Friday notes

In the morning, I went out to feed the chickens. I returned to the farmhouse more than two hours later. Ed said it best later in the day: without the buzz of mosquitoes in your ear, we stay out longer, do more, work harder and appreciate every minute of our time outdoors.

I cleaned the day lily plants (July is their peak season and I do have a lot of day lilies flowering right now), and watered the front flower bed. I'm hoping that the rains tonight will do the work for me in the remaining flower fields.






(The froggies are back in the lily field!)






(The monarchs are fighting over property rights to the milkweed...)






(Pepper, is, I think, one of the cutest in our bunch.)






Finally, breakfast.






It's quite late when I set out to grocery shop. And I nearly stumble over Stop Sign! I think she has decided that the indirect approach doesn't always bring her the food she needs. We've not seen her regularly, but it may be because we're not staring at the space underneath Ed's car (where she likes to hang out) on a regular basis. She's going for an "in you face" tactic now. Today she eats voraciously -- clearly the little cat is hungry.






And then I pick up Snowdrop.






It's grand to have her in the farmhouse again. Summer opens up activities that take us on adventures elsewhere -- typically the pool or the park. But today, it's Snowdrop with her favorite props, telling us a story of mystery and intrigue.






(A game that involves her babies and Ed. She's reading a book to them.)






I'm to take her home. On the way out, she spots the bowl of apples. Can I have the pinkest one?
Sure!

I'm impressed that she can multitask!






Pepper is a show off today!






The sun is low now. I've taken the little on home and  I'm starting to think about dinner.

It will include corn.

Have you ever tasted freshly picked Midwestern corn? You have? Well then you'll know why we'll be eating it almost daily this month. It's that good.

Ed walks to the barn to give an extra handful of corn to the cheepers.

(In this photo, you may be able to appreciate how large the Big Bed of flowers is as measured against his tall frame.)






Storms rumble to the west, to the south. We'll be getting some rain tonight and really, that's a good thing. The flowers need it. The farmers' crops need it. Me? I'm just happy to be walking outside again, snapping photos, smelling the lilies.

Progress

What's the old saying? Two steps forward, one step back. If we can stick to that, well then we're one step ahead of the game. It's a bummer when the ratio gets flipped and you take two steps back for every tiny movement forward. Conversely, you should feel enormously grateful when you've had a good run -- with maybe three steps forward for every step back. That's real progress!

I'm hitting the real progress pace right now. As an example -- after weeks upon weeks of neglect (due to bugs), I'm carefully tending to the garden again (slowly but surely)...






... and enjoying the cheepers (well, Peach could do with a personality upgrade, as she sees herself too much as Ms. top hen; in my opinion the little cheeps treat her with way too much deference)...






(Tomato, the porch is not for chickens!)






I'm certainly taking in the beauty of this heavenly season.

(Breakfast, with a felled delphinium and day lily)






The view from the porch out onto the lily field (and beyond) is ever so lightly muted by the screen, but even twenty screens couldn't hide the lusciousness of our landscape right now. Can you believe how stunningly different it is from what we lived through in November, all the way through March?






We watch the birds, bees, butterflies. Do you see this hummingbird? He's ever so tiny, but very territorial, chasing off any other birds crossing his path.






A morning garden trim and then Ed and I are off to help my mom with her apartment set up. (She explains her vision... we think of ways of getting her there. That's progress indeed!)






And at lunch time, she's off to eat at her place...






And we're off too, returning now to our tasks: tree chopping for Ed and weeding and some modest watering of new stuff for me.






(The lily field: I don't even remember how I made the choices in the initial planting of it a half a dozen years back, but here it is -- a dabble of colors.)






And before I know it, it's time to pick up Snowdrop.

This is serious business. Even gathering her things together -- shoes here, lunchbox there, sweater who knows where -- requires Holmesian skills.





I offer her some adventure choices for our time together. Initially she opts for the playground, but on our walk there (very warm, sticky), she changes her mind. Pool it is!

Of course, it's bedlam at the community pool. But Snowdrop holds her own!

We first go to the changing room. I try to help her into her suit, but she has her own ideas. What should be the back is now the front.
Snowdrop, we have to flip your swimsuit around! 
Gaga, I like to have the bow in the front. I can see it better that way. I know this frustrates you, but I like it up front!

