Tuesday

Happy happy June 21st! Love this long day, when our sun sets at 8:41 pm (and rises at 5:18 a.m.). So many hours of beautiful light! (15 hours and 23 minutes of it here in Madison Wisconsin.) I mean, hot. But bright!

We are well aware of today's expected heat. Ed is up before 6 in the morning, digging up courtyard soil and laying it under the willow where we hope to plant some nourishing grasses for the chickens. It's not a job you can easily do on the hottest day of the year, so he starts early.

In taking a break, he comes upstairs and tells me that the chickens are restless. They want to be out of the coop. Because it will be the first day out "in the wild" for the four new ones, we have to stay with them for a while and watch for signs of trouble. What trouble, you ask? Oh, the cats.

When the chicks are young, the cats are really tempted to chase them. At some point they cease and retreat. Full grown chickens are too threatening: cats steer clear of them. But that magic line that separates the hunted from ones you flee from is loosely drawn and we're not quite sure the new chickens are past the age of temptation. So we open the door of the coop and we watch. And a few of the cats watch too. And the swallows hate all this because quite suddenly there's a lot going on in the barn and their young ones have just hatched.

Still, we wait and watch for a good long hour until we are satisfied that everyone is safe.

So far so good.

I turn my attention to the flowers. The tubs and the newbies need to be watered again. Too much heat!

Breakfast is on the early side. While it's still not ridiculously sizzling out there.

Phew, what a day! I need more sleep and less heat. Possibly we all need that!

Once again, in the late morning I pick up Snowdrop at art class. We check in on the Bresse chicks. All good so far...

I would be a poor care giver today if I did not take Snowdrop to the pool. I mean, on the hottest of hot days? How could you not! 

For the first hour, I stayed with her in the pool. 

After playing around in the deeper water, she turned to me and asked -- Gaga, can you dive off the high board? (In truth, I would call it a medium board.)

And I thought to myself -- as you get older, you stop doing things. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes not. The strange things is, I sometimes have this dream about diving off a (medium) board. I suppose it's one of those unfinished business things. I never perfected a straight dive. In my dream as well, I keep trying, but it's never perfect. Good enough, but not perfect. And when was the last time I dove off a board? I couldn't possibly tell you. Fifty years ago seems right. 

Snowdrop's question stumped me. I'm nearly 70. The impulse is to say no, not any more. But she asked with such belief! The girl is not competitive. We talk about mutual interests, like writing and we conclude we are a team of writers! In swimming, she is not where she wants to be. Maybe what I can do for her is show confidence.

So I dive. 

And luckily I don't break my neck doing this and she is beaming and I am happy that I took that plunge. 

Evening calm. We survived the hot day and so did the new chickens. Putting them in the coop turns out to be a breeze. (It helps to do this in the evening when they're woozy. But if you wait too long, the predators reach them before we do. It's all a balancing act. Sort of like life itself.)

I bake a frittata with the tail end of this year's asparagus. With garlic scapes and local oyster mushrooms. Summer treasures. Yes, we are officially both feet into summer.

Happy Solstice!

With love.

Monday

Every once in a while farmette living will put us smack in the thick of a questioning and soul searching about what it is that we are doing here. It doesn't happen very often -- after all, we are not really farmers -- but working the land and watching others work their land nudges us to think deeply about stuff that normally belongs in philosophy 101 textbooks. 

Take the wetlands next to us. They provide habitats. And generate mosquitoes. And swallows. What are we doing to survive alongside these creatures? On the farmette as well, we are always talking about land use. The trees we need to plant. The way to destroy invasive without poisoning the water tables. The trees we need to save because maybe they are in communication with their neighbors -- helping them grow. Our own well water: what's in it? It's very hard water -- full of mineral. But we wont soften it. All that salt, going into the soil! So destructive.

And of course -- the things we plant here. Who does it help? Is there harm in planting a flower that properly belongs in another region altogether? I face this all the time as I seed meadows and order flowers online. Ed is an ardent environmentalist and I'm not far behind. Too, he is more respectful of animal life than just about anyone I know. And he backs it up with a steady commitment to organizations that advocate to protect animals. Cats, snowy leopards, you name it.

So how is it that we decided to raise American Bresse chickens for meat consumption?

