after the peak comes the real summit

It reminds me of our trip to Snowdon Mountain last month: you thought you were taking the little mountain rail up to the summit, but technically, that is not correct. Once you disembarked, there was a short climb to the real tip of the mountain.

I may have thought that yesterday was the high point for spent lily collection. I had broken last year's record by another 100 plus lilies. At 876, I was sure that I would climb no further. But this morning, I collected a whopping 1,050 finished lily blooms.

Of course, this reflect on the glory of yesterday. Today's heaping buckets of wilted flowers are yesterday's eye candy. Still, one can debate whether the garden's glory peaked yesterday or on this day.

Or, you could dispense with the debate and simply enjoy what's before you. There was a lot to enjoy this morning!

Still, picking off 1,050 flowers takes time (two hours to be exact). I had a mid morning appointment today and so the morning a little bit ran away from me, not helped by the fact that my coffee machine has decided (true, after giving me more than 5000 great cups of espresso) to show its age and Ed spent not a small amount of time trying to convince me to replace it with the rock bottom priced machine, one where some reviewers claimed that drinking its coffee was akin to pouring milk into a cup of warm, dirty water and calling it a cappuccino.
Why don't you give it a try -- he would say. Then, upping the ante -- I'll tell you what: I'll buy you the cheapest machine. If you want your more expensive one (the difference is about $40) -- you pay for it. (In all fairness, Ed does not drink coffee.)

It took me many hours of thought before I make a decision on that one.

But don't let all this distract us from the task at hand, which is to admire the glorious farmette's secret garden. (It is secret: few people see it. Cats, bats, swallows and the occasional groundhog, rabbit, or deer, but not a whole lot of people.)


Little frog...






Big frog...






Big Bed...






Little bed (by the parked cars)...






Front bed...






Hey, Happy! What are you doing here??






close up: Persian Market lilies...






Lily bed...






Finally, breakfast:







In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop.

I ask her if she'd been attacked by a vampire (note bandaid at the throat).





Oh, no, gaga. I just had a mosquito bite because we forgot to use bug spray.
Maybe you don't need the bandaid anymore?
I do! It's not dangling yet. You take off the bandaid when it dangles.

She gets distracted by the flowers growing by her school. Queen Ann's Lace is an invasive and an attentive gardener would have ripped it out of the flower bed, but honestly, it is a very pretty weed and Snowdrop hits it on the head when she exclaims -- it smells like honey! (It's our code name for sweet smelling flowers, like, for example, alyssum.)






Arriving at the farmette -- Java, I have nothing for you! See?






The run to the front door...






At home -- Katie Morag, day 2! We read the book three, maybe four times.











There's so much to talk about after each reading! And after we're done, we recreate the characters and spin new stories on our own.







Evening. There's a bit of a scheduling snafu and as a result, I am left scrambling to come up with a dinner for myself. That's never really a problem at the farmette: we have too many eggs and at this time of the year, there are always veggies and lettuces in the fridge.

I take my dinner to the porch. Ed is biking tonight -- what a gorgeous evening for it!






I read my book, occasionally peaking out on the flower beds.





You're beautiful! -- I want to say to them. But... just so you know, I'm okay with cutting back on lily clipping tomorrow. I'll love you anyway, even in a smaller incarnation!

the peak of summer

Today is my midsummer. It's the summit of flower extravagance. It's that moment when life's faults and foibles diminish and all attention is drawn to all that's blooming at the farmette. It's the lily's finest hour.

The weather for it? Absolutely glorious! Mostly sunny, breezy and a cool high of 75F (not quite 24C).

It is a landscape of magic. Snowdrop talks of fairies quite often: they're part of her imaginative tableau. Today, you believe that they inhabit our flowery fields. Along with the butterflies, colorful birds, and little green frogs.





Last year, that peak of flower perfection came three days earlier (my harvest of spent lilies maxed out on July 19 at 745).

This year, today, I snipped off 876 lily flower heads.

