Monday

We both rose with the sun today -- a demonstration of how full our plates are (or, in the alternative, how beautiful the day is this early morning).






With yesterday's filling of (most of) the pots with annuals, we've added color to the farmette in that sudden way that only planting more mature plants can accomplish. I used to scoff at annuals because in the past, greenhouses seemed to limit selections to marigolds and pansies. Or so it appeared to me. But as taste for gardening grew and expanded beyond the tried and true, so did the selection of plants. Yesterday at Kopke's I may have recognized half their offerings. At best. And so I've come back to these wonderful summer-long bloomers. I remember too well that on my late October visit to Giverny, I found that perennials had mostly finished their season, while the annuals soldiered on.

Here are a few pots, to give credit to what's really blooming in my gardens right now (and yes, I do include the violas, or violets, or johnny jump ups, which look like pansies, but their petal configuration is actually different)...






Well, too, I must include the daffodils. This is their prime time.






Our weather has been great the past few days -- too great for April. We'll go back to what this period typically offers (60 F, if we're not unlucky), but today we climbed to 81F  (27C). That's July weather! I can honestly say that it felt uncomfortably hot in the sun.

But great for a breakfast on the porch!






Snowdrop came a tad earlier than she usually does on Mondays -- straight from bed, still in her jammies. We were just finishing breakfast and so she joined us on the porch, thrilled to be appropriating the slingback chair again.






Bathed and dressed, she climbs onto grandpa Ed's chest and attempts to feed him some jam from one of those little jars I must have appropriated from some breakfast table elsewhere. (She loves to open our pantry door and reach for what's inside.) Can't open it, Snowdrop? A shame...






Alright. Let's not waste this summer-like day. Out we go!
And of course, guess who follows us as we walk the farmette lands...






Snowdrop takes off. Gone are the days of tentativeness and uncertainty.






Yes, little one, I know there are twigs on the ground from the willow. And that the grass is too tall. You see, we're kind of lackadaisical about stuff like that.
She's not put off by it. We continue along.






As do the cheepers, though they keep to the shade. If I were to guess which they dislike most -- the hot sun or cold winter winds -- I'd say it's a toss up.






Back inside now.
Grandma, do you think I have enough books about penguins?






She runs. Oh, it's good to be barefoot again!
Do I look like I'm flying, grandma?






There are many ways to read a book. Alone. Nestled in a lap. And now -- at the table.
Hey, we're both in polka dots! Coincidence.






Can I try the other chair?
Sure, Snowdrop.






During her nap time, I have a gentle coffee break out on the porch...





... and then I test the limits of the baby monitor by going out into the yard to study our landscaping work for this spring.

Alright. I have a planting schedule in mind. It's doable. I retreat to the farmhouse just as Snowdrop is starting to wake up.

Afternoon meal? Well, I thought about how I've favored the packs of pureed grains and vegetables for her (because they are nutritionally superior to anything I would whip up for her) and how maybe I should concentrate not only on nutritional value, but also on different textures and eating options.   So I make her a grilled cheese sandwich of sorts and I serve it with a cup of milk, using big girl cups and adult plates.





Oh, you amazing child, you like it all, don't you? Not for you the petty fusses of this or that. You just take on whatever the world (and within it grandma) presents to you.


Time to take you home. Ed, can you help me out a bit? I'm loaded down.

He does. She loves it.





On a day like this, what's there not to love?

Sunday

From daybreak until it is time to fix supper, I stay outside. Oh, sure, there is the quick run in to take a shower and to put breakfast on the porch table -- minutes counted on the fingers of one hand.

It just happened that way. Our days at the farmette often just happen.

Oh, but what weather! What warm, sunny, outdoorsy weather!






Sunrise. Cheeper care. Garden care. I finish pruning raspberry canes. The cheepers go exploring.





Ed's up! We work together. Earlier, I had dug up another batch of tiger lilies, but when he sees their fallen stalks, he is crestfallen. So many ditch lilies slated for the ditch! No, that cannot be!

He finds space around the silo and we dig into the awful clay soil there to make room for the lilies.

