on the subject of work

Here's a logical statement: the more you work in your garden on day one, the less you'll have to do on day two. The problem is -- it's not true. Take this week at the farmette. Yesterday, I diligently cleared one of the wildflower meadows of wild parsnip. Well, I hovered while Ed, wearing heavy gloves and applying all his muscle power pulled it out. There were half a dozen plants, each nearly five feet tall. Out they went, root stock and all. 

But later in the evening he said -- you know, we have a ton of that stuff growing in the new forest. You want to come see? I'm not 100% sure it's wild parsnip, but it sure looks like the stuff I just pulled.

I walk over with him to check out the weedy land that we'd cleared enough to plant our trees. It is indeed loaded with wild parsnip. That stuff really should come out. But how to do this effectively? You can't pull out each plant. The soil there is rock solid -- a hardened clay made worse by the drought. We discuss the possibilities. Indeed, every time I cross paths with Ed today, all we talk about is what to do with the poisonous, terribly harsh to the touch and aggressively spreading wild parsnip.

By the end of the day, we conclude that there are only two options: either keep mowing the whole acre (or is it more?) of land so that this horrible invasive never goes to seed, or we hire someone to till the land all around the trees (several times, because just one till wont do much to get rid of the weeds -- there are too many, the roots are too deep, and we wont use herbicide) and plant a cover crop. I of course favor option number two. I've wanted to do something about the weeds growing in what was once pasture land for a long time. But deciding who to hire (we don't have the equipment for tilling) and what cover crop to put in -- now that's a whole big project for Ed. He wont just read a few suggestions and plunge into it like I would. He has to first study the problem. 

I can see that our tree planting project has just become complicated again.

*     *     *  

It is another gorgeous day. Really brilliant (but for the long term absence of rain). Not too hot either. It's the kind of day you long for on all those other days when the weather is rotten and you're thinking -- why can't we have a nice, sunny day with a gentle breeze and crispy clean air? Well, we got it. Today.

And I know what I must do (while Ed mulls over the problem of the parsnip and the cover crop): I really have to continue with my watering efforts. Yes, there is a chance of rain Thursday night, but I can't count on it. And you know your flower fields are in trouble when some of the day lilies are getting telltale dried out leaves. 

And so I mow some edges, I weed a huge (and I mean huge) amount, and I water -- six and a half of the flower fields (I have a total of eleven last I counted). Each plant deserves a long pause with the hose and there are a lot of plants. It takes a whole day to get through just that much.

(I pause toward noon for breakfast...)

There are benefits to spending this much time on yard work. Some of them are obvious: the Fitbit gets very excited on my full days of work. The steps just keep on multiplying. But, too, standing over each plant, giving it water, bending down to weed its base -- this is all immensely satisfying. I swear it looks immediately refreshed. Grateful for the long soak. Ready to grow and thrive. 

(Still loving the sweet peas...)

(still loving the now fully staked Delphinium...)

(and really liking the first big burst of day lilies alongside a lavender bush...)

One of the farmers who sends me a weekly newsletter described her plants right now as being like adolescents: bursting with energy, ready to reach for the sky, to do the impossible! I can see that. By Fall, they'll realize their genetic and environmental limitations, but right now, if you give them water and light, they'll explode with positive energy! And so a day outside, watering and clearing each plant is both essential and immensely rewarding. 

Too, there are the less expected pleasures: watching the dragon flies. And seeing the butterflies land on their favorite flowers. Like this Great Spangled Fritillary: orange, landing on orange.

*     *     *

If work breeds more work, then does leisure time push you to seek more of it? Because if that's the case then maybe we're going about our days in completely the wrong way! I read an article the other day about clever tub pools people put into their small yards, with decks built around them so that you can sit back, dangle your feet in cool water, maybe while reading a good book and sipping your favorite iced tea. Shouldn't we be looking into raised pools and lounging chairs rather than cover crops and nut producing trees, to say nothing of planting endless flowers, meadows and who knows what else?

*     *     *

In the evening, Ed went off on his bicycle and I scooted up and down the rural roads on my moped, taking in a beautiful end of day. We're almost done with spring and surely it's been a bit weird season weather-wise,  but honestly, I could not imagine a more stunning set of days. All this and vaccinations too! We are grateful.

