where's the cold?

Just before midnight, Ed cuts himself a slice of watermelon. It's his favorite snack on a summer's night.
Why isn't the watermelon cold? -- he asks.
It's past my sleepy time, but I force myself to give it some thought: is it a philosophical question? Is there a right or wrong answer?
No, seriously, why isn't it cold? 
Ed likes cold fruits. He likes cold beverages: there are always two glasses, each a quarter filled with water, in the freezer. It's his way of making any beverage chilly as can be. Me, I'm indifferent to it. Is food cold? How do I know? Milk gets steamed for coffee, veggies are cooked, cheeses are brought to room temperature.  I hadn't really noticed if the watermelon is or is not cold.

We walk over to the kitchen, open the fridge and do a touch test. Everything seems just a little lukewarm.

It's not cooling, is it?
Nope.

It's almost funny to end this day with a broken fridge. Just on this one day, Ed has already fixed his car. He has unplugged a slow drain in the bathroom and now he is about to take apart the refrigerator.

Midnight comes and goes. Ed pokes around the internet for youtubes on what to do when this particular model fails.

There are many upsides to the story: the garlic/peppermint oils applied this evening have chased the mosquitoes away. So it's not horrible to plug in Ed's little refrigerator in the sheep shed and walk our foods over to it. Moreover, this could have happened when he was away. I tell him I would have bought a new refrigerator and charged him for it, just to get back at him for going away.
You would... -- he responds.
No, actually I'd probably sit down on the floor and cry.

In the end, after clearing out the fridge and cleaning all the shelves and drawers that somehow look really gross only when you remove them and look at them in bright light, I leave him to his tinkering. There's nothing more I can do.

Not too many hours later, it is daylight and we're up again, anxious to get my car to the big box auto tire center so that we can be first in line and have the new tires mounted before I have to pick up Snowdrop. By this time, Ed's figured out that the refrigerator's defrost thermostat is broken. A new part can come from Amazon tomorrow. Or, he can go across town and pick up said part today.

It's your choice, I tell him.

He knows how much I dislike the disarray in the kitchen. I'll feel adrift until order is restored.

He gets on his motor bike and goes across town to get the missing part.

I return to snipping daylilies. 462.


























And then we eat breakfast.






And shortly after, I pick up Snowdrop.

Grandma, can we go to the store and buy pineapple? I saw it in a Daniel Tiger video.  I have not eaten pineapple. Can we get some please? 
Well why not...
I'm so excited!

It's unfortunate that the one in Whole Foods comes peeled to its core. It doesn't look at all like the fruit that grows in pineapple fields. Still, the girl is thrilled. And I am too. It's been a while since she and I have been out shopping together.

I bring her (and all that pineapple) to the farmhouse. She eats, she plays...






But not for long. It's dance class day: they're practicing for an end of summer (really??) mini recital that's to take place next week.
















When her dad picks her up, she is full of stories and instructions for that final class.
We will come into the room smiling. You will take lots of pictures and then....
Her voice trails off. I leave behind a happy, chatty girl.






Evening. Beautiful, beautiful light onto a sublime landscape.





I'm already looking forward to working on next year's crop of flowers. Nature's beauty is addictive.

In the kitchen, the refrigerator hums quietly, as if nothing had ever been amiss. The watermelon is once again very cold.

Monday

Glorious sunshine, a gently blue sky, a sweet warm breeze. This is our weather today and from what I can tell, it'll be our weather tomorrow and the next day and the day after.

The tall day lilies are starting to bloom, telling me that we're entering the second half of summer.

(If ever something recalls the words "lift up your hearts!" -- seeing their upturned faces surely would be it...)






(Oh, you, I love you as much, only differently!)






(And you too!)






(Our beloved flowers by our beloved porch...)






(Funky front bed, made funkier this year by being selectively chomped up by deer)






Breakfast






And now come the errands. Which only lead to more errands.

If you love car stories, then you'd probably be interested in the details of our morning, but I will assume most people are like me and find car stories terribly uninteresting. I know you wont care that the new tires for my car came in to our local big box store and that we hurried to have them put on, but as we pulled up, the auto center decided to close for the day. And you probably find it only mildly curious that on our next stop, Ed found that the brake lights on his car would not shut off. At all, ever.

Ah, but here are the good moments: one errand happened to be where Sparrow lives and so I had a chance to tickle his tummy and give him a hug...

(the skeptical half-grin)






And Ed had a chance to show that his shirt matched Sparrow's outfit. A coincidence.






