the days we waited for

A string of warm, sunny days! We flirted with them in May, but they didn't take hold. Finally, in June, they took hold. We wake up to blue skies and gentle breezes once again. Snowdrop tells me later -- there is not a single bit of white cloud in the sky! It's all blue! She is so right.

When I step outside and look around me, I can't believe that all this bounty is with us once more. In the winter it all seems like a distant dream. And now, it's a glorious reality: a garden unfolding its beauty before our eyes.
















I do so love the transformation from a barren winter landscape to this!






(Let me not neglect the pots of annuals...)






Breakfast -- most definitely on the porch!





The day's events are once again out of the ordinary. In the morning, I go to Snowdrop's school for her end of year performance.

We first mingle on the playground with the kids.... (Do you remember how awesome it was to see your family at school? Or on family day at camp?)






(showing us what's what...)






Then each class takes to the stage...






School continues for another few days next week, and then there's a break before "summer camp" begins (same school, slightly different program), but this is the last Friday of the school year, and it feels right for a celebration of a year gone by, and so here we are, parents and the occasional grandparent, smiling joyfully at our children as they sing songs of light and peace and all those good things we hope will come when they take charge of the world, having inherited the mess our generations have made for them.

I ask her teacher -- what happens to these young souls? At what age is all this lost for so many of them? To a desire for power, to indifference... I mean, all these kids on stage were so earnest and so full of love!
She tells me, with a smile -- a child's personality is pretty much formed by age 5. We hope to get the good stuff in place when we send them out into the world then!


From there, it's just a whirlwind. I grocery shop. I cut Ed's hair. I cut my finger as I cut Ed's hair. (Too much in a hurry.) I pick up Snowdrop.

Yesterday, I had a haircut at Bang Salon, today it's the little girl's turn. I'd let her bangs get too long (I'm the official hair trimmer in the family in between more professional visits), don't you think?






Done!






Then a snack, two books and some cheeper fun at the farmette...






And wait, not done! (Are you tired yet?) I take the little girl swimming at her local pool, meeting up with her mom there. She takes over as I eventually retreat.





I have stuff to do!

(By evening -- unfurled...)






(Out front, unfurled...)






Dinner to cook! (On the porch today. It's just so lovely!)





House to neaten up and then, at a very late hour -- the younger family to greet as they arrive, tired, I'm sure, after their own long day in Chicago.

We have a full family weekend before us. Let me retreat now. I have a cake to bake!

this is who we are? (hidden talents)

You may recall that several days ago I mentioned that we would be having a reception at the farmette. It's for local big shots in the world of environmental, social, and agricultural activism. We expect about two dozen. Ed had laughed at my efforts to "tidy the place up." It can be overgrown. It can be a tad disheveled. "This is who we are!" -- he'd argued.

I smile and I continue to tend to the flower beds, not solely because of today's reception, but because I always tend to the flower beds. True, I make an extra effort to keep the farmhouse clean, but I do that periodically. Besides, we are to have house guests Friday, Saturday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. I'm thinking ahead!

But as the time of the reception draws nearer, it cannot be said that I am the only one who tidies, straightens and neatens the space around us. Indeed, might I offer this: Ed is adding tidying jobs that I would have never even thought to touch. Sand the benches. Move the wine where I dump it in the mud room to its appropriate space in the wine refrigerator. Artfully hang up my Sorede shopping basket. Remove, eliminate, dispose of. Arrange chairs and benches outside, make ice cubes inside. (I tell him -- people just buy ice cubes at the gas station. He retorts -- I can make them, and puts a note up to remind himself to fill and dump our two little ice trays every three hours, for two days running.)

You'll have figured out that Ed rarely (never?) entertains. Oh, work buddies or old friends come over every now and then, but you don't clean stuff for that! I'm the one who routinely brings people to the farmhouse and he lets me do as much or as little as I want in preparation for it, helping if I ask for help, hanging back otherwise.

And yet, the man has talent for it!

"You have to move those flower pots on the picnic table. They'll impede the flow of conversation."
"Wine and fizzy water? Why not beer?" "Should we move Snowdrop's snow shovel away from the porch?" And my favorite -- "Let's leave the wheelbarrow with the recent compostables to the side! It looks good there. We can empty it later!"

Who knew that Ed is a whiz at design and entertaining?!

In the meantime, what's blooming at the farmette?

The splendid foxglove, which will always remind me of Scotland...






Wild indigo, yarrow, peony!






Yes, the peony. It's unquestionably the star right now.






(Dance: aren't I the star??)






Breakfast, on the porch. It's getting to be really warm outside!






In the afternoon, Snowdrop is here, but she has her mom to look after her. (The girl did not want to miss seeing the party!)






The reception is an outdoor event (we have the weather for it!) and so I tell Snowdrop she can create any mess, so long as it's confined to her play room. An intriguing thought!