(Not quiet sunset time.... But close!)

water and cherries

The days are really lovely! The humidity is low, the sun is out, there are no mosquitoes. 

 

 

 

Perfect June weather, except that you just can't forget the fact that we haven't had any rain for a long, long time. Still, at least one part of you has to love this day of such incredible beauty.  As we walked across the farmette lands and Ed exclaimed in great delight a sighting of yet another dragon fly, Snowdrop said with a smile -- you two are really into nature! 

I had to laugh, but I told her that she is correct and that if you live on a farm, or a farmette, nature in one way or another is very much on your mind each time you step outside. Snowdrop proclaimed right then and there that she, too, would someday live on a farmette, with lots of cats. And a rabbit. They're her idea of perfect pets.

I'm glad she is feeling good about "lots of cats," because I was less than thrilled to come down this morning and find mice remains on the living room carpet.

Ed! (This must have happened after midnight, after my bedtime.)

He works hard to clean up the mess, reminding me that we do like it when the cats catch mice. I note that catching them and keeping them outside is significantly better than bringing them indoors.

Apart from the mouse event, our morning was predictable and uneventful. We ate on the porch (remember, it's really perfect weather, but for the absence of rain)...

Dance was with us, enjoying the daisies I had picked in the meadow...

And after? Well, also predictably, I watered a portion of the garden. Tomorrow I'll do another portion, then the next day I'll move on to yet another one. Most of the plants cannot thrive and some wont survive an extended drought and I do not know how long this dry spell will last.

In the afternoon, I am with Snowdrop. She really wants to go to the city pool with me (despite having had her daily swim lesson that morning). 

 

 

The city pool is open for recreational swim in the afternoon and that means all the water sprays, buckets and fountains are going full blast. And she loves all of it!

But, a big cloud comes and we get a little cool. It's a good moment to return to the farmhouse. And pick cherries!

The birds are already raiding the trees, but we find ones that are undamaged.

I can't say that we filled many buckets, but we certainly picked a good share for an afternoon snack.

(To be enjoyed along with multiple other favorites inside)

(Before returning home, she must have her moment with the tree...)

It's amazing how fast a day can go by if you're filling it with water and cherries. I drive her home in time for her supper. Anyone home? Yes! One boy post-nap, the other still sleeping.

And this little girl is home too. Just not in Wisconsin. Unfortunately. Still, over FaceTime, Primrose can watch me cook while she's eating her own supper.

It is tempting to go back to watering plants in the late evening, but I give it a rest. We have other things to work on: wild parsnip to pull out (did you know that stuff can seriously damage your skin?), chickens to chase, butterflies to watch. A monarch flew in today to check out what's blooming here. Come back with your mates, little one! Stay a while. It's going to be a fine summer!

how does your garden grow?

A friend of ours has been volunteering at Olbrich Gardens for a number of years now. Do you know the place? It's Madison's extensive (sixteen acre) botanical space. And it is evolving. I hear these days it's less flashy and exotic, more local and sustainable. I haven't been there for a couple of years (no surprise: I haven't done anything for a couple of years), so when the friend invited us for a tour of the place, we jumped.

It's a remarkably pleasant day: not too hot, still sunny unfortunately, but there is a breeze and so outdoor activities are, dare I say it -- pleasurable! 

(On my morning walk, I have a close encounter with the Virginia Ctenuch -- a black moth, with an orange head and a metallic blue-green body -- that loves the Phlox as much as I do!)

(Also on my morning walk: I note the expanding sweet pea...)

(Phlox is a color rock star in the garden, even in its June green stage)

 

And we have breakfast once again on the porch.

Afterwards, we're off to see the gardens.

I'm curious about a lot of things: the overlap in plantings between Olbrich and the farmette flower fields. About their approach to watering in this period of droughts. And I'm interested in how they maintain an eye-catching perennial bed in mid June, when summer flowers are not yet blooming even as the spring ones have faded. Mostly though, I'm interested in how a bunch of talented gardeners tackle the project of creating beautiful pathways through shady and sunny outdoor spaces.

