September 1st

It's always momentous: September 1st. Australians call it the beginning of spring. Poles, back in the days, designated it as the first day of school. Here, at the farmette, I think of it as a huge turning point: for me it announces the arrival of autumn. Habits, vision, outlook -- they take on the imperatives of the next season and indeed the one after as well. For a northern gardener, there is spring and summer, and quite separately there's the half year that gives us autumn and winter. And as always, I'm happy to see it coming.

I'm back to going to bed late and getting up early. And since I have no kids here for the next few days, I'm back to thinking about broader issues (rather than musing about this child doing that, and that child doing this, and wondering what it all means and where it's all heading). And as I sift through the events of this past summer, the recurring thought is that everything that happened, everything that was said, and that will be said is a repetition -- thoughts, feelings, words -- excited or disappointed, anxious or happy -- it's been done a million times over, no, a trillion times over, so that no feeling is unique (snowflake my foot!), no expression is novel. 

We are a bunch of repetitive sheep, thinking ourselves to be somehow special, entitled to attention for what we feel and how we express emotion, whereas in fact, we merely repeat what others have said and done countless times before us. Indeed, by the time you get to be seventy, you realize that repetition is there in your own back yard.  It is what brought this on for me in the first place -- I'm noticing, at seventy, a certain familiarity in what I hear all around me and in what I, myself am feeling. Those words? I've heard them before. Emotions? Recycled. 

So what's a person to do, knowing that there is nothing original left to be felt, said, expressed? 

There's a comfort in knowing that good feelings come around again and again, but also in knowing that horrible words are merely a repetition of utterances spoken for millennia. Bullies are a fixture, mopers moped and will continue to mope long into the future. Tune them out, walk away, don't bother challenging them -- they wont go away. A drumroll of negativism will continue long after you and I are stardust. 

Wait, so we are doomed to suffer the indignities of listening to foul speak? 

Since I was really young, like teenager young, I have wanted to live without anger and criticism and all that goes with it. But it took me this long to finally accept that you just can't avoid it, not at all, there are few safe harbors that offer calm, because we as a human species are easily triggered and we seem to enjoy fighting, in the same way that our cats here at the farmette seem to get some pleasure occasionally hissing and clawing at each other. Had they the ability to utter nasty words and critical expressions, they would use them, in addition to the claws and hisses. Peace is a very temporary state of affairs. 

So this sounds pretty pessimistic, no?

No. Quite the contrary. Knowing that it is unavoidable puts the burden on you -- the person who cannot stand argument and nastiness -- to actually not mind it. Ed has been coaching me in this for years now (he, like me, finds argument, disappointment, aggression, negative emotion to be pretty useless) but I've not been listening. I kept thinking -- I can run from noise. Avoid it altogether. I know I can. But it's not true. Noise is everywhere and all you can do is not be bothered when it comes your way, knowing that there is nothing new about it -- it's been said, done, thought, uttered again and again and again by all those trillions that have come before me and you and so it will continue. Your peace is what you construct in your own world of thoughts and pleasures. It's there, but it's within you, not within the world you inhabit. And do remember -- life is packed with good repetitions too. Keep your eyes open for them!

After those thoughts, I walked through the garden, fed the animals and sat down to breakfast with Ed.

(pot near picnic bench)

And then I went to the eye doctor.

You're supposed to see your surgeon a year after having cataract surgery, but I had one eye done in April of 22 and another in October of 22, so I picked this mid point and went today.

Good, good, she said. (Remember? This is a doc who really likes her own work, and honestly, with good reason!) However, you do have a new cataract in one of your eyes.

Can that even happen? I thought once you were done, you were done! So, more laser zapping is in store, though there's no rush. Eyes were the event of 2022, knee replacement -- 2023. Let's return to eyes sometime in 2024!

And then I drove home and pulled weeds, getting the beds ready for winter. (Yep, for winter. The prep starts now!)

In the late afternoon Ed suggests tennis. No, not ready for tennis. Maybe disc golf? No, I'm terrible at it. How about a hike along the Ice Age Trail? Third try's the charm! We set out.

And it's exquisite.

Calm reigns. Good feelings abound. 

In the evening I cook fish and corn because it's already September and though our freezer has a bunch of fish chunks, the corn, that fresh Wisconsin corn picked just this morning (or a few days ago) will soon be gone.

Happiness fluttered into our living room like a butterfly set loose in a prairie.

With love...

new ways

When you come back from a trip, it feels not unlike the beginning of a new year: you have this urge to rewrite in some small manner the way you go about your day. Throw in some new stuff, discard antiquated strategies that haven't worked for years. Well, in my case -- for weeks.

I no longer want to start the day with a garden review and cleanup. Sure, I tidied it up a little today because there were obvious sore spots that needed my attention. But then I let it go. I'm finally beginning to look at it in a new light -- an autumnal light. Appreciate pockets of bloom, often coming in from the pots...

Smile at a sudden burst of phlox color in one corner or another...

Take in the weirdly off schedule, but very pretty hollyhock...

