just roll with it

Well, the days are getting complicated. A simple two word title wouldn't work. I did not "just plant." Indeed, I failed to meet my planting goal because, well, life interfered. 

It is a strangely warm day. Not initially. Indeed, we eat breakfast in the kitchen. But with each hour, the temps soar and somewhere in the afternoon we reach 76F (24C). During the car ride Snowdrop asks why the car feels so hot. It's simple, dear girl: so far I've been concentrating on making the car toasty inside against the cold outside, I haven't switched the mindset to cooling it off. 

 

The morning meal is pretty, with a bouquet of clipped fallen daffodils, but it's hardly leisurely. We bring the laptop to the table and search the internet to figure out if the time is right to integrate the chicks into the brood. At nine and a half weeks, they're medium sized. Is this good enough? As you can imagine, there are many opinions out there. 

Looking out at the gardens, I would say that this is the year of abundant daffodils. And they keep on performing!

But that's all I have time for in terms of yard work: look and assess.

Sparrow comes soon after breakfast. I put aside flower field maps and plans and pay attention to the little guy. I have a few phone calls coming in and he puts up with this, but I do hear twice his plaintive little voice asking -- gaga, will you play with me? 

So I do.

Outside, too.

 

The phone calls were of the kind that require more phone calls. My mom's transfer to another (improved) assisted living facility has been approved. She'll be moving soon. Very soon. So we have a move before us and all that it entails. We need furniture, we need a wheelchair. We need movers!

In the thick of all this, I pick up Snowdrop at school ...

I take her home and return to the phone calls. It's close to 4 before I finally put in my first plant for the day.

Thirteen. I plant a total of thirteen. It's one crazy spring, isn't it? And aren't we lucky to be alive and well so that we can roll with all the interesting developments that come our way?!

Late. Very late. We take the chicks from their sheltered enclosure and plunk them into the coop with the big girls and Happy, the rooster. 

 

 

 

Tomorrow, the pecking to establish a new order will begin, but for now, all is quiet, inside and out.

And that's a good thing.

I planted

I cannot think of any other day that had just two words describe it so perfectly: I planted. inbetween breakfast (inside, with cat, because it is on the cold side of normal)...

... and dinner (I'll return to that in a minute), I did not sit down. I did not pause, I did not do anything except dig, plant, pat down, water. (Sometimes I skipped that last step.)

And what do I have to show for it? Well, for all that work, the numbers remain just okay: 28 plants went into the fields. But this is misleading, because I began the day with filling the tubs with annuals. There, I planted about 30 plants.

So lets take a look at a tiny bit of my work. I'll show you the little pots., The big tubs are (visually) modest at this point. Typically I fill them with about four flowers each, but this year I scaled down. We've invested so much in the big fields that I was feeling frugal. But here are the little guys:

Since I spent so much time outside, I did enjoy the current blooms all around me. Here, this is what's blooming at the farmette right now:

It's a good time to be working outdoors! (With a very chunky and warm sweater on of course.)

By early evening I stop to fix dinner. For these guys:

I did worry that if I sat down to dinner, I would not be able or willing to get up again for the rest of the day, but somehow I managed. But I have nothing sensible to add to this post. I planted. I am tired! Goodnight, with love.

according to the plan

Here's a surprise for me: working in the garden with a plan in hand is harder, much harder than simply planting from the box as you unpack the year's new arrivals. Especially when the number of new arrivals is, well, rather large.

I'm on my third day of planting (after a really slow start) and I felt that today I would catch up a bit. Immediately after breakfast.

I have plants everywhere. In little containers. In plastic bags. Wrapped in newspaper shreds. Plants from my local gardener, plants from three other nurseries. On the picnic table. On the porch. In the mudroom. All mixed up. And it turns out one big box of day lilies was delayed (even as smaller boxes of them arrived -- here they are, bare root and ready)...

So how do  manage the chaos? I look at my maps, I zero in on a space and then back off as I find that some plants are still missing and some spaces cant be disturbed until the electric lines people mark the territory. Basically, it's slow going. A handful goes in this morning. But really, mediocre progress!

I pause at lunch time for my daughter and the grandkids. 

Yes, there's some eating and, too, reading on the orange couch. 

 

 

 

But there is a lot of outdoor time. (Snowdrop: can I eat my dessert on the porch?)

 

 

 

 (Sparrow: can I go on the porch too?)

This is where I love to use the camera most. Outside! Nature and kids. Is there are better combination? (A string of such photos follows!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There is a threat of rain this afternoon and honestly, I so would like it if we had a solid shower. Everything is dry out there. I pause, waiting for the magic sound of raindrops on the roof, but nothing happens. All is quiet. I return to the plants.

