Tuesday

An enormously slow morning, where I am more tired than someone who had just run a marathon. With good reason. I expected it and sure enough, here I am, dragging my feet. Even though the day is splendidly beautiful! And the flowers are still popping up (though in smaller numbers). And the summer is unusually calm. It's the result of preventive measures that I'm taking before the very busy weeks ahead. Plod along today so that I can be energetic tomorrow. Makes sense, doesn't it?

It still takes me an hour and a half to clean the garden and I'm not even picking weeds. I've a little given up on such stuff. Remember how exactly perfect the flower fields were in spring? Ha ha! That was then. In August, I am happy let go and let nature do its thing.

Still, the lily beds are reasonably neat. Snip snip...

Oh, and I walk over to the new orchard -- I have just enough energy for that! -- to take a look at the meadow. We expanded it considerably this year and it is beautiful!

Breakfast -- alone, on the sunny side of the porch. In addition to being tired, I'm a bit chilly so I move to where there is a warm spot. Can you believe it?? How ever did we come so quickly to pre-fall weather?

Ed is at a board meeting. Quarterly, monthly, yearly -- whatever it is, it's always in the morning and so he is Zooming away in the sheep shed and I'm thinking a nap would be awfully nice.

Except that I have a little girl to pick up at Space Art Camp.

("we had to make it out of scraps of paper!")

(at the farmette, on the secret path)

I return her home a bit early today and that's a good thing because Ed and I neglected to get absentee ballots, so we have to move ourselves to our polling place to vote.

The reward? A lunch at Paul's Coffee Shop (which is just across the street).

We were hanging loose, not in a rush to leave, not intending to stay much longer when we ran into a friend. Someone we used to talk to regularly when our visits to Paul's were frequent. Almost daily. We caught up today. Turns out that he belongs to a cadre of people who is completely depressed, angered, and demoralized by the political process. You can't really argue much with his long list of reasons for this, but at the same time, you have to wonder how you can get yourself out of bed each morning with so little to love about the day before you. Or is it that some people thrive in their field of negative energy? We like this friend and we listened to him for a good while, but afterwards, I was happy to return to my garden and my own thoughts which run in a very different direction.

And there is absolutely nothing else that I want to do today. Nothing. Not walk, not work, not even read. Maybe a nap? Yes, a nap. To pick up some oomph in time for dinner. (Frittata with August veggies!)

Monday

The green bucket, used as a rain gauge, tells me we've had at least two inches of rain in the past two days. That is perfect. We can stop now. For a while.

The flower fields are letting out their last exhale of blooms. I see that the ones I snip and the ones that are currently flowering are the tail end of the season. It's been such a long and robust summer run for them! The flower field along the secret path was new last year and so this is the first season of full grown plants. I'd say it's currently my most healthy set of flowers, in that everything is in its adolescent splendor -- full of energy and youthful optimism. It really makes you smile to watch the flowers outperform each other there.

The lily field by the porch has been strong too, but I really must address some of the older clumps in it. And unfortunately, that work should be done now, while I see what's there and working and what needs a divide or replacement. Of course, the very last thing I want to do now is dig up a flower field. Most likely, I'll just make educated guesses next spring. This has been my modus operandi all along: work with whatever grabs me at the moment. Monet would be appalled.

It's still gray outside, but I do my work, and we eat outside, still enjoying the summer vibe in the air.

(And on the ground...)

And then it gets a little hectic. I pick up Snowdrop from the last of her summer camps -- this one is "art and outer space." Yes, all in one!

We come back to the farmette...

(fraises de bois)

... and after lunch, she and I read the next in the series of books that she likes and I tolerate (Pilkey's stuff, which can be funny if a bit oddballish.) We do art, she plays. And tries as always, unsuccessfully as always, to annoy Ed. (He is never ever annoyed by her.)

Late afternoon -- we're back on the tennis courts! As we walk in the park toward the courts, we both comment how cool it is. I put on a sweater. We look toward the left field where last winter she learned how to skate. Could it be that we're starting to turn away from summer? Are we ready for that step? I'm wishing I had a warmer wrap as I sit and watch her play. My summer blood isn't primed for the burst of cool air.

I take out my laptop and I catch up on mail. I had just received a very sweet email from an old friend in Poland and all I could think was how correct that NYTimes article was a few weeks back when the author urged us to exchange more pleasantries over texts and emails. They matter. Sending positive stuff matters. It seems obvious and yet we take care of the needed correspondence and neglect that which is unexpected and without obvious purpose! 

At the end of her lesson, her teacher says: she is persistent!

I return her home. Where her brother just wants to be with mommy.

And now it's evening. I swing by Walgreens, all the way in McFarland, to take care of one important errand, then I am back home.

So, a little bit of a nutty day, with beautiful elements throughout. I suppose that describes a good many of farmette days, don't you think?