It's complicated and we have thought and talked a lot about it in the past week. Both of us are pretty firm (and have been for decades) about avoiding meat in our diet, and when we eat it, we'll check on where it comes from, buying only that which we know to have been humanely raised and butchered. We are not perfect in this (sometimes life puts in front of you a dish of unknown meats), but we're pretty good. 

But now comes the issue of chickens.

When we started keeping them (some half dozen years ago), it was for the eggs. Too, we're convinced that they deplete the tick population. We let them free range all day and we think of them as dumb but happy birds.

Except for perhaps Java (a wonderful mother hen type that was with us for years, only to be snatched by a predator not too long ago), we are not really attached to any of them. I know people love their hens. We just sort of coexist with ours. Sometimes they make us laugh. Mostly they just poop up my pathway and dig up my spring plants so I grumble a little, clean up the mess and forget about them.

And then last week Ed proposed that we raise broilers. For their meat. Not just any broiler, but the French Bresse chicken -- which, by the way, cannot be called a French Bresse bird here, because, well,  you know how the French are about their terroir. It's not champagne if it's not from the French region where champagne is produced and it's not a Bresse chicken unless it was raised (lovingly I'm sure) in the Bresse region of that country. But, this rare bird has now also been hatched in America, only it is called American Bresse. It's the same breed: the red white and blue chicken that mimics the French flag! (And the American, obviously, but we'll let the French keep the commercial selling point.) It has white feathers, a red comb, and blue legs. And it's meat is exceptional. Like no other. A real delicacy.

I wont go into the details of our discussions, but they were long and had a lot of back and forth. I'm still not sure we are cut out to keep broilers. But we can't be hypocritical. We eat chicken regularly. We should be able to raise our rare Bresse chicks for the table! (Especially since you wont find them at your local grocery store. Even in a frou frou grocery store. They are very hard to come by on any side of the ocean.)

All this is just my lengthy introduction to the fact that early this morning, after a very quick walk to feed our animals...

... we drove to a farm that shockingly is only forty miles south of us. And it raises American Bresse chickens. You cannot pass on such coincidence! So close! With pullets for sale!

We picked up four hens (just in case we don't butcher them -- we'll keep them as egg layers). And we drove home and put them in an enclosure outside. (They are about 8, maybe 10 weeks old.) 

Because of bird flu, they've not spent anytime outside yet. I'd say they were pretty dumbfounded by the experience. Our existing pack was pretty curious about the whole affair too.

One step at a time. For now, we have 8 hens and one rooster living here on farmette lands.

A pause for breakfast...

And then I drive out to pick up Snowdrop from cartoon drawing class. Did I tell you it's hot outside? By tomorrow we'll be breaking records. Really, really hot. 

She is used to us bringing new chickens into the mix. These are especially beautiful I think. We admire them for a good long time.

(And then we pick cherries in the new orchard!)

Inside: read, lunch, play.

Wait a minute, Snowdrop! That book is not quite meant for your demographic! Still, she is curious, so I let her continue for a page or two. It's easy enough to pull her away for a spirited game of camp. 

In the late afternoon I take her for her first ever tennis lesson. I know, I know -- it's hotter than hot. Tennis courts are notoriously steamy on such days. Still, she perseveres.

And wouldn't it be wonderful if she learned to love the game! Like skating (which, by the way, took place just steps away from these courts), it requires little equipment and offers a lifetime of beautiful sport. You never know where a kid's interest will take her. So far, she is on board.

In the evening, Ed and I have the job of picking up the four new girls and putting them into the coop with the others. It turns out to be far easier than we had thought. We do wonder -- once they are let loose into the fields tomorrow, will they be equally easy to corral into the coop or will they wander off and hide? Ah the mysteries of raising free-ranging chickens!

Excuse me while I go get a glass of cold water. Did I tell you? It is beastly hot outside. Surely records were set even today.

Good night, with love....

Sunday

I'll tell you what kind of a day it was: the kind where I go out early to feed the animals and never return inside. Or, not until well after noon. 

(A good morning kiss between the two cats who really like each other)

It's beautiful out there. And shockingly, totally shocking the daylights out of us -- the mosquitoes have gone away. Oh, maybe a few remain, but I sure did not notice any in all my time outside.

(The big bed has a profusion of white flowers right now...)

There is plenty of weeding that I must do to keep up with flower field maintenance. Not really big stuff -- I'm keeping up with it pretty well -- but plenty of fast growing spreaders that should be pulled, roots and all, by hand, again and again until the growing season nears the end. 

