Monday, oh that summer Monday!

Looking over my shoulder at the photos, or at today's Ocean words, you'll think -- just another Monday at the farmette, where Snowdrop visits, grandma gets carried away with the camera, putting forth an abundance of flower pics and Snowdrop pics, yes, another regular Monday over on Ocean.

But in fact, nothing about it feels regular. For example, I'd like to believe that the mosquito tsunami (it's down to that, I believe) is not at all regular and within the next week or so, we'll notice a remarkable improvement for us, so that watering plants wont require tremendous willpower and perseverance.

And yes, I do want to post farmette flowers -- but here, too, the wealth of material diminishes. Or, it becomes more tame.






Oh, I have to work the camera at ridiculous speeds! The mosquito cannot win! I must prevail!






And then I run inside for blessed relief. (This is the price of living by wetlands, though honestly, the mosquitoes are exploding in  all of greater Madison these weeks.)






Breakfast: especially lovely because there are so few such breakfasts for me this month. I'll be traveling again soon. For now, I remain smitten with this morning meal on the porch.






And then Snowdrop arrives. There are two challenges for us today: first -- to do something outdoors that allows her to romp, but that does not pose the mosquito challenge we have here at the farmette. Secondly -- well, I'd like her not to nap. She has some car travel later. I'd like her to zonk out then. I'd like to keep her busy and happy even without the usual down time with her penguins upstairs.


She comes with a proud hand on her necklace. Her mom often wears necklaces. Today, Snowdrop sports her own.





But where should we go? I want it to be special -- for her, for me. Snowdrop has social commitments tomorrow and I am leaving on Wednesday. I wont see the girl for two weeks. That's a heck of a long stretch for me. I'd like to spend today doing things we both like.

I remember how last year, when she "vacationed" with Ed and me at the farmhouse, he and I took her to the Olbrich Botanical Gardens. I recall so well how I had tried to get her to stand up, so that I could take a photo of her in an upright position. It was a challenge.

What would it be like this year?

(Heads up: you're going to get more than a fair share of Snowdrop photos today. As I said, it's the last time with her for a while. Snowdrop, the gardens, beautiful sunshine -- there was magic, total magic. The camera is my friend at times of magic.)

At first, she wants only to walk with "bis" at her side.






But gently, I ease the penguin out of her grasp and make him the one to be wheeled around in the stroller. Snowdrop deserves her freedom.






I worry a little about taking her to lush gardens. At the farmette, we have this rule -- touch, but don't pick. Or at least not unless I tell you it's okay.






Would this work in gardens that overwhelm you with their richness?

It does. Snowdrop is careful. She touches, gently. And when I feel it isn't right, she backs off.






And then comes the best part for her -- the fountains.






Yes, she does want to climb in, but I tell her that this is not going to happen and she accepts it, choosing instead to run from one stream to the next...






Of course, she is completely wet in the end. A grandma with her older granddaughter (nine? ten years old?) smile at us. I note out loud how totally drenched Snowdrop is at this point. The grandmother laughs and her little girl chimes in -- I used to get even wetter when I was her age!






Much wetter!






It isn't easy to pull Snowdrop away from the water.






Still, I do want her to see the Thai Pavillion -- gold castle, Snowdrop! Let's go see the gold castle!
She enjoys the lead up to it. Where else in Madison can she ride an elephant?!






But on the approach to the Pavilion, she spots the fountains to the side. Ignoring the "gold castle," she runs from one pool of water to the next...






... thrilled with each one.












It is a very beautiful day for both of us.


I promised her a bakery/coffee shop afterwards and we finally settle in at the nearby Madison Sourdough Bakery. Cookies and cool air -- just what we need!






Time to go home.


At the farmhouse, she eats leftovers from last night's dinner...






And then she spends a good bit of time playing with ah-ah Ed.






I'll end with a photo that Ed took on this day. It could have been snapped on any day this summer. Snowdrop and I often read exactly in this place, her bises (penguins) and her goagie (cat) never too far away.






And that's it! My bagful of memories to tuck into my pack for the next two weeks. For you as well, I hope.

farmette Sunday

I can divide the day into halves: the first, with a good start at breakfast...






... quickly turns challenging when I decide to brave the awful and work on some of the flower beds.






You'll not know how tough it was to merely clean up this lily at the side of the driveway.