A total of  20 planted for the day. That's paltry on a day that has me spending so many hours outside. 

Tonight we're to get that last (I hope) frost. I bring in the annuals, telling them it's their final trip into the farmhouse. Tomorrow I'll start in on the flower tubs. Those at least have no grand plan, no rhyme or reason. Mindless arrangements that sometimes work, sometimes look a little wild, but somehow always bring that stable base of color all summer long.

This evening, all that's left is to cook up a pot of soup. I have kale, I have spinach, I have onions, I have carrots. I have cannellini beans. And parmesan shavings on top. And at the end of the day -- a pot with leftovers for the week. For those too busy days, when I continue to struggle with the plans and the flowers and everything else that goes into a planter's day.

the person you're trying to reach...

I feel like I should post an auto reply today to my email, text messages and phone: are you trying to reach me? sorry, not available. And please do not expect a call back -- I haven't the time.

In other words, my plate is full. So full that I planted zero one plant(s) today.

Morning, showing a tiny bit of sunshine...

 

Breakfast, where Ed wonders if it really is warm enough to eat on the porch and I am so powering through the day that I say -- yes, it's positively hot! (It's not hot, nor even warm. Suffice it to say that Ed puts on his jacket.)

Immediately after, I go over to the place where I hope to move my mom. We meet up there. This, after a year of no face to face contact. (She is being interviewed by the staff.)

The interview goes well. We'll see how this all plays out.

 

And then I was left with a dangling hour. I may as well drive over to the nurseries and pick up the still missing annual flowers for the tubs. I would love to put these in of course -- they would add vibrant color to the farmette landscape right now -- but I cannot. One more frosty morning is coming up (Sunday). As it is, I'll have to carry every blooming annual inside. It's easier to just hold them over in their little starter pots. 

 

By then the clock tells me it's pick up time for Snowdrop. My phone is ringing, the messages are popping up, the computer is flashing new emails. I can't get to any of it just now. Maybe next week!

 

Snowdrop is again in fine spirits. You don't appreciate how much she has missed playing with friends until she spends the entire twenty minute ride to the farmette talking about her two new "besties."

 

We do spend a good bit of time outside. Snapshots from things and places that grab her today:

Eventually, hunger and tiredness carry us indoors. As if on autopilot, she takes off her shoes and socks, washes her hands, pulls out the "school clips" from her hair.

She chooses her reading material and arranges her snacks and we lose ourselves in the next book and the one after that.

 

Evening. 

 

 

I am opening boxes of new arrivals. Plants. Lots of them. Of my 187 new perennials, only about a dozen aren't here yet. How am I going to get them all in the ground? Just taking them out of boxes and trays took over an hour. Whatever did I get myself into this year!!

(plants spilling out everywhere!)

The person you're trying to reach is not available right now, or tomorrow or the day after....

 

Earth Day

It's time to do more than just "care" about our planet. That's obvious, And celebrating the earth can't be just a one day thing. Plant a tree on Earth Day and be done with it. Nope, not enough.

But what what can I do? -- you ask. I haven't the answer. But I do have a cartoon for you -- long-ish but worth reading to the end (thanks to my Australian friend for passing it along!). 

It's a penguin's perspective. How can you not smile when a penguin sounds off? (Read it here.)

Though no one can change the course toward global warming on this one day celebrating our Earth, and, too, we know how pointless resolutions can be, I'll leave you to your own guilt and action or (wince!) inaction. But at least today, let's pay our respect to all living things on our beautiful planet. Together. Each in our own way.

For me, the day begins with frosty air but sunny skies. More daffodils tumbled in the cold night. But some steadfastly refused to give in.

I clipped a few more for my vase: better to admire in a vase than to see it face down on the ground. We enjoy them during our morning meal.

And now I begin planting. Our purchased saplings haven't arrived yet and that's good because Ed isn't quite ready for them, but my perennials keep coming. We expect another frost day this weekend, but nothing that will harm these plants.

Making things grow. Creating a landscape that attracts all. Pollinators, people, animals too (sometimes to my chagrin) and it hurts no one. But let's face it -- there are many many options that would do the same. My eleven flower fields, and our new orchard, and our soon to be planted grove of 75 trees -- these are  just one solution -- one that we love. Ed in his own way, I in mine.

To work then!

LATER:

I can't say that I did a lot of planting. Five Ten new ones in, but out of 186, so not very impressive. But stopping the digging was justifiable. I came across a grounding wire and though hitting it with a spade posed no real danger, nonetheless, I decided to be extra cautious and call the digger's hotline to get the exact placement of the power lines running underneath one of the new flower beds. Yes, Ed can give me approximate markers, but I'd rather be sure.

