Hottest Yet

We broke down and flipped on the AC and thanked our stars that this old farmhouse does indeed have central air. I mean, it's just plain hot, record breaking hot -- downstairs, upstairs, everywhere. (We're hitting a high of 93F, or 34C.) So we cooled ourselves off and pretended it's summer.

Even though the plant life outside belongs to spring.

Our lilac and crab apple are yet to bloom, but I can see the buds racing to the finish line. With this weather, I expect they'll both explode within the next day or two, which is a good thing as I am away next week (in Chicago) and I would have hated to miss the fragrance and the utter prettiness of these two spring beauties. 

For now, I watch their tight buds slowly relax their grip.

 

 

I took a few photos of the farmette from points I don't normally photograph. Everything is so beautiful right now that no matter where you stand, you're going to be enchanted. Unless you're one of those people who never smiles at a pretty meadow or a patch of unfurling ferns.

(old orchard, with some newer quince trees, in bloom)

(breakfast: there are about a million violets, growing everywhere; may as well bring some to the table...)

It's hot enough for me to take out the toddler pool for Snowdrop. No she is not a toddler. It's stupidly tiny for her. But splashing is something you can do even in the kitchen sink if that's all you have available to you you. Predictably, she seizes the moment (after school).

And as every year, I get her to pick some of our asparagus. She'll eat a few stalks right there, before handing the rest to me.

A blast of summer. Strange and a bit surreal, but after that never ending cold early spring, I don't hear anyone complaining. 

One more day of the heat wave. Then, of course, come the storms. And a gentler end to spring.

Still Hot

Last night, I think we got too stubborn. No, we will not run the AC in May. We will not! 90F (32C)? We can handle it! 

We handled it, but when I went upstairs to sleep, it was brutal. Keeping the windows open was not a good idea. The hot air came up from below, came in from outside, came in from every corner of the farmette lands. I'm sure we handily topped 95F in there! I came down, I rested on the floor, I went back up -- still hot. Cold water, cool sheets and the power of imagination: I fell asleep, stubbornly resisting the flip of the AC switch.

This morning, we kept the windows closed.

Despite the storm warnings, we had no rain yesterday, so the garden, if you can believe it, is looking a little summer weary. The daffodils and tulips are cycling through the stage of looking perky to looking spent. Well, that's okay. May is a month for the next stage spring blooms. I'm ready for the flowering fruit trees, for the violets in the lawn, yes, for the dandelions. It's all very pretty. A few photos from the farmette, in the heat of May:

Breakfast, with a bunch of garden daffodils. The doubles bloom later than the classic single yellows.

I tend to take photos closer to the farmhouse in early spring because that's where I plant most of the bulbs, but in fact, my daily walks and inspections focus very much on the fields beyond, like on this much loved Big Bed. Every plant here is known and coddled! 

I did not work (much) in the flower beds today. My car needed its annual checkup. Unfortunately, the car service center is on one of the uglier streets in town (it's alongside other car dealers -- one after the other -- alternating with many dental offices and very uninteresting strip malls). I had 90 minutes to spare and I went for a walk  and because my surroundings were so uninspiring, I brooded about my writing projects going forward. The one I'd just finished (to be trumpeted here quite soon!) was so brazen! I'm sure it will provoke comments, because when you write about life under so called communism, you are asking for it, from all sides! 

But the fact is, memoirs are always like that: people who read them often believe they would have made better decisions under similar circumstances. We are forever optimistic about our own ability to improve upon the lives of others. (Not so much our own.) So, here I am, releasing something that is almost the opposite of a typically tame Ocean page. And where do I go from there? Back to the safety of a less controversial topic, or do I continue on that other path -- the one I took in my Great Writing Project?

I don't have an answer yet. I'm thinking about it. Maybe by the next visit to the car service place on awful Odana Road, I'll have come up with a path forward. I've got six months! (My, they milk you for service appointments with new cars! No wonder I lived so long with old wrecks!)

In the evening, Ed and I packed a picnic of tacos from Tapatios Cocina Mexicana and we drove to Observatory Hill right around sunset (which today falls at 8:10p.m.). It was still in the 80sF, but the breeze was exquisite. The sunset part was left mostly to the imagination, as a cloud layer at the horizon covered the flaming disk that we had before us on the drive to the hill.  

(the hazy view from the hill)

But still, it was lovely. 

Selfie time!

As usual, we were not the only ones there to watch the day recede and the dusk set in. A couple stood by their car, with a pooch in their arms. And then a pair of bikers, who lived down the hill and had to be doing the climb for the exercise, because why else, took the trouble to pause and tell us we looked picture worthy. Then they pedaled off. And I thought -- if we're picture worthy, I should do a timed release photo. I placed the camera in the middle of the road knowing darn well no car was going to run it down.

A summer-like outing to commemorate our great fortune in life, at this time, in this place.

With love...

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!