sleepy

Why do eyes want to default to the closed position during gray and drizzly days? I'm sleepy at wake up time, I'm sleepy in the afternoon. The cheepers are let out late today. The door had gotten stuck shut, sort of like my eyes earlier this morning, and I did not come out to check on them until what must have been way past their breakfast time.

Our breakfast, too, is late. And it isn't that pleasant. Dance had come in to join us on the porch. She'd brought her own meal -- a chipmunk -- and proceeded to tear it apart to the side of the table. It a little bit took the appetite away to watch her do this. We came up with excuses to end the meal quickly.

I weeded a little and yawned a lot. The bugs were out and I stepped on an ant hill and so the idea of spending a productive set of hours outside dwindled and fizzled and finally I gave up on weeding and came inside. 

I may have given in to a nap, but I have all these tomatoes to scrub, trim and freeze. I have to say, it's a lot more fun to pick them out in the open fields than to stand over the kitchen sink and attend to them there. We overdid the picking. We haven't the room for them in the freezer chest (see yesterday's post) and I'm left wondering if we should eat tomato everything for the next three weeks, or if I should cook them down to a sauce, or if I should once again empty out the freezer and insist on some kind of new order, where nothing that stays in it is more than ten years old.

Never mind, I'll attend to the rest of the tomatoes tomorrow. Today, I have a dinner to prepare. First though, a cup of coffee!

The young family comes and I suspect it may rain and so we eat in the kitchen. 

 

 

Minutes before they came, I learned that it is grandparents' day today. I told the kids they have to let me take a good photo of them. They gave me many. I like this one -- Snowdrop is holding a book she wrote, Sparrow has his default expression -- a face full of giggles and laughter.

"Hey, what about me?? I can laugh!"

After dinner unwind....

So the dishes are put away, Ed and I watched the last (terrible) episode of a (wonderful) series we'd picked up on Netflix and I have finally the freedom to indulge those sleepy eyes.

Except --- I'm not sleepy anymore!

Go figure.

what goes in must come out

When I moved into the farmhouse now more than ten years ago, it was empty. Ed had been living in the sheep shed. I brought in my own furniture, though with a few exceptions. The washer and dryer in the basement were his. A table in the kitchen was his gift to this place. And there was a freezer chest. We put it in the basement. I didn't think much about it until I started freezing tomatoes.

I noticed that there was stuff already in the freezer. Baggies of unidentifiable stuff. Berries? Tomatoes? Mush? And he added stuff. Those left over rolls from the wedding dinner? Into a bag and into the freezer. The turkey rib cage from some Thanksgiving dinner? Frozen and saved. And soon forgotten. That was the problem: what went in, stayed there.

A few of years ago, I announced a freezer cleaning day. I needed space for the tomatoes. And for other produce that I was beginning to freeze. Corn. Rhubarb. All used by me come winter. 

That cleaning day was a bust. We emptied almost nothing. And so I put in a piece of cardboard, giving over a third of freezer space for his ancient stuff. The rest I used for all those foods that are actually in circulation here at the farmhouse.

Well that was fine until today.

Our CSA farmers announced (for members only) a u-pick roma tomato day today. Superb prices, exceptionally good tomatoes. Sure, I'd already stocked up some for the winter, but we could use more. Winter chilies are so good! So we signed up.

 

It's a warm morning and we surely will have a very warm day. I move quickly through my morning chores.

(It's the time of the year when you really celebrate the annuals in the tubs!)

Breakfast.

And we are off! We have to first pick up market produce. Mushrooms, carrots, flowers, cheese curds. And now we're heading south. 

It's a pretty drive to Tipi organic produce farm! I'd been there picking strawberries in June. I like the way these guys farm and I love their CSA boxes. 

And, it turns out I really like their tomatoes. Ed and I set to work and we cannot stop. Pounds and pounds, buckets and buckets of plump, sweet smelling tomatoes.

(With Steve, the copartner of Tipi)

We will be in tomato heaven all winter long!

 

Except -- where do we store them? In the freezer that's already nearly full? I need his third of freezer space! Down we go to sort through freezer stuff once again. Out come the same packets of ancient berries or are they baby tomatoes? Who knows. Some have dates. I see 2007 written on the bag. The turkey carcass -- I wonder which Thanksgiving that belongs too... Haven't we had this conversation already? 

