Monday - 24th

The only reason I know for sure that it is the beginning of a new week is that it follows a Sunday dinner, which means there are extra dishes in the dish rack in the morning. So it must be Monday.

Of course, retired people often are not tied to schedules that would distinguish a Thursday from, say, a Saturday. But, I've been living with an academic schedule all my life and it did not end with retirement. From teaching, I went straight to babysitting for a child of parents themselves tied to an academic calendar and of course, once Snowdrop was old enough to start preschool, she too was locked into a school schedule, and so my days were once again governed by first days of school, winter breaks, snow days and the like. Peeking at my calendar right now, I see that today, Snowdrop and Sparrow were to resume school after a spring break. Well now, that's one more item to ignore!

Without a school schedule to guide me, I follow a pattern of childcare that the young parents and I established when we all went into isolation. School schedules no longer structure my days. As someone recently joked -- today feels like Satnesday in the month of Femarember. Or some such.

But here's the thing: as a gardener, I track the spring season very very carefully. We know when we must plant tomato seeds. When we should trim the fruit trees. When I can safely put in new day lilies or plant nasturtiums. The garden sends me signals all the time. Reminders of where we're at. These daffodils, opening just a little, tell me for sure that we have just checked off the the first week of April.





Buds on the old willows, chives poking through, the first tiny rhubarb leaf unfurling -- that's all typical early April stuff. Oh, and the scilla. Don't forget the ever spreading scilla.





I track this stuff carefully because every set of new spring days demands something of me. And so, having abandoned (for the first time ever) an academic calendar, nature's own directional hand has completely taken charge. It's not Femarember of Jugustary, but very clearly April.

But, mornings are mornings here at the farmhouse. Each one starts with my going out to feed the animals, followed by breakfast with Ed.






The kids are with us immediately after that.






And here's something unexpected: today, Snowdrop is really begging for a brunchy lunch -- one that she can take the lead in preparing, from setting the table to mixing pancake batter.





This is a surprise. Like any grandma worth her salt, I tried to get the kids excited about cooking with me. Initially, Snowdrop was a happy mixing/chopping/flipping pal. But it didn't last. Sparrow, I hear, does love to "help cook dinner," but I haven't seen him here hit the pots and utensils in a while. So, no future junior chef stars here thus far.

And yet, today, Snowdrop showed me that the initial enthusiasm doesn't go away. It gets tucked away until a later date. Which for her, seemed to be right now.

(snowman pancakes: done!)






Afternoon: Ed and I go out for a walk, crisscrossing the dug-up lands to the west and north of us.  It's not a beautiful walk, but it's an interesting one. Fourteen new houses popped up in the last couple of months. Mostly though, the landscape looks ravaged. Torn up and left naked, exposing the clay soil that is so common here. We wonder how the development will proceed now. Will the economic downturn slow it significantly? Will construction eventually perk up, or come to a grinding halt?


Back at the farmette, everything is remarkably quiet. Less traffic, far less airplane noise, fewer construction sounds. Indeed, when I was putting the kids in the car to take them home, Snowdrop commented -- that's a very loud bird! I had to smile. It wasn't the bird that was loud, it was the rest of the world that had hushed, so that we could hear the chirping in all its sweetness.


Evening: leftovers, salads, popcorn and cookies. Uniquely unspecial, but wonderful nonetheless. Like so many things in life.

Sunday - 23rd

Looking ahead at April weather here, in south central Wisconsin, you might (perhaps correctly) conclude that today will be the best of all April days. Sunny, not too cold. The only thing missing is continuity. You wish that the warm spell would dig in its heels and stay. But, we're northerners. We don't expect our gardens to look like those of people living in the Carolinas, let alone California. Our growing season is much much shorter.

But this slower progression toward a good outcome may not be so bad. We're learning a lot this month about the value of flattening a dangerous curve. Perhaps the same applies here: let's not rush toward the beauty of a full blown spring. Let's look around and enjoy each tiny step toward a better outcome.

After breakfast, of course.






And after Ed finishes baking the next batch of cookies. (He's trying out new recipes, ever tweaking, ever perfecting...)






And after planting some of the new tomato seeds that finally came in the mail. (They're tiny! Nonetheless, sometimes good tastes come from small sources.)

Okay, let's go outside. The farmette lands are sprouting new growth everywhere. It's true that you have to still hunt for blooms, but they are there. For sure!











Today we plant the spinach. I've never grown spinach before, but our farmers markets are not going to open this spring in the way that they usually do and so I want to coax some green stuff out of our own plot of land. Will it grow in our soil that is only partially improved by composted matter? I'll let you know.






(sunshine, as enjoyed by the cheepers)






Do we have time for a walk? We do!






(coots and loons, passing through, leading by example in their social distancing...)






In the evening, the young family, as much in isolation as we are, comes here for dinner. Shrimp tacos -- pleasing the non-meat eaters (Ed, Snowdrop, perhaps me), and shrimp lovers (everyone), and crunchy shell and soft shell aficionados.












