June 1st

I begin the new month feeing technologically at ease! Late yesterday, the Fed Ex gent delivered my replacement smart phone (staring at the black screen of my once trusty phone was so depressing that I finally caved and gave up on the cracked and malfunctioning old one) and, too, my camera, which had been sent to the repair shop in New Jersey. Another software malfunction. I use my camera so extensively that I am used to the occasional breakdown. Fujifilm, my company of choice these years, has a terrific repair service, costing nothing but for the one way mailing fee. I spent the better part of the evening adjusting the camera and transferring data and apps to my new phone and now, this morning, I'm good to go! 

I have not a small amount of amazement on how dependent I am both on my phone and a good working camera. I know people complain about this next generation being glued to the devices. I'm not "glued" to either. I don't find screen time to be exciting or even much fun, but there are functions that the phone has and that the camera can perform that are to me so incredibly helpful that it's hard to imagine that there were days when I traveled and found my way in complicated cities, walked the garden, communicated with my kids, set the temperature in the house, checked the latest weather, identified birdsong, listened to music (etc etc) without the assistance of these two apparatuses. Yes, some will say to tune out of them is to tune in to your own senses. I'm of the mind that they amplify my world and make it a gentler place.

Morning walk, now with beloved camera.

I bake muffins again. Snowdrop asks me every day in the car if I baked something and I've run out of excuses! Besides, she has a haircut appointment today and I promised her a treat at a nearby coffee shop -- without checking first on my phone, which would have revealed that it closes before we can get to it. A muffin will keep her happy.

Breakfast on the porch. I am adding peonies from the garden to the vase because they are just so beautiful and so short lived: I need to prolong our enjoyment of them!

It's another hot day and so Ed and I take a walk on the early side. Before noon. To our park, to check out the prairie, the turtles.

On the one hand, is glorious. The wild indigo is terrific...

There are only two turtles out and about. Maybe the rest are waiting for a stronger sun? Or is the pond already too warm, leading them to move over to the big lake? We do not know.

On the downside, as we take the lakeside path, the stench from the algae is disappointing. We know our beautiful lakes got an earlier than ever algae bloom, but I can't recall it ever being this pungent. We live in a county that has some pretty tough rules about what goes into those waters and I do believe people have cooled their jets with all those lawn chemicals and field fertilizers, but the watershed that ultimately fills these bodies of water runs through predominantly agrarian landscapes, with few restrictions on pasture lands and crop field fertilization. Add to it our spring heatwave and we have trouble. Typically I take Snowdrop to a little beach early in the season. It's fun for her to splash around in lake waters. Not this year. Sigh...

And another disappointment: the Dame's Rocket in the park woodlands is growing out of control. It's such a pretty weed, but it spreads so rapidly that it is a real threat to native plants. I did read this interesting article about eating the leaves of it! This afternoon, Ed will canvass farmette lands and bring in some missed stalks to add to our salads!

In the afternoon I pick up Snowdrop.

In driving between the farmette, her school and the haircut place, I do hit a few clouds that deliver a few raindrops. A cloud passes, there's a little shower, then it's over. Ed later tells me that a bigger cloud passed over the farmette. Indeed, we got hail. And an inch of pounding rain. A tiny patch of heaven for our plant life!

In the course of our car shuttling, we talk about school ending. The last day is next Thursday. That means tomorrow's Friday is the last Friday of second grade for her. "I will cherish it!" -- she tells me.

The haircut is at Bang -- a place I have taken her to since she was a toddler. We have some discussion of how much she wants to cut off. Her hair is so long and the summer is so full of activities that I gently suggest a bigger trim.

She really really really wants to preserve her length. If she's willing to put up with the brushing and care that it requires, then I feel it's her decision. I suggest to the hair stylist two inches. She is satisfied, he is satisfied.

After a short hour at the farmhouse...

... I take her back home. Thursdays evenings offer a chance to catch up a little with her mom. Oh, here come the brothers! 

It's a good beginning to a beautiful month. Did I say May was stunning? Well now, June offers some stiff competition!