I should not have asked. I should have dumped it all into Ed's newly expanded compost space. Here, this one, with dirt moved out and logs from fallen tree neatly stacked.

So don't tell anyone, but I managed to hide one of the bags of turkey bones. Out it will go with this week's garbage. The rest? Well, he now has a sixth of the freezer for all his old junk. We are making progress!

flexibility

To be able to roll with the punches is a skill. And the parents of my grandkids would love to help their children develop that skill. If you are resilient you wont bat an eye when something goes wrong or if you don't get what you expect. You don't complain, you don't gripe. I'm really supportive of this idea of staying flexible and finding the good in even poor outcomes. Really supportive. And of course, the way to instill something in kids is to model it yourself.

So today, I cancelled the up north cabin reservation and put aside thoughts of how beautiful it would be to witness a sunset on the lake each evening. Instead, I said to Ed -- let's do a sunset picnic tonight. Immediately he jumped on board. How about we take some food to Observatory Hill, over by Paoli?

It's a sweet and special spot: when he and I were just beginning our life together, way back in 2005, he took me on a first motorcycle ride there, just because he thought the views were so beautiful. It's about as romantic as the guy gets. So yes, a new plan is hatched. A picnic it shall be.

Earlier, I thought about a cafe breakfast -- something that I consider to be an exquisite part of being away. Couldn't I do something that's not oatmeal here as well? How about whipping up some of our very favorite best ever blueberry muffins for breakfast?

It's a sparkling day outside. Sunshine, a breeze, warm but not hot. 

 

 

 

Perfect late summer or early fall weather. 

 

 

 

I don't weed because I have some catch up work to do on the computer (so on the porch). No matter. I'm due for plenty of movement this afternoon. A second set of grandparents is coming up for a visit with the grandkids and so instead of bringing Snowdrop to the farmette, I am to deposit her at her own house. Now this is actually brilliant because the girl has wanted to try being one of the after school walkers instead of car-pickup-ers. It's a different exit door and one of her friends comes out there and she's curious about how it all works. 

The walk from school to her house is long: more than half an hour, and that's at an adult pace. I suggested we speed it up some by me bringing her scooter. I packed the scooter and helmet into the car Thursday and today she can scoot home!

Famous last words. 

I thought I'd park somewhere at the half point, but, there was an accident and therefore a traffic jam on the highway and so I got there just before the school doors were opened. So I parked the car just a five minute stroll from school.

And there I was, with the pick up parents and there she was, running out those special doors.  

Freedom!

Snowdrop is super hungry after school and so I'd brought a blueberry muffin and a Door County peach. She wanted to pause for it ASAP. We did.

Revived, she trotted alongside me until we reached the car. With the scooter. The wrong scooter. Sparrow's scooter. I did think it was a little short but who am I to judge...

Looking on the bright side, the girl got to exit through the exciting "first grade walkers" school door and we had a picnic. 

We drove to her house and she took out the real scooter and proceeded to do a half dozen downhill scoots near her house, terrifying this grandma, but only just a little. After all, she was wearing a helmet. (Expression she makes when she gets awfully close to the tree down the hill...)

(Back at the farmette -- the beautiful late afternoon light...)

And in the evening, Ed and I drove to our local taqueria (Tapatios Cocina Mexicana) where we picked up our picnic supper, to eat on Observatory Hill. 

(Along the road to it, the beautiful landscape that we know and love. The mists aren't swirling around a lake, but they are swirling, deep in the farm valleys...)

 

 

It was a magnificent evening and we weren't the only ones there.

We were both students at UW and we took ballroom dancing. Twenty years ago. We try to do this every night...

Sunsets... Alfalfa fields on one side, soy fields on the other. Small farms dotting the landscape. A sliver of a moon. Is this less romantic than a lake sunset? 

No, it is not. Is the moon rising high any less beautiful here, as seen on Observatory Hill? No it is not.

Yeah, I found my thrill, on Observatory Hill,

On Observatory Hill,

When I found you.

The moon stood still

On Observatory Hill

And lingered until 

My dream came true...

Thursday

There are just too many weeds in this world.

And they are everywhere.

