Monday

I have several thoughts on days like this one. First of all, I am remembering why we Wisconsinites love our seasons: after a few months of a hot summer, you really do start thinking that fall is rather pleasant and winter is not that bad and too, there is the beauty of spring, so hey, let's not get too stuck on this summer thing. It's good, it surely has its long awaited benefits, but when it's hot -- uff! It's hot! Looking forward to when it's less hot!

And so here's my second point: I really feel enormously grateful that I live now rather than one or two hundred years ago, when Wisconsin was first "discovered" by European settlers. (My grandfather briefly was one of those, as he traveled here to work in the lumber industry when he was still a young man. He returned to Poland shortly after, but still, he endured the Wisconsin of cold winters and hot buggy summers, at least for a short period of time.)

When I come into a warm house on a day where there is an Arctic blast and, too, when I come into a cool house when the summer air is humid and the horse flies are landing on me left and right, I think -- we live in such luxury now! (Of course, I am familiar with less: I did once live with my grandparents, where there was neither electricity nor indoor plumbing, but it wasn't my burden to do the washing or to heat the house. My grandma did that for me.

My role as a grandma is different: I shoo away horse flies and I imagine ways that my granddaughter may profit from a good afternoon. But when the outside world is less than hospitable, all I have to do is open the door to the farmhouse and step into something that is as comfortable in my view as anything that may belong to the super rich. The temperature is exactly to my liking, the sofa is comfortable, the bugs stay outside.

Heaven.

I write this even as it's not supremely hot outside. It's very warm and sticky and there is a constant threat of a thunder shower, even as none materializes. And there is the buzz of flies -- pesky little ones and the horrid horse flies too, whose season is short but menacing.

Both Ed and I love the outdoors and we devote many many hours to working outside, but this day does not court our favor.

After a brief morning stroll and a touch up watering job on some of the newly planted stuff...






I retreat to the porch for breakfast...






... and here, too, we are always extremely comfortable (if things get too warm, we put out a fan).






When I pick up Snowdrop at school, she is warm and flushed. I'm a tad surprised. Again, it's not blistering hot and, too, they had water play today -- a sprinkler that kept them nice and cool. Still, as we set out for our neighborhood stroll, I'm thinking that this is not fun. The playground will be hot. The walk itself -- too sticky and warm for comfort.

I'd been mulling over the idea of taking her to our local splash pool. (At least I call it a splash pool. The true wording is "splash pad.") It seems so perfect for a day like this and I usually travel prepared: there is a change of clothing in the car and today, I even threw in a swimsuit for her.

She seems excited by the idea. We make our way by car to the park.

Predictably, we aren't the only ones with this clever plan. The splash pad is full of splashing, running, shrieking kids -- mostly older than Snowdrop and so quite fast moving. Water spurts come out of nowhere, stopping and starting randomly, just to tease you and make you laugh.

Except that Snowdrop does not laugh.







It's fair to say that she hates the whole set up. Oh, she tries. And despite my not wearing swim stuff, I try to wade right in with her, by way of encouragement.

But it's a no go. The water is not actually cool -- rather lukewarm. You get wet, but you still feel hot and bothered - by the noise, the sun, the tumult, pretty much everything, especially if you're Snowdrop.

Her cheeks turn a deep pink (despite the gobs of sun screen), her eyes lose their happy glow.
Do you want to go home to the farmhouse?
Yes! Please!
And then, just because she felt a little cheated -- where is the pool? There is no pool!

She's right of course. It's not a splash pool. It's a pad.

At the farmette, she is so discouraged that she wants to retreat inside. I'm a little reluctant to call our time outside a complete failure and so I coax her toward her own little wading pool.







I can see her slowly get interested in play again.






And by the time Ed and the cheepers join us, she is one happy child once more.






(Even if I do have to chase away the horse flies... That's what grandmas do: they chase away the flies in life.)






After a robust period of play, where she dumps huge buckets of water on us and in retaliation Ed dumps huge buckets of water on her, we retreat to the ever perfect farmhouse, where the air is just exactly right on this summer-like afternoon.

Honestly, we are a lucky people to live in the comforts of this age. Just so very lucky!






Agree?

Sunday

Snowdrop, our sleepover guest, isn't really an early riser. Except when she is at the farmhouse. I hear the call for Gaga when I'm still in bed. I ignore it, because I know she'll turn over and resume sleep. She does. Not for long.