And then I move on to feed the animals.

Breakfast -- a much simpler meal of defrosted pound cake and leftover berries.

I do need to water the porch pots, but then, despite the brilliant day -- full of sunshine yet not too hot (that scorching heat will arrive tomorrow and stay with us through early next week), with diminished mosquito activity -- in other words, despite the nearly ideal conditions for outdoor work, I shrug and put it off for another day. Instead, Ed and I go out for one of our combination bike/hike outings. Just locally. To smell the prairie, because in early fall, you really appreciate the scent of a drying flora.

(such a blue sky!!)

In the afternoon, Ed picks tomatoes (lots of cherries!)...

... and I return to a more dutiful set of tasks. You cant really change all your routines. Habits are stronger than our impulse to shake things up. And so I water the pots. Mow the paths. And in the late afternoon, Ed and I go to our local farmers market, bringing our contribution of rhubarb for the bakers and eggs for Farmer John.

And now here comes the evening: finally, our dinner out, at Sardine. It is totally perfect.

We ate on the early side and come back just before the nearly full moon ascends to shine on the farmette lands. 

May it shine brightly on you tonight as well.

With love...

leaving Quebec City

When you are still part of the labor force, long vacations can be a godsend. Indeed, some would argue you cannot disengage from your work during a short getaway. It takes a few days just to groove into a new rhythm. Another few to stop thinking about the projects you left behind. The French know this. The scoff at the American vacation which is, by their metrics, too short, too intense and too low on good food. It's not a vacation if it's not at least two weeks long.

I used to subscribe to this as well. When the kids were grown and I was once again alone, I took the longest vacation of my life. It went on forever, covered many weeks and many countries and it put me in credit card debt.

Since then, I've completely flipped on this. I have cut back so much that even Ed says my travel vacations are too short. All that trouble for just eight days? -- he'll ask. It's nine! -- I'll protest, thinking that nine is a lot, perhaps too much, next time I'll make it seven.

It's simple really: I dont need to be away. But I do need to get away. It is unfortunate that I live in a country where distances are vast and public ground transportation is poor, because it puts me in flight far too often for it to be environmentally sound. Nor do I especially love airports and bumpy flights. But I will find ways to accept that price for the chance to put myself elsewhere, as often as my conscience and my wallet can afford it. Not for long though. I love Ed, I love my life back home, I dont want to be away from it for too long.

This Quebec trip though, is unusually short. I'm returning home today, so I will have been gone for all of three nights and four days. It's short in part because the young family's getaway is also short and I am here for our time together. For them, travel is an adventure, but it's can't be relaxing. Young parents know this: going away with three young kids, where one of them rarely likes to sit still, is challenging. I can imagine that after a handful of days you begin to feel nostalgic for your home where you can actually get through a meal without working hard to keep the little guy quiet. Yes, it's all worth it and the memories are grand, but don't for a minute think that it is easy.

So, it's a short vacation for them and an even shorter trip for me and still, it is beautiful and the memories will be intensely exquisite. 

The morning is cloudy. There will be rain, there will be storms they say. No matter. We will navigate the city with umbrellas!

But first, breakfast. (I bring down my prized blueberries. Is this even allowed? Better not ask. I add them to the hotel's strawberries  and raspberries and have myself a delicious yogurt with Canadian berries supreme! And croissants.)

Afterwards, I take a stroll around the old town. I'm not ambitious today. 

And just before noon we meet up for lunch (definitely lunch!) at Les Trois Garcons, a bistro (in the best sense of that word) up the hill.

(here they come!)

(In our case, it's 2 garcons and 1 fille)

(On the move! must be time to go...)

They turn toward a museum. One about chocolate? Or about comic books? I do not know the ultimate decision. Me, I leave the upper town and head toward the hotel.

At two, I catch a cab to the airport. The driver is chatty and curious. Where are you from, where did you learn French, the usual. Importantly, he asked if I liked Quebec. I would have lied to be polite except that I didn't have to. He beamed: we are three things -- clean, safe, and friendly!

Yes they are.

I'm surprised that there are no weather delays. The flight takes off on time and by evening I'm in Chicago. 

International arrivals at O'Hare right now tests your travel patience. It's worse than arrivals/departures in Paris and that's saying a lot!  The line to clear immigration snakes through low, stuffy corridors and it snakes through hallways and then more corridors and you feel so embarrassed that this is the welcome all visitors receive when they land here. I know the airport is undergoing construction and there are posted promises of better days ahead, but from the looks of it, that may not come in the immediate timeline. I was happy to have my trusty KN95 mask but I do think that we are not doing ourselves any favors by packing people in like this from all corners of the world. If they weren't sick before arrival, they will be after they're done with this line. I asked one of the guards if this was unusual or an everyday thing. He and his pal answered in unison: it's every day. One hour to clear passport control? Really? 

A bit of a layover there, and so I treated myself to a bubbly something or other at the American Airline terminal. It was lovely.

On-time departure for Madison, and by 10:30 in the evening, I am home, under the light of a full Blue Moon. Hi Ed, hi farm animals! I am home.

