Wednesday

The trouble with throwing around the label of "perfection" is that you can't top it. I mean, if Monday was the best, then what would you call today -- with warm temps, partly sunny skies, blooming crab apples and opening lilacs? Super perfect? How about simply sublime!

We start off with a porch breakfast.






And then we go out and stay out. Ed is working on replacing the benches at the picnic table (the old ones rotted through). Me, I take on the packets of seeds, purchased with hope and anticipation way back in March.






I put in cosmos at the edge of the lily bed, in the back beds by the sheep shed, and ever so lightly in the front bed.

I put in nasturtium seeds between the pots of annuals and along the edge of three other beds.

I put in icelandic poppies, alyssum and babies breath inside the teepee that supports peas and clematis.

I put in beans by the teepee and by the sweet pea flower trellis.

And all the while, I take in the sweetness of this perfect day, where the blooms on the crabs are at their most perfect moment -- still pink, still unfurling, and absolutely stunning to behold. (By the end of the day, the buds will be mostly opened, mostly white.)






It truly is hard to believe that a month ago, we had nothing to admire. Today, we have everything!






We pause in the afternoon. I eat something, Ed eats something. And I study the bags of wildflower seeds. These will go in tomorrow.





They're our great experiment. We worked so hard to clear the beds by the sheep shed. If the flowers take off, we'll have a prototype for the weedy fields in back of the barn. (We're a tiny bit apprehensive: we didn't get all the weed roots out and, too, the cheepers appear to love pecking out fresh seeds and sprouts. Ed tried planting some grasses in places where he felled a few trees and even a covering of hay did not keep the chickens out. It's a good thing we like them, or we'd be pretty annoyed!






Snowdrop is here after school, but it's Wednesday, so play time is limited. No time outside.


 



(well, unless you consider the porch to be outdoors)






(clothespin play...)






A few pages of a book, a few twirls... (She is so tall already!)





... and we're off to Storybook Ballet.

Snowdrop has her last dance class of the season and it is a good one -- tracking her current favorite story, Mary Poppins. When I tell her it'll be Mary Poppins, she throws down her play, dashes to get ready and is, in fact, first in line for class.






(Sitting up, straining to catch every word...)






And away goes Mary Poppins!










I return to the farmette just before 6. I glance at the weather report: hmm, not so good for the days ahead. Maybe I should take another photo of the crab apple tree. If the weather turns awful, her blooms may get knocked off pretty quickly.

As I look out the front door, I hear the meowing of the little ones. Hi Jacket. Hi Dance.

Wait. What's that? It certainly appears that Stop Sign has brought her kitten here! That's Jacket, and Dance, and.... a new one!






So, Long Whiskers, the winter visitor, seems to have left a bit of himself behind! That young one most certainly has the markings of a Maine Coon cat.

She is calm. Somewhat more approachable than the others. And Dance and Jacket seem unbothered by her presence. They sniff her and let her be. Oh, but feeding her with those two around is a challenge! It takes the good part of my evening to sort out who should be eating what and where, (I do manage to push some deworming meds her way. We haven't been able to grab any of these guys yet to take to the vet, but we surely can at least take a stab at keeping them healthy!)






The last bits of sunlight... One last view toward the crab.





 You should never take the most beautiful days for granted. Love them, revel in their magnificence, look forward to their return.

We do. We really do.

Tuesday

Morning:

So many gorgeous spots at the farmette right now! It hardly seems fair that this month should be this rich in beauty. And of course, there is the bonus of great weather this week.

We eat breakfast on the porch. It's a bit of a stretch, because it's early and so the morning cool air hasn't quite left us yet, but still -- how could we resist? (We're back at the round table because I'm washing the long table cloth right now.)





Ed has some work meetings today, but me -- I plunge into gardening. Right away. No pause or interruption. I want to finish most of the planting so that I can move on to seeds. Our nights will be warmer now -- the soil is good enough to start working its charm on the little flower seeds I have ready and waiting.

In the meantime, let's see what's blooming: the late season tulips of course. They take the prize for color!

(in the distance, you can see Ed hauling over a wheelbarrow of woodchips for me just before he takes off ...)






Our crab apple is almost popping into full bloom. Almost!






But we certainly have plenty of blooming fruit trees elsewhere to admire. Take the giant apple in the old orchard. Ed has cleared away some dead wood around it and it looks positively regal now!






In the front, we still have the late daffodils going strong along the whole length of the bed. They grow in clusters of three on each stem and they're very eye catching!






But, you have to admit that, in terms of color, the tulips take the cake right now. They're in their final days and they remind us that orange and rose and violet do not clash, not in nature anyway.





Afternoon:

I've kept three potted annuals to the side -- to be planted when the daffodils are finished. Otherwise -- I'm done with planting bulbs, bare roots, and potted plants! I'm done moving plants out and into new spaces. I'm done digging out over ambitious bees balm. I'm done with the major stuff!

Tomorrow, I'll start in on the seeds and perhaps I can convince Ed that it's time to put in the tomatoes.

Snowdrop is here of course, but we don't spend too much time outdoors.

