rain and what follows

You need rain to remind you how good sunshine can be. (I know, you need it for other reasons too, but I’m taking the position of a person living on a mostly unproductive farm, so it’s all about how the weather affects us and our handful of growing things.) It’s our second day of rain. I write the manuscript during rainy days, but it’s a forced write. I sigh and sit down because going outside when it’s raining is pointless.

So I write. And I make progress and I’m thinking that these are the last writing days for me this year and maybe that’s a good thing because maybe I am just a summer season writer. And maybe that’s deliberate, so that I never have to release anything into the public domain, or at least not until I’m good and dead and I’ll avoid the whole people knocking on your door thing, telling you – it wasn’t like that, it wasn’t like what you wrote at all.

When you blog, you make many friends and you lose a few, but when you write and release a whole book of material all at once, I should think that you make very few friends and create a pool of disappointment so deep that perhaps you never quite recover.

So maybe I think about that when I choose, on sunny days, to step outside and work in the garden rather than working on my book.

But, today there was no garden work. Yes, there was breakfast on the porch...

...and a quick flower viewing – before the rain...

...and during a pause...

...and that was it.

Having stocked the fridge with so much food last week, I felt it wrong to suggest a trip to the grocer’s again, but in fact we’ve eaten the last leftover sandwich, the milk supply is low and the fruit – well, our hold looks like something we would have at the tail end of  winter season. Tomorrow. I'll restock tomorrow.

We do make it to Paul’s, despite the rain...

...and we go to the farmers’ market, despite the rain...

...and we even pop in to see my daughter, despite the rain...

Tomorrow we’ll play tennis and I’ll prune and pick beetles off of roses and zap mosquitoes with the zapper and chase hornets out of the mailbox. Unless it rains.

colors

It wasn’t supposed to rain today, but it did – that steady summer drizzle that we’ve been without for all of June, July and thus far August.

Before the first signs of rain, I went out to inspect the garden – a morning routine that has been far more pleasant now that the animals have stopped eating our flowers. For some reason it struck me to focus on what’s yellow right now. Coaxed and prodded by regular waterings, many plants are coming back with a brief rebloom. Here you go – the sweet gently yellow petals around me:

And then it turned gray and the drizzle came and I was glad I had that short walk earlier. The rest of the day was spent indoors.

Doing what? That stuff of life that is best spread out over many days (because it's tedious and dull) and not blogged about (because it's tedious and dull).

So during one of my many breaks, I was happy to see an article in the NYTimes on the virtues of Aperol Spritz (and Aperol in general; I’d written about it in the past, here). On a day like this, the dazzling colors are especially uplifting. Sort of like coming upon a lush oasis in an expanse of dusty sands.

I made one Spritz for myself at what I believe is Aperol sipping time in Italy. (Though actually, my recollection is that the proper time is anytime.)

I am confident that we will remain housebound for the rest of the day. A few minutes ago Ed said -- I’d take you out to dinner today but, one, maybe it’ll stop raining (he’ll be biking if it does) and, two, you’re probably full. I know I am...

Why is he full? Why would I be full at 4 in the afternoon? He’s been making us snacks of home grown tomato with melting cheese curds on top.





When I referenced cheese curds a few days back, one of my readers noted that she had to look them up. (She’s obviously not a Wisconsin girl.) She sent me the definition she had found :

“A cheese curd is an orangish cheese byproduct that feels like Silly Putty but tastes a lot better. It was invented accidentally by UW cheese scientists attempting to create an object of pure cholesterol that would still squeak. Rats who are fed this remarkable food develop an unusual capacity to polka and drink beer.”

Well now, I almost think that's right.

As I reread this post I come to the realization that there was absolutely nothing healthy about this day. Oh, wait, I’m forgetting that there was breakfast. Thank God for breakfast.

...but us chickens

My little one came, they came, they left, he came, they both left, then these came and the others too, but they left and now, this morning, the rest left as well.

Diane, at breakfast

Ernest, making garden tomato sandwiches for the road

There’s been a lot of movement at the farmhouse. My flowers were proudly on display.

But not anymore. Everyone's gone. I’m reminded of the 40s swing hit -- There ain’t nobody left but us chickens, there ain’t nobody here at all... (We don’t keep free range hens. Just the ones on the windowsill.)

Ed, too, has gone off on his Honda, to do work stuff across town.

It’s very quiet here right now. Even the farmers are gone for the day. Maybe it's too hot (again). Or maybe they just had to be somewhere else.

delightfully so

So here comes another delightfully sunny day (I can still say that, even though for many, all of this sunshine has been less than grand), still dry, still not too hot, perfect for a morning check of flowers (a touch misty eyed from the morning dew)...

 

...and a morning breakfast on the porch (here's Ed, because I like this particular photo).

 

My friends are still with us and we have the farmers pride of bringing out a big haul of ripe tomatoes – for dinner, yes and for freezing, but also for breakfast.

This is barely the beginning of the beginning... Ed says and I swear he’s beaming.

My friend and I go downtown. It's perfect. Down to the lake, along the lake path... campus at its quiet time. Not many summer classes now, not many people by the water's edge.

