primal scream

In all my careful ordering and planing and listing and mapping of plants this year, I made a couple of errors. For example, today, after a sort of leisurely (but not really leisurely) breakfast...

 

 

 

... I sneaked in a few hours of planting (23 plants, so not too bad!). It was that or scrub the house. At the last minute I let the house go and went for the shovel. One of the plants that was to go in right next to a path (so a place of honor!) was a day lily with the name of Primal Scream. But I couldn't find it in my carefully laid out collection. Did they forget to send it? Or did I mistakenly place it somewhere else? I called White Flower Farm and she waited for me to say  "it was your fault," but instead I said "it may have been my fault, I don't know!" The people there are very nice. I've been buying from them for well over thirty years and they are always very patient with me. 

In the end I decided that it wasn't fair to ask them for a replacement, but so long as I had them on the phone, I ordered the last three lilium they had for the year. And also the missing Primal Scream. And then I wondered -- can primal scream be a positive shout out, or is it always somewhat tinged with horror?

I think it can be a scream of exuberance, touched with perhaps an overflow of activity. That would describe my days now, because in addition to the planting and my mother and the forest and the chicks and everything else that has been filling my waking hours, I have (today!) the arrival of my younger girl and her family for a quick visit. And I should correct that: it's not "in addition to," but rather -- the main attraction!

And we have good weather for outdoor play and outdoor meals, which is important because we're mixing two households where the kids aren't vaccinated and some adults aren't 100% finished with the vaccinations, so we will be doing most everything in the fresh air. Masked where possible.

Who can complain -- this weekend, the crabs are launching their beautiful display.

(One could argue that the peach trees are even prettier, but I don't engage in such comparisons!)

In the afternoon, I still pick up Snowdrop and she still does come to the farmhouse for some books, snacks and play...

...But by 4:30 we (and this includes Ed) are back at Snowdrop's home. The Chicago family has arrived.

(unmasked for this photo, but maintaining distance on this suddenly windy and cool-ish evening)

I can write nothing more  -- it's all a blur of play, of food, of rainbows.

And tomorrow, it will continue thus. I could let out a primal scream of enthusiastic gratitude!

it's not a race...

Planting is, in many ways, the final frosting in establishing a new flower field. Clearing a space, digging up weeds, rocks and chunks of clay soil, bringing in compost, then a thick layer of mulching chips -- those are tough jobs. Putting an infant plant into a newly created space is the joyous denouement. 

So why am I in such a hurry to get this last beautiful job done? Why work so hard every day? Like today: from right after breakfast...

 

... without pause, until it was time toward evening to talk to my friends on Zoom.

I suppose nearly every weird thing that we do today can be linked in some ways to the pandemic. Me, I got overambitious. Winter was dragging. Spring would be offering us so much hope! The heart swelled and the plans for my gardens grew bigger and more detailed. I envisioned huge new flower fields created out of a mess of weedy terrain. I couldn't wait to get started.

And the plants arrived and if you know nursery plants, they should go into the ground pretty quickly. Put them in right after the threat of a hard frost is behind you. We were given heavenly planting weather this past week: I got to work.

Today -- 33 new babies went into the ground. 

I did think I'd have an easier time of it with some of them, but the soil isn't uniformly good in the new fields so I have to haul in some more composted material to loosen up the clay. Everything is so damn dry (it has to be the driest April ever in Madison!), that digging isn't always easy. 

Still, I'm happy with the progress. And of course, there is joy in working next to a blooming peach tree or crab apple.

The emerging pink in the gently greening tree is just so beautiful right now.

But I am spent. After my Zoom call, Ed went biking and I ventured out to my first dinner with (vaccinated) friends since the pandemic ripped our social fabric to shreds over a year ago. And now I am home and munching on pop corn and thinking that perhaps it's a good thing that I will be giving my gardening a rest for the next three days. We have some family activities scheduled. The rest of the baby plants will have to wait. And they can wait. This isn't a race: a leisurely trot or perhaps even a gentle meander to the end of flower planting is fine way to garden.

that darn cat

We get up early. We want to see how the chicks survived their night in the coop. We walk over to the barn with trepidation. 

