avoiding the big storms

We have been lucky. Storms pass through to the south, to the west, to the east. We have seen little of them thus far. True, we eat breakfast on the porch today while the clouds rumble loudly not too far off, but none of the damaging winds and ball size hail passed through this way. Yet.





I'm not sure if our luck will hold today. As I study the weather maps, trying to decide if there will be a few hours of good outdoor play with Snowdrop, I see that we may dodge the weather mess. Or we may not.

I don't do much yard work this morning. A few seeds planted, strips of grass by the driveway trimmed -- nothing huge. We're moving slowly in these unusually warm days.

But I do notice that we are now in a new stage of farmette life: we've moved from fresh spring leaves and emergent perennials to a lushness that usually comes at the very end of spring. Everything looks terrifically abundant!






As I pick up Snowdrop at school, I spot her playing in the school's sandbox. Has she had her fill of sandiness for one day? I don't think so...






We explore the neighborhood.

She is happy to again pause at the coffee shop, as much for the refreshing water (yes, there's the sweater again!) as for the bite of blackberry scone.






After, she lovingly takes her paper cup for a walk.






But if sweater stays on for the walk, it comes right off when we arrive at the farmette and I tell her she'll have to take stuff off if she wants the sprinkler and sandbox.

I did it! I'm ready!






It's a delicious hour of water and sand, then water again.

(The cheepers catch the stream flowing from the sprinkler. Snowdrop wishes they would wash their claws in the spray itself, but that's just not going to happen...)






She is exceptionally sandy and wet by now, but it's nearly 80F (26C) and so she minds none of it.






When Ed walks over to examine the tomato plants (doing fine!) and the cherry trees (they'll be producing heavily this summer, for the first time!), Snowdrop wants to follow and explore. And the dandelion puffs (abundant!) transfix her!






Throw them in the air and watch them fall!






Again. And again.
















Henny wonders: what's all the fuss about? Frankly, we like the little white flowers better. So refreshing to munch on!






The little girl marches around the tomato field, to the grapes, to the fruit trees. Want to follow ahah? Does he ever say no?






Evening. Snowdrop wakes up from her nap, a bit disheveled, way too warm in her jammies (her choice of wear, as I rinsed and dried her dress). Ed comes in and takes out the watermelon from the fridge.
Want some? -- he asks her.
He's eating it, so it must be good. Yes!

They sit on the floor across from each other, she, still in her jammies, munching watermelon.
It is so wonderful! -- she says, excitedly.
Wonderful? Big word for a little girl -- he smiles.






Ed gets a work phone call and Snowdrop will not leave him to it, so I take her outside.
I want to wear those boots! - she tells me, pointing to her winter shoes that I neglected to put away this spring.
They're for winter. It's warm, you don't need them.
Can I please wear them? She does know the magic words...
Okay.
Is it dark outside?
No... In the summer, it gets dark much later. You're in bed and it's still light.

We go to the far end of the farmette and watch the farmers work the fields. I tell her -- you're getting to be taller than our baby tree! (It's an especially slow growing tree...)






The wind gusts now. Ed can't bike tonight. The weather is too unstable. But Snowdrop is just in love with it all!






Her parents come. The wind rages. She hugs. She's happy.





We're all happy.

summer in May

How warm is it today?

This warm!






A brief summer interlude. It may be a record high. Right around 86F (30C).

Oh, what a day it is!

Of course, it doesn't all hang together. There are no pesky summer mosquitoes. And for Pete's sake, the lilac is still blooming! Weighed down now by the flowers and the wetness of the night, it is brilliant in its full loveliness.






(We eat breakfast on the porch.)






As is the case in mid May, hardly anything else is blooming yet. Just at the cusp, nearly nearly, but not yet.






(Well, there are exceptions: the lily of the valley -- a flower I adore but have removed from all my flower beds because it's just too invasive. So it grows wild and strong in the front of the farmhouse. And I always pick a bunch and it smells of my childhood -- a sweetness so intense that I want to share it. Ed, smell these!)






Not a week of many new blooms, but most definitely a week of rhubarb.






I no longer have a big list of gardening chores (just lists of little things), which perhaps is a good thing, but then a morning passes and I wonder -- what did I accomplish today?

Never mind, time to pick up Snowdrop...

... who continues to be very attached to her sweater.

Little one, shed your wraps!
I don't want to, gaga.
I try peer pressure again: look at all the kids in short sleeves!
She gives me that look of disappointment, as in  -- I thought you'd understand, gaga...






Alright. I'm contrite. Let's go to the coffee shop and share a cherry scone.

We eat it outside and coincidently, at the table next to ours, a school friend is also eating a cherry scone. Snowdrop pays attention.

I throw out an incentive: after you're done, we can go to the farm and if you take off your sweater and put on a bathing suit, we could take out the little pool...

The sweater is off instantly. As if the pool was there, on the sidewalk, waiting.






She swings it, wraps it, parades with it off, right next to her school chum (who, as it happens, also has a fondness for sweaters and sweatshirts)...





... and proclaims: I'm taking my sweater now for a walk!

And away she goes.






At the farmette, Ed and I had set out her pool earlier, anticipating the extremely warm afternoon. Snowdrop is joyous!






Want to come in, ahah?
I'll just sit here...






She's up, she's down. She dips, pours, drinks, splashes. In other words she is a kid. In love with summer.






(And back in the farmhouse, in love with that book about families, babies, sisters and brothers, coming to visit grandma...)


Can we read it? Can we?





Yes, Snowdrop.


Evening. These days, Snowdrop asks to go out. For an evening walk. I always hesitate. This isn't a good time to play, to open up the sandbox. What will she want to do outside? I don't want to end the day with a series of "nos."

But mostly, she just wants to touch the evening.

