Tuesday

A post of few words but many lovely moments.

They did not begin until breakfast. Prior to it, the day was humid, dank and spattered with an occasional shower. (We had set up a thermometer to measure humidity in the basement and today's reading is dismayingly high.)

But breakfast is grand!






I notice the remains of a rain shower on a day lily.





And then, very quickly, I am off to Snowdrop's. The girl has been under the weather for a few days. I don't really use the camera much when she is in her more quiet moments, but as you can see, she had plenty of regular playful spells as well!






We take a walk, making it to the distant coffee shop...






And on the return, we pause at the lakefront. She insists on walking down toward the water. The little beach is empty. I can understand why. The water is no longer pristine and clear. Still, we find a spot where there is some visible sand and ever so daintily, she steps into the very warm lake.






Very quickly into the game she stumbles and topples into the water. I tell her it's okay, but she is a bit disappointed. It's all part of feeling just a little bit off.






She asks to go on the swing. I see the tiredness in her sweet sweet face.






Still, the girl is all spirit. At home, I rinse her off and change her to dry clothes. As always, she makes a real effort and if you didn't know her well, you'd never see that she isn't fully up to snuff.






In the late afternoon, I move on to my tasks and chores. Unlike Snowdrop, I am not feeling under the weather and yet I still manage to be a little off center. For example: I have a doc's appointment. Driving to it, I realize that I had forgotten to shed the slippers I wear at Snowdrop's home. I show up at the clinic wearing fluffy footwear in 90 degree weather. Honestly, I look like the nutty person who wears a bathrobe and curlers to the grocery store.

Next, at home, I chop off a bit of a finger while cutting onion for home made chili. Many bandages later, I finally get things under control.

So you could say that the stars were not aligned today. But I don't think that's entirely correct. Snowdrop, in the end, was all hugs and giggles. The chili turned out fine, despite my handicap (bandaged hand). And the flowers! Oh, the lovely flowers of July!

(Day lilies by the porch.)






Cheepers running to get some bread when I come home.






And then -- cheepers, following Ed back to the barn for a corn treat.






Finally, the ever magnificent flowers.






I always tell people I encounter during my travels that I live in a place that's extra cold in the winter and extra hot in the summer. We're in the full swing of the latter but we're starved for it. I don't know many who would complain.

Time to let go of this day. Tomorrow will offer a new range of scents and colors. We're in a sweet bubble of midsummer. How good is that!

mid-July

There's no question but that I plant a July garden. Oh, I love what comes before and I like what comes after, but when I check the flowering time of perennials, I'm most likely to succumb to picking ones that bloom in mid summer. I feel that this is the season's glory. It's what we think about when January rolls into February and the growing season seems so far away.

And so it is no surprise that I came back to a garden that is arguably at its peak.

Returning from the coop just before the sun jumps over the horizon, I pause to take it in.






The main largest bed that stretches from the sheep shed to the farmhouse always gets the most attention (and the huge new bed  by the road gets hardly any) because it's positioned in a splendid way and so the camera just naturally wants to shoot it all. But let me not neglect the side beds. The one to the west:





And the bed that was newly planted last year, to the side, by the other old willow. Here's a corner of it just as the sun comes out of hiding.






And, too, of course, the first bed that I planted here -- the one just by the porch. And I do want to spotlight an occasional day lily. My loyalty to this flower is unwavering.






Here's a whole bunch of them, right by the porch.






... where of course, we eat breakfast.






It is Monday and so Snowdrop comes over for the day. It has been a while since she has spent a whole day here and I can tell that specific memories come bouncing back to her. I say -- raspberries? -- and she immediately heads down to where she last picked them






I was concerned that the bugs would be too irksome, but in the heat of the day, they're subdued and we have a wonderful few minutes picking warm berries off the canes.






I tell her that the blueberries we had examined a few weeks back are now ripe as well. Here, she has to brave our neglect of the terrain around them and, too, she has to reach for the ones that are accessible outside the deer fencing, but she manages all this just fine.







Inside again, she spends a lot of time surveying her play space. So familiar, yet slightly new, too. Within a few minutes, she has taken it all in. Ed comes in and they do their usual.






She watches as he eats his lunch...






Hoping maybe for a handout...






And so I suggest that she eat hers and we do this on the porch, where the fan helps move the air around creating those gentle breezes of summer that are so very magical.

