Graduation

I haven't been so full of thoughts of classrooms, of lecturing, of writing a lecture since the first time I faced a roomful of law students back in 1989. The closer I came to this day -- the day I was to address the graduating class of 2014 -- the more I worked to revise the words of my speech. No, I shouldn't say it this way. Someone may find it patronizing. And this sentence needs tweaking. It could be misinterpreted. And so on.

The day finally arrived when I could make no more changes. Because like it or not, after this day, the graduating class of 2014 will have graduated and moved on.

For me, it was, of course, an early morning. I'm up at 5:30 these long days of presummer.






And initially, it is a morning like all others. I try to get back to bed for a few more minutes of sleep -- it doesn't work. Isis is up, Ed is stirring. Okay. Let the day begin.

Pancakes for Ed, the usual for me, in the sunroom, because for a brief minute it is sunny.






Ed then goes off to his techie meetings and I face my written text one last time. I read it through once. No, still need to change a word. Tear up printed copy, try again.

Fine. It feels right at last.

And I'm off, because the whole day has graduation events that I now must attend.

Finally, it's time: the ceremony that turns law students into JD graduates.

The processional. The speech of Justice Abrahamson of the Wisconsin Supreme Court. Student speeches. My speech.


 
(taken by Ed)


It felt like being in the classroom again. But a bigger classroom. Faces of my students before me, but, too, I am very aware of Ed being in the audience (he had never heard me address a room full of people before). Of my daughter and her husband taking the time to be there too and taking the time to text my little one in Minneapolis, so she could follow along as best she could. Of my two friends, one in New Mexico, the other in Florida, listening to the live stream. And here's my farthest audience -- my friend in Denmark and her young son, tuning in at a seven hour time difference. People in Madison, people outside Madison -- I had them all in my mind and it was as if we were all at the podium. A remarkable feeling!

And with the end of Commencement, I said good bye to my connection to the Law School.

How to commemorate this step away from academia? Well, I go out and bought the new glasses I had been coveting some days back. Glasses that are far too expensive for a person on a retirement income.

And I come home to my three boys...



Isis, Ed, Oreo

...and to my three (foster) hens.

Ed and I cover my pots of annuals with blankets because there may be frost tonight. I then fix a supper of scrambled eggs and Wisconsin asparagus. With a glass of celebratory Cava.

And finally, I sit down to write this post.

mid-May

Tomorrow starts the second half of May.

Tomorrow, we will be done with weeding the raspberry field and so gardening will again take on pleasurable qualities.

Tomorrow may well be the last day I ever speak to a large crowd from behind a podium.

Because tomorrow is our Law School's Commencement ceremony and (by student choice), I am the faculty speaker.

Preparing the address has occupied my writer's thoughts for the past month. Honestly, I don't know if anyone believes that a commencement speech could have much of an impact on the life of someone in the audience. But you can hope to give a little nudge. Or at least offer a suggestion of something to consider.

I wont write much about the content of what I have finally put together for the address. That's tomorrow's story after all. But I do think that there is a significant marker for me: today versus tomorrow. Today, I am still, in the eyes of the graduating class, a faculty member. Tomorrow, I will move away permanently from teaching, lecturing, addressing students. 


But let's get back to this day, in this first half of May -- a coolish day of morning showers...






(I let out the chickens only to have them hide under the roosting box)






...a day where I thought we would not be doing much outdoor work, except that after breakfast...






...the showers abate and with deep sighs (signifying reluctance), Ed and I return to the raspberry field to finish weeding. That's the next to last step. After, we'll throw chips on our cleaned field and then we turn our back to it.

Except that's not entirely accurate: after we're done restoring the field, the real struggle begins. And you may as well view it as a far deeper struggle that Ed and I engage in as we work the farmette land. Ed wont, of his own volition, prune, cut back, tear down, rip out things that show signs of life and growth. When he mows the grassy stretches, he will sweep gross circles around milkweed (because it attracts butterflies), he will  spin around invasive raspberries, and other plants that decide to make their home in the grass. And that's a very noble attitude, but it makes it immensely difficult to keep the farmette from looking like the northern cousin of a deeply overgrown jungle.

The reason the raspberry fields got to be such a weedy mess is because Ed would not mow down emergent new canes. Within a handful of years, we had a thicket of raspberries, quackgrass, thistle, burdock, nettle and who knows what else. No human could ever get to the raspberries without suffering an attack from all sides, made more brutal by the every hovering mosquitoes who consider a raspberry mess to be some form of Shangri la.

