Thursday

You know how sometimes you look forward to a splendid, sunny day and then suddenly, out of nowhere, clouds show up and your parade is rained out? Well, you could say that this morning was the opposite of that disappointment. We expected rain. All week, we heard about the storms and rains that would come on Thursday. Ed was asked to attend a work meeting. When he hesitated, I said -- might as well go. You can't do much farmette work. It's going to rain. And so he went.

I had some early morning appointments as well and so we agreed not to eat breakfast together. It was all just too damn early. I fed the cats, admired the flowers and then we both took off.

 (what's blooming here right now? well, daffodils of course...






... but along the brick path to our door, we have other stuff...






... including the splendid Merrybells (Uvularia) -- a reliable and undervalued early spring bloomer, though you have to stoop low to see its pretty butter-yellow face.)






When I return to the farmette, I am surprised to see blue skies. No trace of clouds at all!

I linger over a solo breakfast on the porch...






... and then set to work outside. Not filling the rest of the pots: the remaining trays of annuals will have to wait.





Why? Well, unfortunately, the predictions for this weekend are dire. The new forecast tells us that there'll be no small benign frost, but instead -- a deep freeze. We will have to move pots in and cover those that re so brittle that they cannot be budged. It will be a tough weekend for the Wisconsin gardener!

I turn my attention to the more distant flower beds that more often than not get neglected. We're going to try throwing down some wildflower seeds that have a fast germination rate. Maybe they'll outcompete the weeds that usually settle in for the summer. So I weed the entire field. That's a lot of weeds! Too, I plant sweet peas -- both the eating kind and the ornamental flowers. This is typically a futile enterprise. Farmette animals (groundhogs, rabbits, etc) love pea plants and always eat everything that sprouts. Still, I never give up.

I work until it is time to pick up Snowdrop.

A funny thing happens on the way to her school: I'm thinking she'd like time at the playground on this warm April day. I check the weather: no rain expected until evening. Still, just in case, I leave the car near the playground, then walk to her school. This way, if we're caught in the rain while playing, we'll be able to quickly seek shelter in the car.

And now I have the flipside of the morning: this time, a promise of good weather turns sour. As I get ready to leave the school with the little one, I see sheets of rain coming down. We have no choice but to head out in the rain, all the way to the playground, some ten minutes away. Of course, we forego the playing outside. We hightail it over to the coffee shop instead.







It's still raining by the time we return to the farmette. She hurries inside...






Happy as anything now to hit a big stack of current favorite books...






... then retreating to a quiet game of Mary Poppins.


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You just never know what an April day will deliver. There is a unique morsel of beauty in that unexpected surprise. I hope Snowdrop recognizes it as we drag ourselves indoors, wet and rather disheveled. We're brave adventurers! -- I tell her. She looks at me skeptically, but I detect a wisp of a smile.

Wednesday

One more beautiful day, before we switch back to April. (I consider this June weather.) Sunshine, warmth, mellow air -- you could not ask for a better day to work outside.

And so we do.

I go out to feed the kitties at 7:30 and I stay out. I weed, first in the company of the cheepers (oh, do they love to see me dig! So many unearthed worms!)...





... then Ed joins me and then we work together on trimming trees. Removing dead branches is like a compulsion for me, analogous to vacuuming a dusty room. To you, the farmette lands will look the same, with or without dead branches hanging from old trees. But to me, once cleared, light comes through. Everything opens up, revealing secret spaces, meadow grasses. Trees have more room to wiggle. We will have done well by them!

What's blooming now? Well, daffodils of course. Gold, cream, single, double -- each one so lovely!






(the flower field to the west of the porch)






The brighter colors are still with the newly planted tubs -- ones that are going to require some protections this weekend as we are now expecting an overnight frost. Again, typical April stuff. We are in April, aren't we?






Breakfast is in the kitchen. Had we waited until noon, it would have been outside for sure.






Once again, we pause with our work in the afternoon. Branches are heavy. Working a saw is tough on the arms.  Still, we are satisfied. It was a productive morning!

I pick up Snowdrop at her school. Sleepy girl! Hey, do you see the pink tulip?? (Most of farmette tulips are devoured by tulip loving beasts.)






Sleep-walking (or nearly that) her way to the farmhouse...






Inside, there takes place a grand transformation: a snack, a book (or two), a change of clothing and out we go again -- to dance class. The bounce is back!











(Storybook ballet...)











Greeting mommy afterwards.






We're in for April showers tomorrow. My garden will like that. Me, I'll look forward to the next set of June days! Sunshine, slathered on a piece of toast. Delicious!

Tuesday

It has been several weeks since I've had a morning without appointments, obligations, or preparations, Now mind you, those busy mornings were often wonderful mornings. But it did so happen that they were mostly very full mornings.

Today I had absolutely nothing on my calendar.

It comes at a good time: my gardening agenda remains full. Weeding, prepping, planting, transplanting. It's a daily effort. For a whole month, every empty hour with decent weather will be handed over to the farmette flower fields and all that grows around them.

