travel

Travel disrupts the normal, but my normal includes so much travel that it becomes rather ordinary: I put on my travel mindset and, like listening to rather dull, inconsequential music, I go through the motions of packing a bag, eating a last fabulous breakfast (this part's not dull!)...






... tidying spaces and getting them ready for days of solo Ed use (yep, there's a difference!), going over lists of things that must be done, both in California and Wisconsin and finally riding to the airport with Ed, and catching the flights to Minneapolis, then San Francisco.

I leave a greening Wisconsin behind...






...cross this vast continent which, from the air, always feels even more vast...






...and arrive in the somewhat parched but green nonetheless California. It's rare that the incoming flight gives such gorgeous views of the Bay, but this time it does and I'm grateful for it.






I should mention that I am lucky, because an agent at the airport kindly agreed to put me on an earlier flight. I was to have no time in the city tonight, but now, instead, I have a late afternoon to roam the streets, in search of that, which makes San Francisco such a popular place, for locals and visitors from all over the world.

My own history with this city is very long. I have had family living in the Bay Area since I was very young and indeed, my grandma chose this to be her home for her senior years and my mother is following in those footsteps. I never saw this as a city to love or hate -- it's just the place where one American branch of my family chose to settle.

It is, of course, far nicer than many places where a parent might choose to retire, but it is distant from where I live and so a trip here is a major production. More major than, say, going to Chicago.

I'm staying at the Triton -- a very funky hotel just by Chinatown. All my recent San Francisco stays have been in hotels that form the Kimpton group and in this way I feel I am returning to a family of hotels.  Here's my room -- nicely in the corner, so with light. The wallpaper is a print of pages from a novel. I wonder if I would recognize it if I read it. After all, you wouldn't do a wallpaper of something obscure... Or would you?






In the (really funky) lobby, there are hula hoops. Just because.






I did not plan a walk or a destination and now, flush with more time, I consider the possibilities. Walk. Randomly. The park is too far, the obvious recommended destination -- Fishermans Wharf -- nah. So I walk the streets, which here are often steep...






...and I smile at the fact that California always meets your images of what California is like. You know, sunglasses.






And a love of the sun. Which appears to be always present.






Eventually, I cannot stand feeling so hungry anymore (it's been a while since that bowl of oatmeal) and so I look at the menus of the handful of recommended (by the desk clerks) fresh and honest eateries around me. Expensive.

I go to a Chinese place. After all, I'm hugging Chinatown.





I read the menu and retreat. The concept of fresh an honest -- so California, yet so elusive!  I'm getting in that fussy state where I am very hungry, but I don't want to make a mistake. (A mistake = spend too much money on food that's not good... It's surprisingly easy to do.) Finally I go back to a place that seems both simple and immensely popular. E & O Asian Kitchen. So much is it popular, that there's only one spot open and it's at the bar. Perfect! Even though I am a bit of an odd shoe here. I'm too old, too not California, too in love with the porch at the farmette and Pouic Pouic on the other side of the ocean. I'm not like her -- I'm not wearing a beautiful little black dress and if Ed were here, he would not be like him, behind her, with cufflinks clasped just so.






Still, I don't mind playing the outsider that I am. I order two appetizer dishes and a complicated drink that's fizzy and refreshing and one of the dishes is just superb and exactly what I need. (This one: with the shrimp the herbs the fruits the cucumbers the Asian flavors; the second one of chicken satays is fine if a tad boring.)





And then I drag myself back to the hotel. It is my 10 p.m. and their 8 p.m. and I still have a post to write and emails that deserve a response.

Except my funky hotel is having a funky problem: the internet is not working. I give them some time to diagnose the issue, but as the minutes drag on, it becomes clear that they haven't a clue and neither do the engineers and so it is time to tell them that this wont work for me: I have to check out.

It's handy then to be in a hotel group: there are sister hotels in town and one has rooms and yes, it will be the same price. But this new one, the Sir Frances or some Drake person -- it is so not my type of hotel! Larger, older, once glitzy now just tired (as I am). The hotel staff beam, thinking this to be an upgrade, as it's their flagship hotel, but I feel like I should use their functional internet to find another place tomorrow.

For now, I put off thinking about hotels and concentrate on writing. And I remind myself that the sunshine today was brilliant and this is nothing to sneeze at

San Francisco does know how to look at the bright side of the equation. And that's a good thing.

the day before

There is much in the air today at the farmhouse! Ed and I are planning a July excursion -- on his terms, so not to Europe and not comfortable! Add to it this: the weather today is superb, so there is yard trimming to attend to and most definitely a walk to fit in. I should admit, too, that Oreo supremely misbehaves by going after his best bud today (first time ever!) and so now I am making the calls that are required to relocate him, preferably to a place that has no humans within spittin' distance. To be accomplished soon, I hope.

