back to normal

I don't know about you, but my 'normal' varies. A summer normal is not a spring normal is not an autumn normal is not a December - January normal. And no normal bears any resemblance to my October normal. So maybe it's wrong to think of myself as being back in the fold of routines, since I don't seem to have any that I stay with through the year. And yet, it sure feels like today was rather normal. For a Friday, that is.

It meant that I had time for a morning yoga class (it had been weeks, and it felt like it had been weeks), this time with a friend, which makes it nicer, even though I had to dash immediately to campus afterwards.

It meant that I had a long string of student appointments, followed by a faculty meeting, followed by catch up desk work, followed by grocery shopping for the week. All typical Friday stuff.

But here's the joy of joys: I come back home and there is nothing that I have to do before tomorrow. I can read a book, take a walk, cook dinner, take a nap (though the bed is already amply occupied by two other nappers.  So long as we're into photographing sleeping guys, let me sneak up on the two upstairs... Typical sight. In bed, jacket on, computer on chest, cat wanders over to the window).






Outside, it's a little hazy, a little gray, a little cold. The truck farmers to our east have fire going. I'm not sure if it's there to burn stuff or if it's there to keep warm in these last hours of farm work.





 It surely looks like they have the fields ready for the planting season.






Closer to the farmhouse, I come across a surprising display of resiliance. A day lily that will not give up the ship. Straining to bloom in November.






I make chicken soup for supper. Lot's of chicken. And Farmer Lee's carrots. Which take a lot of scrubbing, but hey, what are brushes for, if not this.

We eat and track the news.





...Until we each are more asleep than awake, or at least I feel that this is so.

the first day of november

I had to go easy on Isis this night. In my most difficult week, he had stayed low. Often, he'd avoid the farmhouse. As if he knew that I just hadn't the energy for his foibles. When he came this might, I petted him profusely. He'd earned it.

Not to say that he was humble in his acceptance of my gratitude. He sprawled on the bed, between my limbs and refused to move.



photo by Ed


I was so tired, that mostly, I payed no attention.
See?? Ed tells me… You can sleep through anything! Storms at sea, anything!
We'd been having this discussion -- whether I am capable of ever enjoying a long boat ride (it's part of our winter break planning). I say no, he says yes. In our life together, vetoes usually prevail.






This morning, I set out on Rosie feeling chilled, rushed and tired. But knowing, too, that the toughest work period of the entire year is (mostly) behind me. So that's a good thing. And anyone out and about today would have noticed and given a nod to our great Midwestern sky. Nowhere in the planet is it more expansive, beautiful, humbling than here, for us, standing in Wisconsin fields of grain (and other more interesting crops).






Then follows the hellishly busy Thursday. Teach, work, work, teach, teach, work work work, office hours, office hours, office hours, phew. Done.

I thought I'd be stumbling home now, depleted, desensitized, but no! It is a gorgeous evening!






Full of... sky!






At the farmette, we have s surprise gift. Farmer Lee left this for us.






Ed tells me we should winter them over in our root cellar. I didn't even know we had a root cellar.  Isis looks on.






It is the evening of a promised dinner out. Not a big deal dinner out, but a "you don't have to cook" dinner out. The kind where we each take along good reading matter (no kidding) and we look for a place to sit at the bar (at our local Dane Pub). There is a pool table behind us and as we wait for our food, Ed asks -- you want to?  Of course, it's one of those things that he's done quite a bit of in the past and I've done hardly at all and so our talents are mismatched, but that's fine -- it makes for a quick game, after which we can go back to our reading materials.



another Ed photo


We ride his motorbike back to the farmhouse when it's good and dark, good and cold too. At home, he asks if I want a hot shower to warm up. No, just turn on yesterday's Jon Stewart and sit next to me. And of course, very quickly, in mid-sentence, I doze off.

October 31

I dressed like a pumpkin today. That is, I wore an orange shirt and green cords. My students looked somewhat skeptical, but I tell you, that's about as dressed up as I've gotten on this day. Ever.

