leaving

What stands out on this farmette morning? Well of course, everything that continues to bloom, despite the lateness of the season. And all that has grown stronger with the cooler weather.

Here's an admirable plant that I put in just by our porch: it bends toward the morning sun and so it actually grows sideways.






Here's a yellow-budded guy, who is putting up (but just barely!) with my picture taking effort. Breakfast is indoors. It was a tough call, but comfort prevailed. Besides, outside, it kind of smells like garlic, with a hint of peppermint. We used a mist of this evil combo once more for mosquito control. It's pretty effective! And the dragon flies, bees, butterflies and humming birds seem unconcerned.






In the afternoon, I have a brief after-school walk with Snowdrop. To the Bernie's Beach playground.





It feels a little too warm. Dare I say it -- too sunny. Rather than plunge into an energetic romp, we find a spot in the shade and read a book about Velma Gratch and the way cool monarch butterfly.

And soon, Snowdrop's dad comes to pick her up, while I hurry home, so that I can woosh over to the airport and catch my flight to Atlanta. I think I will have dodged the hurricane that's threatening the coast. Maybe my connections will be trouble free. Maybe my next post will be from across the ocean.

Monday

Could you grow tired of Fall if all days looked like this one? Brilliant sunshine, crispy clean air, offering a much needed refreshing change from the summer's heat.

Ed'll say -- the garden is gorgeous, gorgeous! (Around here, nicknames tend to stick!)
It is a matter of taste, I suppose, but it is true that at this stage I let the garden run wild. And Ed likes that. The rudbeckia (black eyed susans and coneflowers), the heliopsis (false sunflower), the cosmos (from the sunflower family) -- they rule, to the point that if they fall down and grow sideways -- I let them do it.

(Morning walk to feed the chickens...)






(Breakfast, on the porch, because there will be few days left when this is possible.)






I am a little bit tied to details today. (That's a pleasant way of saying I'm overwhelmed with tons of chores.) Too, it is my last day (for a while) where I can really play with Snowdrop after school. Our time together tomorrow will be very brief since I'll have a flight to catch. It's a good day to post a few short series of photos of Ms Beenah-Bay (yep, like em or not, our nicknames for each other tend to stick!) at play. Here, it is, our afternoon, as seen through the lens of my tag-along little camera.


(On the playground: Gaga, can I have pigtails?)
















(Snowdrop, it's buggy; let's go inside. No, Gaga, no! I need to run the hose!)






(Victorious!)





(The nasturtium flowers look on...)






(Let's go inside, now! But I need to help ahah!)






(Finally, they play castles and wizards. Inside.)










And then Snowdrop goes home and I return to the trivial, the mundane, interspersed with lovely moments of a quiet evening with Ed.

Tomorrow, late in the day, I travel. No delays, no kerfuffles please!

For now, from under the stars of a greatly speckled sky -- good night.

Sunday

I am like my grandmother. There isn't a Sunday in my life that I don't wish for my two young families to be at the farmhouse, where I can cook up a meal amidst the ruckus of little kids, frazzled parents, an amused Ed. There would be the interrupted stories, the dribbles of things onto the floor and onto clothing, adult admonishments and children daring to yell, play and hold court, and at the end of it all -- there would be satisfied eaters.

That is my image of a perfect ending to a weekend.

We came close to it today. Missing was the young family from Chicago of course, but they are not far and I tell myself that soon enough, we'll be cooking up a storm, all of us, crazily ambitious, happy to be stirring pots under the farmette roof once more.

Those are my evening thoughts. But let's roll back to the morning. Snowdrop is sleeping over and I admit without hesitation that her wake ups here are the best part of it all.






True, I had been up before anyone, admiring the sunshine, feeding the animals, taking note of the flowers.,..










My grandmother was up before all of us as well when we stayed in her village home. She made sure the fire was going full blast in her coal stove and that her breakfast foods were nearly ready in time for our wake up.  I don't have a coal stove, but I, too, want to cut up the fruits, fry up the bacon and mix up the pancake batter before the sweet little girl makes her way downstairs.

Breakfast is indoors. We're getting the cool and very crisp mornings that tell us that summer is a thing of the past.






There is time for a little play, but not too long. Snowdrop is, of course, full of ideas as to how we may proceed. There are princesses and princes, weddings and castles, journeys and adventures.


 


And then she is off and away with her parents for the rest of the day.


Me, I should work outside. Ed tells me that it's the perfect weather for beginning the long job of putting a garden to its winter rest.

I do none of it. Instead, in the quiet of a warm house, I write.


And then it is time to fix dinner -- made a bit more special today by the arrival of the young family, but too, of the other grandma, who has traveled here from Buffalo because, well, she loves her two grandkids and also because I am about to depart on my fall trip across the ocean. (It will be a short trip, but still, her help is invaluable in the days I'm away.)

Sparrow takes it all in...






Snowdrop is a bit giddy tonight...






But the meal is sweetly effervescent and if the youngest family were with us, I'd say it was just about perfect in all its crazy wonderful chaos.






Dishes done, chickens put away. Time to write, to think, to smile at all that was extra crazy and extra wonderful.

