Hot

They said it would be hot. They were right. It's very hot. 90F (over 32C). And what leaves you scratching your head is the leap from a very cold and late spring (farmers were complaining) to a steamy hot week of temperatures that call for a switch from the furnace to your AC unit. We dont quite do that, but Ed and I go back and forth about opened windows once again. He doesn't like to open them when it's cold -- it wastes heat. He doesn't like to open them on hot days -- it heats up the inside of the farmhouse, especially the upstairs. He is correct on both counts and still, I push back. Bringing the sounds and smells of the farmette lands into the home is exquisite! (True, sometimes other things come in as well. Like this morning we found a snake on the living room carpet. Probably a gift from one of the cats. It seemed dead.)

Despite the heat, I work hard once again. I clear out weeds and snip off spent stalks that were supposed to fall in the winter but somehow they didn't. In other words -- I clean up. And I think about this place that is so much our joint project: Ed works on the upkeep of all the structures and infrastructure, and, too, does some veggie growing and tree maintenance. I do much of the rest. 

I would not last long here without him. He'd last a little longer without me, but not too long. He's said many times that he would not work in the fields in the way that I do. He feels this place to be for the two of us. Alone, he, too, would move out.

When Monet died, his garden was lost to weeds and it took a dedicated effort, supported by a foundation (American, actually) to restore the property. There is no foundation that will support this place! Once we're out of here, I'm fairly sure that the farmette lands will be sucked up by the development that now borders us to the north and west. Hey, but for now, we are here and my efforts continue and today it was grand to work on the fields some more, so that every plant has a chance to show off all that it can do in a healthy and uncrowded environment.

Today's photos from a morning outside:

(Ed and Unie, who is his one cheeper pal)

(Yep, our first asparagus)

(Checking on a paper wasp nest that we're trying to move from over the door to a different location)

And in the afternoon I pick up Snowdrop. I predicted she'd like to splash in some form of water and I am right. There is not a whole lot here that is splash worthy for a 7 year old, but in the early stages of summer, anything and everything seems great! Even the plain old hose. Before long, she is 100% wet and happy as a duck.

We'll have storms tonight. Or not. Typical summer like speculations. Except it's not summer! But oh, how fresh and beautiful it all is! It's tulip time right now, so I'll leave you with one shading from orange to pink to purple. Only in nature can you find something this exquisitely beautiful.

Monday

On a top ten list of things I love about retirement I would include this: working outside in good weather. If you are a person who absolutely must plant things in spring, you look forward to days like this one --sunny and warm, breezy and mild -- so that you can do a lion's share of your work in your garden or wherever it is that you're planting stuff. It's a real let down when such perfect weather comes on days you have to spend in an office, at your desk, on in front of a class bitten by spring fever. You just want to be out planting. But then comes retirement! You are not constrained by anything except your stiff joints and your own schedule -- one that presumably has some flexibility so that indeed, on perfect days you can be out there, not in here. Out in that breeze, that sunshine, out getting your hands dirty, out adding all that you feel must be added to your planting space.

It's a ridiculously warm day. A high of 81F (so 27C). And it's going to get even warmer. The flowers love it! Want to visit some with me?

(The west field now filled with daffodils.)

(The shade garden always looks best in spring, when it is hit by dappled sunlight through tree branches that are not yet fully canopied.)

(Happy seems.... happy!)

(We do a lot to encourage bees here, but daffodils don't typically attract many pollinators...)

Breakfast -- of course on the porch! Of course!

And then I put aside my camera and take out my shovel and I help Ed with the tomatoes, but mainly I plant the great bulk of the seeds: in the new orchard (where the plum and the cherry are blooming!)...

... and in the various spaces we have tried to clear in the new peach orchard east of the barn. 

And I weed. The whole roadside bed. Phew -- that one's a toughie!

A whole day of outdoor work.

It's work that makes you tired in the best of ways. And because I'm retired, I can take an afternoon pause on the porch and look out and feel the deep contentment that comes when everything begins to fall into place for you.

 

Mother's Day

If you were once a child, then there was a mother in your life, however briefly, ephemerally, devotedly or distractedly she may have been involved in your upbringing. We celebrate her efforts and the fact that you are here because of her. Of course, many choose to celebrate because they are themselves now mothers -- and that's grand too! Mother's Day is a very inclusive holiday and I love it for its generosity of spirit!

Here at the farmhouse, we treat it as we would any Sunday: there's house tidying, there's garden work. It's a pretty day -- the kind that Ed likes, though even he admits that our taking breakfast outside was a bit of a stretch. Still, we do it!