I know it's going to be a terrible hour but sometimes you just have to push forward,  terrible hours notwithstanding.

Sometimes in life you just have to push forward, no matter how irritating the circumstances. I push forward.

At the end of the day, I have two plants transplanted, three flower fields trimmed and manicured, the newest front bed watered. All in the cacophony of buzzing insects, with an accompaniment of my slaps and curses.


I do many indoor chores then and they're boring -- I'm sure you did some variant of the same and so let's move straight to the evening, when Snowdrop, her young parents and their visiting friend show up for dinner. Snowdrop is super happy to be here and she is super happy to see that grandpa is, for the next few minutes, watching the Rio Olympics.

The women are diving into the swimming pool, little one.
She is mesmerized.






The young people talk and reflect and do as young people are wont to do.






We eat dinner outside and it is a beautiful evening for it!






(I liked it, gaga!)






Can I help with the dishes?






The visiting friend knows our family quite well and he has a special interest in the history of the generations that migrated back and forth across the ocean as wars and economic crises reshaped the landscape in places where they resided. I have photo albums that my mom put together that date back to the beginning of the last century. I smile to myself as they look through these. Isn't it the case that someday, their young lives will be a source of interest to generations who follow after Snowdrop?






The little girl does stuff that perhaps isn't out of the ordinary today, but in eighty or ninety years, wont it seem quaint and somewhat old fashioned?

Time is a funny thing: it can smooth out wrinkles and add new layers of interpretation. We really cannot tell what future generations will think of all this. Except, I really believe that the image of a child at play will never be stale or insignificant. So I'll leave you with that. A child at play, pure and simple.

Saturday

It's tough sometimes not to evaluate everything, or to not compare and think -- this is better/worse/same as before.

I mean, it starts early. I open the coop at sunrise. The bugs are thick. (Are they less thick? Manageable? Hellacious?) I pause, swatting with one hand, taking pictures with the other.

(Sunrise. Crazy, beautiful sunrise.)






Maybe a little better. Ed, don't you think the bugs have come down just a little?
He gives me that look that says -- whatever you say, gorgeous; I do not necessarily agree with you, but whatever you say....







(Still beautiful to behold...)






However good we are at growing flowers, we do have to admit defeat in many of the farmette projects we undertake each year. Strawberries lost to animals. Buckwheat, nearly overwhelmed by bindweed. Chickens who get old too quickly, grapes, lost to beetles.

Or, are they lost? I venture out to the troubled grape vines. Hey, maybe not so troubled?





Damn bugs. I really stirred them up by walking out to the far ends of our young orchard. Time to hurry indoors.

(Looking out the front door -- it all seems so calm and untroubled... But I know that at the sidelines, there are the armies of bugs, waiting... waiting... )






Breakfast. Never better or worse. Always grounded, calm, wonderful.





I then take rosie (the moped) over to the young family's home. This will be one of our last walks to the summer market on the Capitol Square. The next several weeks have us all dispersed. After that -- well, we're pretty close to Fall.

The thing is, Snowdrop really delivers right now. Children grow, they pass through tough times, they pick up viruses, bad habits, they process the first parental "no!", they test you with tantrums, with teething, with food preferences, sleep habits. And Snowdrop did bits and pieces of that. She is a child after all. But right now, she is at her best. All I see is the joy. The delight.

And I'm sure I'm not unique in this, but I must admit, her growth, her adaptability and good humor -- they all make me beam with pride at the little one. She came through intact and then some! How cool is that!

I give you a string of market photos. A bit indulgent, sure, but I assure you, I could have really run amok with the camera. This series shows a good bit of restraint.

Approaching the market, we encounter a group of musicians. Snowdrop swings to their beat.





Next, a stop at the bakery stand: croissant for the little one.






Cherries and tomatoes.






And at the end of the market stroll (my purchases are modest: mushrooms, cherries, sunflowers, basil), we let Snowdrop run to her her heart's delight.






Yeah...






My daughter's out-of-town friend is with us. If people around her are happy, she is happy. It's a simple formula, isn't it?






I'll include a photo of gaga, mommy and Snowdrop...






And finally, this one of the girl herself. There is a lot of exuberance, a bit of seriousness -- so Snowdrop!






I ride rosie past the farmers' fields to the east of us, pausing in total appreciation for all that they deliver for us at the markets.





