Tuesday

Every hour I get updates from Ed on the extensive research he is doing on the habits of mosquitoes and the strategies and consequences of eliminating them. As I am now moving toward a "mindful" spraying of some of the well traveled areas of the farmette (call it natural, though I find that term rather funny, under the circumstances), his research intensifies.

I like his thoroughness in this enterprise. We may well call this the summer of mosquitoes and wine and roses. (Or more accurately of mosquitoes and noise and a bubbly drink to refresh the soul at the end of the day.) He tells me -- they may come from the wetlands (to our south), or the flooded lowlands (to the east and north), but we've done a lot to welcome them here. Including my planting of buckwheat. They love the white buckwheat blossoms. Who knew.


My flowers are partly to blame, too, as mosquitoes like the nectar and shade they provide, though were we without the trees and the shrubs and the shade and all the lush greenery of the farmette, my flower beds would be a small potato in the life of the mosquito.

Of course, all that shade and lush greenery protect the cheepers from hawks and other predators. The flowers supply nectar for birds and pollinators. So eradicating just one noxious bug is tough. It has consequences.

And so Ed keeps reading: about the project of spraying blueberry bushes with "harmless" sprays in Israel and the effect it had on the blueberries once the dried spray mixed with the honey dew of the leaves. About the sugar bait research done on biting sand flies and its impact on mosquitos. About the wine, rotten fruit and brown sugar mixture with added toxins that is used in Palestinian territories, because the mosquitoes there are just so intense. Ed is impressed with how much detail the research articles provide: did you know that you can learn what equipment was used and where it came from?  -- he asks in wonderment.

Yes, now I know. That sprayer came from Birmingham in the UK. Another study using different machinery was initiated by the CDC, whose interest in mosquito control grew with the recognition of Zeka and West Nile carrying vectors. It's not exactly a delightful summer project -- the study of the mosquito -- but somehow it has filtered its way into our days, in much the same way that the sun has filtered into our porch and the flowerbeds.

And all the while I'm thinking -- oh, how beautiful this July sunshine and emergent garden are, both working synergistically to produce the greatest wonders of the summer!






Near the bean pole, the seeds of the poppies and alyssum have done well. It's a delicate and lovely corner of the garden. But you have to wander leisurely through the beds to spot it in this wealth of farmette plantings. And of course, meandering slowly with both awe and rapture through the garden is what I miss, what we both miss so much right now.






Breakfast. In the kitchen. Because of the noise. Broken record, eh?






In the front bed, the day lilies are now mixing with the others flowers.





It's all so stunning! The bed is very long and I could never capture it in one photo. Here's the eastern end of it.






These are brief forays. We're not living a meandering summer.

And still, we come back to the big question: who is harmed if we spray, even with the most natural of natural products? It's a question that everyone who cares about our natural world has to ask.

We've come a long way since I first looked into a limited spraying of farmette land for my girl's wedding. Then, only one company offered any kind of analysis of who is harmed and what can be done to avoid damage. These days, mosquito control programs are much more sophisticated. We know how to protect butterflies and bees.





But Ed doesn't have to remind me that there is a lot that still needs to be understood.

Still, for us, our beloved farmette is under attack and we know that we probably cant grow old running to the car to avoid these seasonal pests that have reached record numbers this year (there is a researcher who does the count) because of the intense rains (violent weather episodes appear to be the new normal). There are only three paths before us: a magical revelation that indeed Ed's traps can make a difference, some degree of spraying, or we move and start from scratch.

All three are on the table, the remarkable beauty of the place notwithstanding.





In the afternoon, I do three things:

I orchestrate the move of furniture into my mom's apartment (she'll be moving in herself in less than a week). I drink coffee at Ancora Coffee shop, and I watch Snowdrop dance.

The move offers no photos. It's a move, for goodness sake! We're moving stuff around, I'm anxiously studying the time as I'm paying the moving guys by the hour, and while all this is taking place, the building crew is in the apartment, replacing appliances and installing plumbing. In other words, chaos.

Ancora -- that's another story. I take several photos of my moment in this outdoor coffee shop just because it reminds me of another life -- a time when sitting in a cafe, sometimes with Ed, sometimes alone, was what I did and now I never ever do it. (I dug my own cafe grave when I purchased a Nespresso machine some eight years back. Now, it never seems worth the money to pay for coffee that is not a whole lot better than what I make at home. And, of course, the grandkids came and and the leisure moments flew away with the dandelion puffs of May.)






Finally, let's take a peek at Snowdrop's dance class.






(They're acting out some portion of Little Mermaid.)





I'll end with that smile of hers. The world may crumble, but if there is a child's smile at the end of the day, then it isn't a total crumble. You can find the foundation. You can rebuild.

