Sunday - 135th

I am a cleaning machine. I suck dirt and remove debris. I attack the bathroom, I vacuum and polish the kitchen, the mud room, the living room. I pull off spent flowers and attack weeds. I mow paths. I trim porch flower pots and vacuum the mess. All day long I am creating order.































When I pause for a very very late breakfast, I speculate about caring for the yard going forward. I don't want to drag Ed into more outdoor work if he doesn't really like doing a great deal of it. In future years, should we scrounge up the funds and pay someone to come out and help me at times like this, when the whole three acres seem to be one relentless competition for which weed will grow the fastest, tallest, densest?
You could just stick with tending to your flowers and let the rest go, Ed tells me.
No, I really can't. I see the prickly weeds that will soon coat everything and everyone in sight and I know I must pull them out. Same for the million other things that fill in every corner of farmette land if I don't exercise some form of control.

He offers another breakfast table idea: we could move.






In many ways, the farmette is a disaster in the making. It has far too many trees and shrubs and they all crowd out each other and provide the dense foliage that mosquitoes love to call their own. And it's difficult to control the duff that covers so much of the shaded woodsy space. Do you mow it? Do you plant mushrooms? Woodland flowers? We've tried it all. And, of course, we live very close to wetlands. The bugs belong here. It's their territory. We are the invaders.

Still, there's so much to love here: space, privacy, a comfy little farmhouse, good internet (!), and a ten minute drive to the center of Madison, so that nothing is far and yes, a grocery store will deliver food to you! And of course, you don't really understand the benefits and drawbacks of any place until you've lived there for a while. We do get this place. We don't have so very many years to discover something new.

All this is idle talk: hiring help, moving, or maybe just cutting down about a dozen trees and calling it a day. And then planting two or three hundred little saplings to make better use of the northern most acre of the farmette. But these musings are a funny thing: toss them around often enough and suddenly you have a plan.

We will see what, over time, will percolate to the top. I'll let you know!

Our evening is a little different. We switched the family dinner night to later in the week and so today it's just Ed and me, watching the clouds form into a tempest outside. Good. We need the rain.

And isn't this a fine time to bake a frittata? With broccoli, mushrooms, garlic scapes... Yes it is!






It's the summer of many rainbows. Storms, followed by rainbows. One more thing to love.

Saturday - 134th

Flowers. Always, let there be flowers in your life. If not fresh, then artistically sketched. Let their audacious color, their brilliance and their sweet magic creep into your life. Pick your favorites and plant them, paint them, sew with them, or simply imagine them in their best moment.

For day lilies, the best moment is right now. Indeed, if numbers talk, I'd say that their best moment was yesterday or the day before. Today, in a very leisurely stroll through all the flower beds, I clipped just under 700 spent lilies. That's several hundred less than in my mad dashes during the week.

You will get a lot of flower photos today. It's inevitable -- my day is spent in their midst. The camera follows me and does the job of recording all that I love out there.




































I'm thrilled that the mosquitoes are down to a very manageable small number.  In places, I forget that they're even there. It's just me and the butterflies and the occasional dragon fly. Well, and the cats and cheepers and birds and bees.

Breakfast is very late. I'm still picking day lily stalks for the table, but I wont do that going forward. Whatever remains, deserves its moment in the garden. Ed hates chopping down trees and I'm the reluctant flower picker. Odd to have a full vase always on my table, even as the flowers are rarely from my own garden. But today, they are from my garden.






In the afternoon I pause just a little -- really, just to drink eighty cups of water (it's hot outside!) and to pick up our CSA box (more corn!) and then it's back to work. The bug repellent isn't very strong and within a few days, the bugs will come back for another annoying surge. I have a whole day. I must make inroads. I want to make inroads!











By evening, I am spent. And stiff. I weeded the courtyard and three beds, including the Big Bed and there are monstrous piles of pulled weeds that attest to my work. Was it worth it? Ed comments -- it's so much work... you must like doing it.

Do I? When you snip spent lilies, the improvement is pronounced. But when you pull weeds, you're doing your flowers a favor, but it's a secret favor -- between you and your flower friends. To the casual observer, the before and after photos are pretty much the same.

In working closely with the base of each plant I did notice that things are looking pretty dry out there. We need rain!

A quiet evening. I reheat soup and make a salad and I try not to worry about the state of the world, about the state of the health of yet another friend who has come down with a fever, about all that everyone else is worrying about as well.

Want to start a new British crime drama? -- I ask Ed.
He pops some popcorn, we turn on our evening distraction.

Friday - 133rd

We rode the motorbike to Olin Park to see the goats. An article in the local news source described how Madison had contracted with a goat de-weeding service whereby some forty goats are let loose in a space heavily infested with invasives. The goats chomp the stuff down.

It's a short drive to the park: less than ten minutes. I should know, I've driven this stretch hundreds of times in the past few years. Snowdrop and Sparrow attended a school just down the street.

It felt eerie doing it today. I haven't come this way since March when I last picked up the kids at school. A whole season came and went and now we're halfway into summer. And of course, I'm not likely to be picking up anyone from this school come fall. For one thing, Snowdrop will have aged out of her program. She is slated to attend in some fashion a public school in her neighborhood. If she stays home, Sparrow will stay home as well.

But I can't say that it was a sad ride or a sad reflection. For me, there are positives to having the kids in the morning: I get them fresh and eager as opposed to tired or excessively wound up. And we have had a summer of pretty good weather. Nice! Last time I was doing school pickups, I was carrying all that winter clothing, their backpacks, art work and, too, Sparrow, who was not yet very nimble on his own.


Earlier, in the morning, I checked off my usual farmette jobs. The bugs were horrible, but hey, we finally broke down and hired the mosquito pros to spray some "natural" stuff on our stomping grounds. We've used some such stuff the past two years and it does reduce the bug population by about 75%. It's good enough. The guys come after I've already snipped 850 lily heads this morning, but that's okay. I snipped them with a smile, knowing there will be a better tomorrow. You can put up with a lot if you know that any moment now the torture is going to end.

So, the garden first...





















Then breakfast...






Then I go to pick up Snowdrop for her Friday at the farmette.






(The young orchard meadow is doing well!)






(Her new beloved: peaches. They beat out even cherries.)












We sample a couple of new books and I have to smile, or shake my head, or both, at how this little girl can watch a whole Disney movie or listen to Harry Potter and not be terrified, but one scene in a realistic book where a child is frightened by an angry coyote and she doesn't want to finish it. She is super sensitive to child hurt -- by parent, by teacher, or by a wild coyote.

There is another predictable activity that we fall back on when Sparrow isn't here. She and I both sit down at the table to draw. She very quickly abandons her creation to sit on my lap and make a story out of my sketch, which is actually not mine anymore because she has so completely taken on the lead on what should unfold on this little canvas. It's especially sweet and poignant when a five year old climbs on your lap. That happens less and less as they get older. You get to really love those moments, knowing how quickly they disappear.


And then in the late afternoon, as you know, Ed and I ride out to look at the goats.






We didn't walk the trails too long. We've had enough of bugs.






Supper: cauliflower and corn with lots of basil. Fish. Salad with homegrown tomatoes.

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.