With love...

Sunday

Yes, lots of rain fell last night, yes, it's continuing to drizzle today -- a sustained, slow trickle. This is a perfect dose of water for the gardens. But clearly I was not as ready for it as I thought. At around 5 in the morning Ed nudges me -- I see you left out your tray of drying sour cherries outside...

Oh no!

Would you like me to bring it in? And he does bring it in: they're all swimming in water. I decide to ignore the whole mess and go back to sleep. He patiently drains them and puts them out on a fan. And later, when we are both up, he tells me -- I read from a U of Minnesota site that sun drying cherries up here doesn't work. Our air is too humid. They rot before they dry.

Well that's good news then! I shouldn't mind that mine got totally drenched in a heavy rain! Nonetheless, here they are now, drying once again, just without the sunshine. Ed's P.S. to the saga -- when I poured out the rain water, it was pink. I'm guessing a lot of the nutrients just swam right out then.

I love how stupid we I can be with our my projects!

The rain is very gentle when I do finally step out to survey the garden. The flowers are happy, yes, I'm sure of it, but the tall phlox stalks have fallen and many of the lilies are giving us their last blooms of the year. Still, I snip. Like Madame Defarge and her knitting in the Dickens novel, I snip through it all. Clip, snip, discard. 

The flower fields, even in this late stage of summer, still look mighty fine.

Breakfast, in the rain, on the porch.

In the late afternoon, I take a half cooked dinner to my daughter's house. They're still on a strange summer schedule where one is here, one is there, others are elsewhere and so Sunday dinners remain on hold. Sort of. For example, today we eat together, but at her place. With corn, of course. It's August, isn't it?

The older two have friends up the block and the minutes before and after dinner are spent outside, with kid bikes, trikes, balls and all the paraphernalia of summer outdoor play. 

(Sandpiper is too young to hang with them -- something that he finds terribly unfair.)

I leave them to their evening. 

At home, Ed is hoisting up the sagging peach tree. (It's loaded with fruit, even though it grows in a spot that is mostly shaded by crabs and boxelders. Go figure.) The cats are stretched out on the porch and in the sheep shed, the chickens are dozy-sleepy -- some on the barn wall, some in the coop. He picks off the ones on the wall and locks them up with the rest.

Let's make some popcorn.

We go inside.

Saturday

We need to rain ourselves out of this drought -- I thought to myself as I worked the flower fields this morning. Tonight, tomorrow, Monday. We're likely to have rain and that's a good thing. But of course, I cannot say that I haven't liked this summer of warm and sunny days. No mosquitoes, lots of delightfully comfortable mornings and a cheerful glow over the farmette lands -- who wouldn't want this in July and August!

All the hours of the morning were spent on typical Saturday summer tasks: the flowers, yes of course, the flowers.

Then a run to the farmers market for.... well, the flowers! (I bought two large bunches plus additional sunflowers. All together -- under $20.)

And I had a chat with Kay, the farmer from JenEhr Farms. I used to pick up produce and poultry from her in my restaurant days and I asked her why she no longer sells broilers. 

Covid. It depleted the work force. They have nowhere to butcher them reliably. So they gave up on poultry and are concentrating on veggies.

Oh don't I know the tales of woe from those who want to butcher their chickens! Well, no matter. We no longer even talk about our Bresse hens as broilers. We expect that they'll start laying soon. In the meantime -- they're just part of the pack.

From the market, I move on to Madison Sourdough for the breads and breakfast pastries.

And finally home, for a very late morning meal. (Is it morning still? Just barely.)

Because it is hot outside, I concentrate on catching up with emails. I have two sets of Polish friends traveling soon and I do some research for both to help with their planning process. Both groups are experiencing horrendous flight cancellation problems. It seems unavoidable this year. Oh, the misery of getting from point A to point B. (Or the adventure of it! Maybe.)

Very late in the afternoon Ed and I take a hike in Lake Kegonsa State Park. He wants to see if the lake water there is swimmable. I have zero interest in that, but I go along for the walk. 

Looks pretty soupy to both of us (even as the dog appears to like it!).

There are trails in the park that circle a prairie and we're curious about those too. 

The prairie is nice, but our county park prairies are denser, with greater floral diversity. Still, there is a breeze and we enjoy the newness of a trail (and the fact that it is only 21 minutes away from the farmette, so reasonably close). 

And here's something rare: afterwards, we veer toward the lakeside pub, Springer's, for an outdoor supper. It's pretty standard American pub grub, but in between the burgers, we do find a pizza on the menu which, again, is good enough, especially when accompanied with a cold Spotted Cow beer.

I noted to Ed that each component of the outing was good if not spectacular, but the sum total was utterly magnificent. Funny how that works! You throw together many small tidbits and you have yourself a feast. A splendid summer feast.

With love...