moms out there

Wishing you all a happy mother's day is like sending out a merry Christmas message to everyone you can think of: you're going to miss the target, since the good wishes apply to only a minority of humankind. Most people out there are not mothers, cannot be mothers, have no intention of taking on mothering responsibilities. Still, can we all agree to celebrate the concept together anyway? Because moms really are indispensable, undervalued, ingenious, and for the most part passionately committed to raising the next generation of human folk. Even the most lackadaisical mom has put in her share of labor to get you to where you are today.

Since so much of what happens on earth (and to this planet) depends on the work of mothers, I think it's a fine idea to take the time to celebrate their efforts, even if you yourself are not a mom, or if your mom is no longer with you to hear your words, or if you're one of those whose mom isn't particularly interested in hearing from you, nor you from her. It does us all good to stop and pause and think lovingly about mothers today. Motherhood is a huge deal. Let's cheer on its magnificent contributions to our daily lives!

So, Happy Mother's Day to all!

We wake to another cool day. Yes, I'm ready for a warm up and a return to breakfasts on the porch, but it's just not going to happen until maybe later in the week. Cool, brisk, but still lovely -- this is the story of this year's early May in south central Wisconsin.

With breakfast most definitely in the kitchen. Special today -- imitating a French morning meal, just because. (Pain au chocolat.)

Needless to say, we work on our outdoor projects. For me -- repairing chicken damage in the garden, pulling weeds, planting a handful of monardas. For Ed -- well, everything. We try to strategize tree planting (which will likely take place within a week or so), but give it up for now. He's too meticulous in his approach and I'm too much in a hurry. We'll return to it over popcorn this evening.

In the early afternoon, I have a fantastically wonderful screen visit with my daughter and her family.

I can't believe this growing child is the daughter of my daughter! It's a beautiful image, really it is!

Somewhere in there I have a call with my mom who is moving the day after tomorrow. I'll see her then, but for now, we exchange greetings by phone. 

And then I'm off to the nursery where just a trio of flowers is waiting for me. It's such a bucolic ride! Hello, sandhill pair!

And still  later, my older girl comes with her family for a farmhouse visit and celebration. My girls are the greatest gift givers in the world and we spend some time opening presents. And they are also caring individuals who know how to make a person feel ultra special.

(another call from Primrose!)

And then it's time for dinner...

 

 

 

... with the cake I spontaneously picked up yesterday at the bakery.

If ever there is a day for more photos, this is the one! Of my daughter, as a mother to these two (and a third one so ready to be born!)

And what the heck -- let me insert myself into that bunch, adding a generation of motherhood.

And after all the dishes are cleared and tucked away, I sit down with Ed and we should be contemplating where to place a chestnut or a maple or a hickory, should be reading all those planting details he likes to pull up, drawing charts, sifting through the alternatives. But we're too tired! This from Ed -- I get tired after doing stuff that never even made me a little tired before!

 

A typical farmhouse Mother's Day, no? With all the delights of the day, with many contemplative moments, with many reasons to feel so very very grateful. Happy day indeed.

this is who we are...

By now, all the vaccinated people I know have returned to at least some degree of shopping. (What a winning strategy we have -- you protect yourself with a vaccination and perhaps more importantly, you protect your community from further spread/mutations!) I bet you wont be surprised to learn that I have not yet shopped. Indeed, I still haven't been inside a grocery store (or cafe, or restaurant) since.... oh, early March. Of 2020.

There are really only two reasons for this store avoidance: first of all, even in normal times, I hardly ever shop. Grocery stores -- yes, in the past: routinely and with some degree of pleasure. But otherwise? Almost never. Secondly -- I hate to admit it, but I have gotten rather fond of having someone else bring our groceries to us. It's a 90 minute savings for me (if you count the round trip travel) and at this point, I need all those minutes for yard work (and grandkids and mom stuff). 

But today, I broke that long spell of abstinence. (And last week, Ed broke his long spell too.) It happened in the late morning and by accident.

