Tuesday

I sit down to breakfast and look at my hands. Purple fingertips, blue-ish palms.

I'd scrubbed them well, but flower juices are strong. My hands are merely showing two hours worth of pre-breakfast garden work.

My intentions when I set out hadn't been so noble. Trim a few day lilies that were in my line of vision, that's all. I picked up a bucket and headed out front.

And then I got carried away.

Because the beds really do look so grand when they're well tended!

(A spectacular lily in the front road bed...)






Scotch is hoping for some bread. She gets it. Eventually. Today, breakfast is very late for everyone at the farmette.





Having snipped and clipped the front bed, I of course had to do the one that lines the driveway. Which leads me to attack the bed by the parked cars. And how could I not work through the main lily bed by the porch?? I needed to clear that one out! It all looks so much finer once I'm done!






Leaving me then only with the bed by the western edge of the porch and of course the great bed the grand dame of them all. I could not neglect that!

After the work view toward the barn:





View toward the farmhouse:





Nearly a full two hours of work and it would have been wonderful, meditative work except for the mosquitoes. I did wear a mesh jacket, but my head and legs were bare. You know you're torturing yourself when mosquitoes fly into your open mouth, your eyes, your neck.

Ed commented that I should have stopped, sprayed and dressed in full protective garb, but I told him I never intended to do the whole thing. I just worked from one flower to the next and could not stop, because the vision of that completed field was too lovely.

Even though I know that tomorrow, dozens of spent blooms will again fill the yard.

Breakfast. At 10:50.





This is what we see from the porch table, looking out toward the front:





And this is what we see looking out toward the west side (I rarely photograph this bed, but it really is a pretty potpourri of blooms):






I tell Ed that he could not possibly enjoy the long breakfast as much as I am enjoying it this morning. Two hours of swatting bugs followed by an hour of total bliss.


When I pick up Snowdrop, I really begin to feel the heat of this day. The sun comes out and the air feels still and heavy. The little girl is always just a little tired after school and today, when I ask her if she wants to linger at the play ground or the coffee shop, she chooses the coffee shop.

For once, I'm glad of the air conditioning. Snowdrop's sweater is not inappropriate there!






After a double snack, Snowdrop is revived and ready to go to the pool. Though perhaps she wants to conserve her energies, because she asks -- can you carry me, gaga?
Oh, that's way too far. It would wear me out and who will then carry gaga?
She gives this some thought and then answers honestly -- I don't know... She then reconsiders: Snowdrop!

Yes, I think she's feeling peppy again.

At the pool, I take time with the sun screen. This is how she looks without a sweater!






Here's how things look when we enter:






Snowdrop is joyful to be in the water again!





But if yesterday the crowd was tame, today, it's as if all the school programs decided to pack the kids into the pool to cool them off. Slowly but surely the place begins to fill up.





Snowdrop holds her own, even in the thick of the chaos that ensues. She is mindful of the dashing splashing, screaming kids around her and she watches carefully, oftentimes trying to imitate or at least make sense of someone else's game.

After an hour though, she is tired. She has had a long day. Can we go to the showers gaga?


Back at school, where I left the car: Can I sit here? And then: what is this? And this? And this? Everything on the dashboard interests her! It's a long while before we head back to the farmhouse.







Happy girl. A brief play with babies...





A few good old books, a couple of new ones and now comes the much needed rest period. For me, this means a prolonged period on the porch, looking out. The afternoon light is different, but the garden is still fresh, vibrant, thriving. My beloved lilies, in the company of so many other "friends" are doing just fine!





And so are we.

Monday

When I do a thorough farmhouse cleaning, typically, as this week, on a Sunday, I tell Ed to please keep things squeaky clean for that one day. I don't set (many) (any?) rules as to how things should be the rest of the week. We muddle through: he tries to remember to be at least a little orderly and I silently straighten things that I cannot ignore. The farmhouse is our home and it has to be comfortable for the person who is fussy and for the person who is the antithesis of fussy.

But as I step out into the garden this morning, it strikes me that raising day lilies is like letting a hundred Eds loose each day, without any rules or requests. Why? Well it's obvious: yesterday's perfection is today's spent garden. All those lovely trumpets are long gone. New ones will have emerged, but the old ones droop and wither, ruining, or at least diminishing the aesthetic somewhat.

All this to say that I really do like to spend the prebreakfast hour tidying things up a bit, even if it means I have to wage war with the mosquitoes. To me, it's worth it.

(I do not have favorites in the garden, but these beautiful trumpets take my breath away each year. In the past, I've paired the photo with Bach music clips. So sing to yourself a favorite Bach melody!)






I do not aim for perfection, just (as in the farmhouse) a modicum of visual loveliness.

(These "girls" remind me of a flight of butterflies...)





(Speaking of girls, here are the two who rarely scratch in the summer months; mostly they hide under the cars, but one loud "cheepers!" call is enough to have them come running for the usual scraps of bread.)






Breakfast: long and lovely. It is the perfect weather day. Zero complaints. Totally perfect.





For the rest of the morning, I go out in ten or twenty minute spurts -- to pick over the grand bed...