Wednesday

I have to note the heat and the lack of rain here, in south-central Wisconsin. Things are looking very dire out there in the agricultural fields and home gardens. People are running sprinklers on their lawns because you know how people are about their need to see perfectly green lawn. [You do not have to remind me that I water my flowers. In my defense, I need to protect the newly planted babies. Still, I gave some full grown plants a boost as well this weekend, so I can't crinkle my nose at the habits of those who get their kicks out of a carpet-green lawn.] Okay, so that's the downside of this week. Hot, dry. Parched earth, thirsty plants.

Now here's my own piece of heavenly news: I took a walk this morning. I'm not talking about the early one, to the barn, to feed the animals. That was brief and nicely cool still.

As was breakfast on the porch. We ate early enough not to be bothered by the rising temperatures.

But afterwards, I decided to give my leg a bigger workout, so I walked over to the new development to case out the place (pausing to swing on the monkey bars for a bit!).

We fought hard to not have the the land to the west, north and east of us developed. We live in the thick of sensitive wetlands. In the end, we lost the war, but won some battles along the way: there are protected green belts and ponds and draining strips to move run off away from the sensitive habitats. A prairie was planted all around us. so from a selfish point of view -- we lucked out. 

And there have been other benefits. I love the countryside, but walking along rural roads is not safe. Suddenly, I have plenty of sidewalks and bike paths, right next door. A playground went up. Squirms likes it, I like it (for the monkey bars).

But all along, I was hoping for one other sugar plum: I was hoping against hope that there would be a commercial space to which I could walk, where I could exchange a friendly greeting, sit down with a beverage and watch the world spin on its axis.

I dont like living in cities, except for this one attribute -- I love cafes that are a hop skip away from your residence. Or cafe-bars, as only the French know how to run them (coffee in the morning, wine thereafter). And country living makes this a pie in the sky kind of thing. In the Polish village where I spent almost all my childhood summers, the nearest place to get an ice cream was a solid 45 minute walk. We did it, but it wasn't a daily thing. In the Connecticut country home where I worked as a nanny for two summers you couldn't walk to anything at all anywhere. Drive a car or die. Yuk. And for all my love of farmette life, I have missed this one delight: the ability to take that walk and to sit down somewhere with a bit of humanity and enjoy the connections it brings, however superficial. Sometimes, one is really in the mood for superficial.

And today, during my neighborhood walk, I ran into someone who was moving into one of the rental spaces and he told me that not only was one building getting a bourbon-wine bar, but the other had rented space to a cafe and bakery. Cafe and bakery?? Am I dreaming?? I timed it -- 15 minutes from the farmette driveway, even at my modest post-surgical pace. Yes!!

You have to wonder why I should have this yearning for a neighborhood coffee spot. I love my own brew at home, I love to drink it on the porch, I can bake, or stock up on bakery treats, so what's the big deal? Why the attachment to something outside the confines of home?

In that space, I get to take note of life as lived by others. I love this time where my world slows down and I look in on something other than my own back yard. I love the familiar nature of a neighborhood place. When I used to pick up a very young Snowdrop in her day care by the lesser lake, she and I would often go for a coffee/cookie at the neighborhood cafe. I knew all the (very slow moving) baristas. I knew how to ask for the right strength of coffee. And now it looks like we may have something moving in right next door to us here, at the farmette. 

I could not be more excited!

(My dreams can be very small.)

In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop and bring her to the farmhouse. Too hot to play outside.

Perfectly cool on the couch with a book.

And in the evening, a cloud passes over the farmette and releases a few minutes of gentle showers. Nothing to make roots happy, but at least it bathes the leaves and comforts the petals. 

And that's a good thing.

Tuesday

If ever you need a reason to keep yourself in good shape, I'll offer this: recoveries from anything -- surgeries, illnesses, you name it -- are going to be less of a slog and a grind for you down the road when stuff starts to fall apart if your muscles and ligaments are in good working order. The caveat is that they'll be better, but they wont be the same as they were when your muscle tone and your immune response was that of a gawky adolescent. I remember when my stomach was cut up back when I was 20. I begged my doc to let me go work on a farm in Finland a month later. He shrugged and said -- sure. I would not say the same if you were 50 years older, but at your age -- go for it!