I'd been taking care of the animals and picking a weed here and there (but mostly admiring all that's growing and blooming right now)...

(lilacs!)

(still the crab apple...)

(the last of the tulips...)

(the first of the irises)

And we sat down to breakfast (with The Cat, and inside, because we're in a cols spell)...

And we reviewed what work still needs to be done. For Ed, the list is suddenly huge. We thought the trees we ordered were lost somewhere in transport or that the tree farm simply forgot our order, but no! Turns out they are on their way! Expect them next week, the growers tell us. As he lists his tasks -- preparing weed mats, cages, finishing chopping, pruning, mowing, starting in on digging -- I almost want to tune out. It's a hefty set of chores!

Mine today is considerably lighter (but not light enough so that I can help him make a dent in his). And it starts off with picking up local asparagus from the market drop off site and, too, picking up a couple of breakfast treats for tomorrow's Mother's Day breakfast. I know -- bakery items should be fresh, I should do this tomorrow, but I'm afraid I wont really want to bother tomorrow and I do miss my French breakfasts an awful lot. So I head out.

 

 

As I pull up to the bakery, I give myself a firm little scold for making them do a curbside delivery when I am perfectly capable of stepping inside the store. So I park the car and go in. And I don't just pick up the paid for treats. I look around. I spot beautiful cakes in the display window. 

I chat to the seller. And I cannot resist it -- I buy one of the cakes for tomorrow's dinner. That constitutes shopping!

[Ed's break out into the world of stores happened when he went to Harbor Freight to pick up a tool part. Isn't this just so us? He breaks isolation by shopping for a tool, I break my spell by shopping in a bakery!]

In the afternoon, I put in four more perennials and, too, I feel it is safe enough weather wise to plant the sweet peas. This last job is a bit of a chore since I have to build chicken wire cages for the plants. The sweet pea flower is extremely vulnerable out here: the groundhog thinks it's a better treat than a cake out of a bakery! To each her own.

(pausing to watch a bee coming in for a landing...)

Evening: our quiet time. I have no doubt Ed will zonk out early. Spending a day outdoors does that to you. Me? I'm enjoying too much the popcorn he popped, a glass of Chablis and my delicious mystery novel. So him, so me.

"two" is more forceful than "one"

If asked where I got my love of beautiful gardens, I'd say two things in my life happened almost at once: I spent a summer in England (pregnant with the younger one and holding the little hand of my older girl) and soon after, I visited Giverny -- the place where Monet planted his garden. Either trip would have spurred me to look differently at my own garden, but the two, within years of each other pushed me over the cliff. I've been planting herbaceous (perennial) borders and beds ever since. I consider a patch with some sunlight and decent dirt to be a gift, to be used wisely. You have have the ability to turn it into something beneficial and sensual.

April gives us the thrill of first flowers here in south central Wisconsin. May -- well that's a garden in full swing. Whichever way you look, there will be something to awe you.

I'm up early. There are animals to feed. This, too, is an opportunity to take that morning walk. The colors are beautiful then!

Our friends linger for breakfast before they take off. Too cold for the porch, especially for these two (they just came from Hawaii).

But even from the inside, the eye is drawn to the garden. The lilac is coming into bloom and the crab is not yet dropping petals. This, too, is a confluence of two powerful garden beauties. Early spring anchors: apple and lilac!

I do spend time planting -- but I only have a couple of hours for it.  By early afternoon it's time to pick up Snowdrop. 

 

 

 

She had been learning about famous painters in her school art class and I thought this may be a good moment to introduce her to a book that was extremely influential for me, for my kids when they were school aged -- Linea in Monet's Garden. Kid books are supposed to open their young eyes to the intricate wonders of our planet, but the very best books are as important to us readers as they are to the intended audience. Over the decades, I learned a lot about Monet's work, but none of the new information was as eye opening to me as what I'd picked up from this young person's book. 

Will Snowdrop (or Primrose or Sparrow) feel the pull toward these late nineteenth century painters? Toward the gardens that became Monet's obsession and now mine? 