How can you not smile at all that children say to us?!






And here's progress for sure: despite the pool chaos, the little girl insists on going out to where the water reaches her chin. On her own. Gaga, you can stay in the shallow water!  Oh, let's not get too brave, little one. Someone has to make sure you stay upright in the mad dash, splash and tumble of kids all around you!





And now it's evening again. Snowdrop is home with her brother. Ed and I have made a quick run to our local market. Beans, cucumbers, tomatoes. The littlest young potatoes I'd ever seen. Cheese curds for Ed.

One last walk through the garden. Sometimes I think that a day lily was fashioned to take in that sliver of late sunlight.





Summer in Wisconsin. Yes, that beautiful!

Chicago

I am up before the chickens. As a result, I allow myself a brief walk through the gardens, thinking peaceful thoughts, picking off random spent buds, enjoying the quiet of the pre-construction hours.







One thought that came to me is how easy it is to succumb to a mindset (good or bad): it happens without your realizing it. Take the mosquitoes: our remarkable invasion this year pushed me to thinking nasty thoughts about them every time I stepped outside. It was inevitable, I suppose. You can't ignore that ferocious buzz and bite. At the same time, I began to lose touch with my flowers. Their beauty didn't disappear, but it did not have the delightfully melodic impact on me as it does under less onerous conditions. There wasn't a Bach melody running through my head. There were curse words.

We all know that being around happy people makes us happy. But the opposite is true as well: if you're around negative events, people, situations -- they seep under your skin and if you're not paying attention, you become infected. You assume as normal something that shouldn't be normal at all. We read about this in the papers: the unleashing of your own inner devil as you listen to the political discourse. But forget about politics! Yesterday, as I was standing at the dance studio window, watching Snowdrop's ballet class, I picked up the comments of a grandma of another child. She was clearly there, with grandpa, visiting. Their son (the child's dad) was hovering in the background. The grandma kept throwing out comments that were mildly persnickety. Not about her own dancer, but about the others. If the teacher showed the kids a picture of a perfect ballet leap, the grandma would emit the tiniest smirk and say acerbically -- how many of them could possibly do that! Then as each child did attempted it, the grandma would release a "there, I told you so" snorty chuckle. In her back and forth with son and husband, I heard that constant small bite, the "you should haves," the fussy finding of fault. Missing was the joy in finding herself in this beautiful moment. The appreciation for all that is. And I want to remind myself, remind us all, that that kind of demonic impulse to bite festers in every one of us -- it's that inner devil, looking for a chance to escape, to keep company with other little satans out there.

I have a respite now with the bugs (though I know it's a matter of days before they come back: they're at the peripheries, waiting; peppermint and garlic don't last forever). And I have my kids and grandkids. And an Ed, who will always choose quiet over caustic remarks. I'm handed a reset: I see the beauty of a garden, of young faces around me, too, of Ed's strong yet gentle presence and I remember how important it is to sustain my own contribution to a peaceful mindset, to not let it waver, even at testy times.

(The Big Bed is at one of its more gorgeous moments and especially at this hour, when the sunlight is just touching the roof of the barn, the tops of trees.)






I eat a mini breakfast alone. I haven't the heart to drag Ed downstairs. He spent the whole day chopping down a tree and he has several more he wants to bring down.





And then I catch the bus to Chicago.

Normally, I like to overnight in the city when I come to spend time with Primrose, my youngest granddaughter, but this month, there just isn't the time for such luxury. Still, I never mind the trip: on the way there, I get to think about the joys of seeing my younger daughter and her girl again and on the way back, I have the good feeling of returning to a home I love.

So, a day in Chicago. Or, really, in one neighborhood of this big city. You know the streets by now, right?





(The quiet of the residential blocks of Wicker Park...)






And now finally, after a car ride, bus ride, El ride and lovely walk, I am with Primrose (who is just 3.5 months old and working hard on staying upright in a sitting position).






It's very warm outside, but Primrose has just returned from a family trip where it was even warmer and so we set out for a long-ish walk without trepidation. My daughter and I are up for a lunch at Bang Bang Pie and Biscuit. Eating a biscuit smothered in warm goat cheese with a poached egg and charred asparagus, kale and cherry tomatoes at the side just sounds so yummy, especially at an outdoor table, especially with strawberry rhubarb pie for dessert.






