Thursday

To be fair, the storms were a very real possibility all along. And they did not begin immediately. I had a fairly pleasant stroll to feed the animals...

(not all daffodils are yellow)

(not all Virginia bluebells are blue)

(weirdly, not all American Bresse chicken eggs are the same color)

And though it wasn't warm enough to eat breakfast on the porch, still, the chill that we felt earlier in the week is definitely history (well, for now). 

(eating and patting a cat on the floor takes practice)

Looking at the weather maps, I decided I had a window of calm to work on the meadows (weeding and sowing seeds). And I made some progress. For example, I seeded a new mini meadow where the sandbox once stood. And I dug up some crab grass in the new peach orchard so I could seed that as well. And Ed, trusting his instincts as to the weather, set out on his motorbike to run some errands (which included reading the entire card section of the bargain store near us).

And then the rain came down and the thunder rumbled and I came inside and Ed got very very wet. I'm watching him now wringing his socks over the kitchen sink. One can hope that his purchases stayed dry.

We had total weather ambiguity in the afternoon. The sun came out, the air warmed. Then the clouds returned and we got put under a tornado watch.

When I bring Snowdrop to the farmette after school, the storms threatened. But they passed us by, and the little girl had her outdoor romp.

She has been asking many times to plant flowers from seeds and this seemed like a good time to build up the orchard meadow.

In the evening, after Snowdrop leaves, I go back to my never-ending work to establish these meadows (though I'm holding off on the annual seeds until the weekend cold snap passes). As I finish up for the day, Ed comes out and we walk the farmette lands together. Occasionally, we pull out stray honeysuckle, but mostly we simply admire the incredible beauty of the landscape! 

And so ends another day, another year, another decade. Like the weather today, it had its seesaws. I mean, who can forget the political horror show, the Covid years, the deterioration of the environment.

But throughout, I stayed lucky. My family and friends felt close as anything. The kids flourished, the Great Writing Project (see sidebar) was completed, published, and awarded. And the flowers bloomed like crazy and Ed got wet in search of a card. A totally beautiful seventh decade. I am so deeply grateful.

with so much love...

Wednesday

Spring, more than any other season, requires that you exercise patience and restraint. You are not the boss here. Nature dictates the evolution and growth of plant life, the spells of weather that make you wonder if spring really is nothing more than winter in camouflage, the dry spells, the excessive rains and saturation of the earth's surface, the movement of animals through your growing fields. You take a back seat, influencing a little here, a little there, never too much, because your over-involvement will cause more harm than good. But not too little either, because nature can deal a harsh blow to a landscape in neglect. You always have to remember, though, that your schedule is set not by you, but by those forces of nature that sometimes help, sometimes hinder your best ideas for the land where you put in your greatest efforts.

Today is another day that asks you to be patient. I go out to feed the animals and initially I think it's going to be a pretty good day for some spot weeding and daffodil straightening or picking...

(Virginia bluebells)

But as we sit down to breakfast (and I study the packs of meadow seeds I have yet to sow)...

... the winds pick up, the torrents of rain come down, and suddenly the outside world is barely accessible. I know it will be another morning of indoor work.

I spend much of the time reviewing pre-op memos, videos and messages that accumulate at a rapid pace before a knee replacement surgery. Honestly, it's all rather surprising to me. I've had in my life three major surgeries (or was it four?), and my best recollection is that they just sort of happened. I go in, get that wrist band, make myself comfy in a bed, get wheeled out, get wheeled in after the surgery, and eventually I go home.

Not so with knee replacements! The amount of literature I have had to digest, the prep work set up for me before hand and even more for after the fact is... impressive. I can only think that this is so, because mostly it is a surgery for fragile, ancient people. Me, I'm just ancient!

One piece of advice is to get your teeth in order (yes! that!) and so just before picking up Snowdrop, I have all my chewies checked. And here's a coincidence -- my dentist, Dr. T., who is just a tad older than me (he has been my dentist for 26 years now!) is going to be out after this week because... he's getting his knee replaced. Same hospital, just two days' difference. Wise man is expecting to be resting at home for a month afterwards. Eh, men are wimps!