... and the front road bed (seen here from another corner).






It's a well known fact that achieving success, however you want to measure it, requires effort. And so I slap away the mosquitoes and tend the flowers. Yes, it's worth it.






When I pick up Snowdrop, she asks immediately if we can go the pool.
We don't need to go to the play ground or coffee shop, Gaga. We can go straight to the swimming pool.

The good news is that I am prepared for swimming, but of course, we have to kill time before the pool opens later in the afternoon.

We play games at the play ground. (Hey, gaga, you go to that house and I'll go to this house and then I'll climb up here and hey, you can go up there ... etc. "Hey" is a favorite word of hers these days.)





At the pool, we are, as always, right at the opening hour. So yes, Snowdrop has her sublime moments of total quiet, before the crowd descends. Or perhaps I'm the one who enjoys the stillness. She rather likes watching all the kids play.





But here's a surprise:  in the ninety minutes we are there, only one school bus delivers kids from some program or other (last week, one very warm day had twelve buses here). Perhaps pool comes as a reward for a few days of work? I cannot tell.

(Snowdrop is delighted to have baby with her again. She is a nonstop chatter box and baby gets a lot of advice, reassurance and instruction, as well as a few tosses!)





I consider myself to be a rather hovering type of grandma. I do not necessarily think this is a good thing, but I cannot help it and surely in the swimming situation, better oversight is just fine. But it's so easy to miss something! As Snowdrop roams the pool (she is getting more adventurous each time we're here), I watch for a few seconds another child managing a difficult social situation. I then turn my head toward Snowdrop, only to see her completely submerged. Perhaps she tumbled. She is certainly up and laughing quickly enough. But I have to say, I am glad that, in addition to my presence, the pool is well staffed with a whole crew of roaming life guards. For that moment when, like me, you get momentarily distracted.


(A favorite Snowdrop activity: to go out and run in screaming. Like the big kids!)






(At the farmhouse, dressed up and ready to play. Can I ride the bicycle? No! It's time for a book and a nap!)






I think I wore her out today. Or, more accurately -- she wore herself out. She sleeps a good long time.

(What's this around her mouth? Oh, she spied a leftover cupcake from Saturday's party.)






A more serious dance around the living room...





... and she's whisked away home.



I settle into evening routines, but with windows wide open. It really is a gorgeous evening! Too, I'm pan frying fish. The fragrance of fish goes out, the smell of summer comes in.

It's hard to get me to do anything big or bold after dinner, but today is somehow different. Is it the perfect weather? The beauty of a summer evening that's flawed only by the bugs close to the land?

You want to play tennis?

Without hesitation, Ed is up and we're headed toward his motorcycle. But here's a surprise: our favorite hidden and not really well tended tennis courts are being used!

How about the ones near the lake? Those are even more dilapidated. Surely no one will be there.

Indeed. These Lake Waubesa courts have weeds growing in every crevice and believe me, there are chips and crevices throughout. The net is missing. The place is a mess.

But we're here and we haven't another option and so we give it a try.

And I swear, we have one of our better games ever. Perhaps it's that it doesn't matter. When you are faced with ideal conditions, maybe the pressure does its work on you. It feels like you are being watched and judged. Here, you are doing the courts a favor just by showing up. In the same way that any garden pruning that I do, under adverse conditions, is a glorious benefit. Who cares that it's far from perfect?

The air is cool now. Ideal sleeping weather. But who wants to sleep when the evening is this grand?

Sunday

Each year, the swallows come back to nest in our garage. (This year, we have nests in the barn as well: it's as if the cousins and aunts and uncles have moved in with the original crew.) This is nothing short of remarkable: they travel all the way to South America for the winter and come back late spring to find us here, at the farmette in Fitchburg Wisconsin.

Our little green frogs have a much more local habit: they survive the winter by burrowing into the rocks at the base of the lily bed and they hibernate. (Some of our bigger frogs I'm sure burrow in our huge wood pile out back -- which is home to a diverse collection of living things, including groundhogs, rabbits, and chipmunks.)

On the other hand, I like to remind myself that life cycle of a mosquito is short: typically two weeks. If I don't zap them first with a battery charged paddle (so satisfying!).

But the life of the monarch butterfly -- now that's a miracle in its own right. I am always thrilled to see this great beauty pause on one of our milkweeds.





The job of a monarch is to reproduce. This butterfly, like the mosquito, also has a short life -- maybe two to four weeks. But in that life, if there is nourishment, eggs will be laid and a next generation of butterflies will hatch. Four generations in one year.

I'm thinking we're probably on the third generation right now. It will be the job of the fourth and final one to travel -- all the way to Mexico -- to spend the winter there, before returning to reproduce here. This last generation has the burden of travel. But it is rewarded with a much longer life span -- of eight or nine months. Nature insures that they will live long enough to come back here again.


Yesterday, I was talking to someone who is considering moving to the city (meaning to Madison, from the countryside where she now lives). I nodded my head, agreeing that there is a downside to living away from sidewalks, stores, public transportation.