Well now I'm fifty years older and it's been a month since y knee replacement and I am still slogging along with an ice pack machine and moving around at a small percentage of my previous pace. Nonetheless, Ed reminds me today -- look how good your progress is! And I retort -- but I'm still on the ice machine and the nights are a mess and I'm not doing jumping jacks (or some such nonsense)! 

In other words -- I'm glad that it's all going well, but I can tell by this morning -- I'm not done with naps yet!

It's hot outside. We hit 91F (nearly 33C) on our shady porch. And dry, forever and ever into the future. My flower fields are okay for now, but Ed is up very early to finish planting the tomatoes -- it's too toasty warm to sit out in a sunny field at midday. 

I myself do minimal work outside. A few weeds, water for the tubs, that's it. Indeed, my big activity is a chase around the porch where one of the cats deposited a live chipmunk. My goal was to free the guy, but the cat got to him first and carried him away probably for consumption somewhere away from the mean human that is striving to rid him of his prize.

Breakfast is on the porch. I bring out the fan to cool Ed down after his work in the fields.

(Ed does not get rid of well used clothes!)

And then I work on catch up mail, on a long overdue photo book project, on napping. Inside. Until it's time to pick up Snowdrop.

She has softball practice this evening so our time together isn't long, but as always, it's splendidly lovely.

The girl has taken to loving skirts this spring and though I try to be the kind of grandparent who doesn't care about a child's appearance, it sure is lovely to see her gain confidence in her own style, her choice of colors, her determination to keep her hair "as long as possible!"

In the evening, Ed goes back to his planting, finishing up the great tomato project for now, while I take slow walks in the neighborhood. May and June evenings are so delicious, so refreshingly calm after a hot day! What's there not to love!

Memorial Day

I hope you have a peaceful, reflective holiday.

Here, in Wisconsin, It's getting up there in weather: hot and dry. Not yet air conditioning weather (if you manage window closures right), but definitely summer-like temperatures. And so I continue the watering project and thankfully, I finish things up. It takes four, maybe five hours this time, but this includes a break for mowing down the paths with the tractor trailer and, too, it includes moving a few day lilies that have been obscured by a bit of the garden that I've handed over to wild stuff (mostly raspberry canes, anemone and nameless weeds).

All this after a morning walk...

And breakfast. Prolonged. On the porch.

And I swear, this is my last huge effort to put the dozen flower fields and couple of meadows on good footing going into summer. Yes, there will be daily work. Probably spot watering. Lily clipping! And daily tub maintenance and of course, constant endless weed pulling. But I think I'm done with the six hour stretches of work outside. I'm aiming for half that amount each day, until the middle of August, when I cut it back to a paltry one or two, because by then, I will have had enough.

In the meantime, I'll leave you with a photo of my foes of the day -- the Bresse girls and Unie, their partner in crime. They have been digging up my transplanted lilies, because they love to lie down in the cool, damp soil. This on top of their munching of alyssum, strawberries, and other favorite annuals! Cheepers, must you?!

Well, at least they leave the peonies alone. The majestic, beautiful stars of a May garden.

meditative Sunday

I have been known to say that watering my plants is, for me, serene and meditative. Intuitively I count out sets of numbers - usually working with 16, but more for bigger plants, and sometimes I go back to ones I already counted out, other times I move systematically forward, all the while being at peace with my environment. Today, however, toward the end of the afternoon, I had had it. Indeed, if watering is meditative, then I could well have thought through all the major religions of the world, and considered them in their relation to the great expanse of our cosmos -- from every angle. I spent that much time on watering.

And I'm not done. Tomorrow, I'll get to the Big Bed -- the one flower field that still hasn't seen water for several weeks now.

I've been growing plants long enough to remember summer droughts and to worry if flower horticulture really makes sense given the possibility of long spells of dry weather. We pump our own water from the well at the farmette and there is no indication that we are at all depleting a water source, but still, you dont want to engage in something that requires so much intervention! So I paid attention to what I planted. Most (but not all) of the stuff that goes in is drought tolerant. Even during dry summers, I rarely water established fields. But rarely does not mean never: maybe twice a season I'll feel compelled to douse the beds with a steady hose. (Yes, a drip line would be a better plan, but I still believe that I dont need to water so often that it would warrant running those ground hoses.) Today was one such time. Five hours, maybe six total, I stood there and poured water on the hundreds of plants that badly needed it.

