Mother's Day

Being a mother. Whoa, it's the biggest challenge! The head spins! Just so you know, you can fill those mommy-type shoes even if you do not have children. And the flip side of this: you can have children and not be engaged much in the mommy life, for whatever reason. Still, for most moms, I do think kids make you rethink life. They're a preoccupation, an emotional high, riddled with a touch of anxiety. Mothering is a process: you never stop figuring out how to do it well. It's a belief system. Something that fills your soul every day of the year.


 



So happy mother's day to all you mothers and motherly dedicated souls. Sit back and reflect on how wonderful it all can be!

(here's someone who has mommied her way through several litters of little ones...)






In south central Wisconsin, it's yet another cool and mostly cloudy day. But it hardly matters. Throw a fleece jacket on and you'll be fine. And if you're working outside, chances are you'll unzip it.






Ed and I do another big push with yard work. I'm still moving and removing plants in the Big Bed. That's this one:






I know every single plant intimately. It's like having a thousand children -- you learn their habits pretty quickly.

The animals keep pestering me -- the cats want food (constantly), the cheepers get in my way as they try to scoop up the worms I dig up. Still, it's grand to be making so much progress! Honestly, the Big Bed has never had such a good tune up. And most of the new plants are planted -- in all of the nine fields I have to work with.






We pause for breakfast...


 


... and I have a lovely video-visit with my daughter and granddaughter in Chicago. Too, I squeeze in a quick house cleaning. But mostly, I dig the yard up and heave dirt all day long (thinking motherly thoughts of course!).


In the evening, the Madison young family comes over.  The packages speak to the holiday today! My daughters are singularly responsible for me to sometimes look decent in the summer months!






This mommy had been away for work for a couple of days. The little girl is thrilled to have her home again.






Snowdrop, building with Sparrow, who is more adept at knocking things down at this point....






Dinner.






And the day is done. Oh, but what a full day! And the plants grow, and the kids get older and it all somehow makes sense. Your work eventually pays off. How sweet is that!

Saturday favorites

It's true: one year you prefer one over the other. You pay attention to all of them, but you find yourself really investing your energies and pride in the chosen one. The good thing is that over the years, your preferences shift. Most make it to the favorite status at one point or another.

[What?? You thought I was talking about kids and grandkids? How silly of you! I have never felt preferences. I love each intensely, completely, without placing any ahead of the other. In my opening paragraph, I was referring to flower fields.]






And, too, over the years, flower preferences shift. Once, I was smitten with coreopsis (tickseed) and monarda (beebalm) and tradescantia (spiderwort). By now, I've moved most of them out of the way. A few years back, it was all about acquiring new irises. This year I didn't even enter the greenhouse with irises for sale. Peonies? No more! I have enough! It's only the day lilies that never ever fail to excite me. Otherwise, my attention wanders.






All this to say that this year, I am focused not on the front bed, right there by the road for all to see, and not on the side beds (on the east and west sides of the farmhouse), but on flower fields that surround our courtyard, and especially on the big bed. Which is very very big.

(one tiny corner of the big bed)






It has grown incrementally, erratically. There are no paths, there is no logic. Sometimes, plants grow excessively and block less aggressive ones from view (and light). It's time to get serious and move things around and these are the days to do it -- before the flowers get too big and are liable to be damaged in the transfer.

(there's a lot of seasonal magnificence that has had no input from me; like the old pear, blooming against a driveway of violets)






Moving plants around is an added job. Typically, I start the season with clearing the beds, weeding, trimming etc. Sometimes we expand a bed. And then I plant the new stuff. And seed the annuals. By the time I'm done, we're fully into summer.

This year, I'm far more ambitious. Ed is spending more time working outside as well -- removing not only fallen trees, but also the stumps. We both feed off of each other in terms of energy and determination!

Today was a 100% work outside day. With only a small break to pick up a couple of things at Natalie's Greenhouse and a few extras at the Flower Factory (oh, and for breakfast, of course!)






... we toil from 7:30 in the morning until dinnertime. And no, I do not cook dinner. Take-out Thai is perfect for tired limbs.

(evening: looking out from the porch)

Friday

Though we are keeping up with our outdoor tasks, it is true that in some ways, we are behind. The lilacs typically give us heady blooms for Mother's Day weekend. Not this year. Not yet. The crab apple is also holding back. We're all waiting for that string of warm days that push everything over the top. We've not had that this year.

But, comparing years is so very pointless. If you take this day on its own merits, you're bound to be satisfied! Remember how drab these trees looked in the winter months? Well, today, they are magical! Smothered in light pink buds and light green leaves.






But it is pretty cool. We eat breakfast in the kitchen.






When the sun comes out though, the tulips let go of their shyness and explode with color. (They'll close again for the night.)






