Wednesday

I think I need a break. Not from children, no, not at all, but from everything else. Chicken care, for example. Honestly -- I fret about them far too much. It's the little things that get to you, no?

But how do I do it? Can I get away?

The sticking point here is tending to the hens, morning and night. Can I find a chicken sitter?

It's a foggy morning, promising sunshine and warm temperatures. I wake up and start making inquiries.

Oh, but wait, I need to take care of those silly hens first. And the potted annuals. And the cat. And the tomatoes, and of course, the flowers.






(It is in fact Tomato who has joined the big girls in laying eggs...)






(Little frogs everywhere!)











By late morning (approaching the noon hour), I've eaten breakfast...





... and I've done the farmette chores. And I've booked a chicken sitter!

(Pepper and Cupcake, enjoying the summer sunshine...)






I rush then to be with Sparrow, who doesn't understand my rush at all...






And from there, I head straight to Snowdrop's school. Talk about busy day! The little girl runs over, excited and happy. Grandma, we went fishing and I caught two fish and a frog!





Indeed! The teacher confirms that they took sticks, attached a nylon chord, and added makeshift hooks and real worms. The kids walked over to the creek and had amazing successes. The bass were biting!


I ask her what she would like to do now and she right away picks the playground.

(Summer blonde)






But we're not done yet. We follow all this with a pause at the coffee shop, where she draws a book for me...






And just when I think she has exhausted all adventuring possibilities, she asks if maybe now we can go to the community pool.

What a splendid idea! It's nearly 4 and all the school groups have departed. The light is warm but less brazen. The water is perfect.






It's a beautiful day to be playing with the grandkids!

I take Snowdrop home and pause there for just a while. Her mom and baby brother are waiting for her...       






For all the craziness in my days, I feel once more to be in control. Calm almost! Chicken sitters, in a week!

I return to the farmhouse, admire the flower fields that are holding on to that last bit of summer abundance...





I tend to the farmette chores, reheat some leftovers and settle down to write.

Ed has sailed the boat all night long. He must be napping now. I know how that is -- travel disrupts sacred patterns of sleep and rest. But it energizes the soul. He tells me the star filled sky was beautiful, the wind just right. Yeah, I can almost feel it. The great and wonderful journey unfolding, under a night sky.
 

busy in a good way

When people ask me if I mind being insanely busy, I always say no, but with a qualification. I like filling my days, at home or when I travel. Since I am retired, most of the things that fill my days are there because I want them to be there. But it is true that when there are exasperating additions -- ones that frustrate or drag me down -- I feel their weight.

But this is rare. Most days are like last week, or Saturday, or Sunday. Or today: surely I'm busy, but in really good ways.

It's cloudy and cool, with a touch of the muggy. The kind of weather where shedding a sweater feels too cool and wearing a light sweater feels too warm. I spend the early morning tending to flowers, tomatoes, animals, and coops. I give the shout "here, cheepers!!!" and six hens come running. I am their farm mama. In my hands rests their grub.

The flowers are still looking good, but each day there are fewer spent lilies to pick. By mid August most of the lilies will be done. Where has this summer gone??






Well, I know where: keeping busy. Mostly in good ways!






It's quiet again. The ground is too muddy. We may have more rain. The construction crews stay away. My breakfast is peaceful.






It is always a treat to have my close friends come back for Madison visits and today I have a luxuriously long and lovely coffee break with my friend who now lives in New Mexico. (I'm sure she is familiar to anyone who has been reading Ocean for any amount of time!)





This catching up time is real tonic for the soul. It releases the laughter. Because most stories of anyone's life have at least a touch of humor, no?

And immediately after, I visit Sparrow. True, I've seen him a little this past weekend, But I haven't had time to really play with him. It's always somewhat remarkable to see a young babe after even a short absence. They change constantly, whereas we all sort of stay the same. Perhaps we have the capacity to change as well, but we get too darn comfortable in our own sameness.

Sparrow watches my face now, waiting for direction: "what are we doing now, grandma?"


 



"A selfie? Oh, ok." (Sparrow, you're supposed to look at the camera!)






(Here's a way to make a nearly two month old look like he is standing up!)






("Are you saying I look serious? Not always!")