Well now, it all seems great! The coop is large. They are on one side, the others are on the other. We open the door, Happy and the big girls scoot out. A nothing worry! Now we can watch the little chicks venture out to enjoy their first taste of freedom.

They love exploring! 

Unfortunately, Dance, who has watched them for nine and a half weeks inside the farmhouse and outside, from behind the play pen fence, now sees that she has free access to them. She prowls, ready to pounce.

She wont stop. She watches their every movement, scooting low, eyes focused intently on the little girls. Twice she tries to leap toward them and twice I shout at her, distracting her focus at the last minute. Ed says she probably is just playing, in the way she plays with a pen that rolls on the floor. But it doesn't seem like play to me and after nearly an hour of watching, we admit defeat: we can't leave them to test her hunting instincts. Into the pen they go.

We will wait another week and try again. Perhaps as they grow, the cats will treat them as they treat the other chickens -- ignore, keep their distance. For now, we're stuck with still tending to the young chicks. Inside the house at night, in the play pen during the day. Uff!!

Breakfast, in the kitchen, because we're so focused on the chickens that the pleasure of the porch would be lost on us.

 

 

 

What follows is a morning of many many phone calls (all having to do with my mother's move in two weeks) and many many plantings. A call comes in, I take it, I plant, one, two flowers, another call comes in, I water the plants (it is so beastly dry out there!), put in some more, take the next call and then the next. I do this all the way until early afternoon: phone in my pants pocket, shovel in hand, pausing, starting, pausing again.

You'd think that this would keep me from enjoying all that's growing around me, but it doesn't. I am intensely focused on all my plants now. I study their progress. I know them by heart (at least I know the old ones  -- the new ones still require a map and a list for cross referencing). Too, we're nearing the time when the farmette in her entirety is at her best. The greens aren't tired, the garden isn't crowded or dried up yet - it all looks so fresh and beautiful!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I pick up Snowdrop at school. Always the happy run...

 

 

We drive to the farmhouse and for once she doesn't want to talk about school. She wants to talk about the COVID vaccination program and masks. She is trying to figure out when she can be in line for a shot. I tell her that they are just testing it on kids who have turned 6. Maybe the fall? She sighs with relief. I don't turn seven until winter! I would be able to get it in the Fall!  (One forgets how literal kids can be.)

(playing in the "magic meadow"...) 

Much as she loves the farmette, today she is eager to return home early: the kids are now sleeping in a bunk bed combo in one room (to make space for their soon to be born sibling). She can't wait to play on her top bed.

Evening. Just a few more plants to put in, really, just a few more! 33 total today. And almost that many phone calls.

just roll with it

Well, the days are getting complicated. A simple two word title wouldn't work. I did not "just plant." Indeed, I failed to meet my planting goal because, well, life interfered. 

It is a strangely warm day. Not initially. Indeed, we eat breakfast in the kitchen. But with each hour, the temps soar and somewhere in the afternoon we reach 76F (24C). During the car ride Snowdrop asks why the car feels so hot. It's simple, dear girl: so far I've been concentrating on making the car toasty inside against the cold outside, I haven't switched the mindset to cooling it off. 

 

The morning meal is pretty, with a bouquet of clipped fallen daffodils, but it's hardly leisurely. We bring the laptop to the table and search the internet to figure out if the time is right to integrate the chicks into the brood. At nine and a half weeks, they're medium sized. Is this good enough? As you can imagine, there are many opinions out there. 

Looking out at the gardens, I would say that this is the year of abundant daffodils. And they keep on performing!

But that's all I have time for in terms of yard work: look and assess.

Sparrow comes soon after breakfast. I put aside flower field maps and plans and pay attention to the little guy. I have a few phone calls coming in and he puts up with this, but I do hear twice his plaintive little voice asking -- gaga, will you play with me? 

So I do.

Outside, too.

 

The phone calls were of the kind that require more phone calls. My mom's transfer to another (improved) assisted living facility has been approved. She'll be moving soon. Very soon. So we have a move before us and all that it entails. We need furniture, we need a wheelchair. We need movers!