I can't linger. I want to do my weekly food shopping quickly so that I can continue to work in the flower fields. I'm at the store just as it opens in the wee hours of the morning. From there, I go straight to my Mom's, Just to drop off some foods for Mother's Day.






And finally I return home. I have three hours and a dozen-ish plants to put in. And now it is time to bring Snowdrop to the farmhouse.






To her great joy, I found cherries in the store,






There's tine for a story. Or two. Right?





Well, nearly right, By the tine she is to go home, her energy levels are low once more. It takes a while to fully return to your old self after an illness.



In the evening, Ed and I continue to work outside until there is very little daylight left. Tired, hungry, satisfied. Finally, I am ready to throw down my gloves, my shovel. The cats stretch out on the garage blanket. They're up for an evening of play. Me, I'm thinking how lovely it would be to fall asleep on the couch.

Goodnight!

Thursday

It's a slow climb, but it is a climb, right out of the cold and damp, the sniffles and fevers, the countless fixes of broken this, broken that.

But it's slow. I'm only half tempted to spend any time outside!

And that's just as well because right after breakfast...






... Snowdrop is dropped here for the morning. She's still not quite up to speed. Another day of rest will give her the strength she needs to face life's challenges.






A good sign: she asks for lunch, even though I just finished clearing the breakfast table! She'd love a croissant, but I have none. Next best thing: pancakes!






And from there it's all up up up. She makes a book...






... she plays with her characters. She isn't dancing and prancing yet, but she surely is almost her old self.






When she leaves and I finish off another round of fixes for things that don't work quite right, I have before me several hours before it's time to cook dinner. I do have plants that need to go in, but honestly, it's just a little too cold to make it a pleasant task. I put it off for tomorrow and concentrate instead on digging out old stuff in the garden that should have been replaced last year if not the year before. You want to believe that perennial flowers will come back each year and that they will only gain in strength. While that's true for some of them (count day lilies as reliable in this regard), not all get sumptuous with age. Some can be divided. Some just have to be retired to the compost heap.

This afternoon, I pile on the compost heap.

I'll leave you with a few farmette photos. There are some stellar views right now, despite the gray skies. Well, at least I think they're stellar. May is the month with some of my favorite hues in the garden -- light green, complemented by pinks, whites and lemon yellows. Oh, but why favor one over the next -- it all looks so splendid! Really it does!







(Jacket, in the crab apple)






(the old orchard)






(the tulips)

Wednesday

Perhaps curious days walk in pairs. Yesterday's oddities didn't end with the setting of the sun. They spilled into Wednesday.

The coldness and wetness was expected. Predictably, we spent almost no time outside.

A quick walk, an inspection of the late season daffodils out front and tulips out back (it's such a tradeoff! late daffodils aren't lost to spring snows and late tulips aren't of interest to hungry animals and yet we crave those early bloomers -- they give us the much needed colors of early spring!). All's well with them!











... okay, that's enough. Crank up the furnace and eat breakfast inside.






What next? I spend the entire morning at the dentist's. There are many reasons for it (one such reason may be that said doc is very near retirement and this makes him very chatty, as if there is that realization that it's the last time we share updates on our comparably aged grandchildren), but the upshot is that there isn't agreement as to what should happen with this one solitary tooth. It's back to the drawing board. More visits, more consultations. How can one tooth be so complicated?!

Immediately after, Snowdrop's mom drops the little girl at the farmhouse. She is still under the weather and she spends a significant part of the afternoon on the couch...





... first, re-watching Mary Poppins, then chatting lightly with Ed about what's wrong with my car (the shock mount broke and it rattles like crazy).

It's tough to watch kids lose their oomph to illness. Still, Snowdrop is old enough to understand that this too will pass and that for now, rest is her friend.






In the evening, the rains return. One more soak and then we'll look forward to merry May weather again.

Tuesday

What a curious day! Nothing was as it ought to have been. There were some tricky parts to it. Things wobbled a bit. Adjustments had to be made. And in the end, it all seemed to have come together alright. Quite well in fact. Perhaps the moral is that allowing yourself to go with the flow will get you to a good place. Sort of like riding a kayak over rapids: you trust that in the end, you'll come out above water and in most instances, that is exactly how it all ends.

So first -- the weather. The cool-down is to start today. I am well aware of that, as the wind nips at me in the morning when I step out (at 7 a.m.) to feed the kitties. It's 45f (7c), but it feels much cooler. Nonetheless, I stay outside. I have an appointment in a few hours. This is my one chance to make a real dent in clearing the weeds and creeping charlie at the side of the sheep shed. We've been working here for the past two weeks and it's awfully slow going. The roots are deep. There's digging, scratching, hauling. It all takes time and you have to work your body: you're stooping, kneeling in the mud, pulling at plants that refuse to budge.