Since I paused with planting, I decided to make the six mile trip to Natalie's garden center again to start filling in the annuals checklist. It's splendid to walk around her greenhouses and pick out hanging baskets. Last year we couldn't do it, but this year we know we are safe. And it feels enormously grand.

(a bunch of impatiens, to remind us to be patient with spring's wild weather swings; I like their other name, often used by UK gardners -- busy lizzies)

There will be one more frosty night to worry about this weekend, but I'm betting that after that, all these bloomers will be able to stay outside for the remainder of the growing season.

STILL LATER:

I pick up Snowdrop in the brilliance of a sunny afternoon. The girl is happy. She tells me she is beginning to like kindergarten.

There is a reason for her big grin. She'd made some friends in these few months of class based instruction, but there have been skirmishes. Kids with strong opinions. The usual stuff that you would expect from school. Still, the class was tiny. There were few options but to join in or go off on your own. School became "just okay." Today, she connected with two new entrants into her class and for the first time, she reported that her day was "great!"

At the farmette, we stay outside...

... until she gets so frisky with the hose, that she gets us both wet.

(amazed at the rainbow formed by the sunbeams touching the spray of water...)

AND EVEN LATER:

On days like this one, you dont stop working just because it's dinner time. You forget about all else and keep on going. A few more plants to work with, just a few. The evening air is so lovely, the fading light so satisfying! 

We eventually call it a day. I reach for leftovers and heat them up in the microwave. Yes, there are times when dinner food has to take a back seat to everything else that's on your plate right now. 

When we finally do eat, reheated Chinese food never tasted so good.

68

Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm 64. Remember singing those lyrics back in 1967? I was 14 then and I thought 64 was really old! Heck, I thought 50 was over the hill. 

Those early years, when anxious longing was so much part of my everyday! Where do I belong? What contributions are mine to make? Much much later I read Mary Oliver. Her words, as usual, well placed.

Tell me,
what is it you plan to do
with your one
wild and precious life?

When you are young, you don't know any of that. You latch onto one thing, but pass on something else. I passed on my 7th grade teacher's excitement over Wordsworth. She had us memorize these thrilling lines:

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze

I thought it was a chore. Living then in New York, I could not imagine a field of daffodils. 

Now I can.

 

Notice the sunshine? April doesn't promise endless days of sunshine, but most often on my birthday I get at least a little!

(True, today we also get a snow flurry. Never mind, it was fleeting.)

I am 68 today, happy to be alive, grateful for all the privilege that has put me where I am right now. Grateful for my beloveds, family, friends, Ed. (Over breakfast, with a card which he managed to find on the internet. Lovely.)

I bring in boxes of plants. Arriving now, full speed ahead. Only I have to shelter them in the mudroom because we are to have another freezing night. Just one more!

I am also scheduled to pick up a plant order from the Flower Factory. We drive over, enjoying the landscape that is suddenly perfect. A thousand shades of green. Oh! Want to see what a controlled prairie burn looks like? We pass one on the way.

And from the perennial nursery, we head out to Owen Woods. An FB friend tipped me off: bluebells are in their fullest moment! To repeat: ours, on this side of the ocean, are Mertensia virginica. The flower heads are almost identical to the English bluebell (Hyacinthoides non-scripta). Downward facing bells. True blue. (There are very few true blue flowers out there. You'd think it would be a common floral color. It isn't.) But they are not the same as the English bell.

 

 

 

It seems dreamy and magical to sit in a patch of blue bells and so I do just that.

 

 

 

The Bronte sisters wrote poems about the bluebell, but I like this simple verse better -- it comes from a book of flower fairies (by Cicely Mary Barker) -- one that I think my grandkids would like, not as a school chore, but as a stepping stone to their treasured world of magic and make believe:

My hundred thousand bells of blue,
The splendour of the Spring,
They carpet all the woods anew
With royalty of sapphire hue;
The Primrose is the Queen, ’tis true.
But surely I am King!
Ah yes,
The peerless Woodland King!

We stop at my older girl's home for a birthday drink. And cards and presents. And cake! With candles! And kid hugs.

Candles lit. Ed, take a picture!

 

 

 

And now for something we haven't done in well over a year: on the way home, Ed and I pick up take out food. We go to Taigu Noodles and load up on Chinese boxes of favorites!

Day isn't done until I can visit with Primrose, another spring girl in my life! Her rendition of the happy birthday song is incredible!

And so I get used to that new number: 68.

Past middle age, I did finally come around to Wordsworth and Neruda and especially, in my ancient post 50s life -- to Mary Oliver. What nature loving soul does not also love Mary Oliver?!

("Wild Geese")

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Life. Yes, so beautiful, if you can free yourself of nonsense, often not of your making, to soak in its subtly magnificent moments.

Happy birthday indeed.