We got the field under control because last year, without consulting Ed, I took a John Deere to the jungle and chopped down a good half of what was there. The rest we took out by hand this year.

But I see the telltale signs of the old Ed coming back. Again he is reluctant to pull out canes that pop up everywhere (raspberries are like a weed -- they take off and grow without asking for permission). This wont do. We did not just spend our last ounces of energies on improving something that may again go into a state of disarray within two or three years.

Ed has an idea. Do you want to sell the extra canes? -- he asks.
Well why not. For sale! Cheap. Great canes, ready to plop into your yard. Maybe $2 each? And believe me, within a few years, you'll have far more than you'll ever have wanted. Because these dudes multiply like crazy rabbits. The ad will go up on Craigs list. I'm hoping that within a few weeks, we'll have offloaded a few boatloads of canes. Leaving us with hundreds still, but at least an orderly bunch, planted and pruned by us.


In other news: Scotch again gave us an egg with twins. How that mega egg could come out of that little chicken is beyond me, but we praised her to high heaven for her mighty efforts on our behalf.

In the late afternoon, we make a trip to our local Farmers Market. And now you can tell that we are not just pretending: we truly are in the thick of the growing season. There is asparagus everywhere!






Our own serious planting of vegetables begins next week. In the second half of May. Last year we rushed it, only to have several nights of frost nearly ruin our crop. We are more patient these days. Satisfied with what's blooming now, excited about the possibilities for the weeks ahead.

inch by inch

It wasn't your run of the mill work-in-the-yard day. I left the farmette in the morning and didn't return until evening. For me, that's a rarity. But it's good sometimes to take a break, even from activities you love. Especially when you replace these with things you also love!

So, first, let's start with the unchangeable tasks: good morning chickens!



(coop door open!)


Sorry about the cooler days ahead. Though I dare say, you like cool. And damp. It brings out the worms.











Breakfast. Not too early, not too late.






And then I go over to my daughter's. I help her with planting and I bring over some raspberry canes and catnip too. I mean, if anyone needs raspberries or catnip, please let me know! We grow both in huge quantities!





And here's where I remember the song that I used to play for my girls when they were very very small. And as I sing it to my daughter and she finds it on her playlist, I am flooded with memories of what it was like to watch them grow up. It's rare that I have such vivid flashbacks and yet I am not surprised that this should be the case. These are months of progressions and changes for them. As they move forward in their lives, I sit back and consider it all.


Afterwards, my girl takes me out for a lunch downtown. I tell her -- it's hard to dress right for garden work followed by a special lunch!

And it is rare, very rare that I have lunch in town. And during the meal, I open Mother's Day presents from both daughters and once again I am so awed by their generosity and good taste!


The rest of the downtown chores are just a tad less memorable: a visit to the Apple store to make computer adjustments (I walk away with a new phone! who knew that I could get top dollar for my old phone from them, so that on balance, I owe nearly nothing? Ed rolls his eyes: what was wrong with your old phone? well, not a whole lot, but think of the learning possibilities on the new one!). And finally, a visit to the eye doctor (so, when was it that you changed your glasses? Five years ago? Huh. Well, just to reassure you, things aren't that bad. I know he wanted to add -- for your age, but he generously refrained from it at the last minute).

Then home. Where my chicks are, as always, thrilled to see me.


 
(the run)




(the wait at the doorstep)


And I give them their treats and I study the list of things that need to be done in the next few days and I note the cool front passing through this week and I hum the song from this morning, because, well, it's a catchy little song. With very farmette-type lyrics. I'll end with John Denver singing it for you and a photo of our old orchard to look at, now in bloom, from top to bottom.

final push

I'm used to having the hens run like crazy toward me when I alight, from the car, or from the farmhouse, or anywhere at all. I shout "cheepers!" and they zoom, as if propelled by a vision of gold. Corn gold. (That's what they get from me, insofar as I am in the mood to give them treats.)





Even Oreo does an interesting pogo stick-like bounce to get to me as quickly as possible, given his disability.

But I was surprised early this evening to see another "cheeper" follow me up and down the big flower bed (the bed that spans the space from the farmhouse to the sheep shed) as I did my usual bend and pluck weeds routine. A little guy.






Maybe he took flight from a nest and then realized that he couldn't quite manage the return trip up. If so, his life could be measured in minutes. Isis is not a cat that chases birds, but there are surely plenty of predators who would love this morsel for a predinner hors d'oeuvre.

