Thursday

We repeat ourselves. In obvious ways and in ways we do not realize or even fully understand. And I don't just mean the rerun of the same old, like the breakfast on the porch theme here, at the farmette. (Though yes, there was a lovely breakfast on the porch, with Ed sporting his Woody Allen look -- something he does when, for example, I am not fully comprehending why I cannot open a window when we turn on our brand new and about time we got one dehumidifier in the basement.)






Nor do I mean merely admiring yet again that familiar bed of lilies before the porch...






What I'm thinking of is the stuff that we rerun in our lives because it made us happy once and it makes us happy again. And again.

More on this later. First, a run through the day. And by now perhaps you've figured out that if it's Thursday, then it's gym class for Snowdrop. And I'm her partner here.

(Stepping onto the balance beam: let go, grandma! Gulp! Snowdrop, go slowly!)






(Her biggest thrill: maneuvering through the entanglements in the "doughnut hole.")






(Bubbles end the class.)






We always visit the library after gym class. This time, she discovers something I had no intention of having her discover: the children's computer station. When she is with me, I never let her touch my computer. Ever. (I doubt that her parents give her the freedom to pound away either.) But at the library, there is no penalty to clicking away. For once, I do not say "no." Her reaction? See for yourself:






We then go to Paul's coffee shop. Yes, she has a cookie bit, yes, yes, the usual. But perhaps more interesting for my grandma record of our time together is the handful of minutes after, where she walks over to the play corner and shows off her love of letters. (Did I tell you? She has a love of the alphabet -- she'll get very excited by an "esh" or a "why." I don't know how she got there. I don't think any of us have been especially zeroed in on letter identification. No, she did not draw these on the board. She merely identified some of them.)







We're home. Our little Dodgers fan, welcomed as always by the cheepers.






(After her bath, she plays with chickens inside the farmhouse.)






And now I have just way too many pictures of Snowdrop from the rest of the day. With the cheepers, with the flowers, in various lovely spots in the gardens, and that's all fine -- a grandma in love with her granddaughter, surrounded by the flowers -- but during Snowdrop's nap, as I study them on my computer, I am interrupted by a message coming in from my daughter. She's sending two photos that she'd picked up from a family album (ones she tracked down after reading my Monday post). The year was 1988. We were visiting Washington D.C. and of course, I would have had us take a peek at the Impressionists in the National Gallery. I seem to have taken just three photos of my daughters there. Two are shockingly familiar. Here, take a look. First, my youngest, when she herself was just three...

And here are both girls. Two sisters, looking on at the girl with the watering can.

So how did this come to be? I focused on those two paintings 28 years ago. How is it that they came to my mind again just this week? I've seen hundreds if not thousands of paintings since then. (I love popping in on special exhibitions or revisiting familiar ones.) Why was it that exactly these, the same two popped into my mind again?

Because. They recalled then and they recall now all that is good and beautiful when you look outside. I have to think that I recognized that loveliness first when I was about Snowdrop's age, in the gardens of the village house where I lived with my grandparents as a toddler. And I recognized it again when my daughters gazed at those paintings. And I saw it yet again when Snowdrop stood in that garden and looked so very innocent against that backdrop of flowers.


Let me post just a few more photos from this afternoon. Of Snowdrop. Of flowers. Of cheepers. Of innocent joy and trust and beauty. At least this is what they recall for me.


(Picking tomatoes.)






(Visiting ah ah in the sheep shed.)






(The grandest of grand lilies.)






(Yet another bed of spectacular ones.)






(After her nap, Snowdrop insists on taking penguin out for a walk in the garden. Another Monet moment? It is for me...)






(She takes to the watering can again...)






(... and has conversations with cheepers who are never far from her side.)






(Running to visit the guy in the sheep shed...)






(Pausing to smell the flowers. Or, to let penguin smell the flowers...)






I'll end with two pics of butterflies. I did not know their name, but I asked about them at the farmers market tonight and I got the right answer: swallowtails.






Swallowtails, because if you look at them closely, you'll see in their wings that sweep of a swallow's tail.






Did I ever tell you what powerful symbolism swallows have for me? About my tiny swallow tattoo? About the name of my Great Writing Project, which has the name swallow in it?

We just repeat ourselves in our good thoughts, nothing more. And you know, that's not such a bad thing.

Wednesday

Breakfast. Outside, of course. Looking toward the flowers, enjoying the splashes of color everywhere. (And the coffee. I really love my morning cup of coffee.)





To me, it's just about the greatest show around: the parade of flowers through the month of July.

Does it sadden me that we are near the end of the month? No, not at all. When the quiet seasons roll in, I enjoy the quiet. In July, I look outside and at first I see the perfect tableau before me. Then I see what needs to be done so that it will remain good for the rest of the day. And I go out and do it, weather, bugs, time pressures -- whatever impositions there may be, I ignore them and get my hands dirty.

Ah, but it is (for me) a most perfect tableau. And I take no credit for it. I only bring together what nature has already created.






It's been a while since I took care of Snowdrop in her own home. Today, I'm back there, greeting her at her wake up time.

(She is still in her octopus pajamas, but her desires are already as clear as can be -- can we go outside, grandma?)






So (following the usual morning routines) we do just that. All the way to the distant coffee shop...






Where it's iced tea weather for sure. (A cookie piece is good in any weather.)






