Sunday - 191st

This morning I heard a very lovely piece of writing on NPR. It came from Ross Gay, the author of a work called the Book of Delights. (You can read about the interview with him here, and be sure to click on the "tap tap" audio snippet in the link, which includes his wonderful reflection on the moment on a flight when an attendant passed a glass of water to him, with a gentle tap tap on the arm). You could summarize the radio interview, I suppose, as dangling before us the idea that we would be far better off sharing with others things that we love, rather than things that we hate and that drive us nuts.

Well yes. I've thought this since year two of my blogging project (year one was a blur of experimentation). Ross Gay claimed that writing daily about joy, happiness was hard work. (And mind you, finding joy, by his way of thinking about this, does not preclude facing sorrow.) I tend to agree, though I do think it becomes easier over time if you give yourself a steady diet of words that express your feelings of happiness when something crosses your path that deserves that label.

For me, oftentimes, that moment of contentment, gratitude, and yes, joy comes early in the day, when I do that walk to and from the shed.






I look around at what the farmette lands have to offer. Today's catch:






And I enter the farmhouse with thoughts about breakfast with a smile that is my response to the sweet elements of life, so readily within our reach. Eventually, of course, I sit down and canvas the internet for news and updates and then it becomes ever so hard to remember that picture from the morning walk. But time passes and others take its place. Like the moments over breakfast.






And, too, when cooking Sunday dinner for the young family. That happens later in the day of course.

Ed and I both drive over with the prepared foods. He wants to see the kids. I tell him he better have his running shoes on! Sparrow, who doesn't quite get social distancing,  can really log in a good chase!
















Playing ball: a naturally distanced game!











You could say that these are cherry picked moments from a day that is robust with all sorts of emotions. But here's the thing: once you identify that which for you is joyful, the aura does linger. Joy, like its opposites (sorrow, anger, despair), is not ephemeral. It gets under your skin and carries you for a while. Sometimes even a long while.

(Earlier, an afternoon walk in our farmette neighborhood...)






(A couple of years ago, there were cornfields here. Now -- a new development, with dozens of new homes. Perhaps the crane is looking for the cornfields that are lodged in her memories of how it once was...)






In more pragmatic news, Ed and I opened our absentee voting envelopes which arrived last week. Well now! His was missing the ballot. One more reason to do this stuff early. Plenty of time to fix mistakes and omissions!

Finally, I'll let you guess if we drove to Stoughton today.

I can explain! I got a call again and the homeowners swore they had her right there in their hosta plants. Hurry! -- they said. We hurried. She, if it was indeed THE cat, was gone.

(Back home again...)






(Where yes, you can still find delights...)

Saturday - 190th

Once again my phone rings late, very late. Once again a good Samaritan wants to report a cat sighting in Stoughton. Should we drive down and do a search? The caller doesn't give a lot of details, but she feels "fairly certain" it's the missing kittie. But we are just about to dig into our popcorn! No, no, not pleasure over effort. We should give it a try.

And so we drive to the downtown neighborhood the caller identified for us. We walk, we call, we shake a container of kittie treats. And we do see a cat. We immediately know it's not the one we're looking for, but it strikes us as a good reminder that it is dark, and a cat looks blurry and dark, and there is nothing to stop you from calling when an animal sort of looks like the one in the ads. You do your good deed. You pick up the phone. And we come out and we search, even though it's about time to acknowledge that this search is wild, really wild -- pulling on strings that aren't at all connected to the ultimate goal of locating the cat that our granddaughter once named Cutie.

As we drive slowly back, passing the neighborhoods that we have searched so thoroughly so many times, I see a small cat hovering by a house. And she has that telltale white chest that is such a marker of Cutie. I literally stop the car on the spot and jump out with my familiar call. She watches me as I shine a flashlight on her. She's a little far and the light isn't strong, but the markings seem correct. I move forward. Slowly she retreats. I call. She hesitates, then disappears into the bushes. Ed shakes the food, I take out a can with the familiar smells, but she has moved away.

We leave the food in someone's yard and write a note to the home owners. Something to the effect of "sorry to have trespassed over your yard, but we think we saw our cat. If you spot her, please call."