("Done?")






It's what they do -- almost every evening, they dance. Sparrow wills it to be so.






So ends another day when so much is asked of so many to keep us all going. Oh, but to make it easier for those engaged in heroic efforts now! At the very least, we can isolate. Use technology to connect, if we need help. And if we're okay, if we have one, two, maybe three family members (or more) under one roof -- turn on the music and dance.

Saturday - 22nd

If you love sunshine, this day was made for you. If you love warm weather -- well, that's a problem. We're at a high of 47F (8C). Looking ahead, I'm not sure the weather is going to please anyone. Periods of rain, maybe some snow showers, periods of cold -- the kind of stuff that at some level questions your allegiance to the Upper Midwest.

On the upside, there is that sunshine. We'll take it!

At breakfast, I open up the box of new seeds. I ordered some from two places and though both were delayed, I finally got my packets from Johnny's Selected Seeds. I'd never purchased these before so I have no idea how great they'll be, but hey, seeds are seeds, right?





I tell Ed that we should be planting the spinach ones right now.
As in today? Because the bed isn't cleared yet.
But didn't we weed the strip of land for this year's veggies already?
We did the tomato patch. Nothing else.

(This is mildly amusing, since our tomatoes wont be going into the ground until mid May at the earliest. Why not just switch the beds around? Perhaps because it's sunny and we can push ourselves to dig up the rest of the bed and get the whole area prepped for planting.)

Beautiful day!






But heavy work. The soil in my flower beds has been improved tremendously over the years. We've added chips, compost, the cheepers have added droppings. Honestly, it's easy as pie to dig there now. But farmette land elsewhere is one heavy clay pack. You could make pottery pieces out of it. Digging out weeds (with a pitchfork, then with your hands) is backbreaking work. I do one row, Ed does another. Then we rake it all down.






But we finish it! In the afternoon, we lay down some composted stuff and some weed killing (one can hope) cardboard in between the soon to be spinach rows. Tomorrow we'll plant.

In the meantime, what's blooming here at the farmette?











Yeah! Not bad for early April!

In between all this I have a number of social calls. In one day, I skype with Warsaw, FaceTime with Chicago, Zoom with Florida and New Mexico, And have a regular old phone chat with Sun Prairie.

(here's the Zoom chat!)





None of this makes up for what should have been. A visit to Warsaw. The weekend getaway with my two best buds in the southern states. And of course, a farmette visit for the Chicago young family. But sad is the person who wants more than what is before them! I loved my precious minutes so deftly handed to me by our miraculous technology! Primrose shopped for groceries and her mom told me about their supper plans for the evening. I could almost smell the cookies they had baked and I could certainly hear the happy sounds of a little girl playing a real two year old's version of hide and seek.

These are the days when you learn to love extra much all that golden sunshine. So what that it's still cold outside? Wear a jacket. Then go out if you can and revel in that beautiful early spring light out there!

Friday - 21st

In the scheme of things, three weeks is not a long time. You plant seeds and in three weeks you're going to see the tiniest sprout. Three weeks do not give you enough days to write a book or build a house. Maybe just barely enough time to plan a vacation.

But doesn't it feel like the last three weeks have completely transformed our lives?

Most wise people will tell you not to just focus on all that has changed since, say, three weeks ago. Focus, too, on what has stayed the same. If you have kids, this is especially important: remind them that you are still by their side, pushing vegetables at mealtime, and yelling at them to clean up their room. Just like before.

In our lives, I, too, love all that has stayed the same. There is breakfast...






And there are animals to feed and seeds to plant.






Having spotted one flower on April 1st, I'm now searching for the next one. Scilla siberica!






You and I know what is next in line: the lovely, bountiful daffodil. Any moment now! Or, maybe this already counts?






(In a race with the Helleborus!)






As far as grandkids go, well, my visits with Primrose are put on hold, though the reality is that our most frequent communications have always been via FaceTime. And those remain in place! As far as the Madison bunch -- thus far, I've been able to spend time with them every day (with the exception of Saturdays which are 100% farmette work days). This is as it was before. Today, as most Fridays, Snowdrop is with us.






She is a true flower girl: she loves every farmette bloom. Usually I tell her she cannot bring any of them inside. But withe these dainty blue scillas, I can make an exception.






Her big interest this afternoon though, is to make use of the net and ball she brought with her from home. She is dying to play volley ball with Ed! But Snowdrop, is that a volley ball net? No, but it's the only net I have!















A lovely game. Nobody won! Or, perhaps it's more accurate to say that everyone is/was a winner.


There's a bit of rain in the evening. The quintessential April shower. So familiar, no?

And I'm cooking up a soup that I"ve cooked a million times before: veggies with cannellini beans. With grated cheese on top.