It's a cool day and we'll have a cool weekend too. There's even a danger of light frost, though I'm not too worried. It doesn't feel threatening. It feels crisp and lovely and hopeful. 

 

(with the young chicks)

 

 

 

Much much later I consider what to make for supper. Leftovers win. It's just the two of us. Both tired, but happy to have had so many good days of productive work outside.

new paths

For someone who seems to be stuck in familiar repetitive patterns, I have to say, to me it feels like I am forever tweaking things and making adjustments. Life demands adjustments. Gardens demand adjustments. Grandkids and especially parents of grandkids and babysitters of kids -- they all have schedules that demand adjustments. So today feels to me very different even if you're thinking -- oh, she's doing the same stuff.

The day starts off cool and cloudy. We had rain showers overnight and the world smells damp and wonderful.

There's no going back: the beauty of this month will not recede. 

But breakfast is definitely in the kitchen.

 

Immediately after, Sparrow comes over. This is the new pre-vacation normal. Thursday mornings belong to him, here. 

He is agreeable. I want at least a few minutes outside. He's up for it.

But not too long. The bulk of our time is spent inside the cozy warm farmhouse.

The afternoon? I'm back in the garden. Just for a handful of hours and no, it's not the same old digging in new flowers. Now that the flower beds are filling in, I see where I really need to make adjustments. Paper plans just do not fully explain how gardens grow. And so I try out some new designs. I create a Virginia bluebell patch. I put in some lilium bulbs in bare spots. Tweaks. New stuff. Some of it wont even grow this year. I'm planting for next year and the year after.

But toward mid afternoon I stop. Here's something really new for us: Ed's college friend and his wife are in town and fully vaccinated. It feels strange and a little unreal, but they in fact do come over and do eat dinner with us and do spend the night here -- just as they did before the pandemic.

 

 

 

You'll tell me  -- ah, you're slowly returning to the old life. This would be untrue. There is no going back. My Polish friends asked me if I will be traveling to Warsaw this summer. In the old life, I would think -- well now, that's a good idea. I should do that! This time I responded -- no, I'm not feeling it's right to travel right now. And with our friends -- we're not going out to dinner and indeed, it very much feels like we are navigating a new landscape. 

Still, a pretty landscape. It's May and life for us is a heck of a lot more normal now than it was a year ago. A new normal, but still, not a crazy isolated pandemic times normal. And for that we are so grateful.

 

tiny white blossoms

A garden is like a book -- you can never finish writing it. There is always another edit, a correction, a change of words. (Don't I know it! Ask me why I'm sitting on the last ten pages of my book and refusing to push it all out the door!) Still, getting everything into the ground is like sending off the first draft. And slowly but quite surely I am getting it all into the ground. Sure, there are the loose ends: eight more perennials today, some of them targeted for my "meadows in progress" -- these aren't really flower beds but spaces in the young orchard and the wedding field (because there was once a wedding tent here) where I want to encourage wild flowers and natives to compete with the quack grass and creeping charlie. And a few more stragglers came with the post, but nothing that a few hours over the weekend wont fix. Too, I have seeds -- I'm late with those, considering the good weather this year. I'll put those in by Sunday for sure.

And so by Mother's Day (this coming Sunday!), I expect to be mainly done with planting. 

 

If you think I've been too wrapped in garden thoughts lately, wait til you see today's photos. Only two of them have nothing to do with the (blooming!) crab apple. But this is what you do when you grow and love flowers: you lose yourself completely in nature's offerings of the day. And today, and perhaps still tomorrow, and if we are lucky then the next day as well nature is spotlighting for us the magnificent blooming crab.

What of my life outside the garden? Well, there was breakfast (lilies of the valley are exploding right now!)...

And in the afternoon I Zoomed with my Polish friends. It's good to know that they are moving ahead with the vaccination regiment. All of them (their children too) have had at least one shot.

Still later I drove out to the greenhouses up the road to pick up some filler for a few of my pots. Oh, sorry. That's a gardening topic. I promised a pause with that. So let me move straight up to the beautiful and calm evening. Ed is out biking, I am on Face Time with Primrose.