Monday

More rain at night, more bugs in the morning. But the heat wave is receding and so if you pick your moments wisely -- for example in the early evening, when the sun is still with you but the air has cooled to utter perfection, and the trucks outside have stopped dumping dirt into the pits created by diggers digging sand and so all you hear is the song of birds and the faint sound of Ella Fitzgerald crooning nonstop by the fans that are trapping mosquitoes, and if you're sitting on the porch contemplating whether to open a Cremant de Loire and if yes, whether to pour a little Liqueur de Mure in it for a cold kir royale (or, in plain English -- a light fizzy white wine with a splash of blackberry liqueur) -- well then, the feeling is of the outdoors, the views are of flowers, the sounds are exquisite and the mood is just sublime.






In general, I can only say good things about this day. True, the morning walk to the barn was miserably buggy and so these few photos, taken for posterity, are a work of great sacrifice, since you cannot take photos and swat bugs at the same time, something must give. Ed tells me to venture out a little later: the bugs are at their worst in the early hours, but I remind him that the light in the garden is at its most splendid then. Oh the tradeoffs!





Venture out two hours later and the sunlight overwhelms the landscape. Still lovely, but not as subtle...

(the Big Bed...)






(the Front Bed...)





The noise of the digging and hauling starts very very early, so there's no point in contemplating whether breakfast on the porch is a good idea. It isn't. We eat in the kitchen.





And then, because the young family has plans for the early day hours, I find myself with a little extra time on my hands. I suggest tennis.

In many ways, this is really a dumb idea. By the time we set out (11:30), the sun is hot. I mean, not record setting hot, but summertime hot. Is it worth it?

Yes it is. It's our first game of the season! Only the coming of grandkids can explain this great delay in our venture out to the hidden and somewhat disheveled courtyard among a thicket of tall white pines.

We play for a long time. It's so quiet there! The bugs are minimal, the game is good. I even try for a time release photo, just to remember how grand it was for us to be out there playing again.'






Afternoon. I pick up Snowdrop.

It is a perfect day to give the pool another try. In thinking about it, I realized why our first pool outing this year was such a bust. Last year, Snowdrop's school day ended at 12:15. I would pick up a tired two year old. I'd revive her with a snack, we'd stroll through the neighborhood and then promptly at 1, we would head for the pool. It opened its doors then and as season pass holders, we'd beat the lines and enter an oasis of calm. Oh, within the half hour, the pool would fill with bus loads of summer kids, with families and grandparents, with anyone and everyone seeking a cool spot in a hot city. But by then, Snowdrop would be immersed and happy.

This year, the little girl ends her school day at 2:30. When we arrived at the pool for her first swimming adventure of the summer, it was packed. It was loud. It was hot. It was like Coney Island on the Fourth of July only in tighter quarters and with no hot dogs or ice cream cones. I assumed she'd be excited and so I took her straight to her last year's favorite deep water spots. Five minutes into it she asked to leave.


Today, I told her we needed to cool off. That we just need to wet our toes, sit down and maybe I would tell her a story about the pink cat with the green ears (she's been asking for it for a few days now). And still she protests: Can't we go to the playground?
No, dearest girl, the swings are too hot, the slides are too hot. Let's get our toes wet.

We find a quiet corner at the pool. This in itself is tough: all of humanity is at Madison's community swimming pool on these hot hot days. Young mom screaming at her kids, older woman doing repeat bellyflops into the water, babies squealing, gangs of kids testing their splashing prowess, but yes, we find a quiet corner.

And slowly, she relaxes and rediscovers the joy of being at a pool on a sunny summer day.










We crawl and splash and roll and jump and July begins to feel quite special after all.


Later, much much later, as I finish a text message (I never type with thumbs), Ed brings stuffies to the table so they can watch. I grin, he takes the photo.





Yeah, July is uniquely special. Bugs, pools, lilies and all.

July

Someone reminded me recently that humor is the best way to diffuse an enemy. I can see that. If someone is hell bent on bringing you down, perhaps a show of genuine indifference to that effort, partnered with a healthy dose of humor is really a sound strategy. I try to remember that when I feel irritation bubbling to the surface because someone said or did something, well, irritating.

But what if your enemy (of the moment) is the mosquito? She doesn't care if I'm furiously slapping at her or laughing at my plight. She just wants to reproduce and I am her ticket to the egg laying enterprise.

Rain came our way last night. I was heaving a sigh of relief: the heaviest storms passed us by. But in the morning, though the air had cooled a few degrees, the bugs assailed me when I stepped outside.

July has a devilish little underbelly: it can throw a tantrum with storms and if that doesn't scare you, it can shake out the mosquitoes.

Hahaha. (Are they diffused yet?)

I venture out a handful of times and it is indeed comical: I retreat waving the electric paddle. If I'm without it, I don't walk, I run for cover.