And I cannot stay on top of them: they grow fast, they reseed, they develop dense root systems.

If I ever give up on gardening it will be because of the weeds.

These were my thoughts during the morning walk to feed the animals. I had worked hard yesterday, but the fact is, I am not starved for outdoor work time in early September. I am more starved for exploring new places and for thinking up new winter projects. I don't really want to weed my way through the fall months. Dig, pull, toss. Dig, pull, toss. To clear a bed that in a few weeks will be green with invasives all over again.

A visiting friend said to me this summer -- your flower fields are too work intensive. Ever think of planting bushes and grasses instead of flowers?

I shrugged off her comments then. There goes someone who does not love flowers as much as I do! And the work? It's good for me.

In September, I'm thinking she has a point.

(Cat, hiding. I don't know why.)

 

 

 

Breakfast.

I don't immediately return to weeding. I go on line and shop for bulbs. Typically, I don't get to this until October, by which time all new and interesting things are sold out. Today, I am looking for excuses not to weed. So I buy funky daffodils and tulips and hyacinths and crocuses. Stuff that rolls out the spring season here, at the farmette. Perhaps the most beautiful of all the seasons here, though I shake off the idea that I should have favorites.

 

More weeding. 

 

And then I am relieved to see that it's time to pick up Snowdrop. (Yes, I bought some more snowdrop bulbs as well. I'm looking forward to March already! The weeds are less well established then. Are we nearing spring yet??)

 

 

 

 

 

Snowdrop is in great spirits lately. She has had stellar moments at school, at the farmette, and at home. When you are six, the days unfold before you like a never ending storybook. You do not plan for tomorrow or the next day. You roll with the tide and you try to squeeze in as many of your favorite play sessions as you can, in between the impositions of school lessons, mealtimes and bedtimes. When you are sixty-eight, you have far greater control and oversight. If your day doesn't fall into place neatly, it is your fault. If you find yourself obsessing about weeds, you have no one to blame but yourself.

(At home, the brothers.)

Evening. Have you noticed how much earlier the sun is setting? How pretty a September night is? I go out for a walk across the farmette lands and take in the sweet smell of early autumn. No need to worry about working the garden now. Look up, examine the skyscape, listen to the sounds of night. Cicadas, froggies, a dog or coyote somewhere in the distance, and even farther, the muffled sound of the city of Madison.

It's a beautiful time of the year after all. I suppose the trick is not to worry about imperfections but to take it all in as if you were just six, trying to fit in your play sessions even as you push yourself to weed, to work, to clean, clear and improve. 

Now, how about a glass of wine from the Lake Garda region of Italy, just for old times sake? And maybe some popcorn, with a sprinkle of parmesan? Mmmm...

Wednesday

If you deconstruct a trip you're about to take, analyzing each element to its finest detail, you can talk yourself out of going anywhere at all. Ever. This is exactly what is happening to our planned September getaway.

It was supposed to be a four day escape. I love escapes! By a lake, no less. In a cabin that is tastefully and minimally decorated. With Adirondacks outside, a fire pit, two kayaks. In the woods. We would hike the nearby Ice Age Trails. Imagine, a new trail segment! We would do outdoor dining. Maybe watch a movie on the big screen TV after watching the sun set over the lake.

Bliss, right?

Now comes the hatchet: the drive each way is close to 3.5 hours. That means that of those four days one whole day (7 hours!) would be spent in the car. The water quality in the lake is supposed to be okay, but there is some uncertainty, as the last test will have been done a few days ago. Things change. The lake itself is not large. Kayaking on it will take no time at all. Ho hum. The nearby town offers maybe four eateries, though one of them is McDonalds so that doesn't count. The other three have websites with pictures of brown foods (deep fried) and burgers (Ed and I do not eat burgers). There seem to be no outdoor dining options so we would have to do all take out. The vaccination rates in those counties are low and the infection rates are, therefore, high. Maybe twice as high as where we live. And mainly I have a reluctant partner next to me. He'll go. For me. He'll tolerate it. For me. 

So where is the fun?

Despite the drawbacks, I would have opted to go. I just love the excitement of a new place and I have missed it terribly in the years (yes years!) of this pandemic. 