I did it early in the morning. You might think this was sheer lunacy. The bugs were horrible and we were about to have areas of the farmette retreated with a border spray of garlic and a touch of rosemary. It keeps the mosquitoes away for a good handful of days before it wears off. But I did not wait for this. Why? I can't really answer that. It's a compulsion that I have to improve on something that is already splendid. Or maybe it's that I like to do the day's most difficult tasks early on. Or perhaps it's the light: the gardens arguably look their best in the morning. And so isn't this the time to bring them to order? So that they can truly revel in their magnificence?

There is a lot of excess today: an overabundance of blooms, of good weather, of good feeling. And so you have to forgive me: it calls for an excess of flower photos. I mean, this is it! Their moment of glory. How could I not give them the platform they deserve? Here they are, photos, looking at my favorite spots from any number of angles.

Flower madness, farmette style!


(a corner of the lily field, looking toward the porch...)






(the other corner...)






(from the porch, looking out...)






(a part of the Big Bed...)






(the other part...)






(one successful segment of the bed by the sheep shed: the wildflowers took off here, forming a beautiful small meadow behind the lily)






(midday sun: one side of the Big Bed...)







(one pretty segment of the roadside Front Bed...)






(a conventional but beautiful frontal view of the lilies by the porch...)






I wont neglect the breakfast photo. Not even on this flower-focused day.






And I surely will not neglect my after-school time with Snowdrop!

(Pick up: her teacher tells me -- she's such a sweet child, and it strikes me that this is so correct: she really is a sweet little kid...)






(Running into the farmhouse: gaga, I really love your home...)






(I told her this week will be a Katie Morag extravaganza! I have amassed over the last month five unknown to her books about the little girl living on a remote Scottish isle...)






And now it's evening and the air is so refreshingly crisp that I close the window just a little. Too cold! -- I tell Ed, who nods from the sidelines.


(the small bed by the parked cars...)





I read a story in one of my usual online news sources about a mom who writes a letter to her daughter every year on her birthday, putting in details that she recalled of the girl's last year. Many years later, her daughter tells her that these proved to be invaluable markers for her: they helped her understand who she was. You think that both of you will always remember that your wee one loved a bowl of ripe July cherries and a good Katie Morag story, but the fact is you wont. Of course, what that mom's letters describe is her own take on her daughter's year. Perhaps those moments are not ones that the girl herself would have marked as telling. Still, the daughter later said that it made her feel good to know that trivial particulars were noted and that someone delighted in them.

If they get wrapped up in the craziness of life as they grow older and have little time for reflection or recollection, this much Snowdrop, Primrose, and Sparrow will know for sure -- their grandma was utterly charmed and transfixed by the tiny quirks, raging passions, and sweet fleeting delights of the three little ones. You're not convinced? Just read Ocean of the past 4.5 years.


I step outside when it's already dark. I've always loved the sounds and smells of a summer night in the country. Fireflies, froggie noises, and yes, the distant hum of Madison traffic miles away. It's a beautiful night here, in Wisconsin. I hope it is for you as well, wherever you may be.

Sunday, summer Sunday

Without doubt, the day lilies have loved the occasionally wet, but also sunny and hot weeks of this year's July. Not one of them is complaining! And the blooms? They're splendid! Yes, they are always splendid, but this year's show surpasses any expectation. In the morning, I snipped a new record that felled yesterday's record: 836 lily heads, into the bucket!

(today's fair lassies...)











It's almost too beautiful.  I feel  a bit overwhelmed by it, really I do.






Breakfast is late. The garden care took a couple of hours and the rest of the morning put me back on track with my regular farmhouse chores: a thorough farmhouse cleaning was definitely in order.

And only then, close to noon, do we sit down to a breakfast on the porch.






(looking out toward the flowers...)






We are back on track with Sunday dinners at well. The young family had spent a week in Chicago -- Snowdrop attended (and loved) a summer science camp there -- but today, they're back in Madison and I am so very happy to have them here, at the farmette once more!












(The request for spaghetti with seafood had been put in by the little girl a long time ago...)






Sweet, sweet grandkids!  How young and playful they make us feel!

moving on

The weather has been uppermost in our minds: you can't ignore it. Hot, clammy, oppressive. Still, these things pass. We are lucky: the heat wave didn't settle in for a protracted visit. Today, after tumultuous ups and downs, after rains, and some sunshine, and heavy storms, it all retreated, as if it had lost its battle to dominate. This time around, we won. (I sit this evening by an open window, a cool fresh breeze making its way inside...)