(Hey, can I join in on the fun??)






(Always, Primrose. Always.)






It's remarkable how much a little babe can grow in a short period of time. I last saw Primrose in June. And here she is now, legs stronger by the day, practicing stuff that was impossible then.






It's a beautiful set of hours for me. But I can't stay long. I have an evening bus to catch. One last hug and many kisses for the little girl and her mom...

(see you soon, okay??)





... and I'm off.
 

The sun is long gone by the time I pull into the farmette driveway. Ed is back from his Wednesday Night bike ride. With a good bit of excitement, he tells me that the corn stand in the neighboring town is up and selling local corn for the first time tonight. He bought six ears. I clean the corn, steam it briefly, pour a glass of rosé and smile at how lovely summertime can be.

so many pages...

I could say that this day is like delving into a tome of  Don Quixote or War and Peace: you wonder -- how is it possible to have so many pages in just one book? Of course, everything that I do these days is mundane and predictable. No book could come of it. (Well, a good writer could make a good book of anything.) But surely it feels full! I was two minutes behind schedule all day long and feeling rather proud that it was only two minutes!


I think for any serious gardner living in northern climes, a summer morning is hugely important. This is when you talk to your garden. You take in the complaints, you beam at the success stories. You make necessary adjustments. You do all this before you sit down to your first cup of whatever it is that you drink in the mornings.

At around 7, I am outside doing just that.

(The lily bed by the beloved porch...)






(How best to look at them? In groups? Each in its own right?)






(From the thicket of the Big Bed, looking toward the farmhouse.)






Alright. Pause for breakfast. On the porch.











We talk about bugs. For instance -- why are we spotting European honey bees only now, when the mosquitoes have been pushed away? And how long will the mosquitoes stay away? They're hovering at the peripheries. You need only to step outside of the garlic-rosemary-peppermint area and they are all over you.

For now, we welcome the bees and butterflies and hope that they, like us, find this to be a calmer place without the buzz of the summer horrors.






Next chapter: I take my mom shopping. We're heading for Target.






As I drive with her through familiar neighborhoods, she is surprised at the changes that have taken place. (She hasn't been here since she left 18 years ago.) Cities don't stand still of course. They grow or they shrivel. There is rarely a middle path.

As we add household things to her Target cart, I am reminded of shopping trips with daughters heading for college. Ironing board, toaster. Another pillow. Toiletries.

The morning passes quickly. Wait, is it still morning? I'm to be with Sparrow at noon. Mom goes home. I take a quick pause at the now familiar Ancora for a coffee...





...and scoot over to my older girl's home.

Hi, Sparrow!






Are you really only a month old?





And now I'm awfully close to Snowdrop pick up time.

She herself has had such full days that she has reverted to taking a nap again. Well, at least today she napped. See that still sleepy face? (We're searching for a lost sweater... Found!)






I revive her by telling her that today, I remembered our swim stuff. If she wants to, we can go to the pool.

She wants to, but she is determined to trip me up: did you remember the water baby?
I did.
How about my water shoes, do you have those?
I do.
And a pain au chocolate?
Yep.
Big grin. Thank you!!!






She has again gotten used to the ways of the kids at the pool: the crowds, the splashers, runners, screamers -- I'm happy to say they no longer faze her. Indeed, it's hard to get her to leave. Snowdrop, two more minutes! That's all! Really truly!

An hour or so later, we're at the farmhouse... (hi, three cheeps!)






Snowdrop, don't dawdle, we're going to be so late!
She is a superb dawdler.

Phew! Dressed, hair back, ready for dance class. Nearly on time!

(Her arabeques are beyond charming...)






(I'm not sure what the story was today, but I am certain that Snowdrop loved the reenactment, no matter what it was.)






We're nearing the end of my great volume of a day. The last pages. The parents appear to pick the little girl up. Sparrow is with them and the girl is delighted that he should be here to watch her dance. With eyes closed, but still...





And now it's late evening. I pick up a few veggies and head home to a simple supper of eggs and the locally grown peas and mushrooms.

Tomorrow, at dawn, I'm off to Chicago.