Every garden has favorite corners in it. Places in which you feel happiest, secure, at peace. And I certainly found those in Olbrich. 

I also looked with envy at what can be accomplished with many many pairs of hands (they have quite a staff of both horticulturalists and helpers). 

(shady paths...)

(sunny paths)

And with water. I do like gardens that incorporate water into their design. 

Mostly though I was surprised at our overlap. Nearly everything that I grow here can be found there (though not everything that they grow there can be found here). Yes, the proportions are very different. They have lilies, but I have more! I have ferns, clematis vines, and poppies, but they have more! But I couldn't help recognizing the overlap.

And the breeze rustled leaves and cooled our walk and it was such a pleasant way to spend a morning.

We ended with a lunch together. At a cafe! Outside, but still, it was a first for me since the pandemic shut down eating out for us.

We lingered as only retired people enjoying a sunny June day can linger.

And the flowers stayed in my head and the summer seemed promising; a day well spent.

(driving home: hello cranes...)

 

 

In the afternoon, I once again returned to a more typical pandemic social exchange -- with my friends on Zoom.

I'm not tired of that -- not at all! It's only bothersome when there is nothing else and you wish there was someone every now and then sitting across the table from where you are.

And so ends a day of not gardening, but garden gazing. You need those to maintain your own enthusiasm for what you're doing in your own back yard. I had a lovely fill today. Tomorrow, I return to my own weeds, watering needs, and planting adventures. 

(Evening walk across farmette lands: through the newly planted "forest")

(Evening walk, continued: looking north -- a school, plots for new houses, two sandhills and lots of birds)

(Evening walk, continued: this is what our meadow looks like)

(Evening walk, continued: the delphinium is starting to bloom)

And still later, as the sun nearly disappeared for the day, I took out the scooter and guided it along the rural roads just eat of the farmette. As usual, I had a companion.

 

For a while we just look at each other, but eventually it goes to the west and I go to the east. 

And the sun sets and the day is done.

butterfly

This morning I again took out the hose and the watering can and went out to the meadow and to some of the more distant fields to water a fragment of the garden. Another hot and sunny day means that anything I watered last week is drying up again. The meadow sprouts need a boost, the new plantings need a boost, heck, everything needs a boost. 

Too, I really wanted to do a basic clean up of the front bed. I told Ed I'd be out just for an hour, but that quickly changed to two hours, and then three, and it was nearly noon before we sat down to breakfast.

All this is unremarkable, right? The description of the morning resembles most mornings from the past week, right? Well yes, I would agree with that, except that each working morning is very different in that you're seeing a garden evolve, and you're watching lily buds emerge, and the tune your humming in your head is different than yesterday's tune, and your thoughts are most certainly different as well.

And in the middle of this watering - tidying project, a butterfly comes over and lands on my leg. I'm not really paying attention and I almost swat it instinctively, thinking it's surely one of those deer flies -- a lingering pest that hasn't quite bitten the dust yet. But I stop just in time and the butterfly takes off but then comes back and again rests on my leg. So I'm thinking -- this is a sign!

But of what?

As I come in for a drink of water, I check my email and I notice that I have a message from Patrizia from Parma. She asks if I'll be coming for a visit soon. I really want to see her and talk about what she went through this past year (it was tough) and I want to check out her new rooms -- she tells me that she revamped them some. Mainly I want to sit out on a terrace with her and eat a plate full of Parma's tortelli. So if her email comes right at the time of the landed butterfly, is it a sign for me to think about packing my suitcase again?

I look at the vaccination rates in Europe: they're getting there, but they're not great yet. How long should I wait? Part of me wants to go tomorrow, part of me wants to go never. 

In the evening, the young family is here for dinner.  Snowdrop is game for a little pre-meal adventure and I've got one for her.

The cherry trees. One of them has a few ripe fruits within reach. Ladder not necessary.

The girl is thrilled with fruit trees, thrilled with the cherries, thrilled with being able to eat stuff right off the tree.

As for Sparrow -- his interest in the great outdoors today is low. He prefers to climb up on the trash can and check out the cheese and cracker board.