I do an experiment after her main meal. I give her a bowl of delicious, creamy frozen yogurt (which is rapidly becoming very unfrozen in the heat) and a bowl of just picked raspberries. Which does she gobble down?






Even when I coax her toward the sweet dessert, she turns away and reaches for the berries.

I make it more complicated. I add a bowl of other favorite fruits: Blueberries, strawberries, cherries.





And still she reaches for the fruit.

A girl after her own grandma!


In the late afternoon, we go back to her neighborhood and her mommy and I both take her out for a quick walk.To the coffee shop! Oh, the familiarity of it all!






And as always, she wants to walk back (rather than be pushed in a stroller). We indulge her.  She'll eventually change her mind. She understands us, we understand her.





Here we come, world!

It is so good to be home again!

the familiar, the new

You sleep. I'll let the cheepers out.

It was to be a small act of kindness. But what it did was to make my day long and full. In good ways, though definitely full.

But honestly, I was anxious to get out and see the garden. Here's my first view of it, just before sunrise.






I check, too, on the berries. There is the upside: they're ripe and plentiful!











There is the downside: as of today (Ed swears this was not the case yesterday), the morning mosquitoes have arrived.

Okay, I have taken note. Let me inspect the front yard anyway. The cheepers follow.






Back to the courtyard. Looking toward the sheep shed at my very favorite summertime view of the gardens. (Lessons from Giverny on how to view a garden: it's the entirety!)






Breakfast: wonderful, warm, with a view.






Two more pictures of the gardens for now: toward the main flower bed...






...and in deep appreciation of the countless lilies that bloom mainly in July, toward the porch. If you sit there, out on the porch, you are up close and personal with them.






I do love color. And this is the season for it.

I take a pause and wash Snowdrop's new stuff (the girl grows with lightening speed). Colorful and garden like.





And then, with but one more interruption for grocery shop, I stay outdoors, putting in a solid eight hours of yard work.


Evening.  Time to get dinner ready for the young family. Yes, I can finally see, hold, hug, hold again,  my granddaughter. Though I must admit, I cheated last night. Ed and I stopped by her home on the way from the airport. It was way past her bedtime, but she'd been alerted to the coming back of gaga. It was a wonderful reunion!


Okay, back to this day. Pre-dinner nibbles: today, I include shrimp, knowing darn well that this is a Snowdrop favorite.







At the farmhouse, she seems puzzled that it all looks so familiar. She also seems very content. (At the table, glancing at her books.)






She does want to go outside though. Constantly, tearfully. There, there, Snowdrop, we'll get to it, really we will.

See? Go ahead. Romp.






Dinner.





All of us.






Dessert.






Daddy's lap.






And I give her a frozen  yogurt, which this time, she wants only in theory. Dinner was large enough.





The evening turns into night, the fireflies spark the sky. It's hard to turn off the day, but I am still very tired and anything I write later into the night, will not be something you'll want to read within your time zone. Good night then to all! Until tomorrow.

going home

Air France, the airline I'm quite loyal to (for one thing, it partners with Delta and I like Delta), has had its ups and downs lately. One down -- it is struggling with labor issues. Today, for example, there was a general strike (again!) and things that usually take no time at all at the airport took forever. One upside -- I rarely fly in the thick of summer and therefore I rarely experience what I have had now on both legs of the transatlantic legs -- an overbooked flight and a resulting upgrade to keep us all happy.

But all this is trivial compared to the one huge bonus Air France has given me (and from my future bookings, it looks like this is a permanent thing): it has changed the once a day departure from Paris to Detroit. It used to be 1:30 and now it's 3:00.

I cannot tell you how wonderful this is! I would sit in the very last row of a packed plane for this gift alone. My last day, as a result of the push forward, becomes not one of just travel -- endless waits, commutes, struggles with baggage, rushed departures, short nights and in the winter,  trekking out of the hotel when it is still good and dark -- but it it includes a half day of unfettered pleasure. There is no agenda (though I could even visit a museum, it's that good!). There is leisure. On a day like today, marked by brilliant sunshine, I can head out, enjoy a lovely breakfast and walk wherever I want for several hours even and still get to the airport in plenty of time for my flight.

And so on this day where in the past I could no longer sustain an interest in Paris, because there was no time for Paris, I am only half way focused on my trip. Here, this selfie says it best: I'm halfway still here.