Still, garden work beckons. You pass a weed, you have to pull it, no? And, too, I must pause to admire the bloomers.






But not for long. Set camera, snap, run.

Breakfast is on the porch. It's beautifully quiet today and the heat isn't so oppressive.






We look out at the lily field before us. It's so rewarding to finally see the blooming faces of the day lilies.






But the bugs are thick and bothersome. (Tomato demands an explanation for the buzz... What can I say...)






In the front flower bed, the clumps of siberian irises are stunning.






There: I did an inspection. I pulled some weeds. That's it. I am so done with the outdoors for today. (Ed swears it will be better tomorrow.)

In the late afternoon, my older girl and her two kids come over, giving the dad a much needed rest.

Books, art...






... with a perpetually interested little Sparrow, waiting for his moment to join in the fun.






(Now can we play?)






(Sure!)






By dinner time, its cool enough to eat on the porch. One screen keeps us calm, happy, safe from the bandits of the summer months.






(Despite the lateness of the hour, Snowdrop decides the wading pool is a perfect post dinner dessert. Yes, she is really into doing things for herself. And honestly, who can tell if the swimsuit would look any better with the bow in the back!)






Sparrow dozes. The fireflies are about to come out.





So perfect, until you step outside and remember that there are platoons of armed bandits waiting for you.

Still, six months from now, I'll only remember the first two words of that sentences. And that's the way it should be. Perfect days and nights can be had even if all the pieces aren't quite in all the right places. We had so many beautiful moments on this first day of July. Were there bugs? Yes, I suppose so. How tedious! How (almost) irrelevant!

hotter hottest

When the weather throws you a heated punch, you look for sidesteps and workarounds. It truly is hotter than hot and it feels especially toasty hot because, well, because it already has been so hot!

The lilies are waking up. The true lilies are first in line. These tall flowers are off the wall magnificent!






Breakfast. Despite the heat, I would have like to eat outside, but the construction crews did not break for the weekend and the slam of the tailgate is just too loud. We eat in the kitchen.





Immediately after, I rush to meet up with Snowdrop and her mom. We're going to attempt a market run, but it has to be early! The temps are going to climb through the roof today! (Sparrow stays home with his dad. He can't possibly have the stamina for this yet.)

As has been the pattern now, we again run into school friends of Snowdrop.

(What I love about this image is that it's so much a picture of every child who waits patiently, wrapping herself in mom's skirts as mom talks to grownups.)







Snowdrop survives the market! The girl is well trained.

(A pause to swing her pretend character on the pretend swing.)






(Snowdrop loves a good laugh, even if it's a laugh at herself.)






Happiness is...






On these market days, there is always a sidestep into the cool interior of the Capitol Building. Today, she climbs many stairs with her mom so that she can look down at me from a higher perch.






There is a public art project on display this summer: 85 six-foot tall Bucky Badgers (mascot of the University of Wisconsin) are positioned throughout the city. You can get a list and check off as many as your parents will indulgently take you to. Or, you can find one and love it for its... pig.






And now I'm home again, checking the garden for signs of heat stress (none found: these front bed flowers are loving the warm sunshine!)...






Snowdrop and her mom pay a visit. We were to go to the pool, but frankly, the idea of being outside again, even in the cool waters of a pool, is not quite pulling at Snowdrop. Can't we just play inside?

And why not!






(A Snowdrop pretend game is like a story without an ending...)






Evening. Storms rumble. They say the hottest of the hot air streams will be moving to the east. Oh, poor souls of the eastern states! Stay cool, drink lots of water and if you must go to any outdoor market, say a kind word to the farmers who labored in the blazing fields to grow their crops and now are working hard to keep their produce looking fresh and lively in their market stalls just for me and you.

hot hot hot

Steamy air, humid, unrelenting, pushing the heat index up, up toward 110F (above 43C)...

One small things follows from the next. Big heat, big bugs. Little interest in reaping the benefits of garden work. Peas hang, waiting.






Loud truck rumblings keep us in the kitchen for breakfast.






This sweet little boy knows nothing of the heat, nor of the bugs. No need to go out today. Stay home where it's cool.






Talk to mommy about the big trip from up the stairs to down the stairs then back up again...






Hot, hot, hot. I pick up Snowdrop and offer her two refreshing choices: a dip in the community pool or a splash in the farmette wading pool on the porch. She responds: I just want to stay inside the farmhouse.

And we do. And she dances.






...and messes with ahah...






We draw on index cards and she falls into her story telling: polka dots all around, where the blue jays sing...

I listen and add an occasional mouse or flower to her picture.


Evening: so still! Like air trapped in a steam pot. Hot hot hot.

A new daylily opens up...






...the sun throws one last path of light.





The fireflies come out and dance and sing -- hot hot hot. Summer's here. Is it ever! Hot hot hot!