We drive home and eat our popcorn and wonder why the news we read and hear is so rarely good these days.

And let me jump ahead and finish the cat story, because it really is the end of this chapter of our kittie saga. Today we decide to go back to Stoughton and search around that house again. I convinced myself that shining a flashlight into her face had been a mistake. In the unfamiliar setting with shadowy people lurking there, this would surely have spooked her. So let's try in the daytime.

As we drive up, Ed says that we should talk to the homeowners. We knock, masked, waiting, me, a little uneasy because we so trespassed their property and I always feel that this is a real no-no in this country. Like, reason to take out the family rifle. But in this case, the homeowner come out. Ed asks if they'd ever seen a cat like Cutie.

Oh yes. With a white chest.

This one has lived around here for years. Yep, she's small.

That closed the lid on the search for us. Any call we get can be about this cat. Or any other cat. Indeed, in a few minutes I will be getting yet another call from a well meaning sleuth child -- one who wants to help us with the search because she swears she saw a cat a week ago just like Cutie.

Enough. It's a lovely day, so we walk at the periphery of Stoughton, right there by the cornfields. We're in Wisconsin, we've walked past a lot of cornfields.





I call out, but rarely. It really is pointless. She could be anywhere at all. Sometimes, I expect her to show up underneath our parked cars once again, like a homing pigeon who knows instinctively which way is home. After all, Stoughton is only twelve miles away. Less, as the crow flies. How's your magnetoreception, little girl?


All this happened in and around our daily routines. I mean, there was a cold morning (in the mid 40sF, so around 7C). Before even feeding the cats and cheepers, I have an early FaceTime visit with my growing-oh-so-fast Chicago grandgirl, Primrose...






And then breakfast. Believe it or not, we ate on the porch. Something about that sunshine...






And in the early afternoon, I go to my daughter's yard to have a socially distanced visit with Snowdrop.

As always, I bring fruits. And she rearranges her chair and blanket.






It's cool and so very warm all at the same time! The breeze blows cold air, but the sun dazzles.






We read. Oh, do we read! Three chapter books, one Katie Morag. The girl plays with stickers, then draws some "find the treasure" pictures...






... and we continue thus, for a long long time.


 



And when I have to go, she says oh so simply -- I wish I could hug you. I mumble some stupid reply about "soon" and "distanced hugs" and we practice those...





... and she scowls and says -- not the same.



I pick up my CSA box downtown, admire the beets, the peppers (so many peppers!), the tomatoes, the last ears of corn, the romanesco with it's funny shaped head, and the green leaves of Rapini. Beautiful, but not for tonight. I shrug off anything that requires thought and effort. Too much sadness out there right now. Sometimes you just have to take a pause. Go easy with life. Coast a little. Put off ambition. Think good and kind thoughts and love that crisp air that comes to us for free, in abundance, especially now, toward the first official days of fall.

Friday - 189th

The skies cleared of milky haze, the temperatures dropped, the cats are growing a thicker coat, the rooster is molting. In other words, a rather typical mid September day in south central Wisconsin.
















Definitely inside. With a blanket on my knees. Just like a real old person!






There is a point at which you give up your search for a missing cat. I guess we haven't reached it yet, because at around noon, when it warmed up enough for me to throw on a hoodie and feel at peace with the weather, Ed and I once more set out to canvas Stoughton -- the place where one of the kitties by accident escaped from her new owner's garage.

This time we walked more broadly: through newer blocks, older neighborhoods, then again in the woods and fields beyond the town's development, calling out for her and shaking a jug of crunchies as we walked along.

We met up with the owner (well, she was just becoming the owner when the accidental release happened) and she told us of her supreme efforts -- in addition to posted signs with cat photos, she has set up a have-a-heart trap with a recorded meowing voice of the sister by it. I think she is more of a believer than we are at this point, but hey, we really appreciate her efforts. And we're happy to hear that Gigi (aka Calico) has bonded well with her. That part of the adoption at least seems to have gone very well.

A few photos for you: of butterflies chasing each other over the meadows just outside town...