The farmette lands reveal something new each day, and this is what they will do for us from now until fall. Every morning walk has that element of surprise. Oh, so it's you today! 

We can put the tomatoes into the ground (no more nights below 50F or 10C) (I hope) and Ed and I both work on that, though he does ten to each of mine. I'm fussing about weeds and also working in the kitchen. There's Sunday dinner to think about and today's should be a little special, no? So I peal the better shrimp and I bake a beloved brownie and I think -- yeah, brownies were the very first item that I baked by myself when I was a kid. And still, it takes a lifetime to improve on your very first brownie effort! Just as it takes a lifetime to "raise" a child, if raising means growing alongside her. Or him. In my case, two of hers. And their little ones.

So, there are today's celebrations... 

 (on FaceTime)

 

 

(in real time)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

... and there will be some more Mother's Day rumination next weekend, I'm sure of it, and it's all so very lovely because really, mothering takes up so much of your mental space that when the day comes where you can let go just a little and relax in your efforts -- well, that's just sublime.

 

(FaceTime)

 

 

 

 

 (Real time)

I hope you too felt some feeling of satisfaction or had a moment to reflect on how you grew as a child to a mother, or how you grew as a mother, or how you flourished at the hands of someone who performed those tasks with you, or near you and who made you into the better person you are today.

Happy reflecting! Happy Mother's Day.

Saturday

Well that wasn't supposed to happen! When you plant in spring, your create a checklist of important events: the planting of your lilies. The planting of perennials. The planting of annuals. The planting of seeds. The planting of fruit trees. The planting of other trees. The transplanting of seedlings. Dividing and planting old stuff. Transplanting. All that is on our list this year. (Not necessarily in that order -- you have to work with the weather to determine what happens when.) We'd gotten a late start because of the cold, but we moved quickly and we're catching up. 

One of our bigger projects was establishing that lavender field out back. I searched for good nurseries that sold small plants at good prices and I was pleased to find one with a large selection of English Lavenders. Those are going to be the most adaptable to southern Wisconsin's particular climate. They came on time, I opened the box and let them breathe and earlier this week, Ed and I put them in the ground.

But they looked wonky. I spotted mildew. The roots weren't white and fresh, they were yellow or brown  and dry. Still, this is a solid nursery. Lavender can be slow to perk up. I decided to put them in.

Not only did they not perk up -- they shriveled and died. Most of them are worthless clumps of nothing. 

I called the nursery and they are good people who stand behind their plants. As I was waiting on hold for a pick up, I kept hearing their message: when your plants arrive, wiggle them out of their pots. If the roots look yellow and brittle, your plant may have died in transport.

In my four decades of perennial growing, I have never received a failed batch of plants. Oh, there is the occasional one that needs extra TLC, but it will bounce back once in the ground. I'm stunned that this can happen to some 45-50 plants.

All this means we have to replant the whole bed. But but but.. it's going to be so hot next week and I'll be gone the week after (Chicago)! Have we missed our golden lavender planting window?

A grower is a person who is by nature an optimist (I'm not the first to observe this). I believe in our projects! But this one is off to a rough start. And, of course, we are now once again behind!

On the upside, it is a gorgeous day! Stunning and sunny and just warm enough to feel happy (though the kids complained that the car was too hot and that by the way, their favorite seasons were autumn and winter).

Looking around, you cannot believe that the flowers are far along. Everything is exploding. The tulips, finally!

Our rhubarb is out of control as usual. I haven't made much of a dent in the frozen stalks I'd cut up last summer so I decide to bake a rhubarb cake for breakfast and snacks (the kids love it, I love it, Ed loves it).

This is the morning the older two come over.

(Recently, chasing Ed with a ball is a popular activity around here.)

And after I take the duo home...

(The welcome appearance of dandelions!)

... Ed and I head out to Natalie's Nursery to give her our hundreds of small planting pots and to pick up a couple of flowers to replace the ones devoured by the cheepers, as well as some starter veggies and melons. Ed grew ambitious overnight and decided to go for a bigger produce bed out back. We'll see if these will survive the groundhog and deer attack.

No time to dally in the afternoon. I get to work. And it's a joyous, long stretch of work. Apart from the sad lavender patch, everything else is looking pretty special!

Kids, you're so wrong. All season have their stellar moments, but spring has an unbeatable edge to it: this is when plant life shines!