Quebec!

You cannot expect great weather every day of your vacation. You just can't. All you can hope for is for some days to be extra fine and we have had those. Today and the next day, on the other hand, are slated to be wet. But not all the time! For example, I wake up on this morning to a very pretty sunrise.

Again, there is no morning rush and for this I am grateful. The kids are on a late schedule and they sleep deeply, well into the next morning. The adults, I am sure, appreciate the lackadaisical beginning to each day. So, I'm on my own with my regular ol' get up at a fairly early hour, with my moments of sifting and sorting in my head the details of the last month, with stepping into that strong shower for a real spa moment!  [You would not believe how weak the water flow is at the farmhouse! We are used to it and Ed reminds me that we save a ton of water that way. When I travel, I love the sheer luxury of something that feels more like a massage than a regular old shower.]

Breakfast. I'm more sensible this morning.

A pastry or two, their island strawberries, yogurt. As I pull away bits of a cinnamon roll, I look around the dining room. Early Fall is the time of senior travel. With good reason: the weather is usually optimal, the venues are less crowded. It's quiet, as the more boisterous crowd is back in school, at work. I take the time to imagine each person's details: what are their handicaps as they explore the world? Hearing aids, stiff joints, slow movements are common. But what else? And what does this particular trip mean to them? Is it a first to Quebec? Are they reliving a beautiful moment from their past? Do they have kids and grandkids back home? 

I think when you are older, despite the physical limitations you now face (new knees on steep steps: ugh!), you are happier and more appreciative of all that you see, all that you smell, taste, experience. You know what you like, you move slowly, you take in every wonderful detail. And the comforts these days! The technology, the simplicity of using a card for everything (I did not exchange a single dollar for this trip)! Travel may be harder at some level, but it's easier at so many others.

And then I go for a little stroll, before it gets too crowded out there. I walk the whole length of  the Rue de Petit Champlain. The Architectural Digest puts it on its list of the 53 most beautiful streets in the world. You can argue about this if you wish, but to me, it's jut a really lovely corner of the city. So I linger. And do very trivial shopping.

And then I turn in the opposite direction, to meet up with everyone for brunch-lunch. For some reason google has me take the back alley. An interesting perspective on the city...

(out on the street again, going uphill)

(here they come!)

We go to Chez Temporal, which has to be a real crowd pleaser as it has it all -- eggs, sandwiches, croissants, waffles. We pick our favs and wait for the food to arrive.

Sandpiper gets a little antsy here. I take him out for a walk. Sparrow joins us.

(aren't you supposed to sit on a bench?)

(Okay, the food is surely here!)

And now it's time for a little more of tourism: we head toward the Citadel and the Plains of Abraham. You have to have a little bit of Quebec history under your belt to appreciate the significance of this place: it's where the French tried to hold onto their settlements, fending off the British successfully, until they couldn't anymore, thus sealing the fate of this territory forever. Well, until it all falls apart as we fight each other to death in the centuries ahead of us.

On the way to the Citadel we pass a small playground. The kids are thrilled!

(the boys choose this time to stay dry)

(Approaching the Citadel)

(only Sparrow walks over to the guard without hesitation; the others are put off by the gun...)

We opt not to do the tour (that is required for visiting the Citadel). A two year old is going to hate the constraints of a group trudge and he is not going to listen quietly to a history lesson. Instead, we turn away from the Citadel and walk over to the Parliament Building.

(Quebec is rich in water fountains, which makes these kids very happy...)

This Parliament proves to be a wonderful place for a visit. Few people go there. It's free. It's beautiful. You can pace yourself and visit the chambers independently. There are places to sit. Winners all!

(waiting for an elevator with a mirrored door...)

By mid-afternoon, the young family heads back down to their place to try to nap their energetic Sandpiper. He has a longer evening before him and he'll do better if he's at least a little rested. I head go to my hotel. It's raining lightly now -- the system of clouds and moisture has finally arrived. It'll stay with us for a bit, but that's okay. The bulk of our sightseeing is behind us. We can deal with wet clouds!

And in the evening we meet up for a Quebecois meal at La Buche. Think: deer with bacon dressing. Well, okay, there are plenty of more conventional Quebecois dishes. I opt for the fish, for example. The kids are happier with grilled cheese sandwiches. 

On the walk to our respective homes, we stop at a small grocery store. Tiny as it is, it nonetheless has boxes of Quebec wild blueberries. A must for me! 

And we stop, too, by the Champlain monument, where a street artist is putting on a show for a rather large audience. The kids find seats, enthralled by it all -- the acrobatics, the lateness of the day, the communal nature of the event.

There's no doubt about it: vacation evenings, travel evenings are special. They stay with you for a long long time. And you never even notice when the rain drops come back to moisten your face just a little. It's all part of the uniqueness of being being with your family, far away from home, sharing with them, with others too, this moment of a splendid summer adventure. 

Goodnight Quebec! You've been stunning and wonderful. Tomorrow, I'm returning home.

with love...