And then there's Snowdrop who, as always, spends her Tuesday at the farmette.

And finally, I'm leaving tomorrow for a short trip to the west coast to spend time with my mom who, perhaps you recall, lives in the Berkeley.

You will forgive me then for this post. It's short. It's hurried. It's not as I would wish it to be. But, it's earnest.

Let's check off the highlights:

Breakfast!





The daily appearance of new crocuses -- many framing the bronze statuettes that were made by Ed's mom and that now are scattered in the different flower fields.






Then there is the appearance of Ms wonderfulness herself...






And now the hours are all about her -- her sweetness, her verbal precocity, her delightful antics! In mid-afternoon, I take her out for a very long stroller walk.

She just pretends to look resigned! In fact, she loves every minute of the excursion!






(While the truck farmers hand plow the fields around the farmette...)






We come home. Ed greets us, Snowdrop folds onto his shoulder...






In other words, life continues to be good to us.
Snowdrop is on board with that assessment.







Toward evening, she exhales.



(timed selfie)


The cheeper girls exhale...






And so do we.

And so begins another week...

... of April bliss: showers overnight freshen the fields and nourish all growing things. And as if to please the soul, the sun comes out by mid morning.

We eat breakfast in the kitchen. Just because. Sometimes the easiest venue is the most attractive.





More work in the yard: rain makes weeds grow and this will be a constant now -- the pulling of the occasional dandelion, the creeping charlie, the quack grass. The farmette is full of everything and I'm not even going to discuss right now the fields in the back that support a combination of prairie grasses, flowers and weeds. If I don't mow these (and it is beastly difficult to mow them, as there are ruts, rocks and mole hills, jamming the tractor repeatedly), then the weeds dominate. Honestly, just this week, we considered renting some goats to clear the area, but decided that putting up an electric fence to keep them contained would be more work (and money) than running a tractor several times each season.

For now, I tend to the main flower fields. As do the cheepers.






Ed looks on. I so love it when he looks on.





As we work, Oreo has many times-outs for bad behavior, while the hens happily follow my spade and pick out any worms I unearth with the turning of the soil.


Another work load is coming up on us very quickly -- the vegetable planting is just weeks away. We survey the veggie patch out back, beyond the grand willow...


 



... and note that this patch too has to be weeded. And the grapes have to be clipped and trained. And the young fruit trees need care.



(Ed inspects the tension in the wire supporting the grapes)




(the farmette land: the baby orchard, the veggie patch, Ed)


None of this is bothersome. The required work comes without pressure. Success is measured not by the fruits or vegetables harvested, but by the amount of satisfaction derived from the effort.


I spend the afternoon with Snowdrop.



(so many polka dots!)


We do out usual funny stuff...



(a timed release selfie)





("what else can I grab?")





(that Monalisa smile...)


We none of us have time on our hands, but still, we cannot resist a walk around the lake. Snowdrop, her mom, me, loving every bit of the warmth...











No matter what her mood before (or after), Snowdrop has never once not enjoyed a walk in the stroller. She is my granddaughter, she loves the outdoors, right?!






Evening. I'm at the farmette, scrambling cheeper eggs and stir-frying brussel sprouts and mushrooms. I catch the light outside and I think -- how incredible that this is just the beginning of the stellar season!

Sunday

If Sundays have a certain repetitive pattern to them, this one broke away a little and ran on its own steam.

It was a sunny morning, but I wasn't brave enough to take breakfast to the porch. The sun room is a grand alternative!






We work outside then, but there is less of a rush and more attention to detail. I have, right now, seven very large flower fields to work with (I began calling them fields when I realized that they have little similarity to a perennial border), and one massive one to add where the brambles have been dug out. All this would be a burden to most, but to me, these fields are my tender babes. I know the soil well. I know the irksome parts, the difficulties, the weeds that threaten -- which ones and from which side. I know what I have to do to make the flowers thrive and I set to it in much the same way I would set to anything looking to me for care and nourishment. It is deeply satisfying work: I'm at the level of the soil in spring and early summer and spraying water on warm summer evenings. At the end of the season, I put my feet up and think -- I've done okay by you!



(the girls, happily trampling over the new field being readied for flowers)





(the bed along the gravel driveway is, right now, displaying crocuses)




(sometimes, when I open the front door, I am greeted by ... Butter.)


And so today, I continue to use pitchfork after pitchfork of chips and I dig out what doesn't belong and I am utterly happy to see the progress my babes are making.