Where to for breakfast? Well, I start out toward my favorite -- Les Editeurs. That's a place that is hugely comfortable and it serves reliably good bread product. But on my way there, I pass Le Hibou. It's a cafe that I've always noticed, because it is enormously popular. This morning, it catches my attention for two other reasons: this vignette, which, in my opinion is utterly charming:






And I noticed that where Les Editeurs tables are in the shade, here, the tables are dappled with lovely sunshine. In other words, the lighting is just magnificent. For a summer breakfast, there is nothing better than dappled sunlight.

(To be honest, the bread product -- a croissant and a pain au chocolat for me -- is a wee bit less awesome than at Les Editeurs, but sometimes light can take precedence over food. I have no regrets.)






And then I walk. I have some 90 minutes (because I took forever with breakfast, which in itself tells you how wonderful this morning is slated to be). Where to? Oh where to?

(Look how pretty the skies! How fresh and gallant Paris looks on a July day that has absolutely perfect weather!)






Of course, I head toward the Luxembourg Gardens.

It's just 10 a.m., so only the stubborn few are there now, but oh, how beautiful this park is on a Saturday morning!

(Chairs still empty, but properly set to face a statue amidst a visually soothing bed of flowers.)






(Now there's an athletic duo: dad's carrying a skateboard and pushing his son on a scooter/bike.)






(The play area that Snowdrop loved so much in May now has, in addition to the sand pits, a splash pool.)






(Is there a more serene spot to open a book?)






(The light, the flowers, the greenery -- sensual, soothing, sublime.)






(You know who this is! When Auguste Bartholdi set out to made the Statue of Liberty that welcomes you to the New York harbor, he first created a bronze model as a template. It was placed in the Luxembourg Gardens in the early 1900's. To preserve it against damage, it was removed from the park four years ago and replaced with this bronze copy.)






(Happiness is...)






(Flowers are an ether, a balm. These are close to the beehives of the Luxembourg Gardens.)






I leave the Gardens then and find myself in the neighborhood of kids' stores. I pick up a few odds and ends for my little granddaughter. In one store, I find this quite gorgeous little shirt. Of course she'll love the penguin!






A flower shop in Paris is always visual candy to the passerby. Here, she is minutely tending to the blooms she sells. I think a lot about the flowers I left behind at the farmette. We had several storms that did damage to some of the trees. I'm hoping the flowers stood tall!






This neighborhood cafe is such a no big deal thing, but I'm sure it's a place where these two gentlemen come to chat on a regular basis.






Now this is just an incredible coincidence: I took a photo of these sisters with their dad in this very block four days ago when I was passing through here. That day they were in lovely coats and boots. How the weather has changed in the handful of days!






I reenter the Luxembourg Gardens, cutting through toward my hotel. In this one section, the fragrance of the blooming lindens is so intense that I wished with all my might that there would be an app that would capture that wonderful sweetness.







(You could sit here and just inhale. You need do nothing more to clear your mind.)






(This vast open space in this park is where Snowdrop felt the joy of exploring on her own. It's a beautiful expanse of flowers, water, avenues.)






(The Luxembourg Palace, housing the French Senate.)






(Father and son, reviewing life's peculiarities.)






(She's asking her dog who is noticeably occupying a seat rather than resting at her heels, whether he is satisfied with the state of things.)






And now for my final photo for you from this side of the ocean. It's so good to have had this morning to walk calmly, without haste, without worry.





I return to the hotel, pick up my suitcase. I have 3.5 hours to the departure of my flight and normally this is just the right amount of time. The train comes promptly and the luck of the draw is that it's an express, so I am at the airport within forty minutes. I'm feeling like this is going to be one smooth trip until I step into the airport.

Had I forgotten that there is a general strike again today? First, some security concern has the police reroute everyone bound for the overseas terminal. Okay. I'm a brisk walker. And then comes the wait. I only need to drop off a suitcase (darn Basque rum) -- I have my boarding pass. The line is short, but there are almost no agents. It takes forever. As does the wait for the bus to take us to the aircraft. Once on board though, the issues go away. The captain tells us -- you've gotten through the worse part, getting on the aircraft. Now sit back and relax. And I do.

I'm posting during the layover at Detroit, but very soon I'll be in Madison and Ed will drive me to the farmette where the fireflies dance and whiff of summer is strong.