Sunday

Spring came back today. You know, that lovely time of cool breezes and puffy clouds -- weather that I associate with Scotland summers? Here for a day!

The winds chased most of the bugs away to their hiding places. Such a magnificent reprieve! A morning walk in the garden...





... quickly morphed into a six hour outdoor adventure of clearing peripheral beds, moving plants, hauling chips.

(All this, of course, after a porch breakfast.)






In our walk across farmette lands, we took note of the wild prairie to the north of us (I want to tame it a bit, Ed is reluctant), the thriving grape vines (the Burgundian trim was so good for them!), the decently growing young orchard, and the very lackluster performance of the tomatoes.

(The young chicks followed us, but I think right about here, they got stuck in the tall grasses and turned back.)





It's become obvious to me that the soil in the tomato bed is not good. The six bushes Ed had kept out of the bed are doing phenomenally well. But the ones we put into the field are just okay.

We till a  weedy spot closer to the sheep shed and throw down some chips.






We transplant a half dozen tomato bushes to this newly formed bed, ensuring that the root ball is placed in a soil rich in compost. Let's hope this helps them regain some of that tomato oomph.

Otherwise, things are looking pretty good!





I put down my shovels and gardening gloves and go inside to cook dinner for the young family.

Snowdrop is playful of course. She always wants to plunge into a high energy game (even though she comes here right after a soccer match), even as we're winding down for the evening. But, she has Ed: he never says no to her.
Want to play "family?"
Sure.






My daughter is only ten days away from her due date. Yes, I can tell: this babe is getting anxious to come out!






Even though it's a cool evening, we eat on the porch. Snowdrop picks out everyone's sun dried tomatoes from the pasta dish. She just looooves sun dried tomatoes!






Every last one goes into her mouth.






Late evening. Still cool, dry, spring-like.

A quick sweep, a short stroll to the car and they're off.






As I glance out the window, the clouds part and a corner of the big flower bed lights up with appreciation.






Yes, I'm truly thankful as well: it is a beautiful time to be at the farmette. June, at her best.

Saturday

As the number of trips to Chicago grows (I'm running quickly through my packet of bus round trip tickets), I become less distracted by the city. In the same way that I no longer photograph Madison's farmers market in its own right (it is the combination of Snowdrop and market that prompts me to use my camera), I no longer feel compelled to take pictures of the neighborhoods that I visit in the big city. I am here to see Primrose and it is only when she steps out into the urban landscape that I think to myself -- wow, this is incredibly beautiful! And I snap.

On this trip, I am staying with the young family.You know -- these people!






I'm not here long. Weekends especially are a precious time for them. No one has to work. Both can look after their most special charge.

(Primrose, getting her hair "brushed")






I want to leave them to their days together, as a young family.

But we do fit in an outing. It's cool outside: a hoodie is most appropriate! A hoodie, with a smile.






We go to the local "pub" (Publican Anker) for brunch. The parents reminisce how Primrose was just a few days old when they first brought her here. Kids make you aware of the galloping pace of time.

Unlike that first meal here some seven weeks ago, Primrose sleeps only briefly now.






Still, she is at this moment (no promises for next week or next month or next year!) a good restaurant baby. Even if she does cast a suspicious look my way, as if to say -- wait a minute, you're not my mom or dad. Are you that gaga person?    






Your parents haven't abandoned you to the wolves, sweet Primrose! They're right over there, see?






How I love these young couples in my life! I get a whiff of something ephemeral and at the same time eternal, just being in their company.



And then I come home to the farmhouse.

(Siberian iris, along the driveway.)






(A peony asks: okay, you're home... can I unfurl my petals now?)






Ed and I are not a young couple. We're active, but we can groan loudly after an especially strenuous day. And we are just a little bit (okay, a lot) set in our ways. You don't see that and you don't believe it about yourself until you watch younger couples navigate a day.

Still, the fact that we are together tells us something: there's a whole lot of elasticity left in our approach to the other.

