Sunday

If I've raved about the weather on some previous days of spring -- forget those accolades. This day beats them all. Mostly sunny, a high of 73 -- what's there not to love?

Hi cheepers! -- that's the attitude I had walking to set them free at 5:30. Isn't it lovely outside?






Breakfast is on the porch, of course!






And then Ed and I attack our list of outdoor projects. And here's something I learned today: the chickens aren't as thrilled with "sunny and warm" as I am. They follow us to wherever we are working, but rather than pestering us no end, they park themselves in the shade and attend to their plumage. Or take a nap. Occasionally, one will come to me and give a halfhearted scratch of the soil. Tokenism. She really wants me to hand her a worm. She'll then retreat and join the pack. As if the begging itself was too much effort.



Oreo, watching


So we got a lot done today. Ed finished building the pea trellises, I nearly completed planting the flowers. We trimmed dead tree limbs, replanted the lilies of the valley, planted the replacement peach trees and an apple and cherry (having taken out the ones that did not survive our impossible winter) and randomly trimmed anything that stood in our path.



(the replacement peach trees are mere twigs)


We're being careful with our young fruit trees this year. Ed is building cages for them as we speak to keep the deer away.

Our list of projects isn't exactly dwindling. But I am so happy that the difficult ones are slowly being crossed off. So that only the zen-like ones remain. I mention this because I spent some time watering the new plants this afternoon and I remembered how much I love (yes, really!) just standing there with a hose and pointing it toward a flower bed. This is the best aspect of yard work: the satisfaction of having it come together, aided now by a misty spray of water.

In the evening we go to our home supply store (Menards) to pick up more wire fencing for our new orchard. While still in the parking lot, I watch a young couple hurry to a waiting car. There are two kid seats inside, but I can't tell if they're empty or with kids. The couple is loading up some painting supplies. She looks so stressed. I'm thinking -- it's Sunday evening, they probably have work the next morning, kids to feed yet tonight and this project that obviously cannot be completed by the end of the day. I wonder if in countries where families gather for the better part of a Sunday, home improvement projects are less popular. Because how else do you fit in everything?



(our neighboring farmers to the east)


Dinner -- a simple one of wild asparagus from various parts of the farmette (we don't know how it seeded, but we have scattered spears coming up in a number of places during May), of shrimp and sorrel and quinoa.






I look at my gardening list for this coming week. The transplanting of tomatoes alone will take up an enormous amount of time. And of course, any mowing will need a repeat performance. Ditto weeding. (To the commenter who suggested burning the prairie grasses -- Ed tells me that he tried that when he first moved to the farmette. All it did was strengthen the quack grasses. Our prairie is really only in part a true prairie. Most of it is overwhelmed by quack grass, mustard greens, Queen Ann's lace, rambler vines. Things that thwart a prairie. To start a true prairie, we would probably have to apply several doses of Roundup and then vigorously reapply it until all invasives were put to rest. We're not willing to do that, so we struggle with imagining something else. Maybe a clover field someday? We dream big! For now, I mow.)

So this is it -- what we look forward to all winter long. An immensely busy time of putting in place a garden. A raspberry field. A shady flower bed. Strawberry rows. A young orchard. Are the better dreams out there? Can't think of them. Not on days like this one.

Saturday

Being at the brink of explosive flower growth is pretty exciting. And, here at the farmette, also a touch frustrating.

In the morning, I am up with the sun (which is so darn early in the second half of May!).





I make my way slowly, in the direction of the chicken coop.

What's this? Someone has been digging up the large flower bed! One plant is completely destroyed. A handful of others are sheared of new growth.

This isn't the work of chickens.  I'm guessing it's Martha, our resident groundhog.

Never mind. Let's appreciate the sunny (though slightly cool) day! After breakfast...






...I take Rosie (the moped) downtown where I meet my girl for a round of market shopping.






Asparagus, of course. Oyster mushrooms. Maple syrup for Ed. Sorrel for dinner tomorrow.

It's a lovely way to ease into a Saturday.

Okay, I'm ready to do some planting.

So are the chickens.

I try distracting them. It works for a few minutes, then the hens are in my face again. They dig where I dig, or nearby. They're not as destructive as a groundhog or a chipmunk (we have one who cropped a whole row of tulips for us), but they can damage new growth and roots. Again I redirect. And they come back. Ed moves them out. But only for a while. It's like having four toddlers who refuse to take a nap when you want to get things done.

Well okay. Enough planting for today. Let me sit back and look at the upside of the garden. It's not all daffodils out there! By now we have some dainty clumps of.... oh, all sorts of things! Here's the side bed for example  (the one that abuts the brick walkway to the house).






And elsewhere:
















This, of course, is the peak week for planting, but I can't neglect the grinding work of weeding established beds and, too, of mowing the back prairie. I get on the John Deere. It's a rickety old tractor but it does the work of  chopping growth on the bumpy terrain out back. Until I hit a rock or a stump or an old log and once again dent the carriage, effectively bringing the machine to a halt.

And Ed fixes it and then, lo! I do it again!

I abandon the project for now. Is it even worth it? Or should we let the prairie take over as it did in past years? Waist high quack grasses, weeds, creating a lovely environment for mice, ticks, but too, some beneficials. Surely butterflies find refuge there as well... I really don't know the answer to this.

I rejoin the chickens and again Ed tries to distract them while I tidy the flower beds.






And by this time it's evening and the day has flown by ridiculously fast and this is the way it is when you have a long list of projects for the outdoors.

I wish I could say we retired early, but it's never like that on busy days. Tomorrow! I'll get on a good schedule tomorrow! In the meantime, I'm still picking up the pieces of yesterday. And this of course reminds me of all the graduation hoopla and your kindest possible words here and via email. Thank you! So very much.
 

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.