, "it's now or never!" Or "big steps." Or perhaps a combination of some such words.

We wake to fog. That's not unusual: yesterday was quite the same: dense fog greeting me as I go out to feed the cats.

But wait, where are my favorites? The four little ones and, too, the teen girl with the furry tail and the incongruous name of Dark Blue Tulip (Snowdrop at work) do not show up for feeding time.This is a little disconcerting. Why are they hiding?

I follow Dance after she gobbles half the food in the bowls set out for the remaining cats. She knows I'm behind her. She leads me through a thicket of brush on the floor of the old orchard. Then she jumps on the almost hidden stump of a tree Ed chopped down. Her kitties are on it. She settles there to nurse them.

I have no explanation for this behavior. Were they spooked by yesterday's evening fuss? Do they know we may be packing up two of them and sending them away? Did some other cat or animal chase them out of the garage?

I let them be. I'm in a bit of a hurry, because at 8 I'm to meet the young family at school. They're introducing Sparrow to his classroom -- he'll be starting school in three weeks. Since I'll be picking him up, I want to get a sense of stuff. (Even as the class and teachers are the same ones Snowdrop had three years back.) As I get in the car to drive off, I see Stop Sign trotting up to the house.

I call Ed. I mean, it's good timing: the chickens aren't out, the other cats are fed. She has been going into the cage (set closely to the farmhouse door) to eat for several days now. The clinic is open this morning.
Do you want to try to try to capture her? -- I ask, then drive off, not really waiting for an answer.

At school, the family is excited to start this new chapter in Sparrow's life! We're all here to encourage him.






(soon to be "school boy!")






Sparrow is not yet solid on his feet: he'll be by far the youngest in the class, but he is a happy boy and curious about those around him, so everyone's optimistic about the year ahead!





I return to the farmhouse and note that Ed's car is gone. So is the trap.

And so there was success! We have finally gotten fertile myrtle to the vet!

We have a late but celebratory breakfast. On the porch.






And now Ed returns to bed and I review my options. Perhaps I should play with the kitties? If we want to get the others to be less skittish, we have to spend more time with them.

Or maybe I should take out at least some of the weeds in the places where I want to put down seeds?

I give it a go. Just a little. Say around the tee-pee, to give the clematis there a clean slate. Maybe also around Ed's marigolds. And while I'm here (with the cheepers at my heels -- suddenly they have me stirring up the soil again... bugs! worms!), maybe also around the birch? All the way to the sheep shed?

I work a solid two hours. And yes, I got maybe 75% of the weeds out of there. I mean, the weather is beautiful and the seeds, ready for sowing, are plentiful. If I create a hospitable space for them, maybe finally we will have beaten down the invasive weeds that tend to dominate the space at that end of farmette lands.

And then I sit down with a sandwich and a coffee on the porch and refuse to move. I am spent!






In the early afternoon, I'm out again. It's time to pick up Snowdrop.

Today, when I suggest a neighborhood adventure, she enthusiastically agrees. We start with a snack at the coffee shop.

(Snowdrop thinks she likes doughnuts more than she actually does...)






And we move on to the playground. It's so incredibly gorgeous today!

(Some things don't change: she still wants to play ice cream shop.)






That smell of autumn! A little dry, a little crispy, with a touch of mowed hay. It's with us now. Fall may not come until Monday, but today surely offered a good imitation of it!






In the evening, Ed brings home a very displeased Stop Sign. Predictably, she flew out of the cage when the door was opened. But she did not run wild. When I brought food to the writer's shed (she was hiding under it), she came out to eat. We're not sure whether she is lactating, but if she is, it will be her last run.

If two little ones go to a good home this Sunday, we'll have only two remaining that will require a vet's intervention in another month or so.

Phew! It's been quite the busy day! Uniquely beautiful!

Monday

It's going to be a beautiful, sunny, warm day! Our wildflower seeds have arrived. Wouldn't this be a fine time to plant the various meadows and beds, so that they will deliver the flowers we crave next spring?

It is an overwhelming job. Not because of the work of planting, but because we don't really know the best way to do this. So, after feeding the kitties, I go back to bed and I stay there. (In my defense, I'm nursing sniffles...)

By mid morning, a great desire to eat a good breakfast on the porch pushes us up and out.






And then I survey the gardens and still I have no good plan. The problem is that the places I want to seed have a mix of weeds and good flowers in them. But to take out the weeds by hand is daunting. It would take weeks to clear the spaces. Should we be half-assed about it as usual and just sow the seeds and hope for a miracle? Should we mow down everything? Till the whole area? I just don't know...

(Flower beds, from the perspective of fall... these don't require care right now; perennials fend for themselves in the dormant periods.)






(everything is so... September!)






(meadow in the young orchard...)






In the meantime, a friend contacted me and asked if she could take in one of the kittens. Well of course! Ed prompts -- two would be even better, they're so bonded! My friend and her family are, in our minds, ideal. They're great animal and nature lovers, they know their way around pets. But should we keep our favorites? Or conversely, should we hand over the friendliest one, because she (or he) has the greatest chance of feeling joy in a nurturing environment?

I feel like we're sending off a kid to college. Or worse, into the arms of a loved one in her new home!

I remind myself we will have ten left. Well, maybe nine. Plus the elusive Stop Sign. Still, there is a twinge of angst. Will the little guy(s) behave? Will they thrive and prosper?


In the afternoon, Snowdrop is here to play. And play we do!






She is full of spirit today (she cajoles Ed to join us here...)!






Toward evening, my friend comes over to meet the kitties. Snowdrop is quite excited to introduce the little ones to her, but of course, none of the cats here are used to a lot of commotion. It takes a bit of coaxing to bring them out of hiding.






In an effort to shift some of that Snowdrop energy away from the picnic table, I suggest that she and I go feed the cheepers. Okay!






It is quite likely that my friend will come back in a few days for some subset of the littlest ones. I miss them already!






(I catch up with my friend; Snowdrop keeps us company!)






The day ends, the seasons shift, the kitties will move on. Farmette life does not stand still.