And then the girl is here and no, this is no day to play outside! But she does anyway. For a few minutes. It's the draw of spring, the greening of the farmette lands, the welcoming sights and smells despite the really, really cold weather!

In the evening I cook veggie soup. Patience, I tell myself. This cold spell wont last. Well, give or take a few weeks! In the meantime, how about a chocolate truffle to warm the soul (from a surprise box that reminded you to love every moment)?

Tuesday

It's more as it should be: a mix of clouds and sun, a high of 53F (almost 12C).

But here, at the farmhouse, it's a bit nutty. When Ed comes upstairs (just before dawn), he leaves the door open and thus ushers in a cat into the bedroom. I am not a fan of cats in the bedroom, at least when I am still sleeping, or thinking I should be sleeping. I groan. He's repentant. Take you out to breakfast?

I don't think this was intentional, but I tell him he's inviting me out on a morning he knows (or should remember) I have a date out with a friend. How about going out to breakfast on my birthday instead? You do remember when that is, right?

Like I said, when it comes to birthdays, I lead him through the motions of a good, sweet observer, and he follows. I have long noted that he lacks initiative in celebratory matters, but he is delightfully compliant when I give him prompts and indeed, downright specifics of what should take place. I detail the plan for this year's celebrations. Sounds nice! -- he tells me, somewhat sheepishly, given that he is still feeling guilty about the noisy meowing bouncy cat inside.

The weather is cool but gloriously bright. Yes, some daffodils are down, but that makes for a fuller jar on the kitchen table!

And there's a lot of color left behind.

Moreover, many of the fruit trees are ready to bloom. So early this year!

All delightful! The best weeks of the season are right before us!

And then I have breakfast with a friend whom I see way too little. We used to have offices next to each other and that was such a perfect way of keeping close watch over the daily details of our lives. Since we both retired, we've been lost in our worlds of (for me) family, writing, travel, (and for her) books, plays, music. 

I resolve to do better at stepping out of my shell of activities! This morning's morning meetup at Madison Sourdough was just grand!

Back at the farmhouse, I take stock. There is so much that I could do in the garden before my surgery! I attack one item on the list today: mowing (nearly everything!) with the tractor-mower. 

On the one hand, I hate this task because the land is rugged and full of bouncy hills and I am always made to feel sick by the end of an hour of riding that piece of machinery. But on the other hand, it's a glorious way to survey the farmette lands in all their detail! This is when I see the emerging blooms in the new orchard!

And this is when I clear the large prairie-like fields out back where we planted the 60 nut and maple trees. And this is when I imagine all that will bloom in the meadows, too.

By the time I'm done, it's time to pick up Snowdrop. This is the day when I am tempted to just keep her outside for a while. To show her the blooms, to cavort with her in the freshly cut fields. But, it's the one day when we have to hustle to get ready. It's her busiest day -- ballet, then scouts. Nonetheless, I cannot resist. And she is such a willing partner in crime! Today, she is happy as a clam scaling trees! (I'm including some half a dozen pictures of her exploring the newly mowed path to the new orchard because she is such a good kid about letting me show off the farmette landscape here for you, always made better by a person, or an animal passing through it!)

Toward evening, I am home again and Ed and I are so carefree and unburdened, having both finished the tax load yesterday. Yep, I love all aspects of spring, but it is particularly satisfying to note that the finest days of this joyous season are just before us.

Leafing through my accumulated email, I find one from Maxy Awards. I had devoted exactly one day back in October to promoting my book, Like a Swallow: I sent it to a couple of places to be considered for an award (for best indie memoir for 2023). I clicked on their email tonight and eventually clicked on their link and I found this! In other words, Like a Swallow has been selected as a finalist. (Winners to be announced in May, but let's not be greedy!) And that makes me so happy.

with love...

Monday

On the upside, it wasn't a huge amount of snow!