Alright, little one! Let's start the day!

She has her routines here: her usual breakfast mush and yogurt...






... followed by a bath and then we're onto pancake making!

The real breakfast. The girl has as much joy for our morning meal on the porch as we do (three photos, because exuberance is best displayed in more than one).
















I should be taking Snowdrop home now, but she is feeling energetic and so I pause for a while and watch her run from one end of the house to the other, again and again (four photos, because exuberance is best displayed in more than one):




















There! Done!

Ready now to go back home. With baby. No, not with Java! Just baby.






And now let me put up some garden pics (three photos, because....)

















And now comes the time for Ed and I to do some mild adventuring. We hop on his ancient Honda motorbike, ride past our neighboring farmers who are tilling, plowing, planting...






...Around the corner and then around another corner and now we're at our local county park. It's hot and so we're not ambitious. A gentle walk, through the forest, past the lake and then alongside the lovely prairie meadows. Four photos from our mini hike. You know why.










(selfie!)









As we leave the park, Ed swings his motorcycle by the boat launching dock. Whoa! The parking lot is full of cars and trucks hitched to boat trailers. Further down, we pass through an RV campground. Packed!

It's how America welcomes summer... Ed tells me. Boats, RVs in campgrounds...

I think about how different this is from where I grew up. Regular people, you and I people, non-fishermen people, non yachty type people -- did not have boats. Indeed, even today, and even though I have some European friends who have done well in life, I really do not know anyone there who owns a boat, let alone an RV. Perhaps our distances aren't that great. The mindset doesn't bring up images of road trips.

Here, space doesn't seem to be at a premium. Houses are large, cars are larger, roads are huge and multilane. Gas is cheap, boats require only a downpayment. Summer in America may be full of boats and RVs and BBQs. Across the ocean -- less so.


Afternoon. The young family returns and the girl is running, playing, eating cherries. I sit back and keep an eye on stuff, her parents rest, Ed munches cheese curds.





Not a typical Sunday afternoon, but perhaps "typical" went out the door when summer rolled in a tad early, a house went up for sale promptly, and a little girl shifted from being just a two year old to being a tall and chatty two plus a handful of months year old.


Evening. Unusual as well, since the young family has other commitments and so it's just Ed and me, eating take out Thai, discussing the possibility of picking up a couple of alpacas on craigslist (very low maintenance and adorable, but they do spit...), wondering if the heat will break and if there will be rain soon. Farmette thoughts. Pleasant musings on a warm (almost) summer day.

Saturday

A hot and windy day. On the one hand, you like the wind: it tosses the hot air in ways that make it seem less, well, hot.

On the other hand -- newly planted perennials don't like the early and constant heat, nor do they like the wind. So I have to reassure them. Usually standing over them with a stream of cool water and soothing thoughts is enough. But it does take time.

In the morning, I cannot give them time. I focus on breakfast...







And then I hurry to the young family's home so that we can do our weekly walk to the farmers market downtown.

The market is crowded. And it truly is very very warm. And yet, this little girl loves these outings as if they were excursions to an ice cream parlor. It's in her genes!

I make many stops. New this week: sweet peas! And of course, strawberries. And late spring asparagus. And a bunch of flowers. And perhaps the most important -- mushrooms.






Jaime and Diane (from Indian Farm Mushrooms) are my weekly mushroom suppliers: shiitake, oyster and more recently -- lion's mane. They've been at the market for some twenty years. I don't think I've ever passed their stand without buying their mushrooms.

Snowdrop's mommy and daddy are both at the market this week -- this, of course, makes the girl very happy.






As always, she has her moment on the green lawn.





And then we walk back to her home.


Afternoon: Ed is off examining a forty year old tractor for possible use at the farmette. (Well? Did you like it? Nahhh... It leaks oil. Among other things...)

I take stock of our farming efforts.

Discouraging!

The peaches have all been devoured by squirrels. The strawberries from the strawberry patch -- by every living creature at the farmette except us. The peas -- I expect them to go any day now. And today I see that 90% of our cherry crop has been gobbled up.

But wait! The strawberry-in-pot experiment is working! The plants are bearing fruit, and with few exceptions, the fruits (behind the netting) are holding up well!





I'm happy about this for many reasons: first, we think we can expand production to many more pots going forward. Secondly, our berries are good! We planted the Mara variety and their flavor  is excellent! Finally -- well, I get some pleasure in knowing that Snowdrop traced the process from beginning -- when she pushed in wee strawberry shoots into the soil -- through periods of watering and monitoring, until the end -- when the berries appear and are ripe for plucking.