But I started my life living in the country and now, in retirement, I am back again, close to the world of butterflies and swallows. It is a world that you don't notice much when you live in the city. It is a world that I do not want to leave anytime soon.

A view toward the porch. The front row of day lilies is perhaps the most regal and splendid and I noticed today that the first blooms (the orange trumpets) were beginning to pop open!






Standing now by the porch (swatting at bugs) and looking out, toward the driveway...





And let me not neglect this bed that is just by the parked cars. It's only in its third year but it is a remarkable place of great variety and color.






And always, a joyful nod toward the great bed!





Breakfast on the porch. We're late getting to it. The usual Sunday house cleaning, tidying, and dallying. And we linger, watching the swallows for a long, long time.





(Again, our view at breakfast and no, it is never the same!)






In the early afternoon, Ed does some spot mowing -- meaning he goes over the grass in areas where I'm likely to wince at the height of the grasses, clovers and a plethora of other small weeds.

While he mows, I clean up the front bed. Again, it's impossible to photograph well (in my view) and so you get just a small corner of it.





Then I get ambitious. I have a whole day before me! I fight off the bugs and clean up most of the day lilies growing at the farmette. It's a huge job, but made difficult only because of the bugs. It is immensely rewarding to emerge at the end of the day with a clean farmhouse and a tidy yard!


In the very late afternoon, Ed and I do what we had intended to do last week -- we hoist the bikes onto Ed's car and set off for a cycling adventure.

In the past, I would have regarded our chosen route as a tame enough ride. (Ed still regards it as a tame ride, though oftentimes, I cannot tell if he's bluffing.) Today, I thought the hills were going to do me in.

(A very lovely beginning: with two sandhill cranes moving out of our way...)





We cover some two dozen miles of country roads. Looking very much like this:





Dairy, corn, soy. And hills. Wisconsin staples. (Here's how the corn crop is faring: one and a half the size of me!)





Your milk may well come from here...





We have to pause a few times: to adjust my gears. And to adjust my hip (!) and his leg cramp (!).

Are we getting old?

Nah. We just need more tweaking than perhaps we may have some dozen years back.






At home again, take-out sushi never tasted so good!

Saturday

I am up too early. That's it, I'm sure of it: that's the reason for the mosquito uptick. Things will settle down as the day progresses.

Wont they?

They do settle down a bit, Ed tells me later, even as I'm not there to find this out. I have only my early morning walk through the farmette lands and so I wave my arms and make do.

And it really is a lovely walk. A few of my favorite moments:

The corner of the lily field:

And here's a reason not to snip off all the spent lily blooms: our resident green frog (she is here every single year) likes the juiciness of that wilted flower!

A commenter asks about our tomato patch. I braved the bugs to go out and do an inspection. So far so good! And I got two ripe tomatoes (the first ones!) for my efforts!

The rest still are at this stage:

Back to the lilies! So tall, regal, colorful!

Here's a photo that puts things in perspective: the lilies do not stand alone. They are in the company of other perennials to the front and to the side, and even some annuals at the base of their bed.

Breakfast...

With a view.

And one more garden photo -- Ed "commissioned" this one, asking me -- did you catch that one of the golden flowers over there? The sunlight on them is incredible! Okay, Ed. This one's for you.

I have a rather early meet up with Snowdrop and her mom. We're off to the farmers market and we need to do this efficiently as our afternoon is blocked for other events.

(The market is, of course, bursting with flowers as well. Here's one family vendor out of oh so many!)

(Snowdrop admires the mushrooms I pick up every single week here...)

Smart girl: she finds it easier to move on the grass, where the crowds are less dense...

Every little one needs a respite and a hug in mommy's arms...

After the market, we pop into the toy store, just because. Snowdrop shows me that indeed, she has ridden the scooter many times (at school).

Back at her house, her mom is getting ready for a baby shower for a good friend who no longer lives in Madison but who is here for this event -- along with her whole family.

(Snowdrop enjoys the preparations which include balloons...)

Summer punch!

What's remarkable about this duo is that these "girls" first met up at the beginning of first grade. They were the new kids in school. They quickly became friends. Seeing them today, and, too, the parents, was like rolling back the clock a good thirty years...

Toward the end of the gathering, Snowdrop comes downstairs. I didn't think she had much of a sweet tooth until I saw her dive into that cupcake, followed by a chocolate lollipop.

I did not return to the farmhouse until evening. I'd promised Ed a round of tennis and I almost backed out. I'd been up and moving around since that first morning walk in the garden. I just wanted to sit. Perhaps with an Aperol Spritz.

But I didn't back out. Our tennis game in the hidden and neglected courts out there amidst pines that spray spent needles everywhere are like an escape into a world that is without chaos or worry. It's a quiet space, thick with the fragrance of spruce and pine. We didn't play well today, but it was a heavenly game nonetheless.

Later, much later, I sit on the porch, writing, watching the sparky fireflies, the diving bats, listening to the crickets and the final call of a few persistent birds. The swallows, which have adopted the farmette for their extended family use, have long retired. We'll see them again at breakfast, swooping gracefully from high above, into the garage, then out again.

Inhale, exhale. It was a full and beautiful day.