I don't think I went back to my garden after that, but I really don't remember. Head up in the clouds all day, filled with tiny white blossoms.

hoodie weather

Time to bundle up again. The rains satisfied all my plants and then some. (The weeds, too, are wild with joy.) The heat wave moved elsewhere, cool air settled in. Time for the sweatpants and hoodie once more.

And we need warm wraps for the morning walk. Ed joins me today. We kept the chicks in the coop overnight. We'll be setting them free once again so that they can live their free range lives. Last week, we had let them out and the cats the cats looked like they might pounce on them so we locked the chicks up again. The hope is that the they grew enough since then so that the cats will have second thoughts. There seems to be a magic line out there and once they cross it, they become chickens rather than birds in the eyes of the six cats that live here. You may chase birds, but they don't mess with chickens.

And indeed, there is a passing feline interest in the three young girls, but nothing more than that. 

The chicks accept the cats without worry and the cats keep their distance (chasing each other up ladders and trees and leaving the chicks to their free ranging bliss).

That is not the only worry, of course. The three newbies don't yet know to be afraid of certain predators. They also don't seem to know that there is safety in numbers. The big hens and Happy go one way, the three little ones go off in a different direction. 

So how will they manage to return to the coop tonight? Well that's a good question! Right now they seem pretty clueless about everything. Let's hope that by evening they'll pick up some understanding of the lay of the land. [Spoiler: we will corner them and chase them inside the coop.]

 

In the meantime, the clouds stay put and the hoodie stays zipped and I have little desire to spend all the morning hours outside. (There's  plenty of mom paperwork to keep me busy indoors.) Breakfast inside, obviously.

 

 

 

I do have some leftover prairie perennials that still need to be planted and I have about two dozen more plants arriving later in the week. But that's all peanuts. A handful gets put in today, but the heavy load of spring planting is behind me. As of this day, I have 214 new perennials, in the ground!

What's blooming right now? Oh, the crab apple of course...

But, too, the lilac is just about ready to begin its week of fragrant glory.

 

 

 

Afternoon is Snowdrop pick up time.

I wish I could offer her warm sunshine and playtime outside. It's just not that kind of a day. But we cover the outdoor essentials: she wants to check if the little chicks are in the coop.

And I want to show her the blooming (out of control as usual) lilies of the valley. I love these flowers, though keeping them out of the flower beds is a challenge!

And she wants to climb her tree, which right now is nothing short of enchanting.

And then we speed inside, where it's cozy and warm and more importantly -- there are mango slices and strawberries and cheddar bunnies to snack on.

Evening: there are breaks in the clouds. We'll have hoodie weather on and off this week. And that's just fine. May is always beautiful. Cold, warm, dry, wet -- we get all of it this month and it's all just magnificent.

the storms roll through

There is a lot of weather watching today: hourly forecasts to tell me when there may be rain, and when the heavy storms are likely to roll through. The morning is warm, sultry, portending of a meteorological menace. Still, the rains hold off and we do not waste the morning. After breakfast...

... we hit the farmette lands: Ed goes down to our future forest site and continues to remove brush and bramble. Me, I go back to planting, though not only: I am in less of a hurry now, so I take the time to transplant as well. To move things around as the gardens evolve. And I take the time to admire what's there now.

Irises have entered the show! Nevertheless, it is unquestionably the week of the crab apple. I'm thinking it wont even be a full week of blossoms. The hot spell rushed the flowers and the pink buds are now fully opened to their white magnificence.

It's a beautiful time to be in the garden!

In the afternoon, somewhat apprehensively, I pick up Snowdrop. I see the storms approaching, but they hold off just for a little and I get the girl safely to the farmhouse before all hell breaks loose.

Then of course we have to wait it out. We never get the threatening thunderstorm, but the rain comes down in sheets and torrents. We read, she plays. Distractions until things settle down outside.

The rains continue late into the evening At times heavy, at times light. We'll take it in any fashion. My garden breathes a sigh of relief. And so do I.