There were several more errand stops and at each one Ed would have me stand outside and tell him if, after some manipulation on his part, the brake lights would go off and the answer would always be "no."

Once Ed is dealt a car problem, he invariably tries to solve the mystery behind it and so a good part of his day is now devoted to this task. (Needless to say, he finds the broken piece and conjures up some imaginative and effective fix.)

Me, I go and pick up Snowdrop. We have determined that my car's tires are hopelessly awful, but the drive to her school is short and the little one doesn't actually have to ride in the car at all because this is just such a perfect day for swimming. The plan is for her dad to pick her up at the end of the afternoon in the vicinity of the pool.

Pleased with my clever advanced planning and equipped with any and all swim paraphernalia, I ask her -- we're going to the pool, right?
No, I don't want to go to the pool.
No swimming today? Surely the girl's playing games with me.
I want to go to the park beach. I can swim there!

Well why not...

She insists on her (new) swim wings. As if she would ever plunge into the depths of the lake!






The swim doesn't last long. A family of ducks and a handful of rambunctious teens bring out Snowdrop's shyer side. I myself am fine with the rambunctious teens, but less happy that she is sharing swim water (ostensibly cleaned and purified swim water) with ducks.

We play in the playground, then retreat to the coffee shop that is right by the park.

We munch (I just love this coffee shop and I just love sweet treats!), we sip refreshing beverages, and as there's still some time left, I suggest we poke around and see what's what. We go to the adjoining room that serves as a bar in the evenings, often with local musicians taking to the mike. When the young family lived in this neighborhood, they often came over for an evening of music and Snowdrop would dance the night away. It's empty now, but the little one is full of happy memories and so, tentatively at first, she takes to the "dance floor."





As I watch her stand there, skirt in hand, I am reminded of something too -- of a picture taken when I was in first grade in Poland. As I recall, there was a school party. The girls were to dress as fairies, or maybe princesses. At any rate, lace was to be part of our dress code for that day. Even under communism, girls and lace were deemed to be a good pairing.

I didn't know it then, but my parents were already in the thick of planning for our imminent departure to New York where my dad was to work for the United Nations. My mom was surely too busy to think up lacy fairy costumes. But it happened that I had a "good" dress that had a bit of lace at the neckline. "This will do," I can almost hear my mom's thoughts.

I remember the photo instantly as I watch Snowdrop hold the end of her skirts in her dance pose. (above). In my own photo, I'm the one in dark tights and school slippers. My own hold of the skirt is far less graceful than Snowdrop's.






As Snowdrop twirls and dances, I have to smile.





Here's another photo, this one taken by my dad when I was just a couple of years older than Snowdrop. It's the late 50s, we're in Lazienki, Warsaw's great park. My dad must have asked me to twirl my skirt. I tried. Looking at the picture now, I see my two bruised knees. Did I ever mention that I was a kid who loved to ride scooters, bikes and later skateboards?






Since there is no music at the cafe bar today, I hum along and she dances and I keep on humming...





... until her dad comes to pick her up.


And now I'm back to the farmette, helping Ed corral the cheepers. We're getting more garlic/peppermint/rosemary today. They need to be in the coop.

We manage to get four of the six girls. Pepper and Cupcake defy our efforts. Ah well, they hide in the barn -- good enough.


The evening is quiet. Mosquito free, I expect. We'll appreciate it tomorrow and the day after. For now, we sit back and eat leftovers and talk about all that inconsequential stuff that makes any evening in fact so very special.

Sunday

Looking now at my calendar for the rest of the summer, I see that this is the last "normal" Sunday until sometime in September. It's not surprising, I suppose. People come and go in these holiday months. Routines are broken, vacationing sets in. We explore. We play. We do all the stuff we can't possibly fit into our everyday.

Me, I'm not doing the traveling (unless you count a hop and a skip to Chicago as travel). But Ed is. And he is preparing for it. Today he is trying out a new safety harness. In a rather bizarre vignette, I stand by with a sharp knife and watch as he suspends himself on a rope from the garage rafters. I suppose had he spun around in some terrible way, hanging himself in the process, I would have used the knife to bring him down. Luckily, my intervention was not required.


The day does start off far more calmly: I pick spent lilies. I did start to count, but my mind drifted and at some midpoint, I forgot whether I was at 256 or 356 and so I abandoned this compulsive little exercise and enjoyed a rather blank mind. (I did have to swat bugs. Two weeks have passed since we had the farmette sprayed with garlic, peppermint and rosemary oils and the barrier keeping the mosquitoes out is wearing thin.)

The garden looks scrumptious to me, but then I'm biased.