In the thick of summer, garden work wears on you. The bugs, the heat, the spent flowers that aren't always as robust as you'd like them to be (what did I do wrong, oh lovely lily??) - you're ready to throw down the shovel, move onto the porch and sip cool drinks for the rest of the season. But now, at the end of April and well into May, it's downright exhilarating to be outside. I look out and I am amazed!











How can the landscape have transformed itself so radically, so quickly?





One week ago, you had to look down, low to the ground to spot anything that was not brown, gray or some combination of the two. Today, our farmette looks positively splendid! (Or is it just me?)






But it is a cool morning. We eat breakfast in the kitchen.






What, from my long list, should I hope to accomplish today? The flower pots: I want to fill most of them. This requires another quick trip to Kopke's Greenhouse, where I spend an hour mostly looking and scheming as to what to put where and with which other plant.

Then I get to work. (Jacket watches.)





It is true that I am taking a small risk: a deep frost would be a killer for all these flowers. I would have to carry every pot inside and my pots can't be lifted anymore -- they'd fall apart. A light frost would also do some small amount of damage. Still, I'm feeling fairly confident. Saturday night will dip into the mid 30sF (just above freezing). Some of these guys won't like it, but they'll survive. After that, it looks like we'll be okay. (I have always planted pots at the end of April and have never lost a flower to the fickle spring weather -- even last year, when we had that horrible frost in May)



It's good to take a pause in the afternoon. Gardening is work filled with hope and love for the enterprise. It needs an occasional rest so that you can process what you've done and reconsider what the next step should be.

My pause comes, of course, because of my time with Snowdrop. And it is a sweet, lovely time!

Can you smell the alyssum? It's like honey!
The listen?
No, alyssum!
A listen?

Oh the twists and turns of language!
 






Inside, we read, I shave Ed's beard, she pretends to paint his hair purple. Regular stuff.






Outside -- equally happy routines. Water play!






Story time!






Touch the baskets time.






This last -- "touch the baskets" -- has become one of my favorites. It's athletic, joyful, full of enthusiasm for the bounty of this incredibly generous season.

In the evening, sandhill cranes come calling. Spring is here! Spring is here! The say the obvious, but it bears repeating -- spring is here!

earth day Monday

You could say that for Ed, absolutely every day is Earth Day. I'm sure he finds all this hoopla associated with a designated day demeaning to the real enterprise of protecting the environment. How will you benefited the planet if you pay attention to your deeds just this one day of the year? I feel differently: for me, Earth Day isn't a signal to give the planet a birthday present of kindness. It's a day to take a good look around, to notice all the small details, to exalt the beauty of our Earth! Then, like Ed, spend the next 364 days trying to do well by it, listening to the science of cause and effect, learning to live respectfully, with care and concern for the well being of animals and plants alike.

So, today we rejoice. And it is a very lovely day! Rejoicing isn't hard when you can once again open your windows wide and listen to the morning sounds of birds stirring.

(Jacket is on the picnic table, crab apple is full of baby leaves and flower buds, flowers are really growing fast now. What's there not to love!)






(The daffodil of the day)






(I throw down some stale bread for the cheepers. Dance thinks they should share. )






Sparrow is with us today. Happy guy, taking apart the little train that once belonged to Snowdrop.






Breakfast on the porch!













Afterwards, Sparrow and I walk the farmette lands. He is a little overwhelmed by it all. And the willow gently sways, and Ed takes a look at the construction crews that keep moving dirt, back and forth, every day, for the second year now, back and forth.






Inside again, playing with the truck toy that we typically leave on the porch, where it spontaneously bursts into a song that is as irritating as the worst TV commercial.






Every year I try to photograph the kids with the fresh burst of daffodil gold. Every year they resist. Sparrow puts up with it for one second. This is it. Now move on, gaga!






Afternoon. I pick up a sleepy Snowdrop. She really really wants to go to the coffee shop then the playground. Really. Well why not. We're to get rain later, but right now it's partly sunny and 77F (25C).






We don't stay too long. She's anxious to get to the farmhouse. Hungry for snacks, for a new book. Still, on our way in, she sees Ed about to go out. Well that does it: if he's going out, then she wants to go out too. With bubbles!






Two children.






In love with the beauty of soapy bubbles.






(This is the only daffodil pic I get out of my time with Snowdrop. The girl accepts my camera, so long as she can go about her business. She does not like to be told where to go or what to do for a picture, so I do not make such demands.)






(Sometimes, I can't tell if I'm photographing a grandchild, or Ed, or spring, or the farmette lands, or a combination of the above.)






(Here, it's the grandchild, for sure!)






For Snowdrop, playing with the hose ranks up there with ice cream and cake and pretty much anything else you can think of..






The farmhouse Easter bunny enabled Mary Poppins to "magically" appear. Snowdrop is significantly obsessed with Mary Poppins at the moment. Her stories spin around the nanny who can whip anything into order, snip snop.






And now it's evening and storms are rumbling all around us. Stop Sign, farmette's feral cat, had come around just before the first pounding of rain. Her tummy was smaller and sagging. She had delivered her babies somewhere. She ate ravenously, then slowly moved on to her secret safe place, out there beneath the pouty skies.

Today my eyes feasted on all that spring has delivered here at the farmette thus far. Tomorrow, I'll return to tending the gardens.