Thursday - 132nd

There are people in this world who will never snap. Taunt them, torture them, throw them under the bus and they'll stay calm. Total control. You can't rile them.

Since I was about 13 years old, I've thought that it was a worthy goal to aim for such equanimity. Most of the time, it's not hard. If you don't like anger or hysteria in general, chances are you yourself don't generate much of either.

Still, I'm no queen of chill. I cannot say that I will never snap, because this morning, I snapped. And Ed got the brunt of it.

Oh, it was to be expected. There's the obvious  -- all the horrors of the world. Too, there are the threats that grow, especially to my family. And there are the limits to how much I can help them. And there are the bugs.

I snipped, clipped and tidied the beds early, hoping that Ed's attempt to douse stuff with garlic last night would help scare off the meanest mosquitoes. It did not help. The monsters were ferocious and fought me with every hundred snipped lily heads. (This week I'm sure I'm at the peak of spent lilies, which is always well over 1000, though on weekday mornings, I do not get to all of them.) Every photo I took was accompanied with a buzz somewhere not too far from my head, my arms, my everything. I could feel the annoyance level rising within me.

I dumped the final bucket of spent flowers, came inside, slammed the door and burst out in a torrent of tears and words, something to the effect of "I am never ever going to do any more gardening again, you can mow down the whole garden as far as I'm concerned, I give up!" Bang pots and dishes for emphasis.

Okay... this from Ed. Why?
We're messing with the oils and natural repellents and they're not working and I cannot, simply cannot take working in a bed with so many mosquitoes. I'm done. Bang.

Ed hates emoting craziness even more than I do, and that's saying a lot. Once the torrent of words was out, I calmed down and then we began the long talk of whether or not one has a right to be upset 1. because there are bugs, ones that have lived here far longer than we have, and 2. just because your sweetie got upset with you even as it's not really your fault, since you're just trying to test different innocuous systems of bug control (which, however, are not working).

This then was my morning.


On the upside, the flowers took no note of my mood. They bloomed as prettily as ever.
















And, by breakfast time, Ed and I were at peace with the world once more.






Which is a good thing, because the young family came immediately after.






The little girl wants to water the tomatoes again...






The little guy wants to dance with chickens again...






And then they both want to go to the barn to check for eggs. I hesitate. There are bugs, and there are no eggs. We think that the hens are hiding them, but we don't know where. The kids and I check anyway. Nothing. Dare I take them to the tomato field? Ed told me a handful of cherry tomatoes are ripe for picking. There's a breeze. I can hover and chase away any daring mosquito. We head out.






Sparrow, a guy who rejects ingesting anything that grows, nonetheless loves to harvest the stuff. Dismayed that his sister should have the privilege of plucking off tomatoes, he demands equal rights!











Happy kids indeed.


In the afternoon, I once again Zoom chat with my nine friends in Poland.

You just have to shake your head in disbelief when you listen to reports from Europe. People, traveling to vacation spots. Family gatherings taking place. Daily trips to stores, to parks. The occasional stop at a coffee shop. At the same time I'm told everyone is wearing masks on public transportation. Everyone. Wearing. Masks. Sigh...

I hope the fall doesn't lead to greater spread there. No decisions have yet been made as to schools in Warsaw. Like most of the world, Poland is proceeding very cautiously. Still, at least the lives of my Warsaw friends have edged a tiny bit closer to normal. Me, I'm on day 132 of isolation. Family -- also isolated. And honestly, I feel we have been enormously lucky that we could work and play and live in isolation. So many others have had struggles that far far exceed our own.


Later, as I settle down to browse stories and news, I click onto the FB page of Stoneman Farms. What!! They had their first corn up for sale yesterday! I quickly call. Still some left! Will do curbside pickup! We're off.

It feels unreal to be riding the motorbike with Ed to this farm that's literally five minutes up the roads from us. Last summer, when we picked up our last corn from them in late August, we were engaged in goat talk (they have goats, I wanted goats). Life felt so playfully simple. Goats, no goats. Fresh corn, will it be good if you freeze it? (It will.) Good bye, see you next year! Then boom! We all took a beating, some of us way more than others.

At Stoneman's, the grandkids play on the lawn while the grownups bag corn. It is curbside, but I wear my mask and a glove. We don't really linger. Ed visits with a goat. We ride away with 13 ears of freshly picked corn.

In the evening, Ed and I talk about our 300 fruit trees. Seriously. 300. This fall or spring, right here on farmette lands.

Wednesday - 131st

Today I learned that Sparrow will do pretty much anything to get a laugh out of you and Snowdrop is not that opposed to egging him on. In other words, you could say that the grandkids had a very playful day at the farmette.