My knee held up, but man oh man did I need an ice pack afterwards!

Forgetting the sheer tedium of standing with a hose for so long, and even if you aren't inclined to treat it as a meditative experience, it's good for you to come in such close contact with all that you have planted. You get a keen sense of the health of your garden. Every plant receives a thorough inspection. And you notice the pretty details that can oftentimes remain hidden.

(new Clematis)

(older Clematis)

Still, it was a long day!

Of course, it didn't start with the watering job (nor did I think it would take that long!). I did my morning walk to care for the animals (another raccoon! Ed!), appreciating the stellar morning -- not so cool anymore!

(it's peony season!)

We ate breakfast on the porch...

... and then I chipped the new shade garden and Ed took down some dead branches from the pines that grow right by the front of the house.

(Dance watches)

I dig and move some hostas and a day lily or two and then, in an offhand manner I say -- I'm going to do some watering, and that's the last anyone heard from me until it was time to fix supper.

The young family is here for the Sunday meal. They had a joyously busy set of days, what with Brat Fest fair rides and kiddie pool play (it's that warm!). At the farmhouse, we slow things down a bit. 

Quiet play.

With the magic of an evening meal outside. 

Before they go home, I take a few photos out front. The three little chickens!

And a quiet parental moment...

There was a time when Snowdrop and Sparrow jockeyed for the platform of the front steps to make "important announcements." It's funny to see how naturally Sandpiper, too, now takes to this "stage."

And still later in the evening, Ed and I exhale, big time. Leg up, iced and resting, TV on, chocolate out. Oh yeah!

full day

Memorial Day weekend: it's time to take stock. 

I have several thoughts this morning. Here's one: if I did "all the spring garden work" in April, then why am I so busy doing garden work now? Another: why is this day so full, given that I had absolutely nothing scheduled for it? And one more: am I ever likely to sit back and let this season wash over me with its singular beauty, enjoying every sensual moment without feeling compelled to get up and, for instance, pull some weeds? As a P.S. I'll add this, which a friend recently posed: am I going to reengage in the more serious writing, the one that lead, for example, to the publication of Like A Swallow?

The answers to these have one thing in common: all that I do now is by choice. Well, perhaps not the blundering around, trying to get my knee to function properly. That's a necessity. But the rest? I like moving sprightly from one project to the next! I will always have a million things that I will want to do with my time. I am not a moper, a recliner, a brooder, I meditate actively, I choose creating stuff over letting time drag me along on something like a river cruise, where I passively look at the scenery, entering none of it. All this may sound great, but it means that I am forever running. Which has its drawbacks.

This morning, I was up and ordering breads and pastries as the bakery opened. A quick walk to feed the animals, to take note of another raccoon, trapped, to admire the small blooms -- here, take a look at a couple of false indigo plants opening up their blue or yellow flower buds.

And then I'm off -- to the downtown farmers market before it gets crazy crowded on this gorgeous day. I haven't the stamina yet for the whole thing, but in addition to salad greens, I do pick up flowers from my favorite flower vendor. It's all blue today -- she tells me with a smile. I love this aesthetic that she brings to her bouquets. Simple but thoughtful. Seasonal and beautiful, and at a good price!

To the bakery, then home, for breakfast on the porch.

We talk about happiness. Ed is a content kind of a guy, so you'd think I'd let him rest in his cubicle of modest joy. But, he does care deeply about the natural world and there isn't a news story out there that doesn't bring with it a negative consequence on the environment. And if it's there, he will find it. Even the positives have their detrimental effects! So this is what we talk about: how to live with an ongoing frustration (with people's cavalier destruction of nature) without letting it take over your whole mindset, so that it becomes the underlying theme for so much of what you say and do. I think we all need to take stock every once in a while of where we're at in our day-to-day expressions. If we feel happy, isn't it grand to share that thought too with those whose paths you cross?

The rest of the day we spend on work in the front yard. The new shade garden which we are building by the front entrance has me so close to the roadside flower bed that I cannot stand any more the neglect I have bestowed on that field of hapless flowers. As Ed heaves dirt and edging timbers to the new bed, I weed and water front road bed with the poorest soil and the driest environment. It's work well spent -- to my eyes it always looks so much better after I've given it my full attention.