Do you want salad with dinner today?
No, I just had one yesterday. They're all the same.
Really? (I admit I ask this in a not too friendly a voice.) I chop some avocado and throw pea shoots, arugula and butterhead lettuce into a bowl for myself.
Maybe they're not all the same.
It's just a salad, for Pete's sake.
Maybe I want one too.
Not today. 

A whole lot of elasticity, don't you think?!

I go out for a short little walk up the road. The deer are moving through the remains of the farmers' fields. The light is gorgeous, the breeze is cool.





June is off to a beautiful begining.

milestones

Markers of the progression of time: the year is full of them! Many of my significant ones are in the garden. For example, there is this moment when all the flowers in this one small group of the Big Bed bloom together. Each year when this happens, I think -- we are in the thick of another year of flowers! And it is beautiful!





I should say that in early June, the garden is in transition. This is when the annuals in the tub do their job so well -- they blend with the perennial beds, creating a continuous ribbon of color,  Here are two such spots:











Breakfast. Earlier than usual. On the porch.






I have three important things to attend to on this day and each is a significant milestone:

First, I secure the final details of the move date for my mom (it will be in the first half of July). I should note that she is no stranger to Madison having lived here during the earlier years of my daughters' lives. But, she's been away from this place (and from winter!) for nearly twenty years, so the change for her will be huge.

Secondly, I attend the end of year musical event in Snowdrop's class. I have to admit that these end of school year performances have always been totally lovely for me. All I see is how much my child or grandchild has grown, how much they have taken with them, but, too, how much they have contributed to the classroom community.  Can anyone doubt that among Snowdrop's many gifts is her ability to bring a smile to a face?






Snowdrop's school year doesn't end until next week, but today felt like an ending for sure. A happy one, with the anticipation of more adventures, growing friendships and wonderful stories in the year ahead.






And now thirdly, but not less importantly, I move quickly from Snowdrop's classroom to the park-and-ride, where I catch the bus to Chicago.

I have a chance to visit with the other great grinner in the family -- Primrose.

(mother and daughter, smiling at each other)






I note the little one's own milestones: she now has her very own favorite page in a book: a picture of a cow (of all things).






She is bookish alright! One story about babies, one about sheep, another about an owl -- all hold her attention.






And another milestone for me, for her: I am entrusted with her care while her parents go out for a first evening without a child dangling from the ergocarrier, or snoozing in the stroller.

Primrose's dad grabs a bite on the run, the little girl smacks her lips, but understands that such delicacies as a french fry are for an older set.






(I have a hunch that mom will find it strange to be out on a date without the babe nearby.)





Of course, the parents have orchestrated things beautifully: Primrose is fed, swaddled, lulled to sleep. They leave.

Within ten seconds of their departure, Primrose is up and asking "where are my parents??" Well, she's not really racing up and down the room, and she's not articulating much of anything yet, and secretly  I'm kind of glad she has her small outburst, because otherwise I'd feel my big milestone baby sitting job would have been pretty unimpressive. As it is, I "expertly" lull her back to sleep. Between you and me, a child could have done it. Primrose (thus far) is a good sleeper.

the science of it

You awake?
I am now...

So many of our early morning conversations start this way!

I've been reading about mosquitoes...

Yes, I know Ed's been on a learning expedition. He wants to know the science behind the mosquito life. What good is buying traps or repellents when you don't know what you're working with?

There is this study in Canada... Here, let me show you the video. It demonstrates how it is that mosquitoes can hear. It may not be your smell that attracts them but your voice!

Ed has attached a net to a big fan and we see that it can trap thousands of mosquitoes. He wants to set up fans in different parts of the farmette. Now he is speculating if throwing in a little phone with human voices would bring even more into the net.

Me, I can hardly stand to watch the little bugs on the video clip. This year, we were so shortchanged in our spring without them -- just three weeks (typically we get at least two months)! They are not out in full force, but they are definitely present. Just look inside Ed's mosquito cage!

Still, I enjoy the morning walk through the gardens. Here's a look toward the writer's shed -- the original bait to get me to spend more time here.