But I save the plucking bit for later. Right now, she has just arrived and she is ready to eat supper with us (pizza -- how unclever is that!)







(And strawberry ice cream, which I took an inordinately long time selecting, because if you look hard at the freezer section of your store, you'll note that most ice creams there are not ones you especially want your grandchild to eat, even if you're feeling indulgent, as I am tonight.)






(Here we are, picking the ripe strawberries. Oh, how good it feels to have given her that!)






And though it's past her bedtime, I still have one idea for this day: after all, it's warm. The bugs are not out in full force yet. The grass is freshly mowed. Snowdrop is with us for the night.

This confluence of good factors convinces me that this should be the night when Snowdrop discovers camping.

Oh, not for real: I do not want to experiment with disturbing her great sleeping habits just right now. But what if we just put up our tent and let her see the beauty of lying inside, as the breeze passes from one side to the next?






What if I took out my sleeping bag and let her feel its comforting softness?







What if we all watched the sun set from inside the screened walls of the tent?






Well, she loves it. I mean, really loves it!






She tries hard to convince me that she will very quickly fall asleep if I only let her stay  right there, beneath willow branches and the clear skies.






We can't, Snowdrop. Not tonight, But soon! You have your whole childhood ahead of you! Good night, good night! Sleep well, sleep tight. Inside the farmhouse.

Friday

There is a house for sale in Madison. It's really cool and it abuts Wingra Creek just as the little river flows into Lake Menona (one of the two big lakes that define our small city). You could tie a boat to your own pier and take it out on the lake every morning if you lived there. It's walking distance to coffee shops and schools. And to the downtown farmers market. I know, because I've walked these walks -- with Snowdrop of course.

Yes, the young family is likely to be moving and though their new home will be in the greater Madison area (so still close enough to the farmette), nonetheless it does mean that changes are in the air and there is now a constant flutter of activity surrounding showings, searches, viewings and the like.

On the upside, I get to see a lot of Snowdrop -- who, of course, hasn't a clue as to what this is all about. On the downside -- well, there is no downside really. Just the hope that all the pieces will fall into place and the young family will happily move into a new home that they will truly love.

Me, I'm just trying to remember which day of the week we're in -- not helped by the fact that today the little girl's school was closed and so it really felt like a weekend.

Thank goodness there is that predictable, leisurely breakfast on the porch to get me off to a good start.






And the garden walk of course.

(To me, summer is synonymous with day lilies. Their appearance in the lily field makes it official! Summer!)






(For many, June is the month when you watch the roses bloom...)






(Splashes of color in a sea of green...)







It's a hot day and my first Snowdrop task is to take the little one to the playground so that her parents can set everything in order for the numerous showings that are popping up. Houses on the waterfront are rarely up for sale and so interest is high.






As she and I play on the climbing structure, two sisters (ages five and eight) join us. How old are you? They ask her.
Two -- Snowdrop answers confidently.
Really? You're tall for two. When is your birthday?
When I have a birthday party. Okay, she hasn't gotten the calendar down yet. Geez, she's only two!







The girls like her and she likes them and if there is an age disconnect, she doesn't feel it and they don't mind it. I think once more how good school has been for the little one!






After, we (the young family and I) all go out to lunch together. To Madison Sourdough Bakery, which, I swear, is becoming a second home for me. They greet me there by name and ask if I want my usual croissants and cookies (the cookies are for Ed). Not today!







And then some of us retreat to the farmette. Snowdrop "swims," the parents come and go, Ed is away -- all very confusing unless you're Snowdrop. All that matters is that some combination of the people she relies on are there with her.

(Show mommy where your pool is!)










(While the cheepers watch, hoping for a magic appearance of worms and stale bread...)






Oh, the simple pleasure of warm air and cool water...






After her nap, the Snowdrop smiles continue. And why shouldn't they -- give the girl her family, a few pieces of fruit, and her babies to cuddle and she is one content child. We should all learn from that.






Evening. The late post dinner evening. Ed mows some portion of the lawn, I water some portion of the flower beds. The air is warm, the breeze is gentle, the scents are of flowers and firs and cut clover. Six months from now, in the dead of winter, I'll tell myself -- you didn't know how good you had it then! Except that I do know. So very very good...