Saturday

I'll start with yesterday's sunset. Ed was out locking up the cheepers and he called me over to admire it, even though you can't really see a full setting sun from the farmette land. Too many trees in the way. Still, the colors were magnificent! (I did not post it yesterday because I'd already published my post for the day by the time I stepped out. Besides, you don't want to see our breakfast tableau at the beginning of every single Ocean post, right? So here you go, flowers and a setting sun. Behind the willow.)






This morning -- well, it's cold! I test the furnace for the first time. Just for a minute, to make sure it still remembers how to heat this place.

And I feed the animals. And admire the incredible power of the September garden.






Early fall (before the first frost when it all wilts to a great heap of nothing) is a great time for trailing nasturtium. They're all over the garden and this year, in addition to the orange blooms, we have ruby, pale lemon, and nearly white ones.






Okay, breakfast.






Saturday is, of course, the big, downtown farmers market day...

 (Do you see how high the lakes are? I click this on my drive downtown. The bike path is being licked by the waves of Lake Monona...)






...and I meet up with my daughter and both kids for our walk around the crowded square. Ah, but the foods and flowers are so pretty!

(Door County fruits of the season!)






No downtown trip is good for Snowdrop unless it includes a visit to the Capitol and a climb up the steps to the upper balconies. I wait with Sparrow outside while they complete their mini excursion.


And here's a pleasant surprise: the young family proposes an after the market brunch at Sardine! We hustle down, with kids packed into the stroller...






Our leisurely meal together gives us a chance to talk about the year ahead. We always have grand schemes churning!

Well, Sparrow is just short of three months. He doesn't have complicated schemes in his head yet.






Snowdrop? Oh, you never know with Snowdrop!







In the evening, the little girl comes over for pizza and a sleepover at the farmhouse. Her overnight visits are always special for all of us. Undoubtedly the highlight for her is to take the flashlight and go out to the coop at night with Ed.






(I suppose a close second is watching a video clip and munching on ahah's popcorn.)





Nighttime. Clear skies, quiet moments. Many books later, Snowdrop is asleep. Ed dozes on the couch, I linger, enjoying the utter stillness of the moment.

Friday

It's as if suddenly we landed in autumn. The temperatures took a dip and a dive.

We eat breakfast inside.






You, Ocean readers, you know how my Fridays look: terribly chore loaded. Today is no different.

So anxious am I to move on, away from online shopping (for my mother, and for myself -- those needed replacements of broken and tattered things that should have been replaced a long time ago), away from all of the tedious stuff we all, even Ed must do (yes, even him, the guy who is so terrific at not replacing anything that can be taped together one more time)  -- so terribly dull and time sucking is it that when the UPS man delivers a new travel backpack and I think it's way uglier than I had hoped, I shrug my shoulders and toss it into the closet, thinking I'll take "not what I had in mind" over having to look yet again for something better.

At least it's not expensive... I mutter to myself. I ask Ed -- do you think it's ugly? It's so... square!
If it's not expensive, it's not ugly -- is his predictable response.

(Looking out, but not going out...)






When I pick up Snowdrop, she asks to go to the playground.
It's cold! -- I protest, feeling a little ashamed that I'm wilting already and it's actually somewhere in the mid-sixties F (so about fifteen C). To my credit, I'm in shorts. She's wearing leggings.

We compromise by driving to the playground (I promise I'll do better going forward!). There, she unleashes her inner joy!

This is when you really remember the sweetness of the changing seasons. If summer was grand, fall, free of sweltering heat and overheated playground equipment, is equally beguiling. We spend a beautiful hour raking it all in.











Yes, of course: Snowdrop inevitably rolls into her story telling mode.






There is drama.






But, all's well that ends well.






I so agree, Snowdrop. I so agree.

Thursday

Sunny sunny day, busy busy busy busy day!

But is there ever a time when I wont pause to love and appreciate the bounty of the farmette gardens? Even in this late season? No there isn't.

I spend an early morning hour (or two) tiding things up a little.






Breakfast. A bit hurried.






A look at the brilliant September blooms...






And then we're off to spend the day with my Mom, who has been patiently waiting for us to help her with the rest of her apartment/account/life set up.






We work with her until it is time for me to pick up Snowdrop.

Don't tell me that weather has no impact on a mood. The girl is playful and joyous today. True, she is often playful and joyous, but today there is extra zip to her stride.






(I am so amused when little Snowdrop tells big Ed what to do...)






Ed and I have a few errands (very pleasant errands!) to run and we take her along for the ride. The first is one of our final trips to Stoneman's for their freshly picked corn. There are several working tractors in the Stoneman barn and the farmers are cool about letting kids "ride" them. I was told that Snowdrop enjoyed sitting on a John Deere at the Chicago Museum of Science and Industry. I tell her today -- that museum tractor? that's for city kids who can't sit on a real working tractor like you!






Pick out our corn, Snowdrop!
This one?






The Stonemans keep a goat. Just for the fun of it. Snowdrop is cautious around animals that can move quickly.






But she loves them with her whole being anyway!






She wants to check out the Stoneman cattle too. In fact, it's hard to lure her away from the farm....






But we do move on: to the Fitchburg Farmers Market, where each year, farmer Natalie lets Snowdrop climb onto her truck and select the tomatoes for our winter freezing.






It's a job Snowdrop loves all too much.






Sunny days, sunny faces, ripe tomatoes, sweet corn. These are the gifts of early September.