Oh, how we have grown since those days! Six chickens and a feral cat called Stop Sign!

(A rare shot of all six girls in one frame)






Breakfast, with peonies felled by the little chicks who insisted on roosting on the little support cage and, too, lilac from our late bloomer -- so very fragrant you need only a branch or two to feel utterly intoxicated by it!





Later, we have an appointment with the city engineer to discuss the development that is taking place to the east, north, and west of us. I almost don't want to go, feeling that my one contribution will be to rein in Ed, who tends not to spend time on niceties, preferring to get right down to the crux of the matter, which in this case means letting people know that someone hadn't been providing sufficient oversight over potential damage that may (or may not) be taking place with the depletion of the soils around us. Ed always always does his homework thoroughly and he is a formidable discussant.

But I do go. I have my own questions and the city engineer is helpful in addressing my concerns and promising to do further investigations.

For today, there is quiet all around us. The graders are resting as the soil is drying out. Nature has her own way of saying -- slow down.

(A view toward the big flower bed)





In the afternoon, many many many things happen all at once. Let me mention just two:

Snowdrop comes over. No quiet play for her today!





She is wired! Full of energy and joy, she wants to play!

(Jumping so hard that her "two piece" flies with the wind!)






Just at this moment, I get a phone call that we all have been waiting for for several years: my mom has received clearance for an independent living apartment in downtown Madison. We have a move in date! At the age of 94, she'll be packing her bags and relocating.

There is much to be done in preparation for this. But for now, Snowdrop has her own whims and desires. Here she is, chopping her own watermelon for an afternoon snack. She is very handy with the knife.






After swimming, the little girl so wants to play outside! I spray some organic (meaning ineffective) bug spray on her and we go out. She is determined to throw a frisbee around, but even though the bugs do avoid her, they are nonetheless everpresent. As are the little chicks, who think that a tossed frisbee is merely a special treat for them, dished out in this colorful way.

(Snowdrop tries to explain that it's just a frisbee... to no avail.)






A better place for short term play is the chipped courtyard. I toss her the hose and she is delighted with it...






... playing a robust game of "let's get everything in sight, including gaga, as wet as we can!"





Evening. In the space of a few hours, I make arrangements to purchase some furniture for my mom off of Craigslist, I buy plane tickets for me, for her, I make reservations and to-do lists to keep me on target.

Later, much later, I put away my notes and review the photos from today. They seem so tame and almost mundane, no? A "chase away the summer heat" series of moments. But, I can assure you, there was nothing tame or mundane about this day. And that turns out to be quite the good thing indeed.

conversations

We wake to the steady patter of rain. Like everything, this has its downsides. More rain surely will bring with it more mosquitoes. But, plants need rain, the kind that falls steadily, for an hour, perhaps two or three hours. The kind that replenishes and rejuvenates.

Too, I need a rainy day to keep me grounded. Backs recover far more quickly if you're not walking the yard cheating on your resolve to stay upright, just so you might stake that flower or pull that weed.

Okay, one quick walk, to enjoy the Big Flower Bed which, arguably, is the prettiest of the flower fields in early June. I resist picking any weeds.






Breakfast is on the porch. It's warm enough and it's quiet, but for that slap slap slap of rain against the glass roof. The trucks retreated. The ditch where they're working to remove sand (who knew that underneath our clay soil there is all that lovely sand -- needed in other parts of the development) is likely very wet by now.

Serenity comes to you during a rainy day breakfast outside.






Ed is now off at meetings after, I'm sipping tea, smiling at small nothings that you only remember when you take the time to sit and mull over the events of the past few days.

I'm remembering yesterday's afternoon conversation on the porch. Ed had gotten up to do some machine work in the sheep shed and Snowdrop wanted to know what he would be doing.
He's fixing one of his machines, I tell her, not knowing exactly which one or for what purpose.
And what will he be doing after that?
He'll be fixing the truck. See how it leans to one side?
It's broken? 
You could say that.
Just like this Saturday he fixed the broken "inta-net." (To Snowdrop, anything that happened a few days back, happened on a Saturday.)
I smile at that. What, to a three year old, is the internet? Yes, so that our computers could work.