Sandpiper doesn't even get that far.

Dinner.

And play.

And a little bit of both.

Time to go home. Can I pick just one more cherry??

 

 

Now if we could just pause with the beautiful sunshine and give over a day to rain...

nostalgie

In this last year, I've let myself go back to some favorite destinations, to wander in my mind's eye along familiar paths, to sit on a terrace cafe maybe with a croissant on my plate and a steaming grand creme to sip slowly, just so it can last. And I imagined a ride to the beach, or to a seaside village, with the radio set to the station called, appropriately, Nostalgie, as it plays les plus grandes chansons -- classic pop music, mostly from France but not only. I wondered if I would feel content doing such a trip now, or if that kind of a return to something familiar and loved is like rereading a favorite novel -- it's good, but not as good as it was the first time.

I had a whiff of this kind of nostalgic return today, though certainly not as adventurous as a trip to the other side of the ocean. Still, it was a return to a familiar space and I have to say, it felt even better than the other times from other years.

It happened on another hot and sunny day. The rains had totally passed us by and I know I'll have to take up watering again, rotating with a hose over to the front bed, which right now looks like a neglected space right out of a movie where everything has gone to seed and the owners or caretakers have abandoned ship and moved to far off lands, and only the occasional blooming flower will recall a past splendor that definitely is no more.

But the watering will have to wait until later in the day. This morning, after a run through the usual farmette chores...

And a breakfast in the cool, emphasize very pleasantly cool kitchen...

I go over to Madison's city pool. It opened just yesterday and on a whim, I bought a season's pass.

I don't really intend to go there for lap swim (though if this weather continues, I might be tempted), but I noticed that they've introduced a weekend morning swim for young kids (under age 10) and their parents and caregivers, to keep things calm for them. I liked that idea. Older kids are loud and they cannonball into the water and they splash each other and therefore you because you're always in their path, and I fully believe they should have their fun, but this set up for just young kids is so much kinder and gentler for those who love a tamer water experience.

I was told that Snowdrop and Sparrow were enjoying their neighborhood pool tremendously and I wondered if they'd like to go back to the city pool on one of these weekend mornings. The answer was a resounding yes and so today, the first day of this "quiet" pool time, we met up for a family morning in the pool.

I know this pool very well. It's just a couple of blocks from Snowdrop's old school and she and I had spent many, many afternoons going over to it right after a summer school day. Not last year. Covid kept us all away from public spaces last year (was it even open?), but we went the year before and one before that as well.

The remarkable thing about this pool is that it has an unusually large shallow area. It's really ideal for young kids -- they can cavort easily, without crashing into each other or reaching the deep end right away.

It turns out that Sparrow is a little shy about pools. No surprise. Covid hit at such a young age for him that he remembers nothing from pre-Covid times. We'd brought him to this pool as a baby, but not since then.

But, what's there not to love! The air is so warm and the pool is so refreshing and it's not at all crowded!

At one point, Snowdrop engaged me in some pretend play with some characters we'd brought with us and she got really sentimental about the sheer pleasure of lying in that shallow water, and I thought this was not unlike the cafe moment with that lingering cafe creme: we're going back to how it once was, only today, after tumultuous times, it is all so much better, because you know how easy it was to lose it all, and yet we were lucky, and we made it, and the family's grown and still, here we are, in that pool, lingering, like over a meal on that terrace, feeling content at just being there.

Perhaps wanting herself to prolong the feeling of nostalgie, Snowdrop asked to come home with me to the farmhouse. Sure! Lunch, lots of books, snippets of conversation about how the summer is going. And then I take her home. Yes, in a sweater. Yes, it's hot. Long story.

In the late afternoon, I do return to the front flower bed, hose in hand. I notice I'm wearing a dress Ed bought for me on one of our train trips to Perpignan (in the south of France; these were Sorede days for those who remember Sorede). And this is the important annotation to any such memories of lingering moments over a cafe creme or a splash in a shallow pool -- it's not the perfection of the place (though that cafe terrace, or that extended shallow pool on a hot morning are awfully nice) that has you going back to it with nostalgie, but it's the memory of a shared experience, where all were made happy by it.