And finally the bed is ready. I plant my shade loving perennials.

And toward evening, we go for a walk. I was a tad disturbed at how quickly I got tired from walking this morning. I have to build up my stamina again! Besides, it's such a pretty day and you can't just spend all your waking hours digging around in dirt! We do our usual loop. The whole thing! Slowly.

(on the way to our beloved park -- we haven't gone there for over a month!)

Easy dinner of reheated soup. And a delightful late evening of doing not much of anything at all. Happily.

birds

Next week, a year will have passed since the publication of Like a Swallow. With the exception of my stumble over working on publicity (is it a stumble if you don't really engage in it?), everything about this year of distribution, sales, and LAS discussion has been extremely gratifying. Readers, reviewers, friends -- have been generous with their kind words. I've met people, I've learned what spoke to them, I've grown in my understanding of that postwar period in our collective history.

And in this year, I became a birder. 

If you read the book, maybe you saw it coming? The reference in it to swallows isn't inconsequential. All last summer, I watched these graceful birds that have numerous nests here at the farmette with special interest. And this spring I opened myself up to the next level of bird watching. Suddenly, my days are punctuated by bird mindfulness! [This morning, just before dawn, as I was doing my usual shifting around, trying to find the elusive comfortable position where my leg would ache less and I could sleep more, I heard that unmistakable birdsong outside. Which bird is it? I had to know. I reached for my phone. Ah! Nothing more, nothing less than a Robin. You'd think I'd know him by now -- we have so many!]

Suddenly, I'm seeing stories everywhere about birding, including the very beautiful one today in the NYTimes -- Birds Show Us What it Means to be Free. You may remember the Central Park incident described therein. If you have a minute, read it -- now from the perspective of bird watching. And this weekend, go out early and look for a Bunting or a Warbler. I promise you, nature will not disappoint.

And of course, birds need trees, which brings me back to the struggle Ed and I are engaged in concerning farmette trees. The tug of war here does not put either of us in the right. Well, perhaps Ed has the morally justifiable foothold -- he speaks for the trees. He'll be the one to remind you to read this article on trees (this week in The New Yorker). I'm not sure either of us have fully bought into the idea that trees are sentient beings, but he comes pretty darn close to giving it due consideration. In that case, how can you disturb the natural progression of tree growth and forest development by taking down a team member? And where are all the farmette birds anyway? Up in the higher limbs of the trees of course. Perhaps ones that are creating the shade over my flower fields.

The other side of the argument -- my point! -- is that everything I grow attracts its own species of wildlife. Insects and frogs, hummingbirds. Wild bee species. Moths. All of it. Nonetheless, people destroy trees, forests as if it had no consequence. 

It's complicated!

Morning walk: 

I veer toward the meadows to check up on seed germination, and to pull up all that we try to eradicate -- Dame's Rocket, garlic mustard, catchweed. 

This is the time when the first meadow flowers appear: Blue Flax and sand Dune Wallflower. So lovely to see these pods of color!

It's cold this morning -- the last of the dips into chilly weather. We eat breakfast in the kitchen. Bread from the farmers market black walnut guy, and a rhubarb cherry bar from the Sugar River Country Bakery -- we've been giving them our rhubarb every week now because we have so much of it!

Our work outside continues on this brilliant day of sunshine and warm temperatures. I divide and move hostas. Ed pulls up sod and spreads chips. We both miss our naps! Too much to do out there.

And then it is time to pick up Snowdrop. 

We go to the neighborhood playground for a few minutes. She wants to move through her equipment routines...

... I want to see if I can still hang on monkey bars. (She offers to hold on protectively to my injured leg, but I assure her that I can handle a light descent.) 

And in the farmhouse, we read. Hey wait, that's not Snowdrop, that's me, reaching for a muffin for the girl.  Next to the bucket that catches the ceiling drips! She's good with working that camera!

Afterwards,  I organize my ideas about the shade garden. I'll be planting tomorrow. From a standing position. It can be done!

And the evening light is so pretty and I see the first peony against a golden mass of false indigo. And the birds are chirping and it is one heck of a stunning show out there.