And then I hunker down inside the farmhouse with some mega computer work. But there is respite: toward evening, Ed and I go out and play tennis. It's the first time for us this year. Remarkable how our schedules have taken us away from this most satisfying game that we love so much.

I don't want to compare, I really don't, but we had such beautiful weather today! I don't take it for granted. Ever.

Friday

Three points at the outset that speak to the splendidness of the day: the humid air packed its overstuffed bags of hot air and traveled elsewhere, the bug population did not increase over Thursday's explosive levels, and Snowdrop and I made it to the beach today.

Of course, we haven't really begun (yet) the slide toward a bug free existence. Going out to look at flower fields is still a huge chore. Better to admire them from afar than to venture in and clip spent blooms.






We had a storm pass through last night and another large willow limb fell to the ground. Neither of us is motivated right now to do anything about it.

One quick look toward the farmhouse...





... and I hurry inside.

At breakfast, we watch the butterflies play on the flowers. I think about how there are so many beneficial insects in this world! But I absolutely cannot come up with one useful purpose that mosquitoes serve. Will we be surprised to discover in the future that, in some roundabout fashion they are actually vital to our existence? Surely that would make scientific headlines. In the meantime, I zap them with my zapper and count the days when we can reclaim the farmette land again.






Snowdrop comes over for the day and though she settles in nicely to play inside...






... I tell her that I have an adventure in mind. She is excited! She picks up on the key words -- park, lake, beach.

Still, today's destination is a bit different from our County Park visit earlier in the week. Watching me play with Snowdrop in Lake Kegonsa, a woman, a parent herself, made the friendly suggestion that I take the little girl to Troll Park in Stoughton (a village just about a dozen miles south east of us).
There is a man-made lake with a wide beach, some playground stuff for kids and lots of shallow water for splashing about. It costs $4 to get in, but I think you'll both like it.

Looking it up online, I see that it opens at noon. Today we are there just exactly then.

Initially, it looks promising.







But as groups of somewhat older (compared to Snowdrop) kids arrive and the place fills, I begin to think that maybe this doesn't quite have the peaceful beauty of Lake Kegonsa. Snowdrop is, of course, as happy as can be! There is a lot of shallow space and the water has warmed up to be pretty close to the temperature of a bath.






The sun seems strong and I slather on the sun screen and put on her bonnet. And still, she is tickled to play in this space that is like a lake. Sort of.






But she also wants to try the inflated rafts and the slide and I quickly realize that none of those are right for her. The tube slide is too high and I cannot put her on it and catch her in the somewhat deeper water. And the inflated raft is packed with lively kids. She asks more than once to be taken to it...






But then she herself turns away from the ruckus, settling in at the quieter area by the shore.






I suppose there is an upside to the place: the water is calm. Here, too, she ventures out into slightly deeper territory and unlike at Lake Kegonsa, she does not get knocked down by a wave.






And surely Troll Lake is better than a community pool, where the crowds are intense right now and the bottom is more slippery. Here, she has a sandy bottom where she can curl her toes.






She brings her new little penguin into the water. How can one say "no," when book after book explains that penguins love to swim?






Yes, Snowdrop is a happy little girl!






Home at the farmhouse now. Last night's supper offers excellent leftovers as far as Snowdrop's concerned. Shrimp? Heirloom tomatoes? Cucumber? Yum!






Ed returns from his tech meetings and joins her for dessert. She is, predictably, delighted.






This then is our day.


Evening? Well, I studied the map of Poland, of all things. My enormously gifted architect/designer Pani Karolina had sent me links to many things, including places she liked for vacationing with her family. These are not unknown names to me. I've been to corners of Poland that Americans would consider remote. Should I go back? In the new Poland, everything is easier. Bed and breakfast type places flood the internet. Should I search them?

I thought about all this and about the continued disjunction between my family, my friends, my guy who is so at my side in all other respects -- in other words, my life here and that which I know belongs to Poland.

I then turn on the Olympics and, while Ed is away attending company events, I indulge myself in watching how countries can speak of unity against all odds. To many of us, the theme of unity seems rather contrived. Maybe. But to people split between belief systems, cultures, countries, or merely between what he believes in and what I believe in -- it's rather important.

Or maybe it's just that the Brazilians know how to put on a good party and I'm a sucker for watching people do things with passion and heart.