I watched him as he hopped around me. I threw him some grain seeds that I had in my pocket, but that only frightened him. Eventually, I left him there, hoping he'd try harder to fly upwards toward safety.

It is evening. I really cannot believe how quickly this day moved from sunrise (or thereabouts)...






...to sunset. Maybe it was the work on the raspberry fields. Remember how I estimated we had seven days left of repair work? Well, we pushed ourselves today. It wasn't a brilliant day, it wasn't even sunny, but we were both quite tired of working that piece of land, so we put every last ounce of effort into it and by late afternoon, all the fabric was removed from beneath loads of soil and growth, the box elder tree saplings dug up and discarded, weeds sifted out and trashed into the big compost pile. There still is a strip that needs a huge weeding effort and we do need more wood chips to cover any bare soil, but you will not hear again any recounting of raspberry repair work. It is (mostly) done!






There could be nothing else that I could do today. I mean, I'd been up, as always, since just after sunrise and breakfast belonged to those early hours...






...and then, of course, came the heavy work on the patch.

Ah, but there is one thing that I can still accomplish: a drive to the Flower Factory!


 


... to pick up, well, maybe a heuchera. And the "wedding" phlox "Miss Lingard." Maybe two of those. And sure, something else will get thrown in, so it's never the most economical trip that I make, but it is most certainly one of the most peaceful ones, especially on an evening, when the skies are gray, the winds are cool and the vast terrain is empty. Just me and a red wagon, moving from one greenhouse to the next, reading tags, taking in the aroma of wet dirt, of growing things.

the pause

When I stepped outside to free the chickens (it was before 6, which feels too late for them and too early for me), I was surprised by how steamy the air felt. All day long, you felt the threat of rain.






And that was just so perfect. I needed a break from nonstop work outside.

Breakfast was still on the porch -- a lovely moment before the storms hit...






I knew we wouldn't be battered too hard, but still, I worried about the chickens. They appeared so oblivious to the threat of a dangerous thunder shower. Just before the rains pounded our courtyard, I ran out to hustle them into the garage. Next time, watch the weather patterns! -- I tell them, breathing a sigh of relief as they huddled around my moped.

It's not that we got nothing done. I did plant the beans and a few flowers and we worked on the raspberry fields a tiny bit and, too, we cleaned up the spaces around the writer's shed, pulling out great quantities of weeds and leaving behind only a peony, a lilac bush, a few lilies and a rambler rose.





The writer's what? -- some of you may ask, not knowing that before I agreed to move to the farmette (in 2011), Ed and I felt a compromise was a good idea: I'd come out to the farmette for a few days here and there. And I would spend my hours in a little hut that we built (with help). We called it the writer's shed, because I very much wanted to spend time there working on various writing projects.

Inside, it remains unfinished. For now. Someday we may come back to it. Because you just never know how you may want to position yourself in the future.. Maybe Ed will turn social and we'll take great pleasure in putting up guests who pass through.


And finally, we worked up the courage to confront our own inadequacies. They are so very evident in the new orchard. We planted baby fruit trees two years back. The deer destroyed most of them. The next year, we replanted them and added extras. Ed worked out a fencing system to protect them, but we got busy and only a few trees benefited from the fences. And so once again, the vast majority of trees was destroyed by deer.

We surveyed the damage closely today.

What's the next step? Scale down the orchard. Order just a few replacement trees. Take care of what we plant!

It isn't easy to be a farmetter...

But the rains slackened our pace and allowed us to catch a breath. And the chickens played in weeds and gobbled worms and ticks and sweet fresh leaves of weeds. How perfect is that!

Mother's Day

My daughters and I -- we have a floating Mother's Day celebration. It's often difficult to get us together on the designated day. I'm out of town, or, as in this year -- they're out and about. On the east coast, last I checked. So we stall it a little. And, too, I'm still flush with birthday celebrations. I can wait.

But this doesn't mean that I do not think of this Sunday as somehow mother-centered. The theme comes up. It's in my head. And when I talk to my own mom, or to my girls, we treat it as a day that truly does stand for something. We acknowledge it. We wouldn't think of not sending Mother's Day greetings.

But from the point of view of farmette work, it's just another day of intense gardening. It's warm. Too warm, Ed would comment. Perfect, from my perspective.



(at sunrise)




(a morning drink)




(it's Scotch's turn)


A porch breakfast. I tell Ed to snap a photo. You know, because it's Mother's Day.






And I tell the chickens to behave. I feel like I'm their designated mother. They dutifully leave three eggs for me, right on schedule.






