Tuesday

I plan ahead. Mostly it pays off. I get advance purchase deals on hotels. Sometimes, good airfares can be snapped if you're prepared to grab them when they pop up. I have a vision of my schedule for next week, next month, and yes -- to some extent, even next year. (Go ahead and laugh: I, too, think it's pretty funny.)

But sometimes my looking ahead backfires. Classic case: planning a trip for right now (departure: yesterday), at a time when I didn't know it would be raining grandchildren for me this spring.

A more trivial example would be scheduling appointments for this morning and then waking to beautiful weather -- the kind where you want to really plunge into garden work. I grumble about this to the appointment persons, as if it's their fault that I picked May instead of, say, March for these things. Still, there went the morning.

By the time I am done and Ed and I sit down to breakfast (on the porch!), it feels more like lunch.







From our vantage point, we can look out on a successful little clump of tulips. They survived the chompers, probably because they're late and came up when the garden had an abundance of other treats for hungry growing families of rabbits, chipmunks and the like.






And all around us, there are the magnificent daffodils! It's hard to believe that a month ago, all was brown, frozen, forbidding.






Look up and you'll see the ancient pear from the old orchard, reaching out and up to the giant willow.






In the afternoon, it turns very very warm. Summer weather. Shorts and sundresses weather. Good weather for a frolic with Snowdrop! And the chickens. The big girls. The little ones haven't caught on to the concept of frolic just yet.






(picking violets)










(running...)






I take out the wading pool.






(she tells stories...)






Inside again. It's a day of hair changes. Down, up, pony tail, pig tails.

I have something for you, Snowdrop.
What?
Well, there's this woman who lives far away and she makes wreaths. ("Crowns" in Snowdrop parlance.) I asked her to make you one with pink flowers (meaning, I ordered one on Etsy).
Where does she live?
Far away.
In Asia?
Actually in Europe. Close to Poland. (The woman lives in the Ukraine -- not a county I've identified for Snowdrop yet.)

The girl loses herself in her story. About tomatoes and pig tails and a crown from Asia. (!)






And in the evening she returns home and Ed and I return to our world outside. 

Monday

Not every plant that is supposed to come back in spring does, in fact return. I'm lucky with my success rate (aided greatly by the fact that I avoid planting fragile perennials; day lilies, for example, are not very fragile), but still, occasionally I lose something. I view it as an opportunity to put in something new! In will go Lullaby Baby, Pastel Inspiration and Wild One. (Lovely day lily names, don't you think?)

But tulips -- well, there's nothing good to be said about a bed of chomped off stalks.  Here, my success rate is one for every ten lost to chompers (rabbits? dear? groundhog? all the above?).

(Daffodils, on the other hand, are tempting to no animal that I know of. The feast is entirely for our eyes only.)





And today, on the eight week birthday of the three chicks, we are grateful that so far, they're adjusting well.

Though this morning, they scared us a bit: they would not leave the coop. No chicken I know stays in a coop when the door is flung open, unless she is laying of brooding. These girls are too young for that. We're immensely puzzled by this, until we pause long enough to listen empathetically, with their sensitive ears: the rumble of the trucks in the fields right next to us is tremendous! They're terrified.

We place the pen close to the barn and herd them into their familiar colorful yard, with food and water. They relax. And I'm sure they're reassured to see the big hens taking in stride all the loud grading and leveling taking place around us. Within a few minutes, they're happy chickens once again.






Breakfast, not so relaxed (I have too much on my list for today!), but lovely nonetheless.






And then I lose myself to planting. With an eye to what's blooming around me. (Always beautiful, stately and pinky perfect -- the bleeding hearts.)










And have I adequately expressed my love for daffodils?






It's a gorgeous day! It's warm -- mid seventies F (24C), maybe higher. Isn't it a great day to dust off the old wading pool for Snowdrop after school?

She's thrilled. On goes the swimsuit, out comes the pool

Let's go, grandma!






Snowdrop, your hair is swaying just like the willow branches!






Maybe we should pull it back in a pony tail? There, that's better.






I'm very surprised to see the little chicks at the pool. They're usually on the bashful side. But the water intrigues them. No, we're not going to let them jump in! We do draw some lines in what's acceptable chicken behavior.






(Ed, in a rather contemplative moment.)






I'm thinking it's time to go inside.
She's thinking -- isn't this a beautiful time to bring out the bubble making stuff?











On these warm, gorgeous days, even if you putz around inside, you don't feel like you're inside. The world is in your pocket. You are in charge!

I'd say the same is true for Snowdrop. Outdoors, indoors - it's all good! (Here, she's proudly demonstrating a character set up she put together.)





Evening. Snowdrop has gone home. Ed and I stay outside for a long long time. Two more day lilies go in, a handful of weeds come out.

We walk over to the construction site to the east of us. The truck farmers had been warned. They no longer till these fields, nor do they pick up the remains from years of growing here. An abandoned asparagus field, an old flower bed -- all making room for the new development.



Back at the farmette, Ed mows a bit of the grass where we're about to put in buckwheat. The old cheepers have retired, the little girls take in the last of the day's sun.