And from Sparrow's home, I scoot straight to Snowdrop's school. She is blowing away at a handmade harmonica/kazoo/musical instrument (proffered  labels for two popsicle sticks, with bits of straw, all held together with rubber bands).






At the farmette, the cheepers hurry to greet us.






They are happiest when someone is around -- for the free handouts and well, I think they feel we're part of their flock.






Snowdrop eats a hundred little tomatoes. At least that's what I tell her -- you're just like me! When I was little, I would go to my grandma's garden and eat a hundred tomatoes!
Wisely, she asks -- did you get a tummy ache?
I did!
She smiles and pops another tomato in her mouth. I think she knows that she is far away from that big number.






Inside, we play store...






(Her "children" are in on the game of course)






It's a new favorite: she draws a credit card for me to use and then tells me what I should purchase with it. Favorite items: flip books of her own making. Baby Sparrow's pacifier. Her swim suit. It is a store with a lot of variety.






When she leaves, I throw another look at the garden. I know I always favor here two flower beds -- the one by the farmhouse porch and the so called Big Bed. There is, of course, a larger landscape out there. Some of it is a tad neglected, where wildflowers from a seed selection compete with wild grasses and probably not a small number of weeds...






Other parts are awaiting maturity. (The tripod supports clematis plants which had a modest display this year, but will likely grow with greater abundance in the future.)






(Throughout all beds I planted lilium bulbs. Most have long finished their blooming season. This half hidden one is just beginning.)






And now it is evening and I have no choice but to make myself eggs for supper. So many chickens, so many eggs!

Oh.... but there is, too, the least favorite part of my day: putting away the cheepers! On the upside, I get an evening view of the gardens.






Do you see that vibrant lily in the middle of the next photo? It's the last bloom of the year for this particular plant. Every year it is my visual starting point when I look at the Big Bed from this back end. I'll miss it in the remaining weeks of summer.






That's so much a part of all our lives, right? We miss the stuff we love that is fleeting, that comes and goes. The joy is in the return and yes, this lily will return. Next year.


Only after the last dish is put away do I turn off the little motor that propelled me all day. No great sails across the vast waters, just a little motor that moved me quietly from one set of good tasks to the next.

unusual quiet

The grading crews in the development next to us have been working six days a week, digging, dumping, pounding from 7 in the morning until 5 in the evening. On Sundays there usually is a pause and thus a porch breakfast allows us to listen to the birds, appreciating the sounds that a garden brings out in mid summer. But yesterday, that quiet was shattered, not by trucks, but by a constant stream of honking cars.

We live on a rural road that is sometimes used to get to the boat launch on Lake Waubesa just a few miles to the east. Therefore, it's not unusual to have our share of boat traffic on a weekend morning or afternoon. Since our porch and courtyard are away from the road, the movement of cars is hardly detectable. Except for one day out of the year (yesterday) when the kids of our one and only neighbor decide to put up a sign in the yard: It's Dave's birthday! Honk if you wish him well!

I don't know if he likes this birthday noise. Maybe he doesn't want to tell his kids (all grown and living elsewhere) that it's a terrible idea. For us, it's miserable. Every other car that passes honks, sometimes more than once. A hint to all of you: if you're thinking of asking people to honk their horns to commemorate an important event in your life, do reconsider!

But today, Monday, it's blissfully quiet. It's the reward that comes with all the storms that passed through last night. The thunder would have waken the hardiest of sleepers (it certainly woke Snowdrop, who hates loud bangs), but the rain also brought muddy wetness to the construction site and so the crew had to take a day off. How lovely!






The day is made quiet, too, by Ed's absence. He himself isn't loud, but as we share the small space of the farmhouse, inevitably we toss around comments throughout the day. But of course, not today.

My work in the garden is pleasant, in a wet kind of way.






I'm happy that the garden finally received a nice shower. The soil was too dry. The flowers needed refreshment.






But I don't spend more than an hour making improvements. In August, you slow down. Perhaps that's a good thing. You spend more time with each flower, appreciating its unique beauty...











Even as you never lose your appreciation and love for the entirety.






Beside the garden, there are the animals: on balance, they need little attention, even though they are constantly reminding me that they wouldn't mind a more frequent spraying of corn kernels, or even leftover cobs from last night's dinner. They pick out what the human hand has left behind.