Before you fall into a tailspin of all that has changed, it really does help to think about all that you have not lost. Still eating oatmeal for breakfast? Popcorn in the evening? Still posting on a blog daily? Sending texts to your kids, full of advice they probably do not need? Still breaking off a square of chocolate every single evening, because it's just such a perfect way to end an evening meal? Well now, isn't that something to be grateful for!

Grateful: for the sweet things that remain solidly in place. And of course, for all the intense work done by so many in these tough, tough days.

Thursday - 20th: children, a party and tomatoes

A big day for us here, at the farmette. A big, beautiful day! For the first time this year, we topped 60F (just over 15C) today!


I am up early. Lots to do! Ed, breakfast!






The kids are here in the morning.






I should have coaxed them to stay outside, but mornings are slow to warm up. That's fine. We have books to read, games to play...

















They leave a tad earlier than usual. I have a party to host!

It's a party that was necessarily cancelled at its earlier date -- March 16th. I was supposed to cook dinner for a group of friends then. In Warsaw. Polish friends whom I have known for more than fifty years. Ten of us, celebrating getting together after a year's break.

Of course, I did not go to Warsaw. Instead, Ed and I went into isolation, as did much of the world, or at least the world of people in our demographic.

All my Polish friends live in or just outside Warsaw. It's easy for them to do stuff together. Except of course, it's impossible right now. Restrictions are so tight in Poland, that you are not allowed to go out even for exercise. Dog walking is okay. A grocery store outing? Okay. A hike, a ,jog or a bike ride? No.

And here's another tough blow: nearly all my friends have kids and grandkids who live abroad. Several in the U.S., others -- spread out from England to Italy. Suddenly, seeing the people you love takes on a new meaning.

The idea was floated that my group should have a Zoom party. Their evening is my early afternoon. No matter, pour a glass of wine and join us!






We lasted several hours. I think we all expected it to be business as usual -- light in our banter, as before. That didn't happen. We turned serious pretty quickly. Oh, there were breakout moments (Ed, who was in the background and understood none of it, maintained that I laughed a lot) but still, mostly, we talked about life as we find it today.



Late afternoon. The weather is still splendid. It's time for us farmer wannabes to plant the tomato seeds.





As always, we put the seeds into little cups. We're using last year's seeds, because this year's are lost in transit somewhere. I suggest we turn on the hose water outside (after a winter hiatus). Something breaks. Unstoppable water comes gushing out of the spigot.

Of course, I knew something would break during our period of isolation. Something always breaks at the farmette. Ed caps the mad flow of water for now and ponders as to where the break may be. I return to putting in seeds. In this small way, our April days are unfolding as they did last year and the year before.






Dinner? Oh, I have to make inroads on all that frozen fish from our year-long support of small fisheries of Alaska! How about seared tuna with chimichurri? And a sweet potato? And asparagus?


It's not easy to feel peace when the world is in such chaos. But one must try. And find time to reflect about the noble work of all those heroic people who cannot afford to pause, not even for a moment.

With love.

Wednesday - 19th

All the beans are still in the bag: no one in my family is sick, everyone is proceeding according to the new normal.

And, there is sunshine!

And, we are warming up this week! The kittens are sunning themselves, the cheepers are enjoying their own special resting spot by the hydrangeas.

You can almost (but not quite) forget that we are living in very abnormal times.

As you would expect, the farmhouse breakfast routine remains undisturbed. I wait for him, he comes down, we dig into our bowls of fruit and today -- our bowls of oatmeal.






And then come the screen time hours. FaceTime chats, zoom calls, texts, emails. Not ever phone calls anymore (except with my mom). Or at least not ones that require me holding an actual phone. The computer or tablet has seized most of our waking hours. Almost surreptitiously, Amazon has become the supplier of all stuff,  and the computer has turned into our important information source, and our instrument of social connection. Gone is the guilt that once came with "too much screen time." These days, we are ever so grateful for all that the internet can offer. For better or worse, it is as much a regular feature of our mornings as is the first morning meal.





The afternoon, however, belongs to Snowdrop. Sunshine, or partial sunshine, pushes us outside.  Well, it pushes me outside. She's anxious to retreat to the farmhouse. So many books to read! Snacks to devour! But when she hears Ed is out in the field, clearing what is to be the tomato patch, she wants to join in the effort.

All photos are from our time out in the field.






"Can I pet a chicken?"






(milkweed seeds)











(First farmette flower!)






Evening. You'd think I'd join the legions who are cooking up a storm during their confinement. Not so. Despite all those years of restaurant cooking, of family cooking, of just lots and lots of cooking, the idea of teaching myself something new with new combinations of rarely used by me ingredients is just not taking hold right now. I want the familiar. I want the predictable, the known, the tried and true.

So once again I bake a frittata. And not even a novel one. The usual -- with cheeper eggs, spinach, mushrooms, potato and two kinds of cheeses.





I suppose if I had my grandma's recipe for pierogi, I'd make them now. But I don't. I may be the only Pole alive who has never made pierogi. Instead, there's a cheesy frittata browning in the oven right now.