And this makes Ed very very happy.

 Finally, breakfast. On the porch once more (with sunlight streaming in)...






And now is the time to purchase annuals for the pots that frame the farmette courtyard. Typically I pick up a few here, a handful there. But  during our Saturday trip to the farmers market, I had paused at Kopke's stand (they usually have the best of the flowering baskets) and Ed reminded me that we had hiked in and around their property this winter when we explored the frozen marshes just south of us. Maybe we should check out their greenhouses?

We do and it is an amazing place! You'd think I'd take photos, but honestly, pictures would not do it justice. It's the enormity of the enterprise that is most striking. When did they plant and pot so many annuals? (The answer, btw, is January.) Wait, here's a silly shot of me, because there was a mirror and I was clutching a few pots and my camera was handy...





And then, bac at the farmette,  I spend the time filling our pots. We have sixteen. Three were wintered over. That leaves thirteen. I filled ten today. I cannot describe how good it feels to create color instantly in this way. Perennials are my focus. Annuals are my indulgence. And so today, I indulged.

Ed asks -- why don't you start your own selection from seed next year?

And this leads us to speculate how we might build cold frames to start the process even in the dead of winter.

We hatch plans all day long. We talk of building trellises for sweet peas along the silo. We speculate about how hard (or not hard) it would be to have a pond and with it -- ducks. We dream big on how to improve the land that is the farmette. It's what we do.

Toward evening, I force myself to stop. I have to fix supper -- quite appropriately, spaghetti primavera, capitalizing on the veggies that you associate with spring: asparagus, beans, peas, a few tomatoes, garlic, basil. Mushrooms, zucchini. Boom! Ready.


And now Snowdrop arrives -- after a long long drive from Minneapolis. I am thrilled to see her walking up the pathway with her mommy! (The cheepers, of course, follow.)






We play indoors some...






But really, who can stay in when the day is so very perfect outside?

We walk the farmette. She loves this and keeps up quite well with the grownups, so long as there is a hand to hold.






Oh, she adores this walk! Cheepers, the willow -- favorites from the past, favorites today as well.












Our dinner is on the porch. I almost can't get Snowdrop to join us -- she is so in love now with the swing back chairs!






But food tempts. I give a final stir...






... and we're set. And as always, she is the perfect guest -- eating everything with the greatest enthusiasm (today's favorites? peas and mushrooms).






I ask -- what did you learn in you great distance travels?

Here's something: she can now execute a perfect fist bump.






The sun casts gold streaks on the walls of the farmette. Suddenly, we left behind the somber tones of the cold season and entered the radiant colors of the warm months.





And that's such a good thing.

Saturday

If yesterday was calm and methodical, today was bursting with growth and spring beauty.  When I come out to set the cheepers free, I am stunned by the perfection of it all.





I stay out and clear some of the distant raspberry beds. I hadn't intended to clear them -- it's a far off item on my yard to do list. But I'm there, they're there and it just feels grand to work outside in the warmth of the rising sun.

 I see a sleepy Ed coming out of the farmhouse. Without asking, he joins in. This belongs to our best moments -- working together in the morning, in anticipation of a beautiful day ahead.







It's noticeably warmer than yesterday, or the day before, or the week before. Warm enough for breakfast on the (cleaned up) porch? Yes! A thousand times yes!











Our plan today was to head straight to the Flower Factory for their grand spring opening. For more than thirty years I have been falling in love with the perennials sold there. David and Nancy (the owners) have grown the business to become perhaps the best place in the Midwest to purchase plants and we're lucky enough to be a mere ten minute drive from where they are.

But, it's also the grand spring opening of the downtown farmers market and someone slipped me a message about one of our farmer friends who had had a rough few weeks recently and so Ed and I decide to pop over to the market first and spend time greeting some of the vendors there. Familiar faces...






Lovely flowers and potted veggies for sale in so many stalls (though not for us this time -- we came on Ed's motorbike)...






Cheese curds galore (an Ed favorite)...






New vendors to get to know.