Friday

If you are a musician, a composer and a player of an instrument for example, what part of your work is more enjoyable -- the composition or the performance? Do you toil with a sheet of music and perk up when you play it for an audience? It seems to me I've read too many stories of the rough life of a musician going on tour. You remember the lyrics to Simon and Garfunkel's Homeward Bound? (What? You dont know it? ... and each town looks the same to me, the movies and the factories, and every strangers face I see reminds me that I long to be homeward bound...) Unless you're Lady Gaga or some famous singer person, it seems that it's a miserable existence: endless "reasonably priced" (meaning uninspired) hotels and motels where you just don't care about the stains on the carpet or the minibar supplies anymore. You try hard not to hear the people laughing in the room next door. You sleep, you get up and you do it again and again, all year long. That's called being successful. No bookings means you're staying home and wondering why no one likes your music. That can't be fun. Or is it that the performance itself gives you such a thrill that it's all worth it? 

It seems book writers face a similar dilemma: do you go on book tours? I read Ann Patchett's memoir-ish book and it seemed her readings had her trotting to those "reasonably priced" hotels, as she toured bookstore after bookstore, sometimes to large audiences but also to small ones, reading, signing, smiling, reading, signing, smiling. Again, she is a total success story. Writing is her job and she is an absolutely stellar author person and still I thought to myself -- book tours and promotions sound absolutely awful to me. I wonder if, in all honesty, she even likes them?

For me, there is no question here: I like the writing part. If I ever do readings, deep down I'll be thinking -- I'm sure glad I'm not famous and that I can decide where to read and more importantly, if to read. Publicity is definitely not fun and I'm glad that at least there is someone who has been charged with doing a good bit of that work for me (in some small amount). 

My Great Writing Project is really coming to an end and isn't that just.... well, great!

In other news -- I'm paying the price for working so hard outside. I got my first tick. In the scalp. I'm not surprised. The field in back of the barn is rarely visited by the cheepers and frequently visited by all sorts of wildlife. You're sitting on the ground just begging for some critter to jump on you! Ah well, it was an early catch. When I fired off a note to my friend in Michigan (who is both an outdoor sportswoman and a terrific gardener), she sent back a chuckling email: [my husband] has had 7 so far, me 1, two in the house-1 on the wall and 1 on the sofa. Okay fine. My one seems puny! Tis the season after all.

The weather is still a tiny bit cool, but we're getting to the days that are sunny and warm. They nearly always hit us in the middle of May. Ed and I will be planting our 100 tomatoes this Sunday. We do not expect cool nights anymore. It very much looks like an early tomato season after all.

Breakfast. With cranberry black walnut bread, from our Fitchburg Farmers Market (which started up this week!). A guy grows his own black walnuts and spends the winter shelling them. I mean, a labor of love.

Lots of Zoom calls and emails, mostly about the Great Writing Project. 

And finally, I get to pick up Snowdrop. 

 We pause by the pond by her school: so many swans! (Are they swans?? They are not: a subsequent check tells me they are American White Pelicans. I didn't think we were on a Pelican migration path, but apparently we just make it! Did you know these birds eat more than four pounds of fish per day? We watch them dive for it. And did you know that this bird has the second largest wingspan of any North American bird, after the California Condor? Amazing! Right across the road from Snowdrop's school.)

 

It's a treat to retreat into her world for the afternoon. It's warm enough for Snowdrop to want to stay outside. At the next door playground.

(this one is her hands down favorite!)

How nimble a young child is! I tell her that I used to be athletic when I was her age, but living smack in the middle of Manhattan gave me few outdoor choices. A skateboard along a sidewalk. That's it. And our school playground? A slab of concrete between two tall buildings.

(Back at the farmette...)

(Cherries? Cherries. From the US, though certainly not from the Midwest!)

(Trying to, but never succeeding in annoying Ed...)

And the boys back home? Well, Sparrow is explaining to me something about the nose...

...and Sandpiper looks questioningly at me to see if I perhaps came with something amounting to a slice of cake or perhaps peanut butter puffs. (I did not.)

Evening: you do not want to know what dinner looked like here, at the farmhouse. It was totally disgraceful in my book and absolutely perfect according to Ed. Salads, yes those. And then -- reheated slices of a reheated pizza from yesterday and the day before for Ed, and fried eggs tossed on top of the salad for me. I will return to real cooking. Honestly I will. Just possibly not this week, when the grandkids, the GWP and the garden are using up as much of my bandwidth as I appear to have in me these days.

But with so much love!