weekend visit

A beautiful garden, unlike a beautiful interior of a home, can never become wallpaper. You never take it for granted. There's a reason for that: a garden does not stand still. It changes daily: a rain may refresh some plants and knock down others. If you grow day lilies, like I do, every lily bloom is a new one (they only last one day). And so the magic is there, each and every day. So long as flowers bloom and birds chirp, your senses reel at the sheer beauty of it all.

Our night of storms did bring back some mosquitoes, but I am not discouraged.  We know now that we can control their population. We'll wait and see what happens. if things get worse, we'll reach for that garlic-peppermint combo again, but for now, I can work in the flower beds and chase away offending bugs. (I remember yesterday when I told Snowdrop I was happy that the mosquitoes were mostly gone, she said -- but grandma, it's okay if they are here and bite. It doesn't really hurt. The girl is so drawn to cup-half-full thinking! As am I. We make a good team!)

As I pluck spent flowers, I deliberate: what's more beautiful? A single bloom, or a field of flowers?







The big cheepers and the little cheeps are usually nearby. I'm impressed how solid the connection is between the three younger girls. They always move everywhere together.






Ah, lilies, lilies everywhere!






The stately lilium has longer lasting blooms and often an intense fragrance.






The hemerocallis flower (daylily), of course, folds up and loses its steam overnight. But there is such beauty in that brief bloom that honestly, I remember it forever.






In my morning gardening hour (it takes that long to clean all the beds), I finally find a couple of these guys on the milkweed leaves:





We will have given a home and feeding station to a new generation of monarch butterflies!

(Pepper is only mildly impressed.)






Breakfast, in the quiet of the weekend morning, on the porch.






A Van Gogh moment!






And one last look out at the gardens, as seen from our perch on the porch:






After, Ed and I ride over to the corn stand up the road. These guys are five miles from where we live, but it's a pretty ride and the corn they grow is just exquisite. (The closer corn farm is only two miles up the road, but their season doesn't start until next week.)






And now the flower beds are snipped and lovely, the farmhouse is freshly dusted and polished, the fridge is full of good summer foods. And that's a good thing, because today, my sweet, sweet friend (Diane) is arriving for a visit. I haven't seen her since I said goodbye to her last fall in Montpellier in the south of France. We are in need of each other's company for sure!

It's Bastille Day and we pay our respects by cutting into at least two cheeses from the country that so loves its smelly diary product, but our evening drink commemorates our travels together through Italy. An Aperol Spritz is summery, light and fizzy as can be. Perfect for a day that is indeed summery, light and effervescent!






Dinner is on the porch. Here, the French elements kick in. A play on Julia Child's sole meuniere, with a rosé wine. But of course, the meal could not be complete without -- you guessed it! -- fantastic, picked this morning Wisconsin corn!






The afternoon and evening pass too quickly. It's always like that. You jump from one theme to the next, one story follows another and suddenly you realize that even the fireflies have retired for the night.

And so should we.

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.