Ed, try this! Sorrel or pine needle pesto! 
He tries it. Turpentine.
What do you mean turpentine? It's great!
Tastes like turpentine which makes sense because turpentine is made from pine.
Unbelievable! How can you not love it? And the sorrel?
Eh...

I can't believe I live with a guy who basically doesn't like pesto. I mull over that one for a while: if you like each of the ingredients, is it possible to not love a combination of them? Taste: what a complicated thing it is!







At home, Ed gives a hen a hug...






... and now we're off to the Flower Factory.






I take great care with what I buy. Ed and I have expanded old fields and created new ones and it would be so very easy to load up many carts with new acquisitions. But one has to take care. The farmette is large and could swallow a credit card limit of purchases in no time. So we pick up only the center pieces. The rest I'll fill in through divisions and seeds.

Still, it's always thrilling to bring home plants from the Flower Factory...






... and to add them (a few each day) to the landscape here.

By late afternoon, if you'd ask me what's blooming at the farmette right now, I'd say (somewhat impishly, as all these are additions) --



Primula, which I learned to love in the gardens of Scotland




Anemone




Bergenia




Lathyrus


... and of course, the (finally!) emerging daffodils.






Ed picks up the camera and catches me in the act of planting. I do this routine dozens (hundreds?) of times each season and every single placement of roots into the ground is special. Memorable.





Grow well, little plant. I hope the cheepers steer clear of you and that the groundhog finds better shoots on which to graze. I so look forward to watching you thrive here. Welcome.

Friday

When I am not traveling, I have very humble goals for Ocean photos: I want to pay tribute to the early morning meal that gets me going in the right direction, and in the summer I want to recognize flowers that bloom in the garden, and on days that I see my granddaughter, I want to pick out something in her that made an impression on me that day.

A funny thing happens when several worlds collide (for instance, Snowdrop is at the farmette and does many fascinating things, while flowers bloom, birds sing and maybe all this is taking place during breakfast) -- I can't stop myself from taking another photo and another and one more, until I have maybe 22 and believe me, it may have been four times that if I hadn't restrained myself.

In other words, one thing inspires the next and this interplay is so heavenly, that it spurs me to keep the camera out. (Too, sometimes there'll be so many radiant blooms, or Snowdrop will be a whirlwind of cleverness and delight -- that, too, has me reaching for my camera again and again, despite my humble goals.)

I can't say I ever have flat days when I just do not want to take photos. But there are days when I just want to stay with the basics.

Today is such a day.


It's a gorgeous Friday. Really gorgeous. The daffodils are now running full speed ahead.






And of course, our breakfast is in the sun room.






And then I have the week's dinners to plan and groceries to buy and I put my camera down and I know this is all there will be for you, because in the afternoon, I'll be working in the garden and in the evening, tiredness will seep in.


I have now spent too many weeks preparing land for new plants and yet this is the perpetual challenge in creating gardens. Today, Ed and I try to eradicate a weed that somehow crept in behind our backs and is now threatening to take over the raspberries if not the world (it's the terribly invasive garlic mustard and if you have it in your yard -- do yourself the favor of pulling it out and destroying it now, or else...).

It's not really hard work -- it's a dig and a pull for each of the hundreds of clumps, but it's boring work and in the meantime, the wood chip pile is smoldering (it's so hot in there!), and the beds have holes that need to be covered (thanks, cheepers -- I know you live to scratch, but if you could work around the budding new growth, I'd be deeply appreciative), and the dozens of chomped off tulips have to be buried (I know it's you, groundhog, you fiend, you!)


I add tiny photographic details here. Of Ed examining tenderly the tomato sprouts.






A little sunburned! Damn!

And one of the cheepers, rushing.





Girls, I expect you to get along. That's directed mainly to, you, Scotch. You have to lay off of Henny. Got it? No? Remember, my kick is stronger than your fearsome chase.

In the evening, in a burst of enthusiastic and visionary hope, I cleaned the porch: I stripped all cloth (from the table, the swing back chairs) for laundering, I picked up the debris of winter and I scrubbed off a layer of blown in dirt. Should there be a beautiful hour tomorrow, I'll sit back on the porch and write from there.