Then, a necessary stop at Paul’s, and a quick game of tennis with Ed, and now we're home and it's dinner time, but, almost to give meaning to the idea that summer is running out, Ed sets the big ladder against the farmhouse west wall. To finish the paint job begun last year. (Karma, my friends' dog, watches from inside, somewhat appalled.)

And finally, a dinner out on the porch...

...a walk out to our new orchard and the incredible, fantastic, over the top abundant tomato patch.

And if all this sounds terribly staid and a tad repetitive, I cannot tell you how much I like these easy days where the big decision has to do with which frozen yogurt to make – strawberry or blueberry? Let’s go with strawberry.

on the porch

Some time at night, my little one comes home. Funny how quickly I revert back to listening for her, waking at her presence in the house, falling asleep quickly, with relief, once I know she’s moving around, quietly, but I hear her anyway. When they’re home, I listen for my girls.

On Sunday morning, there are five of us on the porch. She is there, of course, as is her boyfriend, splendidly driving up from Chicago, making her ride back now that much nicer. Ed is there, Isis is there. Occasion for a bigger, better breakfast than our standard, but she wont hear of it. Just do as you always would do.

So we eat oatmeal, with fruits and honeys and we linger because – did I tell you? The storm did knock the heat wave out of the Midwest. For the first time this entire summer it;s so pleasant outside that I open windows at the farmhouse and keep them open all day long. No need for air conditioning. The breeze can move through, from one end to the other and then back again.

My girl and her guy take off. There’s always a moment of letdown when she gets going, even as her home is relatively close. Chicago. Really not far at all. Still, we had been intensely working together on this shower project and that partnership has ended and she is off and all I can send with her is a bag with a few leftover sandwiches and tomatoes from the garden.

I put away dishes, store the punch bowl (until when?) and we return the chairs to Paul’s. But we don’t linger. The air is delicately warm, breezy still – not warmer than maybe 75 and we go to the tennis court to whip the balls around some. It’s a good transition to life after the big event.

In the evening my friends from St Paul arrive for a visit and we are joined for dinner by our close close friends who live in Albuquerque and it is an unusual evening, because even though we know each other so well, the six of us (meaning with the men in our lives) have never shared a meal together. It just sort of happened that way. 

 

And so here we are, out on the porch, because for once, the evening is beautiful out there and we eat one of this summer’s favorites for me – salmon with blueberries...


 


... and the evening light, not tame, but not hot at all, is coming at us now through the screen and I think – yes, this is why I like summer.











For the lovely sunlight that sometimes hits things just right.

shower time

She stayed up late wrapping little packages of Australian chocolate candy.

 

I stayed up late baking meringues, but she stayed up later. My little girl is very exact in the ways she approaches her responsibilities. Ed retreats to the sheepshed. Too much wedding stuff... he mumbles.

But, in the middle of the night, he is back, asking before the sun breaks the horizon – what do you need me to do today?

Pick up extra chairs from Paul’s. Move the dead branches. Harvest the tomatoes... Thank you.

We sleep a few minutes more, but by 6 I’m up, still baking meringues.

What’s with the meringues, anyway? The short of it: ‘pavlovas’ (meringue with cream and macerated fruits) are the national dessert of Australia.  We’re picking up the theme of Australia for my older girl’s wedding shower because (eventually, after the fall semester) she and her (gulp) husband (that felt strange to say... but good, too... very good) will be taking a honeymoon break there.

Before things move quickly forward, I take a pause with my guys on the porch: Ed, Isis and I, eat breakfast as we always do: slowly, deliberately.

My little girl and I pick up sandwiches at a bakery downtown. That’s the easy break: I’ll make dessert, I’ll create a salad, I’ll chop fruits into a white sangria, but we’ll let someone else put in a creative touch into sandwiches.

And because it’s a bakery, we may as well pick up some back-up cookies. You can’t go wrong with extra cookies.

At home, things are at stages of near readiness. Flowers. Everywhere you look, you'll see flowers. Large and small bunches of them.

The fruits are cut, the white sangria is steeping...

I'd painted a sign. I put it out on the dirt driveway.

Okay. After weeks of tweeking and watering, the plants by the entrance path look good. Green. Welcoming, I think.

The first car load arrives, the fiancée leaves....

My girls exchange a big hug...

Ed brings over the sandwiches from the sheep shed fridge. Here's an idea: put them out in the crates we lugged back from the Languedoc. Okay!

The sangria is poured...

...and lightened by a small amount of soda water...

 

Guests arrive, settle in...

The fun begins. My little girl has planned well. There are quizzes, treats, and of course, wonderful gifts to open...

Thunder rumbles loudly outside. (They say it's the shout of a departing heatwave.) For a short while, it rains steadily, creating an excuse to linger... to enjoy a few minutes more, to eat the apricot-raspberry almond Pavlovas...

Evening comes. Shower’s done – both inside and out. 

 Big sister tackles her little sister in a grateful hug.

Me, I tackle the house: it needs to be brought back to its more quiet state. My little girl helps and then gets ready to join a dozen or so of their friends for an evening out...

Boundless energy. Theirs, wonderfully theirs. But it rubs off. I get to share in it, every now and then. 

They tell me that there is a custom of using shower ribbons to fashion a bouquet for the wedding rehearsal. My little girl has quickly created one today. It's ready for the late September ceremonies.