As always, we use the stroller to get there, but for most of the way back, she walks. She is a familiar presence in these blocks. And she herself recognizes past friends and foes. Here she deftly side steps into someone's yard to avoid an overly friendly dog who once, quite unexpectedly managed to slobber her with kisses as we walked by.






At home, she is as playful as ever, inviting me to participate in her games again and again.











My granddaughter always seems so much older than the last time I saw her. I look at her and think -- she's not even 19 months old yet. And then I think -- she is already nearly 19 months!


In the evening Snowdrop, her parents and I walk over to the Capitol Square. It's warm still and there is a slight chance of storms, but the Wednesday concerts are drawing to an end. We don't want to miss too many. And so we head out.

And as in prior times, Snowdrop is mesmerized out there, on the vast green spaces, eating her picnic food, taking in the sights and sounds of Madison at its sweetest, kindest.






It's a beautiful evening for her, for us.






And then the concert comes to an end.





We walk home, toting chairs and folded blankets. It's dark by the time we round the last corner. Me, I'm so glad the weather held. Snowdrop points upwards -- sky! she reminds us. Sky!

vacation

A vacation can be composed of many, many days. Or, it can be composed of one day, with many chapters. Mine this year, with Ed, belongs to the latter kind.

Prologue

I remember quite well that in 2014, Ed and I vacationed for sixteen days together (in January, in Turkey and Greece). In 2015, we scaled it back to six days (in July, in the Adirondacks). This year, we will have had only one day. Today.

Oh, but I am not complaining. It is a beautiful day -- weather-wise, we could not have willed it to be nicer. And it just happened that today offered a chance to spend this time together, as Snowdrop is occupied with an out of town visitor and Ed has a bit of respite with his machining project.

And so we are off! Well, not right away (and not far away). First comes breakfast. An early one. On the porch.





And then Ed has a quick work meeting and I attend to the day lilies, leading me to the first real chapter of this post:


The Lily Love Fest

Oh, but I do love these flowers, even though, to preserve their beauty, one must attend to their cosmetic care every day. What other flower demands this much fuss?! Off come the spent flowers to make room for this day's bounty. And while I'm snipping, I take photos.






There are many that positively inspire you...






... to use the camera again and again. Snip off, snap photo. It continues like this for a good hour.






(Oh! Do notice the little froggie! We love these guys -- they come back to our lilies every year!)






I include today an early morning view of a fragment of the roadside bed (this year's new addition).






But really, I am just so in love with the day lilies!






(Okay, I also love the large flower field that marks the change in each season so well...)






Greece 2016

As soon as Ed comes back from his meeting, we set out to visit Greece. Perhaps our bit of Greece isn't as crushingly beautiful as our run through the islands two and a half years ago (those same islands that have had the influx of migrants from troubled countries in more recent times), but still, Greece it is. We stop by the home of our Farmers Market vendor Vasileios, from whom we routinely purchase his Greek family's olive oil.

We pick up a bottle of oil, but honestly, we have come over because he'd been telling us about his two little goats (or rather, his kids' kids!) -- inviting us to have a look at their animal adorableness.






Wonderful goats. But in need of care and attention! In answer to the question I'm predicting you may have for me -- no! No more animals! I say this as we coasted on fools' luck last night. Ed locked up the cheeper coop, but we failed to secure one of the doors and I found it this morning flapping in the wind, with the cheepers set loose, out and about on farmette land. Phew! No predators stopped by to inspect the possibilities.

Vasileios is a good cook and he invites us to try some of his freshly baked spinach pie. Delicious.





I'll be stopping by to cook with him (and others) in the months to come.



The Beach

From Greece in Wisconsin, it is but a short ride (on Ed's motorcycle) to La Follette County Park. This is a really tiny park with not much to show for it, except, if you follow a secret path across the rail tracks, there's this:






These are the shores of Lake Kegonsa. You wont necessarily see this just by looking at the map, but there is a very thin strip of beach (very thin!) and more importantly, there is a beautiful stretch of lake water -- shallow and sandy. Wonderful for splashing, swimming, enjoying a vacation moment.






A mile or two down the shoreline, there is a pub -- Springers. The kind of place you'd like to find if you're hoping for a cold draft beer. With a few tables at the shorefront. Perfect.






After, it's just a matter of finding your way home, past fields and farms, pasture and cattle.






We pass a small road that I remember so well! We turn into it. Yes, this is where we came on our very first date in 2005. Ed showed me then where the river flowed into the lake, where the birds settled at the end of the day. Yes, it was right here...






Today, Ed has a more leisurely approach to things.






Field Table

Fifteen years ago, I formed an organization that I called Field to Table. In those days, it was not especially trendy nor popular to pay attention to the farming of foods that we eat. Yes, there were restaurants that cared about food sources. Yes, there were popular farmers markets. But they were niche entities. I thought then that it would be cool to take Americans to France, where the attention to food sourcing was moving at a faster pace.  I took two groups of travelers, but I chickened out soon after. I didn't think I could take this on at a time that my kids still needed me at home.

That's a very long winded way of saying that when a new restaurant opened in Madison, calling itself Field Table, I was intrigued.

Still, Ed and I rarely try new places. I like to cook. We rarely go out for dinner.

Tonight, on our vacation night, we do go out. Field Table it is. Lovely drinks, delicious food.






The motorbike ride home is heavenly. The air is sweet, exactly warm enough, the breeze -- just right.

The vacation of vacations. Or at least -- the vacation of 2016. Beautiful and complete.