And, too, I need to water the newcomers. Young plants that have small roots can't take a week or two of piercing sun without a refreshing water soak. And so I give them that this morning too. And let me tell you, this is totally enjoyable stuff. Perfect weather, few bugs, plenty of birdsong, with the occasional dart of humming birds, swallows and dragonflies. I mean, bliss!

(One day lily starts its robust blooming period right now! It's Bitsy, with small blooms on tall spikes)

Breakfast is in the lunch hour. On the porch. Kolache from yesterday's brew pub (they're Eastern European milk buns with cheese and jam), and delicious berries from the farmers market. Can it get any better?

Toward evening, the young family is here for dinner... 

... and believe it or not, this is the first time that we can eat it outside, on the porch.

All three kids love June fruits!

And speaking of June fruits, after dinner, Ed and I noted our evening visitor to the new orchard.

She gracefully arched her neck and we looked to see what she was after. 

And what a surprise -- it was the cherries! Just a couple of days ago, they were barely noticeable, but with a few days of sunshine, they ripened quickly.

Thanks you for showing us what's growing in our own orchard!

We go to bed on the early side. Tomorrow, we need to be up and out at a beastly morning hour. On a mission to get some red white and blues, only the French kind. More on that in my next post!

Good night!

Saturday

Chicago is a complicated city. Very livable for many, though not for all. A grab bag of fascinating neighborhoods. With many exceptionally splendid, fresh and honest eating places scattered throughout. Madison, by contrast, has some great top end restaurants, and some very good midrange restaurants, but what it lacks is casual places -- brew pubs perhaps -- that serve creative and reasonably priced foods, ones that change with the seasons, ones that you could take your family to (outdoor seating would be nice in good weather) when you just wanted to have an interesting yet casual meal outside the home. It's not that we have none of this -- but we don't have much of this. 

The young family in Chicago have in their neighborhood a brewpub that was a godsend for them through much of the pandemic. When you could not safely eat out, even outside, this place prepared meal kits for you to take home and finish off in the safe space of your kitchen. These days they go to it often and they are known, in the way that neighborhood joints love their regulars just as much the regulars love their fave eatery. Still, I'd never eaten there. There were always too many other options I suppose. Today, this changed.

A morning at their home: first, still in pj's. 

Primrose is intensely working on her coloring project. The girl is very artistically inclined, but in different ways than Snowdrop. This four year old will labor for hours over one drawing or coloring page until it is all done. Every space meticulously filled. She does that this morning.

Will she finish before we leave?

Yes she will.

Time to get dressed!

Everyone ready? Yes!

We had eaten a quick breakfast earlier, but for brunch, or lunch really, we go over to Middle Brow. "Their" place. 

It's a brew pub, but with excellent coffee and terrific bread to boot. And of course, some fantastic fresh and honest foods. 

Outside.

("Hey, I want to get in on this!")

Really, it's perfect. So much so that I even picked up a four-pack of their beer to bring home. I haven't actually joined the generation of beer cognoscenti, but in Montreal, I caved and sampled some of these micro-brews and I decided that sometimes, if you just want to sip something for a prolonged moment, say with someone else, then a cold beer with notes of this and that, very light, maybe fruity -- well, it just hits the spot. 

But not for lunch. This day I stay with coffee. 

Oh, how I love this meal with the young family, as the warm sun makes me feel like suddenly, we have left spring and are plunging head first into summer.

This wasn't a super long visit to Chicago. We came up with the date just this week and of course there's lots going on now, what with Father's Day, and Bresse chicken possibilities, and flowers needing my oversight and care. And still, it was a fantastic visit. My daughter always makes sure that I get the most out of my time there -- food wise, chat-time wise, granddaughter-wise. Every minute is wonderful. Every meal -- delicious, every smile of theirs -- so warm and deeply gratifying.

I'm home now. I'm getting good at this drive between their place and mine. Too good: I put on my music and I enter some zone of meditative thought that is so all encapsulating that today I actually missed the highway turnoff for Madison! 

Ed asks -- you want to take it easy and have pizza tonight? Sure! With a Middle Brow beer. White light. Belgian style, with (taste of) apricots and spices. Cardamom for warmth, crispy wheat for midsummer days.

And with love.