And then from our drive home, looking at the fields where our corn farmer keeps a herd of cattle. Very photogenic cattle though I think today it's that great Midwestern sky that captures our attention.






At home, we check out the new orchard. For the flowers...






And the pears. Doing well!





Evening. Cat searching and cooler temps make the appetite soar. How about a double portion of fish in a fresh dill sauce along with new potatoes? And a salad? A very large salad? Even after that, there will be, for sure, room for popcorn.

But it is a sad evening too. Whatever your political convictions, surely you'll be moved by the passing of Ruth Bader Ginsburg. And if you are a lawyer, a woman lawyer, a woman lawyer of a past generation, you'll be saddened but also proud to have shared a professional affiliation with this magnificent powerhouse of a person. I surely am that.

Thursday - 188th

I suppose I felt that I had some unfinished business left in Stoughton. Yesterday's quick dash to check if indeed the missing cat was hanging out by the school building seemed incomplete. If she was that close to her point of escape (just about four blocks away), then clearly she isn't straying far. We should canvas the neighborhood more thoroughly.

It's cooler today. Say good bye to summer dresses. Too, I hate to say it, but the garden is drying up again. Well, never mind. We're likely to have frost one of these nights. After that, it's a mad dash to the end of the growing season.

For now, things still look, well, nicely autumnal.












And it's just warm enough for cheepers to enjoy a sun dappled rest under the lilac...






... and for us to set our breakfast on the porch. Ed is at a new place at the table. Dance has taken possession of his usual chair. No, he will not move a cat to make himself more comfortable.






And then we drive back to Stoughton, where we walk up and down all the blocks around the school where the kittie was allegedly spotted yesterday. I call for her. I ask if people have seen a cat.

No luck.

I offer no photos of the walk. It's a suburban neighborhood and it looks like any other suburban neighborhood in America, displayin some houses you like, others -- less so. We do find the people we ask about the missing kitten to be uniformly helpful. They want to aid in finding her. They take my phone number,  offer to put out food for her (happy eating, oh raccoons of Stoughton!), ask after her name. I appreciate that. It feels good to be treated kindly and not like the nut that you are, walking up and down blocks every day, shouting out "kittie" in a high pitched voice (this particular cat always responded to that high pitched squeal back at the farmette).

I suppose we're letting go of the search, albeit slowly. If someone calls with news of her, we'll go out again. But random walks and calls seem increasingly pointless. Even as we can't seem to give up. What if she is just a block or two from where we walked??


In a bit of good news, the sister cat, whom we called Calico but the new owner is calling Gigi, is integrating well in her new home. I've heard words such as "she is really sweet" and they warm my heart.


No late night escapades tonight. No hurried searches, no frantic driving into a foggy night. Just reheated leftovers and a sweetly calm evening at home.

Wednesday - 187th

Is it the last breath of summer? It sure feels like it. Warm, so pleasantly warm. Still milky blue skies, but oh, that warmth!











Breakfast is on the porch and maybe you are tired of me writing this every day, but believe me, it wont last. Is it our last one? Maybe.






We must take a walk. Just to our local park. We've been there a million times, but, as Ed points out, with each month it's different. Besides, it's hunting season once again, so the wildlife trails we favor for a longer hike are not that fun. There's something offputting about bumping into people with rifles during your meditative walk. So, local park it is.

But we actually discover a new path! All these years and we never saw it. It hugs the cornfield at the outset.











Then it veers into the woods. Definitely the path less traveled.






Ed likes this, of course. I prefer the sunnier stretch. This one.






Such a gorgeous walk though. And not a soul. Not a single person on any of the trails.

(Sandhill cranes on the motorbike ride to the park: again, I know they are a repetition here, on Ocean, but I'll never tire of photographing these lovely birds. Even at a distance.)






In the late afternoon, I have another outside/distanced visit with Snowdrop. Just as I pack up a bag of books and activities, a bowl of fruits, some eggs for my daughter, I get a call.
Hello?
Yeah, about that posted notice... It's a kid. He's leaving school in Stoughton. He's seeing Cutie. He recognizes her from the posters the prospective owner had put up around town.
Are you sure it's the same cat?
Yeah. You know, like the photo you posted.
Where is she?
By the trees, on the left side of the school. She's been there for a while.