Maybe pick a tulip, but this is easy -- they're past their prime anyway...






Maybe run to the barn to check on the state of the coop...






Maybe sit in the grass in the front yard and watch the cars go by.
Snowdrop, that grass is taller than you! I must tell ahah to cut it.
Ahah will mow the grass!

Ever the optimist...






How good is that!

the middle of May

I'm not firm about it. I allow myself room to adjust for weather permutations, family commitments, other preoccupations. But it is true that since I moved to the farmette and began the project of planting and pruning and growing things here, most especially flowers, I aim to be done with the spring sowing and dividing and introducing new arrivals by the middle of May.

And so it is at once remarkable and rather predictable that this afternoon, just as the first ripple of thunder warned me to head back indoors, I put in the last day lily and sowed the last packet of seeds into the ground. May 15th.

Of course, one is never really done. New ideas, new spaces, plant sales -- these all keep me going until the mosquitoes make life outside too unpleasant. But there are no more imperatives. If I merely attend to what is there (watering and weeding), all will be well in our gardens.

It is also a turning point: early spring blooms are nearly all finished. I'll be laying down the narcissus leaves and stems this week.

So I have a special fondness for the last of the brilliant first bloomers, including these tulips which line the driveway...






And of course, the heavenly, heavily scented lilac.






Breakfast in the sunny fold of the bulging purple branches...






And after breakfast, I return to the final sprint of planting.

The cheepers, as always, come to check on my movements. Digging in the front? Show us what you unearthed!






By now, Java will tag along after Scotch, who comes right to my hand if I discover a worm. Henny is still reluctant to get too close. Three birds with such differing personalities!


And speaking of fascinating personalities, let me jump to just past the noon hour: Snowdrop pick up time.

I'd deliver a bale of hay to the school. The staff assumed, correctly, that we store some hay in the barn. Or maybe Snowdrop told them this. In any case they pleaded for a bale and they got it. Well, minus a few wisps of hay, which the little girl wants to preserve for herself. (She does not need a sweater. It is hot outside. But Snowdrop has an especially keen attachment to sweaters.)






As we walk the neighborhood, she asks, as always, for permission to pick a flower -- typically a dandelion puff or a violet. These she stores lovingly in the stroller, snapping them in with the seat belt. To keep them safe? Does she wonder what happens to her collections at the end of the day? I used to save them for her, just in case she asked, but I found that for her, the act of preserving is more important than the act of recalling.

Isn't that a little bit like me?


We go the park. When she looks a little to the left, you can hardly spot the wounds of Saturday (which, face on, look even more vicious today).






The way to get her off the swing: should we go back to the farm and play in the sandbox? Condition: sweater must come off!

It gets better: we set up the hose to issue a little fountain of sprinkles for her. She is thrilled! (and yes, it is that warm!)






Ahah, you want to wash your feet with me?






Scotch, would you like to wash your feet with me? Scotch isn't as willing.






As any kid who loves water play, she eventually gets her hands, arms, face wet.






Oh happy girl! Your joy is our joy.






But I do need to change her clothing at the farmhouse. She doesn't mind. She is content. And she goes to her doll to share her warm fuzzies with "baby."






Evening. It's nearly time for Snowdrop to be picked up.
I want to go outside, she says.

She looks with a targeted gaze at the tulips. Can I pick one?







In the past I always said no. Tulips are to be enjoyed in their regal garden settings. But we are at the end of the season.

Sure.

I want to give it to mommy. 
It matches your sweater, Snowdrop.
It's for mommy. It matches my sweater.






She adds a mostly wilted daffodil to her fold. For mommy, she assures me.






She leaves.

I have no gardening imperatives. I fix leftovers for dinner and exhale, with a smile.

Mother's Day

To all moms out there -- and there are many -- happy mother's day!

I am standing with a hose at midday, by any accounts a terrible time to water flowers, but I have just put in ten bare root daylilies and you have to water them thoroughly when you plant them, so there I am, being a bit fanciful with the hose, throwing a shower this way and that, and out of nowhere, a humming bird flutters by, liking that shower very much, dancing nimbly in the gentle stream of water, enjoying himself I'm sure. Like a child -- I think. A child would do just that on a warm day when offered a chance to get just a little wet!

Mother's day. In south central Wisconsin, you can typically count on okay weather. And you can count on the lilacs being in full bloom. So let me give a nod to the weather (perfect today!). And the lilac.






You'll remember that Snowdrop is sleeping over at the farmhouse. When she wakes up, her first words are "I want to go downstairs and make pancakes!"

She has her routines and her associations, that's for sure.


(On the porch, after her bath, watching Ed do his morning chores...)






Finally, our threesome breakfast. (She has her own fruit. She chooses to eat his. He lets her. So typical!)






Pancakes at last...






And then I hustle her to the car (even as she is feeling exploratory) so that she can get home to celebrate mother's day with her parents.






And oh, do I dig in to work then! I try to put in all the rest of my perennials, though at noon I abandon that project in order to help with the tomatoes. This year we're organized: I know which little babe is of which variety. 96 plants, thriving so far, in  they go!






A pause, just to talk to my younger daughter. A lovely moment on the porch with a cup of coffee and a cookie...

Then back to work.



Evening. The young family is here for dinner and it is a joyous, lovely evening meal. Preceded by gifts. For me! Brought over by Snowdrop!






The little one gives me a card just from her, with oodles of doodles inside, beautifully drawn/scribbled by her own hand.






(Gaga and Snowdrop...)






(My daughter, her mommy...)






Dinners on the porch are like a slice of heaven on a plate...






Because it's a special day, there's cake. Chantilly, with fruit (I did not bake it). She loves it. We love it. It's easy to love pretty much anything put before you tonight.






One more bit of whipped mascarpone cream!






One more bit of mother's day sweetness.