(my little christopher robin, but with a cuddle sweater rather than a bear...)





She has a play agenda and I'm happy to simply keep the porch door wide open so that the music of twittering birds is with us even in the farthest corners of the farmhouse.

(books and cherries come first...)






(stories and pretend play next...)






(I said something funny. Well, Snowdrop is generous in her appreciation of gaga humor!)





And the afternoon spins to an end. I take her home.


Evening:

It's busy. I have a meet-up with my daughter, followed by dinner with former colleagues. Still, I'm back home before the sun sets.

Come walk with me to the young orchard, gorgeous.

We inspect the grapes. The fruit trees. The blueberries. The newly planted peaches.

Take a selfie! We haven't done that in such a long time!





The sun is setting. Will you be putting the cheepers away?
The hens and Happy are all up on the barn wall. Except for Tomato. She's still searching for worms.

I'll get Tomato, you can deal with the rest.

Good night, cheepers. Goodnght farmette growing things!

pick a day, any day...

Each day has elements of beauty in it. Then there are days like this one: it's overflowing with loveliness! Honestly, for me, May has the hold on the most glorious weather, giving light and life to the best colors outside. It's all fresh and beautiful.

Normally, I would have Sparrow on a Monday morning, but we're shuffling the schedule a tad, now that the academic year is over. Different work agendas dominate and so we're moving things around a bit. Consequently, I have the morning to myself.

And of course, I give it all away to the flower fields. Well, after breakfast.





The Big Bed is pretty much in order now. Time to fix up stuff elsewhere. That includes facing the loooooong front-of-the-road bed. It's damaged by winter salt. It's rooted by the giant maples that grow too close, and give too many hours of shade. The soil is awful clay and I have to throw organic matter  into it each year, or else nothing will drain. And it's in a spot that is readily accessible to herds of deer. Lilium? Yum! Phlox? Penstemon? Delphinium? Malva? These plants rarely see the summer through. Nibble nibble nibble.

I'm going to try a different approach this year: I'm adding many more annuals to the mix. The days when I proudly wore my t-shirt with the statement "no more annuals," (or some such orthodoxy) are long gone. In fact, I had seen this in Giverny, the place of the famous Monet's garden: by midsummer, cleome and cosmos, dahlias and nasturtium  (annuals, all of them) would fill empty spaces. At the farmette, I've used annuals in tubs and I've sown cosmos and nasturtium seeds in the courtyard. But this year, I want other, less known annuals to do some of the work for me in the front bed. It's the only flower field anybody ever sees (unless you're an intimate friend or family member or the UPS delivery guy)! It has to look decent!

I stop by a couple of greenhouses  and again return with a box full of flowers to plant. Ed shakes his head with wonder. But, it is my final planting push. And oh, do I have the weather for it!

(looking across the big bed and the lily field toward the farmhouse...)






While at one of the greenhouses, I noticed a shelf of pots (for sale) that made me smile. As you know, Ed and I don't spend money on flower pots. Old crates, some plastic containers and the occasional cracked and ancient clay pot -- this is what we bring out each year. We try not to "decorate" the farmette (with the exception of placing the bronze statues Ed's mom made). Still, a bunch of years back (Ocean tells me it was 11 years!), my younger girl and I went to Morocco. And we both fell in love with the colors of the country and, too, of the garden we visited there. The use of carefully painted pots was magnificent and I told myself that someday, I would introduce such colors into the yard.

I never did. It's just not where I put my money.

Still, today, I gave in to a wee little longing for that garden in Marrakech. Just two small pots, but I love them for all that they trigger for me -- memories of all the fantastic visited gardens of this beautiful planet.






In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop.

I'm excited to take her deep into the garden. I have a surprise for her -- some of our old asparagus plants have sent up beautiful spears this year. She is thrilled to see them and eats our whole batch right there on the spot.






We play in the young orchard. Once again I try to weave her a crown of dandelions, but it's a miserable execution of this noble bit of meadow play.






I try it on. It falls apart. She laughs. Gaga, it's awful!
I should take a selfie...
No, let me take a picture! 
She does.






And then we go inside.






... where we play restaurant.






More babies needed for our game!






Snowdrop leaves in the evening, at a time when it's still faintly sunny outside. I return to the flower fields and plant a couple of dozen marigolds along the pathway by the sheep shed. Ed prompts me each year to do this. He's a guy who loves this kind of continuity ("we had marigolds outside our summer cottage when I was growing up!").

I walk the farmette lands, taking note of what needs work still. (Some things are so very perfect without much intervention. Take the meadow grasses filled with violets  by the old orchard...)







In a week or two I'll be switching over to maintenance work. But not just yet. I'm still in the creative stage, where anything is possible and the grandest schemes seem doable.

As the sun sets, Ed rests for a long long while by the picnic table. I tell him that I am reminded of my childhood summers in my grandparents' village house in Poland. My grandmother used to love to sit at dusk at the wooden table just outside her country home.

Did she like to talk to you then? -- he asks.
No, we'd sit quietly and watch the light fade. Like you now.

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)