And still, at times, I have to pause. Life is more than the farmette -- I tell myself, as I throw down the shovel, the clippers, the pitchfork.

I lure Ed out on a bigger hike -- one along the Ice Age Trail. We've done every segment within hundreds of miles of here, but this one is especially pretty  and not too far. It starts next to a goat/diary farm and makes its way up one hill and down the next so that in just a couple of hours you can get quite a workout.






It's a delicious time to be out in the forest!



(there's just a little bit of green at the edges...)





(midpoint selfie)
 

In the evening, Snowdrop and her mom are to come for dinner, but since the meal preparation isn't complicated (pan fried trout with a wine and caper sauce and buttered snap peas), I offer to help my daughter with her own yard work just before.

She and Snowdrop want to assist, but glancing at the littlest girl, I see that she is unlikely to be of much help yet...





...so I send them off on a walk while I tend to the weeds. Working in someone's garden is like cooking in someone's kitchen -- you don't know where to begin and you haven't a clue as to the final vision. And where we have layers of lovable wood chips at the farmette (they let go of weeds with greater ease, even in clay-ish soil), this yard has pebbles and rocks, which create a new challenge.


Finally, I am home and cooking dinner and Ed and mom and babe are here and it is a very Sunday-ish moment indeed -- with time to sit back and take in the beauty of a very bright evening.






Perhaps it's wrong then to say this Sunday hadn't a predictable pattern. It had the warm April air. Outdoor work. A stellar hike. And a meal together. And a moment to soothe Snowdrop. Yes, a Sunday as it should be. As I would want it to be.

Saturday

Even as I write this, I can hardly grasp the reality presented to us today: the day is so beautiful, so stunningly clear and calm that the itch to work outside, to be outside, comes on strong, even before breakfast.











But by 9:30, we needed a break. We had been doing such mighty work, that I hardly noticed that the thermometer is at a mere 45F (7C). It feels pleasantly warm! I've shed my jacket long ago. So is it warm enough to take the plunge with breakfast? Yes!






Breakfast on the porch is perhaps the finest of the farmhouse meals. Yes, it's just April, yes, there's a chill in the morning still, but somehow it feels right to do this today. We bask in the wonderfulness of eating outside.






And then we return to our yard work.











The cheepers follow us, as they always do. Oreo behaves and then he doesn't behave. [To the commenter who wondered if I project a dislike for him -- well, no. Because he is so erratic, I mostly forget about him. I get very engrossed in what I do outside. And sometimes he goes along with the rest and at other times he gets that gleam in his eye and then he pounces. Will he do it to others? Oh sure. The only one he completely accepts as his superior is Ed. Still, the most unpleasant aspect of his behavior is the element of surprise. Otherwise, I can certainly ward him off with any number of sticks, brooms or shovels. I suppose we both think that his injured leg looks so awful right now that he is bound to succumb to his maladies in the not too distant future. The question is whether I can tolerate him that long.]

By the early afternoon, I complete the better part of early spring work. Oh, I could fill every hour for the rest of the season making improvements, but the bulk of preparatory ground work is behind me.

And so we leave the farmette to take a walk. Ed suggests the Arboretum. It's a brilliant idea. Here, the displays of spring are both visible and audible.

We take one of the many the forest paths...






...and then veer off toward the wetlands.  The marsh is remarkably loud. Young crane? Frogs? Crickets? What? We pause to listen. Among the spent reeds, we spot a nesting Sandhill.






Ed wants to move on. He hates to disturb the privacy of a bird.

At the edge of the wetlands, we stop again to look around. We live close to endangered wetlands and we often go to meetings and public hearings to give support for their preservation. But it's when you stop and look straight in the eye of this fantastic ecosystem that you come to appreciate the dynamic interplay of its diverse elements.






We leave the wetlands, the forest and meander among the grassy knoll with its many maples, magnolias, hickories and of course, forsythias, now in full bloom.
















This is the kind of April you dream about all winter long.


In the late afternoon, I go to Snowdrop's home. She is, as ever, a joy to play with...






...though her mom (and perhaps she?) is raring to be outside and so I take another walk, this time with the two of them, doing the little lake loop -- a distance of just over three miles.

[Again an answer to another commenter: Snowdrop is starting the whole teething thing and so she uses all her might to get anything and everything into her mouth. Not so much a thumb -- more like the whole fist.]






We walk by the big lake too and here you can, perhaps, appreciate the deeply blue sky that is with us all day long.






It is so easy for me to spend most of the daylight hours outdoors on a day like this. I'd forgotten how grand it is to switch one's focus from what's inside your space to that vast world just outside your door.