But as the people arrive, she is lured out there, where trays of cheeses, salamis and dried fruits reside. And baguette! Mustn't forget about the baguette!

(Though perhaps the sweetest little girl moment happened when she ran to me excitedly to let me know that she had found one more asparagus spear! Within seconds, she'd chomped it down.)






Also quite social and beguiling were the cheepers, who mingled and mixed seamlessly with our guests.





And now it's evening once again. All is quiet.
Do you want some supper?
I'm stuffed!
I fry up some onions and potatoes, throw in asparagus and scramble an egg. Where there are cheepers, you will always find an egg.

happy families

Happy families are like happy gardens: they take generations of confidence and effort to grow. They don't just happen. A flower grows strong because it is made of the right material to thrive. It is much the same with young ones: they are born trusting, or not trusting. You can't assume that they will embrace your love. Sometimes you have to spoon feed it and even then, they may not have the ability to let trust take hold. They resist, because generations before them have resisted. This is what they know.

I'm talking about feral cats of course. I have no great wisdom to offer about people families! Happiness in kids is much discussed in literature and the consensus seems to be that it's a complicated business!

Back to gardens and cats: it's to be a hot one today! Strong storms passed through last night, but they did not clear the air. Quite the contrary -- they ushered in heat. Summer heat that feels like it will stay with us now for the next several months.

Does the combination of moisture and heat speed up the flowering of perennials? It does! Walk with me through the garden in the early morning, when the drops of rain still cling to the peony, the clematis...











... when the brightness of the sun hasn't yet undone the gentleness of the garden's colors...






But not for long. It's Wednesday and so Sparrow is with us!






Happy guy! There is no question -- no deep analysis needed. He is content.

We eat breakfast on the porch. Ed comments that the demise of the huge walnut by the house (it died this winter) has taken away some of the morning shade on the porch. As a result, if you are seated facing east, you're going to squint.






Afterwards, I take Sparrow on a little stroll through the garden. There isn't really a place for him to sit.

("I don't feel very stable here, gaga!")






Every blade of grass is still wet after the rains. Ah well, I carry him around, showing off the deepest pockets of color. Flower power!

 



As we are about to return to the farmhouse, I see a quick movement by the door.

It's Tulip, our Main Coon kitten.

Except, of course, she is no longer so small. (Was she ever small?)  We were sure she was gone, if not shot by the neighbor then on her own, navigating the wilderness, perhaps overwhelmed by all that can harm her.

Tulip is still desperately shy, though not as skittish as Dance or even Stop Sign. I have Sparrow, so I cannot really approach her now, but Ed and I put food in the bushes where she is hiding and eventually she comes to eat it and even lets me get within a few feet of her. I see that one of her eyes is fogged over. She looks basically scared. Dare I say, unhappy?






And this is what leads me to think that these cats, who have lived with fear all their lives, who have been born with it and have had it reinforced by their mama cats, cannot easily give it up, even if a cat whisperer were to come by and speak reassuringly to them all day long.

There was a time in the coldest months of the winter, when Stop Sign would lie on a blanket strategically placed in a sunny spot of the garage and her kids would snuggle next to her and I thought -- now that's a happy family! When Tulip was born and came to visit, I believed she'd always be around, joyously reassured by our calm demeanor and the never ending supply of cat food.

Foolish thoughts. We can do stuff to make these cats less likely to succumb to illness. We can offer a calm environment. There is little else we can give them and each day is a surprise as to who will be here and for how long.



When Sparrow wakes from his nap, he and I concentrate on indoor play.






School pick up time!

Dare I say it? It's hot outside! (A statement reiterated by Snowdrop, who once again wants to scurry inside, where the old farmhouse walls provide much needed cool relief.)






Snack? All cool things: cherries, watermelon and... ice cream!






We were to go swimming. Perfect weather for it. But the pool is closed. I take Snowdrop home where she is ever hopeful that I will stick around and learn a game that's a new family favorite (Outfoxed, a little like Clue, only it's everyone against the wiley fox!). I do.






In the evening, Ed is out on his Wednesday night ride. I tend to the animals, thinking all the time that the chickens are, well, chickens, and the cats are wild, and wouldn't it be pleasant to have goats who like to nuzzle you when you come over to feed them. (Our cats alternate between hissing at each other and meowing their dissatisfaction at us when they don't like the timing or content of their meals.)

As I step outside to take out the trash, I see that Tulip is here. She's become a hisser too. Facing me, she looks fine, but looking at her from the side, I see that she is matted and weather-beaten. And of course, her eye looks damaged. She has had a rough two or three months of life.





I asked Ed to make a final call on the goats. He can't do it. "You want them so much..." he'll say. "Not if you don't want them..." I'll say.