But it did snow last night and the day stayed cold enough to melt most, but not all of it. Initially, the kids were thrilled to see it, though later, Snowdrop complained -- not enough to really play in it and plenty cold!

This cold snap (and another one expected next weekend) delays planting annuals, and the heavy snow really did knock down the daffodils.

Some will come back up again, but some will have to be cut down. But not today. I honestly can't quite focus on any of it today. I'm blocking the sudden return of winter!

Breakfast.

I did finish my taxes then, but just at the last minute. When I see that it's time to pick up Snowdrop, I dash out...

(mostly melting!)

... piece of toast, cup of coffee, purse and fat envelope with the state returns in hand, and of course you should not rush when you are almost 70 and holding all that stuff, because, well, what it you trip and fall? 

So now I have spilled coffee all over the tax returns and my phone too. Damn. I pick up Snowdrop and take her along for an errand to the post office, where I make sure this bulgy and wet envelope will be accepted. The clerk smiles and stamps it wit confidence. Back home, Ed is chuckling: I told you you should have filed the state returns also online! 

Meanwhile Snowdrop is in a great mood, because I let her play with my phone during our wait at the USPS and there is some good in that, because she always then manages to teach me a new trick with it -- this time showing me a string of videos of grandkids, clips I never knew I had because, you know, when you take photos, you forget that on a smart phone, these are actual live saved shot to your device.

(At the farmhouse, she introduces Ed to various aspects of the phone's photo storage capabilities. How she knows these things is a real puzzler, since the girl does not herself have a smart phone. I suppose kids just intuit technology even as we have to study it and learn from scratch.)

Evening: I try not to keep checking, over and over again, the weather for the next few days. I have eight of them before I become totally incapacitated. Will we climb out of the near freezing temperatures? Will I have time to plant annuals? It's going to be close!

Never a dull moment here, on our farmette lands...

Sunday

You know it's coming, you can't move forward without it, it's not unusual. All that is true. But you don't have to like it!

It's a cold and wet morning. A few storms rumbled through at night, but they left no mark on the landscape. The rain, however, stayed with us -- a steady rain that will make all plants and weeds grow rapidly. A steady rain that by evening will change to snow. 

We do get snow in April. Sometimes. Not every year. Perennials don't mind it in the early stages of the growing season, but they do not like the heaving temperatures. A fifty degree drop (like the one we had this weekend) is not good for them, though most will struggle through without great damage. The daffodils will topple under the brutal combination of wind and snow, so that's a shame, but we did have a lovely week of blooms so I'm not going to mind when I wake up tomorrow to see them buried under heavy wet stuff.

My morning walk isn't too bad. The rain does make everything that much more vibrant and fresh.

 

But of course, breakfast is back in the kitchen, where it shall remain now for several weeks.

I had put off finishing my taxes and doing my mom's until a rainy day and so there you have it -- my Sunday is set for me. I spend a boring set of hours filling out forms.

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

It was a highlight of the day, most definitely. 

One more form to fill out (tomorrow, as the cold wet weather will continue to torture us one more day) and then I can get back to discovering the joys of spring. Earlier today, I saw Virginia bluebells blooming. And we have a woodpecker in the willow who has the strangest singing voice. Oh, and an ornamental plum (at least we think that's what it is) opened up its delicate white flowers this morning. So much to see and love out there, once this tricky period of rain, snow and taxes gets behind us.

April 15th: the race

Before I mention a word about this day, let me give some context to it: we are one month into spring. Every year, right about now, I begin to clear the flower fields and get them ready for this year's growing season. Toward the very end of April and in the early days of May, I plant the new perennials and I fill the tubs with annuals. Those are the big jobs -- there are plenty of little tasks to be done throughout the season, but these three -- clearing (and weeding), planting (and moving) perennials, planting annuals -- they fill my days completely. By mid May I am usually done and I slide then into maintenance mode: weed, maybe water, trim, deadhead, stalk. In terms of intensity then, the last week of April and the first two of May are the big gunners. I dig, huffing and puffing until my hands blister. 