And this is good, because I was near cranky. Oh, not at them. Not at anyone in particular. Just too many bugs, too big a rush to get the garden cleaned up, too many bad news stories circulating out there. I hadn't devoted enough time to clear my head in the way that you need to on such messy mornings.

Let's roll back to the beginning. For some reason, I thought that if I only snipped lilies faster, I'd get through most of the garden in less than 90 minutes. I snipped at demonic speeds and still needed the 90 minutes. Honestly, I needed more like two hours, but never mind. No one will ever know that the back row lilies in the some of the beds weren't clipped.

(After the clean up.)






We've had a string of beautiful weather days, but the bug problem has swelled and so you can't really exhale while taking in the loveliness of the outdoor world. You're too busy fanning yourself or belatedly slapping at bugs that have landed. Ed and I spent our handful of free minutes discussing whether or not to have the place sprayed professionally with the oils that repel the bugs. I should have known better than to imagine the problem would then disappear: Ed doesn't make decisions lightly. And after doing extensive research on those natural oils used by the pros, Ed grumbled his dissatisfaction and vowed to take on the job himself, using only one product: garlic oil.

Sigh. We've been down this path before. Though he promises he'll do a much, much more thorough job, I have my doubts.
We can always resort to the pros if my spraying is ineffective.
We are into the last weeks of July. I feel like there is very little summer left to consider alternatives.
Let's try my method anyway.

I don't push him to reconsider. I know how much he dislikes disturbing anything at all in the outside world. But, our breakfast is late and therefore very short, and I know too that this summer will go down as one with stress coming at you from all sides and, in addition, it will be the summer of bugs. All of which makes me mildly cranky.


(Our very quick breakfast.)






(Our very pretty lilies.)





As always, the kids first find me in the courtyard. I'm deliberate about this, because once they are inside, it's very hard to get them to go out again, so it's a now or never deal.






Snowdrop grabs the hose and does some watering (of the tomatoes, of us...)










Sparrow wants so much to find the cheepers.



(Here they are! He does his cheeper dance.)





Both kids propose going down to the barn and we do it, but there is that buzz that drives you nuts, so we do not linger. Ah well, the farmhouse is always such a fantastic oasis of cool and calm after the brutally buggy outdoors.






(both chose to do art. yay!)











It is evening. Ed takes off on his bike and I cook up a soup for supper. I know, a winter dish. It seems out of place now. But, it's a mindless cooking job. Chop, dice, wilt, cook.  Perfect for those of us who are feeling foggy in the brain department right now.

There's a lovely nip in the air tonight. A reminder that July will soon be done for the year. And it's okay. Every month brings something special to the table. Really. Every month. I promise.

Tuesday - 130th

You just get addicted to it and you can't stop. It's a problem.

I'm talking lily talk, of course.

I tried to be better at time management this morning: I got up earlier. But, the animals took longer to feed. Shed cats weren't ready, chickens got in the way of kitties -- it all was a muddle of animals coming and going, with me, trying to fill feeding stations while keeping everyone in their separate domains.

Then came the quick clean up of the garden. On childcare days, I told myself I'll only trim the beds that are in my immediate viewing range.

(a little support for this one goes a long way...)






(twins!)





(triplets!)





And no more than 200 lilies! Stop snipping after that, no matter what!






Well, 250 sounds more reasonable. Or maybe 300, alright, 400, 450...  I better check the clock. Gulp! How did it get to be so late??? Ed, breakfast, on porch, five minutes from now, hurry!

We do get our moment of quiet, over berries, peaches and cherries, but I swear, I'll go easy on morning gardening tomorrow. One hour max. For sure!







Yesterday, when the kids were dropped off, I immediately hustled them over to the blueberry bushes. But today, I hadn't a master plan. They were happy to run to me in the courtyard, I was happy to see them. But for whatever reason, Snowdrop then stopped dead in her tracks, eyes scanning the gardens, as if seeing them for the first time.






She is transfixed! She gushes!






... can't get enough of it.






It is decided that this should be our Flower Day! That art should be about flowers, that our discussion, reading, playtime should focus on them as well.

But in the end, we change courses. We read a book, the story line skirts around the beauty of fall. We finish it and now she is off to draw -- pumpkins, leaves falling, -- no flower in sight.

I'm enthusiastic about Snowdrop's return to art. Sparrow, too, is finding some pleasure in using markers, but eventually he gives it up and she is on her own, adding story detail to her picture. And then she picks up her art and hands it over to me.
You don't need to throw it away, but I don't want you to display it either. You can keep it, but don't show it to me anymore.
Why?
Because of the way the lines came out on one of the pumpkins that the penguin's holding.