The girl surprises me constantly. Children do that to you: you get used to their knowledge base, not realizing that tomorrow, it will be that much greater. A couple of days ago (let's just say Saturday!), I told her that she was using her brains well. She looked at me and I could almost detect an eye roll.
Grandma, I only have one brain. Inside one skull. 

I learn that this piece of wisdom came from a conversation she had with a teacher in school. Things like that trickle down to me sometimes. Teachers don't report them (I asked yesterday at pick-up -- what did she do today? The teacher answered -- chopped carrots, which she likes, both the chopping and the carrots), but if you ask Snowdrop the right questions, sometimes you get these glimpses into who said what, even if you can't quite figure out for what reason.

(Looking toward the farmhouse after the heavier rain)






Time to pick up Snowdrop.

I'm feeling a bit like one does when milestones gallop before you: could it be that this is the little one who still seemed so toddler-ish a few months ago?





Can I untie your sweater? -- I ask her.  It's getting warm again. Someone must have shown her how you can keep it nearby without actually wearing it.
No, gaga, I'm fine.






Yes you are!






There is still a threat of stormy weather and so I bring out my rainy day supplies -- today I'm trying out a set of marker/paint/crayons. (What'll they think of next, eh?) And a new coloring book.





Snowdrop is a consummate artist: she uses her pinks and purples with total concentration. And more importantly -- finds great joy in the whole process.

But after an hour or so, the outdoors beckons. Can't I go in the pool today?

Well why not. It's 80f (26c) and just to make me feel good about acquiescing, we even get a bit of late afternoon sunshine.

Plus, Snowdrop adds an extra plug for the wading pool: I had just banged her foot with the sliding door to the porch and of course, she was upset by it.
I'll calm down much faster if I can swim. The tears will stop coming to my eyes.

How true.






In the meantime, the three little chicks settle in to roost among my peonies and irises. I demonstrate my total love for these babes by letting them do that.





Evening. It's so quiet now! A tweet, chirp, a flutter of something in the sky. It would be perfect were it not for the bugs. Ah well, as we always say -- there is always the porch. A haven, with an eye toward my gardens and a whiff of all that makes this season so extraordinary.

Monday

Well, it was bound to happen. One day you're bouncing around moving earth, trees, plants and stones, the next -- you bend down to pick up one stinky weed and something in your hip snaps and you're out.

On the upside, I'd already done my glorious morning garden walk...






(Snowdrop nirvana: beloved pink, with her backup favorite, purple)






(Breakfast)






I had the whole morning to do all sorts of stretches and beneficial twists, none of which helped, so I finally popped two Aleve and set out to pick up Snowdrop.

I warn the girl that I can do pretty much everything, so long as it's slow and contemplative.  Looking at beautiful peonies at her school fits the bill!






As does sitting on the porch and watching her splash. We have another 90sF (about 33C) day, making this the hottest May on record (as measured by how many days we crossed 90F).






Snowdrop also enjoys putting on a dance/story number. She has an audience and she informs us what role we might play in her fictional narrative.












We have an interesting interruption in our play. The construction crews have been digging a massive ditch to the east of the farmette land and I submitted an objection. The drop is dangerous. The removal of land is not reflected in any of the approved development plans. We asked for clarifications.

Today, all grading operations ceased. In a handful of minutes, a safety fence went up. The construction crew and the engineers representing the various interests are working out the details.

(Snowdrop is delighted by this adventure.)






(She enjoys participating in the discussion between us and the head of the construction team.)






Evening. Bubble time. It's been some day! Back's out, Snowdrop had her own share of bruises, the trucks rumbled, then fell silent.






Whenever life throws you a tough hand, consider blowing off bubbles up up and away.

And afterwards, take in a whiff of that sweet sweet night air of May.