 Once we have started on the project of clearing this area, we wont stop. I'd already planted some perennials here a couple of summers ago. This year, we also want to throw in some wildflowers. But the weeds have to go!

An hour later, Ed joins me. As do the cheepers.






By late morning, we stop. The day is still gray and cool, but I don't really care anymore. There's so much of "spring" in my garden right now, that I no longer think of the weather as a measure of spring's progress.






Breakfast. Nice and warm, in the kitchen.





And now I have a two hour pause for my appointments. I'm on a zebra chase and thankfully, I'm zeroing in on them. Which is great. But while I head out for my own stuff, I get a text that Snowdrop is down. A fever sends her home from school. That's two grandkids sent home from school in one day. Uff!

Snowdrop's parents juggle her home stay and so on this day at least, I am without grandkids at the farmhouse. Color has to come from the flowers. The tulips step in to try to fill the void!






By 1 p.m., I'm working outside again. In addition to the clearing of the flower field, we have the arrival of three new peach trees. We put them in our new orchard, where everything is now in full bloom.






It's exhilarating to be working here today!






Ed and I do not put our shovels down until evening. Ah, but the results! The peach trees are in. And importantly, the flower field is clear and ready for seeding.






Indeed, all the flower fields are in a good state of repair right now.






It is true though, that once I sit down tonight, I'm not wanting to move around much any more. I am stiff and spent! We call for a sushi delivery.

At the end of the day, things are looking good: the kids are rebounding. The garden is moving along at breakneck speed toward the completion of its spring facelift. Ed and I are still going strong, with all the physical stamina that this place requires. Not a typical Tuesday by any means. But a good one nonetheless!

Monday

Of the many reasons you might want to blog daily, without excuse or interruption, is to practice and improve -- both your writing and your photo editing skills. You have to pay attention to what you're presenting. None of this sloppy throw together stuff. Once you decide to post something, you realize that it's fantastically easy to look foolish. Taking care, every single day of the year, teaches you to improve your craft.

Still, there are days when I cheat. Giving one line labels to photos tells you that I only had time for some effort. These are the days when, after working on the photos, I have found myself dangerously close to falling asleep, with fingers growing limp over keys that then burst with millions of letters on the screen. It has happened! I try not to get to that point and so I take writing shortcuts.

But you know, I don't think you (the reader) are the worse for it. Sometimes, when I go back to a post that starts off with three or four dense paragraphs, I think -- jeez, who'd want to read that! When there are family gatherings, I say less and show more. When I travel or when spring explodes -- I do the same. Photos in May or in Paris, or from a hike, or a grandkid adventure are simply more evocative. I'd have to be a poetically inclined, hugely gifted writer to do justice to a scene where tulips sway with their faces turned toward the sun, while grandgirls clutch bouquets of dandelions. A picture says it all.

Then there are days like today: it's a very ordinary Monday. It's wet, but even that is ordinary. (And welcome! My newly planted daylilies need rain!) In the morning I feed the cats, then greet an arriving Sparrow. The two guys and I eat breakfast, then I play with the little one. In the afternoon I bring Snowdrop to the farmhouse. In the evening, I reheat a dinner of leftovers. The benefit of cooking a large dinner on Sunday (seafood pasta this time) is that there are leftovers for the next day.

There is nothing photographically extraordinary about this Monday. The day is full of calm, lovely moments. It's an even keel. No one falls off stairs or playground equipment. One knee, skinned on the brick walkway, quickly resolved with a soothing ointment and a bandaid. No hawk grabs a chicken. Outside, the smell of the earth is very satisfying: it's not summer-dry caked clay, it's all a soft mass of organic matter, giving life to growing things. At least that's my imagery.

So, nothing unusual. Pack it up and call it a day? No, of course not! It's May! The grandkids were here! (Well, all but one...) Let's rejoice together -- for all those days that are ablaze with wonderful ordinariness. Beautiful days, full of sweetly scented moments. I've said enough. Let me leave you with the photos.

(farmette morning in early May)






(Sparrow tries out his sister's toy macarons: like everything else, he tosses them to the side.)






(Breakfast: the big guy)







(Breakfast: the little guy)






(Ed asks for advice about a tree... I can't help you now. He's too heavy to carry around... I'll carry him.)






(Inside again, I give him Lego characters. He tosses them to the side, preferring to mess with the bus.)






(...while the rooster crows.)






(Sparrow was upset when we all applauded a Primrose accomplishment this weekend, ignoring him. So we're compensating by applauding him now. He applauds right back.)






The afternoon is a tad warmer. Snowdrop, can you smell the pear blossoms?






(Stop Sign is there waiting once again. She is the ever hungry cat.)






(the stories unfold...)






The day ends. Sweetly, calmly.