In the thick of all this, I pick up Snowdrop at school ...

I take her home and return to the phone calls. It's close to 4 before I finally put in my first plant for the day.

Thirteen. I plant a total of thirteen. It's one crazy spring, isn't it? And aren't we lucky to be alive and well so that we can roll with all the interesting developments that come our way?!

Late. Very late. We take the chicks from their sheltered enclosure and plunk them into the coop with the big girls and Happy, the rooster. 

 

 

 

Tomorrow, the pecking to establish a new order will begin, but for now, all is quiet, inside and out.

And that's a good thing.

I planted

I cannot think of any other day that had just two words describe it so perfectly: I planted. inbetween breakfast (inside, with cat, because it is on the cold side of normal)...

... and dinner (I'll return to that in a minute), I did not sit down. I did not pause, I did not do anything except dig, plant, pat down, water. (Sometimes I skipped that last step.)

And what do I have to show for it? Well, for all that work, the numbers remain just okay: 28 plants went into the fields. But this is misleading, because I began the day with filling the tubs with annuals. There, I planted about 30 plants.

So lets take a look at a tiny bit of my work. I'll show you the little pots., The big tubs are (visually) modest at this point. Typically I fill them with about four flowers each, but this year I scaled down. We've invested so much in the big fields that I was feeling frugal. But here are the little guys:

Since I spent so much time outside, I did enjoy the current blooms all around me. Here, this is what's blooming at the farmette right now:

It's a good time to be working outdoors! (With a very chunky and warm sweater on of course.)

By early evening I stop to fix dinner. For these guys:

I did worry that if I sat down to dinner, I would not be able or willing to get up again for the rest of the day, but somehow I managed. But I have nothing sensible to add to this post. I planted. I am tired! Goodnight, with love.

according to the plan

Here's a surprise for me: working in the garden with a plan in hand is harder, much harder than simply planting from the box as you unpack the year's new arrivals. Especially when the number of new arrivals is, well, rather large.

I'm on my third day of planting (after a really slow start) and I felt that today I would catch up a bit. Immediately after breakfast.

I have plants everywhere. In little containers. In plastic bags. Wrapped in newspaper shreds. Plants from my local gardener, plants from three other nurseries. On the picnic table. On the porch. In the mudroom. All mixed up. And it turns out one big box of day lilies was delayed (even as smaller boxes of them arrived -- here they are, bare root and ready)...

So how do  manage the chaos? I look at my maps, I zero in on a space and then back off as I find that some plants are still missing and some spaces cant be disturbed until the electric lines people mark the territory. Basically, it's slow going. A handful goes in this morning. But really, mediocre progress!

I pause at lunch time for my daughter and the grandkids. 

Yes, there's some eating and, too, reading on the orange couch. 

 

 

 

But there is a lot of outdoor time. (Snowdrop: can I eat my dessert on the porch?)

 

 

 

 (Sparrow: can I go on the porch too?)

This is where I love to use the camera most. Outside! Nature and kids. Is there are better combination? (A string of such photos follows!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There is a threat of rain this afternoon and honestly, I so would like it if we had a solid shower. Everything is dry out there. I pause, waiting for the magic sound of raindrops on the roof, but nothing happens. All is quiet. I return to the plants.

A total of  20 planted for the day. That's paltry on a day that has me spending so many hours outside. 

Tonight we're to get that last (I hope) frost. I bring in the annuals, telling them it's their final trip into the farmhouse. Tomorrow I'll start in on the flower tubs. Those at least have no grand plan, no rhyme or reason. Mindless arrangements that sometimes work, sometimes look a little wild, but somehow always bring that stable base of color all summer long.

This evening, all that's left is to cook up a pot of soup. I have kale, I have spinach, I have onions, I have carrots. I have cannellini beans. And parmesan shavings on top. And at the end of the day -- a pot with leftovers for the week. For those too busy days, when I continue to struggle with the plans and the flowers and everything else that goes into a planter's day.