Why is it that some people love to dress up and others can't really muster up enthusiasm for it? Costume or cocktail dress -- none of it excites me. I care about the clothes I wear and yet, I can't seem to warm to the idea of dress-up.

(Excuse me: I forgot to post the morning shot. In honor of Maine, I suppose -- the poster of the fishing boats is from there...)





(And I should post this shot -- from Rosie's back, on the way to work. It makes me think we have mountains at the horizon. As you'll have guessed, actually -- they're clouds.)





At Paul's cafe this afternoon, the barista spoke excitedly about a hypothetical costume she wanted to wear: dead, bloody face and a sexy dress... when people ask what am I, I'd answer -- dead sexy. But I figured this is a child-friendly place and that wouldn't fit in. She seemed disappointed. I'd be thrilled if somebody told me I shouldn't dress up.

And yet, I like holidays. I like special days, pretty days, as Ed would say -- Hallmark days. Days of humor, warmth, days of pumpkins, if pumpkins be the way to go.

Pumpkins. I can do pumpkins! Out back, left by the farmers who farm there.





And creaky barn, with cobwebs and mice and who knows what other vermin inside.





After? Too tired to sleep. Catch up time. Scheduling a whirlwind of late afternoon/evening office hours tomorrow. Because if you give written feedback to students (this is what kept me up nights the last days), they always like to review it in person. All 54 of them. Which is a good thing. Except for the fact that there are 54 of them.

wind

I hear Wisconsin mentioned again and again in the news -- we're the western most state to feel the effect of Sandy (the storm system that pounded the east coast). I didn't believe it. You would have had to have experienced the blue skies in recent days. No storms headed here. Couldn't be.

And yet, the wind did pick up today. No, it really picked up. I took Rosie to work only because I was so harried and hurried and all things in between that I thought I could stand some cold air whipping me about a bit. It did that. I thought many a time that the wind would do me in, pushing me off of Rosie, gusting me right toward the lake or worse (yes, there's a worse) -- onto the pavement in the path of a moving car.

I write to say that none of this happened.

It was a hard day and I have exactly 15 more hours before me of hard work and then things get back to normal.

In the meanwhile, I wanted to provide you with a view of the wind. You can do that when you live in the shadows of a huge willow. Unfortunately, the wind paused somewhat, just as I took out my camera and I didn't have time to linger. Still, it's a pretty set of colors out there in the nearly evening light.






If I looked toward the farmhouse from where the willow tree hangs low, I'd see it in this way:





So there you have it, your photos for the day.

In other news, I did take the major step of disconnecting myself from the world today by agreeing to abandon my land line. This was to save money and to do away with the dozens of senseless political calls I get each day. So, tear up my number -- I do not have it anymore. I am cut off from the world.

Still other news? I took the time to make cabbage soup. Enough for at least three days. When life is knocking you about a bit, there's always cabbage soup. I suppose that calls for a photo, no? Okay then, a third shot and then I go back to my work. 14 hours and 30 minutes and counting. So hard.

a day of leftovers

Just remember, two more days and it'll be November. Remember that when you scan the post for content. Remember that I'm gasping for air and what I come up with isn't worth noting here. Do you really want to know that my one fun outing was to Target where I bought nothing at all? That I finally took the step of giving up my land line? (This last move was prompted by the election calls I got this last month. Often a dozen a day. And no one else calls, ever. Except once every two years, my father, from Poland. I have another solution for him. Google phone!) Otherwise, I worked.

After a sunny breakfast...






And a trip to Paul's cafe, where I worked some more. Until closing. Oh, here's a different shot for you -- of the farmhouse, as we approach it in the early evening from the road.





From here, it looks larger than it really is (just as from the back, it looks smaller than it really is).