But this year! Oh, this year! Nothing is as it was in years before. I scheduled my knee replacement in the last week of April (I had to -- I need to be up and running by the end of June). This means that I can do yard prep alright, but planting -- well, I imagined I would somehow hoist myself around and maybe with some magic, I'd put stuff in according to my normal schedule. This despite the warnings from the doc: do NOT scratch yourself or get dirty after surgery! Not allowed! But what's a gardener to do?  I can't NOT plant this year!

And then came this gift: a week of beautiful weather. It's as if nature was telling me -- we get it. You need to do all this before your surgery. We'll give you the sunshine, the warm temperatures. We know you'll do well by your gardens.

I already had some stuff delivered (too early, but hey, this year it turned out to be not THAT too early!) and I called my beloved daylily people (Oakes) and asked if there's any chance they could get my stuff over like... right now? 

Their box came today -- on the last day of good weather (storms and a huge cold front are on their way!). Basically, it means that I have a chance to get most everything into the ground before my new knee is plunked into my leg. But I have to work hard and dodge the weather systems! I think I can do it!

So that's the context for my day.

But as always, we start slowly. I admire the daffodils and feed the animals...

(the hyacinths are also blooming now...)

(this is Pancake -- the newest and seventh feral cat that has taken to calling the farmette "home")

(in just a few days, the landscape has been transformed!)

And then I ask Ed if he wants to go with me for this year's first Farmers Market. I have to smile -- every year, the April markets are an exercise in resilience. Farmers stand in chilly, oftentimes wet weather, customers walk briskly and buy little. This year? Oh my!

Short sleeve temperatures for sure! Huge crowds! I mean, it feels like summer!

Ed, who doesn't typically go to the market with me, is willing to come out of farmhouse hibernation today. After we do the loop around the Capitol, I think he understands why I never come back empty handed. First of all, my long time farmer friends are all there! Natalie, from her greenhouses remembering that my birthday is very soon, Bill from the spinach CSA handing over a gift pack of spinach, Mary the Bee Charmer telling me she just pulled her honey from the hive yesterday (and oh, do I need honey!!), Kyle from Roots Down asking if we came on Ed's famously ancient motorcycle. Then, too, Ed can't resist taking home a jar of picked mushrooms, and a jug of maple syrup for his morning oatmeal, and of course, his beloved cheese curds. 

(Roots Down)

(Snug Haven spinach)

(cheese curds)

(Natalie's flower baskets)

We walk away full of good stuff and good feelings.

And only when we come back do we sit down to breakfast. Treats from Madison Sourdough, because it was on the way. Sort of. And the daffodils? I did clip some weaker ones from the yard, but then I also spent $2 on a supplemental bunch from the market. Why? Because I cannot stand depleting my garden in any way! Ed doesn't have it in him to cut down trees, I don't have it in me to cut down flowers!

But by 10:30 we are done with markets, treats and breakfast and I plunge into the project of getting all the lilies in before the storms come this afternoon.

I. Work. Hard.

And I'm done! Miraculously, my perennial planting is winding down on April 15th! April 15th! 

It's late afternoon and I do take a pause (and drink mountains of cooled hibiscus berry tea -- the perfect thirst quencher!). But I do not stop. By early evening, the rain still has not come this way and I go out to the meadows to spot pull some grasses, to make room for seeds (those will have to go in after the last frost date, so not for a few weeks). Ed is still sawing up fallen trees and it strikes me that we could use another one of those big logs for yet another strawberry basket (I'm getting some more fraises de bois in a few days). We haul it over and position it by the picnic table. And now we really are done for the day.

I feel a great sense of continuity. Age is irrelevant -- I've done this (spring clearing and planting) for more than forty years now, and the growing fields have demanded so much of me, and I have given as much as I can each year, bending down at the waist, legs separated, digging, pulling until it's all ready to grow strong and flourish and flower. 

I forgive Mother Nature for coming back with snow this Monday (so long as it melts quickly!). You can't be greedy: April is not typically this splendid. That I had a week of it is a miracle indeed. I am so incredibly grateful.

with love...