I suppose there are warmer, brighter, better days to be had, but we offer no complaints: this day was one of May's finest. Of this I'm sure.

Sunday in pictures

How I've grown to love color! And especially the hues of spring! In flowers, in clothes, pink, purples, blues, in combinations -- yellow and blue, green and pink -- it's all so enchanting! Before I turned seriously toward gardening, I really did not pay much attention to tones and hues. And in clothes -- well, I ran with the dress-up-in-black crowd. Too, I was known for earth tones -- literally the palette of soil, or marinated olives. Was it that I wanted to hide in the world of the nondescript? Well, those days are long gone. Spring sets the easel for me. From its pure loveliness, I draw inspiration.

I have a very busy Sunday -- it's lovely, sunny and mild -- perfect outdoor weather and so I plunge into my gardens, which, of course, leaves little time for writing. Still, the day deserves space here, on Ocean. It's full of the very best! And because Snowdrop is here both in the morning and in the evening, I am happy to take out my camera more than I usually would for a gardening day. A child running through a grassy field, or chasing bubbles brings it all together for me -- the season, the color, the joy!

Here we go then, my Sunday, in pictures.

A very early morning walk through the gardens:






Soon after, I hear someone stirring upstairs. Look who's up!






Too early for the big breakfast. Not too early to blow bubbles!






Big, little, clumps of many, solo flyers...






Chasing them is the best!






Pancakes. Today I use a mix from Birch Benders Micro-Pancakery. Yes, that is really the name of it.






Some would say it's all in the maple syrup.






Oh, the colors of a breakfast on the porch with Snowdrop!






We pick a few asparagus stalks. The thin ones, she eats straight up.






Only my granddaughter is allowed to pick (some) flowers from my gardens.






This year, she can handle the hose just fine!






Snowdrop goes home, Ed slumps over his broken chain saw, I work in the flower fields.


In the evening, the young family comes for dinner. Straight from soccer practice! ("Where are the cheepers?")






Dinner. It's not a given in spring that it can be on the porch; it's a true gift when the weather is warm enough for it.






Mouth full of cookies. So many to try, so little time!






Much later, the farmhouse is in order, the sun has set. What to do with the young chicks? We take a halfway laissez faire approach. Let them meander into their pen, pick them up there and carry them to the coop. The hope is that they will soon move to the coop on their own.

Walking back to the farmhouse, I glance toward the big willow and the young orchard.. A spring sunset....





Ribbons of color, a movement of bats in the air, the pungent fragrance of things growing.

spring delights

We moved pretty quickly this year from cold to very warm! Oh, I know it wont last, but for the record, I'm wearing shorts today.

Good weather means there's work to be done. I am up before 6, aiming to be at the grocery store when it opens so that I wont waste the day on such silliness as stocking the fridge for the week.

But first, a walk through the yard. Must take the tomatoes out and feed the little girls. And admire for the millionth time the beauty of a yellow house against the backdrop of spring greens.






I leave a still snoozing Ed and run my shopping errands. Breakfast, therefore, is on the late side. But oh, how grand it is to be eating in all this warm weather! (The heavy rains felled many a daffodil. All the more reason to clip them and stick them in vases.)






The little chicks see us and run over to the porch area. Like the big hens, they appear to like to check up on us when we make an appearance outside. They watch us, we watch them.



Before I give in to the demands of the garden, I do take the time to meet up with my daughter and Snowdrop at the downtown farmers market.

I find them engaged in a serious conversation about life's peculiarities.






It's hard not to be joyous on a day like this one, but Snowdrop has special talents for being extra joyous!






Well of course! We're experiencing an explosion of spring delights!







Can I climb that?
Maybe not... Spring makes us believe that everything is possible! Well, nearly everything.






In the afternoon, Ed and I make a quick trip to the Flower Factory. Ed has put up a bunch of trellis teepees in the yard and so I can finally plant some blooming vines.

Of curse, I do look around to see what else is blooming at this perennial emporium...






And then I lose myself to work the in farmette flower fields.

(Ed prompts me to pause and take a look in the new orchard. The cherries are blooming!)






(Again, the young chicks watch...)






I stop work when Snowdrop comes for a sleepover.

She, too, can't resist the evening air. I bring out a soccer ball (pink!) for us to kick around...






And she gives it a couple of good ones, but then the sandbox just draws her right in.






It's very tough to get her to give it up for the day.

Pizza party with Ed on the porch...






The sun sets at 8:03 right now and so we can still enjoy its warmth now (at 7)...






Ed and I are slow to put down our forks. Just a few minutes more of this serenity... (Snowdrop brings out a few characters and plays quietly to the side...)






And now I think it's time to herd the chickens to the coop. The process is too long and full of mishaps and misdirections. Eventually, between the three of us, we do manage to catch the little ones and put them into the coop...





...though Ed says this will be our last herding game. Tomorrow, we leave them to wander into the coop on their own.


And now, finally, I insist on books and bedtime -- Snowdrop may think she's not tired yet, but I surely have a response to that: I am so ready to put my head on the pillow and lose myself to sleep! The bats are out, the day is done! Goodnight beautiful summer-like May 5th, goodnight little one here, and little one in Chicago. Goodnight all. Good night, good night.