We now have four girls laying daily. That is one heck of a lot of eggs! I have to show you the line up from today's lot. Henny gives us the green egg and I'm guessing that young Pepper gives us the tiny tiny egg, though with a big yolk inside! (I also pick tomatoes, leaving some for Snowdrop. who adores the little cherry ones straight off the vine)






Ah, Snowdrop! The little girl surely must have had a tired day after that stormy night. Indeed, I find her on her little mat napping. But, the school bells are ringing and she wakes up, at once explaining that she must hurry and get up now. Snowdrop has a nice balance of not wanting to break rules, at the same time that she likes to test the definitional boundaries: so I really must put away my slippers? How about if I just push them to the side? No? Well what if I put them in the area of the cubbies?

But bells and whistles make her snap to attention. I tame the impact by offering help with her nap bag and suggesting that we go to the playground for a long period of swinging.











(I should note that the walk to the park playground is so very nice at this time of the year. I love to admire gardens of any sort. Here are two I think are pretty...)











At the farmette, Snowdrop picks her way through the cherry tomatoes. The cheepers hover, but she is that much bigger and they're not sure if a tomato is worth their effort. I glare at them as they eye her little prize. You better let her be! And they do. None of our cheepers are especially bold.





As we enter the farmhouse, she looks around the mudroom and asks with some amount of incredulity -- grandma, how did you clean this?!
I have to laugh. She would notice! I point to the little broom and dustpan.

Inside now, after a huge bowl of cherries, blueberries and peaches (August fruits are so heavenly!) and a few good books, she launches into a story.






Each time I see her after even a short break, she seems that much older, more perceptive and attentive to all that happens in her widening world.
She asks me now -- Grandma, would you go with us to visit the dancing penguins? We would have to take an airplane because they live in Antarctica. We could pick you up and then you could fly with us! We would play in the cold and of course, we would dance. Do you want to go with us?

She knows it's just a fantasy, but I can see that these images make her so happy. And her joy becomes, of course, everyone's joy.

As she leaves to go home, I wave good bye, then glance at the image of some movement in the branches of the crab apple. Is it a lurking animal? A predator?

Oh, little chicks, ever since you were babies, you have loved using your wings to fly as high as you could possibly go!






Evening. The setting sun is at once beautiful, right here, in this stretch of the Big Bed...





... and it is a reminder that I must put the cheepers into the coop. I'm still thinking of ways to grab each girl without having her flap her strong wings in my face. Maybe in a week or two or three, or is it a month or more or less I will have figured it out.

In the meantime Ed calls to let me know that they're sailing around, not going anywhere at all just yet, as they wait for the winds to pick up and send them on their way.

a new kind of Sunday

I Oh, Ed!

If you read yesterday's post, then you'll know that in the middle of the night, Ed wis to catch a bus that would take him to a destination where he will meet up with his sailing pals and proceed with them to the town and pier where a boat awaits them. Since coordinating the meet up of all involved is complicated, it's vitally important for him to not miss this bus. We both set our alarms for 2:25 a.m.

Are you sure that's enough time? You have to shower and we need to be out of here and driving by 2:50. I am the designated chauffeur.
Plenty of time.

And it is enough time. By 2:40, he is pushing in last minute stuff into his backpack. But then he asks -- do you suppose you could give me a hair cut?

Oh, Ed!

I had, in fact, asked him if he needed one a few days back, but he didn't leap at the offer and I didn't push it. I thought that perhaps, upon his return, I would see a weathered face of a sailor, with (and this would be exciting!) his long curly hair pulled back in a pony tail perhaps.

And now, here we are, seven minutes before the planned departure, with me plunging into both a hair and beard trim.





I have no idea how it all will look once his hair dries. It will be the quickest cut and shave anyone will have given him ever.

A selfie moment for the both of us.





And then I drive, though not too fast because you have to be on alert for deer here at night  We get to the bus stop two whole minutes before the bus shows up.

Off he goes. See you tomorrow! Or next week! Or in three weeks! Or three months! Love you, bye!


Later, back at the farmhouse, I try to resume an interrupted sleep -- a tough challenge as we have the world's worst mattress (on my to do list for when Ed's away: buy a new mattress!) and there is no comfortable spot anywhere on it, even when he is gone and I have the whole Queen sized thing to myself.