Ed is on a work call. I have my sweet granddaughter expecting me. I call my daughter. Will Snowdrop mind if I'm an hour late?
She doesn't wear a watch. Go for it.

Ed uses my smart phone to get back to his Zoom meeting, I scream the car toward Stoughton.

Seventeen minutes later we're there.

But Cutie is not.

I see the trees. I search and call all around the blocks of the school. I ask kids, construction workers, residents working in yards. Nothing.


I drop Ed off at home and go over to spend a wonderful, if somewhat late part of the day distancing with Snowdrop.






Will we continue this into the cold weather? Who can tell. One day at a time!






Toward the end, I let Sparrow chase me up and down the deck...






And in the evening, I return to an empty house. Ed's out biking. Cats are stretched out on the porch, all is quiet.

Time to bake a frittata. Broccoli and mushrooms from the Funghi Farmers. Corn, left over from Stoneman farm. And lots of cheese. Does anyone doubt that cheese, crusted under a broiler, is like a balm? A wonderful, reassuring piece of melty goodness?






Such beautiful weather here today. So very tough to read about all the pain on the battered coasts of the continent. And elsewhere.

Time to exhale. Ed wont stay awake long after biking. Ed, can we please have some popcorn?

Tuesday - 186th

In the car, I turned the high beams on. The roads were completely empty. If you opened the window, you'd hear only yourself pushing forward against darkness. Every few minutes, we would dip into a low spot and bands of fog would blur the road before us.

You think the fog will get worse coming back? -- I asked.
Not likely.

It was midnight and we were sometimes speeding, sometimes crawling through the patchy fog, heading once again to the town of Stoughton. Ed had read several pieces on how to search for a lost cat and almost without fail, the authors, all who had lost a cat at some points, at many points in their lives, recommended beating the bushes when darkness fell on your community.

We leave the car at the apartment complex where Cutie, on her way to being adopted, was accidentally released into the wild. Or into the suburbs. Or is it the downtown? Or commercial hub of this town to the south east of Madison? Who knows where she is. She's been on the loose since Sunday. But those sage authors of cat search pieces claim that if your cat is shy, she will not go far. She will hide in bushes, not feeling herself to be safe to search for the familiar. So we go out into the dark and quiet world, calling out, not too loudly, hoping that we wont wake residents and scare the daylights out of sleeping folk with our roving flashlight and muffled voices.

We canvas the neighborhood around the apartment building. If she had been hiding there, she would have heard us. No one meows, no little kitten runs out from under a bush.

After an hour of this, we drive home.


The morning is almost perfectly sunny and bright. We should be having deep blue skies, but there is a haze. The smoke from the western states has reached Wisconsin, giving us milky blue-ish skies. Ed swears he smells the burn in the air. I think he must be imagining it. Still, there's no doubt that our skies are showing the extent of the drift of the plumes of smoke.


The garden? Oh, it's in its Fall phase. I like to look at it and admire it for what it is. Different from summer abundance, but nonetheless peacefully welcoming.
















We eat breakfast on the porch of course. It's a beautiful day for it!






And in the afternoon, he and I go back to the edges of Stoughton. It's a 20 minute drive. If we weren't there, we'd for sure be taking an extensive walk in one of our parks today. Why not hike here instead, even if the likelihood of finding Cutie is very very small? A purposeful walk! In the weak but warm sunshine. Until the voice grows hoarse from calling out to the little kittie.
















Home again. We walk back to the new orchard, where the bees are liking the meadow flowers and the pears are ripening nicely.











(crab apple visitor; it's been a summer of many, many monarchs)






Evening quiet. We wont be driving back to search tonight. We're both tired. The prospective new owner has put up pictures of Cutie all over Stoughton. Maybe someone will spot her. But realistically, the chances of her returning to the side of her sister are very very small.

Reheated soup, still good for the soul. Followed by popcorn, which is good for just about any mood you may find yourself in today or any day! Eat it warm, with sprinkled light shavings of parmesan cheese!  So simple. So delicious.