Many, many years ago, working in the garden on Mother's Day was a real treat. A time to indulge my preoccupation with perennial flowers. These days, of course, I merely continue the work of yesterday and the day before.

And though I do pause to take in the heady smell of plum trees in bloom...






...and I smile as I watch the chickens attack a raspberry cane (be my guest! we have millions of them!)...






...I have to admit, when the time comes to work on the raspberry fields, I approach the task with a big sigh. Both Ed and I are so sick of this project that the digging, lifting and heaving seem especially difficult, draining, never ending.

It would be terrific if I could say we're almost done. We're not. I'd estimate we have a good seven days' work left. I only wish Ed hadn't reminded me that if the field isn't maintained, it'll turn into one huge area of weeds again. Fussing over flower beds is rewarding. Raspberry fields? Only mildly so.

Still, by dumping a lot of chips, we'll be keeping the weeds to a minimum. Let's hope I'm motivated to maintain the field for years on end. If not -- well, we gave it a push in the right direction.


In other Mother's Day news -- we did go to a gardening center to replace three of my many many lavender bushes. These guys had a rough winter and though most survived, I had a few casualties.

And then there is the matter of dinner. If ever a meal demonstrated what it means to be a mother, I think mine was a classic. I had told Ed I'd make chili for a couple of days. We have several bags of last year's tomatoes in the freezer and thoughts of planting new seedlings soon made me want to hurry up and use up last year's batch. But I lost my focus. In tracking my daughters' travels back from the east coast (such a motherly task!), I noted that they left their destination on time. Good! Maybe they'll beat the storms in Chicago. I chopped tomatoes and clicked on the website informing me of the progress of their flight. Until suddenly I got the dreaded screen telling me that there was no more information. Please call this number if you want to know more.

I call, chopping tomatoes all the while. A recording tells me their flight has been diverted. Why? Recordings don't answer whys. I chop more tomatoes. I click, call, click call. They are now in South Bend, Indiana. What now? Click, chop, call.

As I write this, I am able to piece together what must have happened. Bad weather, small plane, diversion. Ed asks -- why are you so intense about it? It's not as if flying is unsafe.  Well now, mothers don't turn off their tracking minds just because something is "safe." Mothers go into the heads of their children. They know that those children will be anxious about getting home on time for work, for husbands and fiances. When their children are (ostensibly) anxious, mothers are anxious. (I write about mothers and not father s because, well, it's Mother's Day.)

I chopped up so many frozen tomatoes tonight (calling the update line, watching radar maps, clicking, calling, clicking) that we have enough chili to for dinners through at least Thursday. Think of it as Mother's Day chili.

My daughters are on their final leg of their travels at last. The chickens are tucked and set for the night. Ed is scrubbing down the stove I managed to splatter with my distracted chili cooking. All's right with the world. For now. Today. On this Mother's Day.

Saturday

Again, a beautiful day before us! There is sunshine already by 6 and the hens are anxious to get out and test the lands to the back of the barn (they get much more adventurous on sunny days and that may or may not be a good thing!).











Breakfast on the porch again. Right after Ed conducts a successful catch and release of a huge bumble bee. If ever there is a mark of an approaching summer, wouldn't it be the sound of a bumble bee?





I completely appreciate this morning of utter loveliness. It's not a given that May should have such days. In fact, next week, I'd be surprised if we have a single morning breakfast outdoors. But for now, revel in it! It's absolutely stunning! The birds are a riot of song, the air is just right -- we find it hard to turn away from this porch moment of complete contentment.

Again it is a busy gardening day. Friends stop by for an early afternoon visit, so we do take a slight pause. Only for a few minutes.  All the other daylight hours are filled with the most important of all gardening activities: planting. And, of course, with shooing chickens off. And let's not forget about weeding. Not a day will go by this spring where I will not pull out at least 500 sprouting tree seeds, burdock roots, creeping charlie trails and today, in addition to all that, I finally give up on trying to contain the lilies of the valley at the side garden and pull the whole lot out -- to be transplanted later in the day by the barn. Near the chicken pen. Enjoy the (short lived) fragrance of this pretty flower, chickies!

Chickens. Oh, those chickens! Whitney is there every time I dig a new hole. Scotch hovers to the side, not wanting to appear dominant. Oreo is never as quick as the girls. Butter -- she's a happy-go-lucky chick. If there's digging, she'll partake. Maybe. To a point.

I can't say they are not at all destructive of my flowers. Something will catch one's fancy and she (or he) will nibble away. But it's a rare event. As the beds fill in, they find other places that have greater access to soil.