We'll do a staycation instead. I like nothing about that word: it makes no sense when you are retired to "cut out going to work and to stay home." We have cut out at least the obligatory paid labor and we do stay home. That we'll add some less typical for us activities will be great, but honestly, when we are here, we do what we choose to do. Mixing in more coffee shops or hikes will be nice if we do that, but it wont exactly replace waking up to different sounds, sights and smells.

Never mind. We are healthy and happy. What's one more year without a trip, right?

The day is bright, cool and beautiful. 

 

 

(Breakfast)

(Fallen tree to chop up, meadow to plant...)

I'd read in an email newsletter from one of our farmers something that pushed me to reconsider this day. Here's what Jillian from the Small Family Farms writes, with appreciation for all the physical work they do on their farm:

I recently read a book called Move Your DNA by Katy Bowman that is a new inspiration in my life. She is a biomechanist who writes about the importance of natural movements, primal movements, in our lives opposed to actual exercise. She talks about the importance of reaching, squatting, climbing, swinging, and just plain moving your body. She writes about how our blood circulates naturally with movement, our joints are strengthened when we walk barefoot on uneven ground. Our pelvic floors, our knees and our ankles thank us when we use them to their greatest potentials.

Well, it was just the push I needed to get me back into the flower beds for some serious weeding, clipping and digging. It's the perfect weather for it and so I reach for my shovel, my clippers and my bucket and get to work. Reaching, squatting, bending, just like my primal ancestors intended. All day long. With few pauses. 

And that is all I do.  

 

 

Frittata for dinner: cauliflower, mushrooms and corn. Then couch time, where I can hardly stay awake.

With love.

feels like Monday

Holidays are so confusing! Labor Day shortened the work week and flipped Tuesday to the front of the line and now here we are wondering why the mail delivery is bulky and how come downtown Madison is suddenly so crowded (first day of University classes).

Well, no matter. It's a fresh week and everyone is well and we're moving into Fall quickly and energetically. Right?

 

(Spring starts with yellow daffodils and fall ends the season with... yellows again!)

Breakfast, right before the storm hit.

The storm was a meteorological event. I'm referring to the thunder and hail, pounding hail. I am not referring to the light rumble inside the farmhouse as Ed and I discussed a forthcoming trip -- a second longer escape that is to take place next week, except that no one has done any planning for it. No one has contacted the house sitter for animal care. No one has looked at hiking trails. No one has ordered camping food (even as at least one of us wants to camp). 

I feel like Ed has exhausted his capacity for vacation getaways with that one overnight in Mineral Point back in August. Really, I think he is satiated. And indeed, he is in the thick of his designing project. When the weather is good, he is into moving dirt.

Moving dirt is a new idea and while I do not oppose it (the purpose is to extend a meadow to the east of the barn), I wouldn't have thought that it is a top priority and yet there he is, moving dirt and asking me if I have enough flower seeds for the new meadow space.

There is just so much to do here... -- he tells me. Don't I know it! That's why you do little vacations elsewhere -- to get away from stuff at home. To Ed, this makes no sense. Home is where all the good stuff is.

We interrupt our non-planning when I set out to pick up Snowdrop at school.

Can I watch TV today? -- she asks.

Nope. Too much to do that's way better than TV.

But you said...! (oh those kid words! holding you to a promise never made!)

Not on Tuesdays, never on Tuesdays! 

But shouldn't it be before Wednesdays?

Why? What's so special about Wednesdays? Here we are, ordering the days as if it mattered that one came early in the week, one came late.

Snowdrop has no answer to this and moves on to her next idea. Gaga, how do you make a day into a national holiday? I explain the legislative process to her. So how do we get Congress to pass a law on Pink Day? I so want to make June 4th Pink Day. With a parade. This discussion carries us all the way to the farmette.

... where (happily) thoughts of TV and Pink Day are quickly forgotten.

(At drop off I ask Sparrow how his day was and if he had friends. Any girls? Yes, I have lots of girl friends. And a few boys. Okay then!)

(And today in Chicago Primrose had her first day of school and I miss her...)

In the evening, Ed and I sidestep the topic of trips and vacations. I cook up a dinner of shrimp tacos, he pops corn. Sometimes it's best to just let things unfold without giving them a push in any particular direction.