(It's not just the daylilies...)






(... though they are my focal point right now)






Breakfast on the porch -- notable for the dish of picked raspberries. I braved the bugs to gather these because the berries are inching past their prime.


 







I am quite tempted to take down many more raspberry canes next year -- most do not get enough sunlight to produce a good crop so they become a weedy nuisance. The trouble is, when you take something out, you have to put something in its place. We have to think of a ground cover that's more clever than the buckwheat we tried out this year. The promised bees never came, even as the mosquitoes were quite happy to flourish and multiply among the tiny white flowers.

Anyway, breakfast. With the raspberries.






At noon, Ed asks for my help with tree maintenance. Overhanging branches have dropped debris on the roof and this in turn has created some spots vulnerable to leaks. He wants to chop down the limbs from his roof perch. My job is to catch and redirect the falling branches so that they don't destroy my shady garden.






The younger chicks decide to sit this one out. They hide. On branches of a tree. I am reminded that they are indeed birds.






Despite the bugs, Ed and I actually do a good bit of outdoor work. We both know that days when we can work together like this are precious and limited this year. We don't waste them.



And in the evening, the young family comes over for dinner. They'd been to a Dodgers game -- a terrific treat as they're all Dodgers fans... can you tell? (It was Sparrow's first baseball game.)











(Snowdrop protests that she doesn't have enough shrimp. Ed obliges by handing over his share.)






(Shrimp, shells, asparagus, sun dried tomatoes and corn. Happy girl!)






(Of course, happy children make for happy parents...)






I did make ice cream out of the market sour cherries. To be consumed with macarons.

Ah, la vie en rose...






Sparrow, unfortunately, could have neither the ice cream nor the macarons.







Late evening. Ed puts away the cheepers, I look out at the muted dusky landscape. How beautiful it all is... Every bit of it!

quiet

I don't like to think of myself as being needy. Or, to put it differently, everything I really need is within reach. People, time, flowers, books. The occasional trip. Good health good cheer, the happy faces of people I love. Is there more?

Still, I woke up thinking that I am in a bit of a fog. There definitely has been a pileup of activities. I'm on it, I'm not overwhelmed, but I do need a quiet day to get myself centered again.

Today I have it: a completely quiet day. Awesomely quiet. Breathlessly so.

I admit that it is slightly askew. It starts off along predictable lines: I snip spent lilies. 602, so I think the peak of blazing flowers is behind us. But you couldn't tell by looking out at the fields of color.











It's a little buggy again. No surprise: rains bring bugs, but still, it is manageable.











(Stately, serene Java: the chicken that by her very presence inspires calm.)






Ed is just waking up as I come in from my morning garden work. He remembered that he had promised to take my car in to check the wheel balance. There is a shimmy in the ride. Well, there's only one nearby place that is willing to do this today and they have to have the car in right away.

Breakfast is going to be very late.

Ed sweetly takes my car in and waits (only to discover that actually I need four new tires; oh dear...). Well now, I surely have the better end of that stick. I take out my moped and scoot to the downtown farmers market. Not to linger, not to stroll, but to pick up the essentials for a week of good eating. Baby bok choy. The oyster mushrooms. Young corn. Flowers. The first apricots and cherries ( and sour cherries!) from Door County (should I make ice cream maybe?).





Riding a moped today is like gliding on a sail boat, only without the waves that usually make me queasy. The breeze is magnificent. The air -- perfect. The smell -- of a summer day.

As I approach the farmette, I look over at the construction site and who should I see climbing a hill of pebbles? Stop Sign.





I stop and wave and right away he turns toward the farmhouse and the path leading to the entrance -- a place he typically picks now as he waits for his meal.

And now it's not only past our breakfast hour, it's getting dangerously close to being past the lunch hour.

We sit down to our first meal of the day.






In the afternoon, my older girl stops by with Snowdrop and Sparrow.

I ask the little girl -- would you like to pick a baby tomato?
Yes! And this one! And that one too!
Hold off, Snowdrop. That one is for tomorrow.






(Anything for us?)






(the thrill of picking a flower. or two.)






Both kids are as chill as can be. I mean, Sparrow shows off the art of far niente...






Snowdrop plays with her lego characters and the castle.





You could not ask for a more relaxed moment.

(They leave to pick up the dad at the airport -- he'd been away on a work trip...)






Evening. Ed asks if I'd like to eat out. I give it the usual minute of thought. And predictably, I opt for dinner at home. bok choy, mushrooms, corn... and today's eggs from the big girls. Blissfully simple. Quiet.