Isis watches all of this and I cannot tell whether he is accepting of the imposition, or reconciled, or still a tiny bit on edge. Was it coincidence that when the chickens got up from under the picnic table (their favorite resting place) to scratch and search, he spread out there himself, even though he has never shown interest in that place before?





And how about when he went over to the silo to chew on some blades of grass and Whitney followed him: was he okay with that? Or a little apprehensive?





As you can tell, the level of stress, here at the farmette, is rather low. We watch a humming bird come and go, I frown at the chicken that (deliberately?) knocks down the lupine bloom, I heave the hose to water the new plantings because there just hasn't been a lot of rain lately -- these are the issues that consume us now. Nothing more than that.

In the evening, late evening, we thrown down the tools, drink copious amounts of fizzy water and take long showers. It's a date night!

Since it's Saturday and we want to avoid crowds, we stay local. A new Indian restaurant opened just a couple of miles west of us and we want to keep them in business! And I take my laptop and he takes his magazine and you may not fully understand why this is such a wonderful date, but for us, it truly is that.

Friday

In the middle of the night, Ed wakes up and asks me -- have you noticed that the heater is cycling on and off?
Of course I haven't noticed. Sleep. I was right smack in the middle of it. And, too, we have a very quiet furnace.

I try to focus on the issue at hand. From what I can make out, it appears that on this warmest night of the year, the heater is turning itself on. Then immediately off. Then on again. Just for a few seconds. Then off. And it's bugging the heck out of Ed because it signifies a problem and he hasn't a clue as to what it could be.

Predictably, he's up and off to the basement.
He comes back after less than an hour.
Unbelievable. Really. Unbelievable. A bug in the condensate overflow line.

I only wish I could fully grasp the significance of all this. No matter. I glance outside. The skies are just at the point of mellow light that takes hold before the sun is up. Time to think of letting the chickens out. It's going to be a lovely morning!











The day runs away from me -- of course it does -- but not until we have our breakfast moment on the porch.







After that, it's grocery shopping time, followed by a full day of yard work. With the chickens following every movement of the hand shovel. 

It becomes obvious that any serious planting can take place only when the hens are resting. And they rest only after big eating extravaganzas.  So I work around their habits, zipping forward mainly in the hours when they pick clean their feathers or doze off for long naps under the picnic table. When they're up and alert, we hunt worms together.








By evening, I'm ready to throw down the shovel. But it's not a night for careful post writing. I can only note the basics, nothing more. Bedtime cannot come fast enough! I'm as tired as the hens are after a day of soil scratching. Until tomorrow then! To a good night of sleep!

higher still

We reached 82F (nearly 28C) today -- that was a first! Was it last September that I was this warm outside?

It was so unusual, so sudden and, looking ahead at the prognoses, so fleeting, that when we got up to open and freshen up the coop, we decided to stay out.

And this is how I find myself doing raspberry field (you can no longer call it a patch) work before 6 in the morning.






(The chipped area is the repaired field. Oreo and Butter are testing the raspberry leaves of a newly transplanted cane.)






We work hard and stop only because the thought of breakfast on the porch is so tempting me that I can't quite shake the image. (This photo is not of the breakfast table, but from the breakfast table, looking out.)











At midday, I ride Rosie (the moped) past fields to the east, still cultivated by a community of Laotian truck farmers.


 



I'm on my way to check in with my back therapist. It's my second and final visit, so that we may review the exercises that I really mean to be doing. My back is feeling too fine. If I had a twitch at least, I would have an ongoing reminder of how bad it could get. I would slow down and take heed. As it is, I have no twitch, ache or pull and so I continue to work. But, I have made at least one adjustment and it's a big one: I strap on knee pads when I head out to the yard. They remind me to get down rather than lean forward when I need to weed or plant. You gardeners out there, I strongly recommend them. $8.95 at Farm & Fleet.

Later in the afternoon, I have a wonderful iced tea break with a friend. So yes, I do have a bit of a respite. But immediately after, the garden beckons. Ed and I expand the flower bed and, too, we build a teepee for the soon to be planted purple beans...










And I finally tend to last year's strawberries. They are popping with new growth! I have no doubt that our chicks are going to go after the berries once they grow and ripen. For now, we have draped netting over most of the plants. Ha! As if that will keep chickens away! We'll surely have to adjust our game plan as the season unfolds.

Dusk. Take out pizza, I'm that tired. Head full of daffodils and summer mornings on the porch.