Dinner? Well now. Yesterday I made spaghetti ai frutti di mare (well, at least one type of frutti -- shrimp). This, after watching one person after another in Maine last week order at a superb restaurant spaghetti with shrimp. Come on! I kept thinking... why order this here when you can make it at home? So I made it at home (or some inferior version of it). But I sauteed too many shrimp and boiled too many noodles so today's dinner was reheated spaghetti in a sauce of left overs and frozen stuff: yesterday's shrimp, frozen tiny tomatoes from the garden, frozen corn from the market, limp leftover scallion. Delightfully unfresh, but oh so honest!

sun, moon and some stuff in-between

In the cold season, we follow the sun. Inside, outside -- where it goes, we go. We had set up a breakfast room in the east room, because that was the brightest in the morning. But today, we notice the angle is not right anymore. So we flip furniture. My desk in now by the less sunny spot, the breakfast nook is in a new place, by the sunniest (at this point) window.






Will we move it again? Whatever it takes. Nothing beats a breakfast bathed in light.






The land outside was curiously darkened and lightened by swaths of light and shade. Different yesterday, different from tomorrow. Shade, sun -- they're not stable, not by a long shot.






There are spots that see full sun in one season and no sun in another.






It's all very intriguing and it keeps me amused even if there isn't another source of amusement today. It's a full blown workday and there isn't much else to it.  Well, there's Isis.





And Ed -- who continues to love to interrupt me, tempt me, entice me with ideas that I then have to turn down.


In the evening, we do have a spell of pleasure. My daughter and her husband are again at the farmhouse for dinner.






There's a full moon out tonight. You know that. The whole eastern seaboard knows that. But here, the moonbeams are radiant and uplifting and it's hard to imagine that elsewhere, they may be (indirectly) lifting bodies of sea water to higher levels.


 


This full moon is called the Hunter's Moon and if you stand outside long enough at the farmette, you'll hear the shotgun go off in the distance.






October is always one of my toughest months at work. This year is no different. On the upside, by midweek, it will be November.

Saturday

If you face a full weekend of work, you just don't have the same frame of mind early in the morning as you would if you were, say, facing a day of hiking. You move more slowly, deliberately. Indeed, you stay in bed longer if you can. Forget the rise at dawn type of wakeup. It's nearly 7:30 before I finally will myself out of bed and even then, I'm slow to focus on what has to be done. I glance outside, note that the frost was strong and enduring, I go out.

Cold, frosty cold, beautifully cold. Frost mutes every color, every rooftop.






The farmers out back left pumpkins in the field. Don't know why. They're frosted pumpkins this morning.






Frosted pumpkins, frosted farm tools tossed to the side.






Warm oatmeal, warm coffee in the sunroom.







After? Oh, don't make me say it. Work. Lots of it.


Fast forward to the evening. I made a supper that was too veggie healthy.





There's such a thing as a day that's too wholesome for words. Kind of like watching extra scenes of a movie that was already overly serious and staid. I can hope, I suppose, that tomorrow will be more punchy.

Friday

If at night I'm the one who wakes up and worries imagined worries, Ed will be the one to wake up and methodically study all anyone needs to know about acquiring a new gas water heater. His handful of sleepless hours is more productive than mine.

And in that handful of hours, he comes across hints as to what may be ailing our (not that old) water heater and he goes downstairs and fixes it. And maybe it will not be the last fix, or maybe it will be the very last fix and the very last try to get the thing to perform already, but whatever the future may hold, at least this morning I wake up to a nice warm shower.

And sunshine pouring into our east room, a.k.a. (for this season) -- our breakfast room.





Fridays are typically slower days for me. I am my own boss then. I don't rush.

Today is not a typical Friday. Hearings on campus, meetings too, and an errand on State Street, means that I am on Rosie, scooting out sometime after the sun has already risen, but just barely.





Enough to throw gold on the old barn and the sheep shed by its side.





But it is cold and riding Rosie in near freezing temps is… invigorating. Maybe I didn't wrap enough layers around me, or maybe our blood is still boiling from the heat of the summer, but I remember thinking -- wow, when it hits 40 in the winter, it's cause for a celebration. Today it just feels cold.