The night is calm and beautiful. We munch popcorn later, much later and we do not talk about goats anymore.

storms and sunshine

I look outside. We're expecting rain, that same rain that has been incessantly coming back to torment the Midwest.

But not immediately. I see Dance is waiting for me. She comes out in the morning and watches the farmhouse from the perch of the picnic table. Or, since Ed rolled that piece of felled tree over -- from the nicely smoothed surface of the stump.






The garden is unfurling its petals, but it is a slow process. Perhaps that's good -- you don't want everything to be there and gone too quickly! We've waited so long!






Oops, the rumble of thunder. In I go. Breakfast with my calm and happy guy.






We talk about goats.

The sun pops out after a few hours. In and out, all day long. I tell Ed we have a mountain of things to do, but when he asks for specifics, I can't think of a blessed thing except to find the sign we painted for the wedding, informing people where to park.

He finds the sign.

I weed the gardens. That's a constant, of course. The weeds grow slowly because of the abundance of wood chips, but after all these rains, they do come up.

(Here's a view that I like; and do notice our second lilac to the right -- it's a late bloomer, but it's pretty and fragrant!)






In the afternoon, I pick up a very happy little girl.
Want to stay out for a little bit?
No, I'm going straight inside! (I had mentioned a new book and a plateful of cherries...)










Only when it's time to go home does she linger, complaining that she hasn't had her outdoor time today!

She pauses to smell the alyssum (I have taught her well! Does any flower have a sweeter fragrance?)...






... and explains to me that she and Happy (the rooster) know how to talk to each other. (Snowdrop does a fine imitation of a crow. You can tell this kid's been around a rooster!)






As I drop off one child, I have a chance to say hello to the younger one.






But I don't stay long. I return home in time to see the last wisps of light play with the flowers in the Big Bed...





... and yes, we continue to toss around goat ideas. Slightly more concrete now, as there came to be available two little ones nearby...

Monday maintenance

It sounds so tedious, doesn't it? Work to maintain. Where's the excitement? It's not creative (usually), it's repetitious, it's as if you're standing still.

But in the garden, maintenance is a cherry on top of a spectacular cake. You're maintaining what you've created, finessing it, polishing, clipping, straightening. You're not forced to start anew, you like what's there! You just have to maintain it!

This is my morning today. TLC work in my garden. In the wee early morning...






(With a pause for breakfast...)






And into the early afternoon.






(Hey, Peach, who are you hiding from? Happy?)






It's quiet work. Ed joins me in some of it (more branch trimming), but mostly I work alone, moving fluidly from one field to the next, thinking no great thoughts, simply enjoying the sensual pleasure of being among plants.

At some point I stop. On my way to pick up Snowdrop, I detour to get a couple of boxes of tissues and some cans of chicken noodle soup. Ed is an old fashioned kinda guy in his treatment of sniffles.



It's impossible to predict in what state of drowsiness or perkiness the little girl will be when I come into her class. Today, she surprises me with a decidedness and determination: she wants to go to the coffee shop. There's a "please!" thrown in there somewhere, but mainly I sense urgency: now! Let's go!






Once inside, she makes sure that there are cookies still available (it's not a given) and immediately after, she searches for her favorite chair. Again, there are no guarantees, but today she scores a home run.






Of course, she then wants to go to the playground. It's right outside the cafe windows. Here's the funny part though: she wont play her favorite games if there are other children using the play structure. Today, a whole classful is bouncing about on this warm and lovely day. Snowdrop hangs back, waiting patiently until they're done and gone.





Several times, I propose that she join in, or at least do the swings in the moment when they're not in use, or that we give up and come back another time, but she shakes her head to it all: you have to be patient, Gaga -- she chastises me.

In the past, I'd wondered about her need to go solo on this playground. I mean, this is a city park. You can't expect to ever play alone. It's meant to be used by many.

But over the years, I've gotten to understand her more on this: the game she loves to play here is imaginative, vocal, and it doesn't blend well into the background. Her gut tells her that this wont play well with kids watching or listening. And so she'd rather wait.

And eventually her luck holds: the kids disperse and we have the place to ourselves and immediately she dives into our game of "ice cream shop."

The premise is very simple: I want a cone, she runs the shop. And that's all that's simple about it. From here, she and I improvise and each time it becomes a different game as a result.






Today we have an especially good run of it: I've introduced additional customers, she has upped her character load as well. We are on a roll!





Eventually, a handful of other children come over and Snowdrop stops her game and pauses to watch them unfold their own story. I can tell that this is a good time to leave.


Later, in the evening, Ed and I sit back and eat pop corn. We do not talk about goats. Does that mean the topic is closed? Of course not! With Ed, no topic is really ever closed. Except -- I'm not moving to New Zealand to see what it's like there. The door is totally closed on that idea. Otherwise, we take each day as it comes.