As I toss, I think about how to make this month a good one. I am so used to Ed being at home (he never travels and rarely goes out anywhere at all) that it is an adjustment to be in the farmhouse without him sitting right there on his favorite spot on the couch. In fact, it's downright eerie. So I try to come up with ideas on what to do to make this adventure, his adventure, an okay one for me. I don't want to just count the days until his return.

What can I do now that I couldn't possibly do with Ed at home?

This is a tough one: we don't believe in imposing restrictions on each other. We are together, but we do stuff we would want to do even if we were not together.

And then it strikes me: I can live, for however long he is away, in an immaculate house!

It's not that Ed is very messy. He's just not very neat. I had the idea last winter that I would nudge him to align himself closer to where I am in terms of tidiness. It was a horrible set of days. Not used to getting prompts (nags?) from anyone (and to be fair, he never prompts or nags me to do anything), he grew sullen and retreated to his sheep shed. I retracted, preferring his presence and a few odd pieces of ancient mail, chords for his engineering projects, and the occasional wood chip tracked in from outside, than having him go back to working in the shed.

But this month, all will be pristine!

I start start the morning with garden work of course, but there isn't a lot of it. I'd trimmed things yesterday and now, within 45 minutes, I'm done clipping and snipping.





















It is finally time for breakfast. Alone, but on the porch and with the company of flamingo and a magazine, the moment of sadness gets pushed back for another time.





Inside again, I begin the cleaning marathon by doing  copious amounts of laundry: off comes the blanket that covers the couch, the duvet, sheets, bathroom rugs, everything will faintly smell of lavender (my current favorite laundry detergent, derived from some plant based stuff, has a hint of that lovely purple flower). As I carry my loads down to the basement, I notice that the downstairs space feels emptier. I know why: Ed has finally thrown out many boxes of sailing charts. Navigational maps can now be loaded on a little Android.

He must have been in a hurry, because I see that the shelf by the washing machine has some leftovers from one of the boxes. And what's this? Nesting stuff and the stiff remains of a dead mouse.

Oh, Ed!


II Sunday Dinner


In the afternoon, all cleaning efforts must stop as I switch to cooking dinner for the young family. Here they come! I must hurry and finish it up!






But in fact I don't finish it quickly because I'm distracted and it's my own fault. When Snowdrop comes in I tell her -- I have something for you...

What?

 


It happens that I found in Chicago a little dance tutu (that girls actually wear as an everyday style, with a sweatshirt or jeans jacket) that I was sure she would love.

And she does love it. And insists on putting it on at this very second. And then she looks around.

Where is ahah?
 
I had mentioned some time ago that he was going off to sail a boat, but I guess it was a vague statement -- the kind you make a dozen times each day, not really paying attention to your own words. She had clearly forgotten. And now her mouth drops and she holds back tears. She picks up a picture of him that I keep in a line of family photos and says -- I'll just have to look at his photo and then I think I wont be sad.






In her case, it does work. Within minutes, she is listening to Swan Lake on her mom's iPhone and she begins to dance. When Snowdrop dances, the smile is never far away.






She loves partners in dance. I often play "the man," but tonight, she has someone who doesn't have to pretend to play the guy role.






An appreciative audience looks on.






Dinner is finally ready. It has all my daughter's favorites, as we're celebrating (belatedly) her birthday tonight.






There is a cake, of course. My daughter may indeed like it, but it is her own daughter that is hugely excited by it: the cake comes with macarons.






Snowdrop will pass on the cake, if she can only have the macarons.






(Sparrow does not yet appreciate the finer virtues of a macaron. Soon, little guy. Soon.)






A little music, a lingering moment...





And now the young family returns to their home while I attack the most difficult for me task -- putting away the cheepers for the night.


III Good night

The hens are variously distributed along the wall of the old barn. I climb the tires and try to find support in the hay bales...





Peach is nearly impossible for me to reach, but somehow I do get her down. And the others too, their flapping wings notwithstanding.

Will I have to do it again tomorrow? Darn chickens. This sailing trip had better be the ride of your life, Ed!

He's sleeping on the water tonight. Goodnight, goodnight. To my family south of me, to the one right here in town, and to Ed, rocking gently as the moon makes its own nightly voyage across the heavens..