Afternoon. It is a sweet time to be out on State Street: tomorrow, the adult world parties here in Halloween garb, but this day is for the kids. They're invited to walk along and grab candy from businesses handing out bucket loads of sugar.





Very charming, very adorable and for the most part, very bundled.

At home, Ed is sleeping off a night of water heater woes. Most of the time, it's easy to live with a person who is basically retired: in control of his own schedule, Ed is so often there when I need to talk, to go to Paul's, or to do a quick round of tennis. But at other times, maybe like tonight, when we're cycling in different timezones, it's not so easy. To a person on a work schedule, a free evening is a gift of time. To a person without one, an evening is like a morning -  is like any other hour of the day or night.

Now, where's that book I started on the flight last week and didn't have a chance to finish? Oh, I see. By the bed, on Ed's side. Hmm, he's read more of it than I have. 

Isis, go bother Ed. I'm busy trying to unwind.

farmette living

…Maybe the most likable part of the day is this: at dawn, when I am forcing myself to get up (as opposed to wake up -- that part had happened when Isis went into his meowing routine at some earlier hour), the sky turns a pretty pink.






It is warm enough for me to dash outside in my night attire. We tend to think of one day being toasty and another being cool, but the change from one season to the next may in fact come in the middle of the day.






Breakfast is rushed. In the kitchen.







Then I'm off. In the donkey car.

A glance toward the barn...







And I'm away, swept up in a Thursday that has no slow minutes, none at all.

But eventually the work day comes to an end. And now I'm back in the donkey car, driving home, into the dirt driveway, parking it at the foot of the willow tree, with a view toward the barn.

And I look at it again -- same barn, but now it's evening and a raging rain storm rolls in and the warm temperatures roll out and all in all, it's pretty miserable out there.







Ed asks -- want to go to the (evening) Fitchburg market? I have to force myself to consider the positives (cabbage, some cheese curds).











After, I'm about to settle in to a toasty evening of work and recreation (Ocean comes to mind) when Ed, after investigating why still the water heater cannot sustain heat, comes in, sits down and announces -- we need a new water heater.

There is an upside -- a newer, more reliable water heater. But Ed takes time to decide on models, installations, etc and so we are slated to be without hot water for … days? weeks?

...Just as the temperatures are plummeting to wintry lows.

by the light of the moon

Late. I'm on campus, but I'm done worrying for the day. We're to meet and coordinate some outdoor farmette time (Ed and I). But our signals are crossed. He should have sent a message, I should have checked for voicemail. Now, here it is -- nearly the end of the day and soon it will be the end of the day and believe me, there will not be a day like this until… well, maybe April if we have a freak warm spell again come next spring. Splendid warm air: the last ounce of it lingering, letting those who can, soak it in. (We ate breakfast out on the porch this morning. Out on the porch, how cool is that!)







But it's hard to fit stuff in on work days. Indeed, I should have no expectation of fitting stuff in on workdays. Enough that I muddle through, get work done, put dinner on the table (the little table, in front of the TV) and put up a post. That's it.








Today, though,  I want to have a few minutes to get the front yard winter-ready. This is the moment to create a winter garden -- a textured yard that will look pretty with or without a snow cover.  And it is the time to clear away unsightly spent growth. And to put in some bulbs. All in the space of the few minutes between work and dinner.







Ed is only now getting ready to pick up the bulbs and I'm already winding down inside so that every step is slower than the one before and yet -- when we finally do come together -- he with shovel and the newly acquired bulbs, me with the will to get the job done, we come at it with strength and enthusiasm.


Yes -- can you see it? The yard is winter ready.







We plant the last of the bulbs by the light of the silvery moon. After, I cook up a chili. With chicken meat because they were out of ground turkey.

The warm air is surely retreating now. The last bloom is hanging it up, most every leaf has fallen. And we're ready for the next stage. Thanks to this gift of a few hours outside tonight, we're set.