Well, at least she isn't frustrated. Still, she is definitely a result-driven child. She's not going to be one of those who'll buy into the idea that it's all in the effort.

Sparrow, in the meantime, has moved onto books. Which he brings to me with great exuberance.






(When we aren't reading, he finds ways to make me laugh.)






And so passes the day. Oh, I cannot resist the ice cream picture. Kids and ice cream are such a perfect match!











On the ride home, science creeps into the conversation once again. It all started with another Snowdrop proclamation: not only birds lay eggs! From there it was a mere hop and a skip to a full blown discussion of reproduction, with a lecture from me on parental responsibility ("biological capability does not mean you should rush down that path!"), though by then she is focused on letting her water bottle drip water on the car seat while Sparrow laughs and laughs.

Afternoon, evening -- they are a blur of reading and writing. My days seem to follow this pattern and it's good one: I wind myself up like one of those toys you then let loose across your living room floor and then I slowly fizzle to a nice, easy pace. With taxes behind me, I have only a handful of "I must get this done or else!" items on my list. That's such a relief! It's as if I'm retired!

Later, much later, Primrose calls. Remember Me.... The song runs through my head the entire time we FaceTime.






Evening walk. Lilies in the setting sun. So gentle and sweet.





Like children, they coax that smile out of us. I'll leave you with their effortless beauty, hoping they'll coax a smile out of you as well.

Monday - 129th

In trying to do everything -- get up not insanely early, do a little of garden care, get things ready for the kids, eat a leisurely breakfast on the porch -- you inevitably falter and do an imperfect job at each turn. Nonetheless, somehow we manage to get through the first hours of the day without me swatting the bug zapper at everything and everyone in sight.

I did snip spent lilies at least in some of the beds...






















Ed finally did spray a little garlic oil along the driveway, so that you could walk from car to house without being driven crazy by the mosquito buzz, even though the deer flies are back and so the battle is only half won. Deer flies aren't repelled by the smell of garlic. Ah well, the garden, even in its partially cleaned up form, still looks pretty good.






And the lilies are magnificent! (view from porch)






And breakfast, while not leisurely, is very very nice.






The kids come running! One week's break and everything here is fresh and exciting once again.






And we do take a nature walk. Through the young orchard, past the little meadow...






... all the way to the floundering vineyard, where we also have a couple of mature blueberry bushes. And the blueberries are finally ripening!






Both Sparrow and Snowdrop love the job of picking out the blue fruits.










Sparrow even eats one! I mean, just one, but still, we're talking about the little guy who has decided to rebel against ingesting anything that grows out there on the farms of America (or elsewhere: he does not discriminate).

I'm mindful of the bugs, but we actually manage just fine! We don't have a full bucket of berries, or even a full cup of berries, but of course, that's not the point. Watching the berries grow, waiting for their golden moment -- all that matters far more than stocking the refrigerator with fruit, especially since Aggie, a local farmer, delivered a handful of containers of berries for us this morning. We are swimming in freshly picked fruit right now.










And it could be that in a few years, we'll be swimming in more fruit. Ed is giving serious thought to converting the weedy acre of land in back of the barn to a rather large orchard. Think: about 300 new fruit trees. Why? Well, we are zoned for agricultural ("rural residential") use. We tossed around a few ideas on how to live up to that designation and fruit trees seem like less maintenance than, say, growing an acre of produce. If we decide to plunge ahead with this, you'll be watching us do a lot of planting this autumn.

Inside again, the kids are happy to return to their favorites: books, story telling, art.





Lunch requires a trip to the basement, where we keep our oversize freezer. Such a small little thing, but the fact is, the kids love going down the rickety board steps, holding tight onto me and peering into the cavernous subterranean space of this hundred year old home. Well, actually Sparrow insists on being carried, so I hold onto him, clutch Snowdrop's hand and try to juggle the retrieved foods in the other, all the while making creeky scary noises to add drama to the trip.

Notable part of lunch? Ice cream, because, well, we have some heavenly chocolate chocolate chip ice cream and if they don't eat it, Ed and I will polish it off in a flash.





On the car trip home, I half hope to grill Snowdrop about her week by the lake, but she takes the conversation into her own hands by announcing -- gaga, did you know that humans come from monkeys? That my great great great, you know, many many greats, grandmother and grandfather were monkeys? And that birds come from dinosaurs? I know Ed always tells her that the cheepers are one step away from having dinosaur claws, but I hadn't heard her speculate about the evolution of the human form before. Once this topic has been put on the table we stick with it. It's rather remarkable what a five year old will come up with when you ask her what we've inherited from these very distant ancestors.

Evening. Reheated foods, quiet moments. Grateful thoughts.

With love.