Several notes on this on the one hand calm, but also tumultuous week: I realize that my calm isn't everyone's calm. I feel sad about that: while I'm counting lilies, I hear from friends who have serious issues before them. Two of my closest friends have sick children and grandchildren. My mom, too, has had a mixed-bag week. I think things are finally settling down for everyone, but I do want to note that even in the calmest weeks, I track your worries. No one is free from them and this week, some of you have certainly had your share.

In my garden, I usually find the peace that I wish was within reach for everyone. Though even here, it can be tricky. Although I go out to do my clearing and snipping work very early, these last mornings have been oppressive nonetheless. And the bugs! Oh, the bugs! The mosquitoes land routinely on any exposed skin. And the horse flies! Damn things buzz around your head, driving you nuts!

Nonetheless, I stay firmly in the thicket of plants, bugs and clammy air. Beauty rarely lands in your lap without effort on your part. I wait all year for a lily's one day of magnificence. I am determined to give each flower a beautiful frame in which she can be admired. That means each day, I snip off spent, wilted blooms. Each photo that I post here is without the distraction of yesterday's droopy flower heads.






Today's pretty girls:
















(Mixed in with true lilies)






This morning, I snipped off a record breaking 800 spent day lily blooms. True, I spent a long time searching for that 800th one! (I was stuck on 799 and I canvassed the flower beds several times before I found one more that had finished her glorious day of flowering.) So, 800 day lilies bloomed here yesterday. And today's show is all new. Isn't that remarkable?


(Front field...)






(Big Bed...)






Breakfast is very late, because Ed is determined to go have his cholesterol checked at Walmart's at 10 in the morning. Why? Well, it's free and close by. Reasons enough for him. (In this regard, we are healthy thugs: we both have good cholesterol and low blood pressure.) Anyway, breakfast is on the close to noon side of things.






Reminding myself to keep moving, despite the heat, I take out my bike for a quick but vigorous ride. There! Now I can settle down to my book reading. Tomorrow, I return to a slightly more demanding schedule!


(looking out, from the porch)

Friday toast

You think you've got problems! It is so hot today here, in the Upper Midwest that every farmette animal is hiding in the coolest spot they can find. After a night of torrential rains, there are some secret wet places, but by afternoon, all of them will be toasty hot. Sort of like lounging near an oven where you're baking your pizza at the highest setting.

So hot, that our smoke and heat detector refused to be quiet, leading Ed to rip the battery out (Ed, you can't do that! We're awake, there's no fire. I'll put it in tonight), which only means that it utters an annoying beepy noise every now and then, rather than a continuous screech.

And on this hottest of hot days, Madison Gas and Electric had a morning explosion and fire, leaving thousands downtown without power. That outage just missed my mother's building. Elsewhere, people are scrambling to find cooling spots.

Knowing that this wave of furnace air was coming, I went out early to feed the cats. There are now only five kittens left and Dance, who never goes anywhere, has disappeared. I imagine she found a spot to deliver her litter. What a day to pick for your birthing day!

The constant nightly storms have rinsed our garden clean, so that we cannot really fool mosquitoes anymore: the pizza-like repellent is nearly gone. The bugs are returning, suitcases in hand. Still, I work the flower fields this morning without pause. Better get it done now, before the afternoon sweltering heat settles in.

I snip 640 spent day lilies.

(here's one that's just coming into bloom today)







There is no earthly reason to spend any time on the porch. Nonetheless, we eat breakfast there. That memory of a long bleak winter hasn't totally left me yet.






The flower beds are built around lilies and I can say with confidence that this is their very best moment: abundance, color, vitality. It's all there.






(looking out from the porch: what about this is not sublime??)






In the evening, a deer comes to help decapitate some of the lily heads. I tell her to go away. She says -- no, please share. Farm visitors are so unreasonable.





Night. The air conditioning is on. The air outside is sticky hot. Tomorrow, we'll get the pounding rains again. Storms, thunder -- all of it. But right now it's quiet. Sticky hot and quiet.