Friday

Back when my kids were in school, I remember the last weeks of the academic year as having lots of outdoor special events and activities. You always fretted about the weather and with justification! One year, on the first or second day of June, my daughter went with her grade to a water theme park. You know the kind -- crazy slides into vast outdoor swimming pools. The whole lot of them sat huddled in sweatshirts, trying to stay warm on a particularly blustery, cold June day.

It's not only Wisconsin: one July vacation in Paris had us shopping for warm wool sweaters. We were woefully under-dressed for the cold days that ensued.

In other words, cold days happen. In spring and summer, they can pop up unexpectedly. Again, unless you're a farmer, or an 8th grader wanting to slide down into a pool on a school outing, it doesn't deserve much thought or worry.

And unlike in April, when you have just had it with the cold and the bleak, in May there are so many delicious rewards to the season, that poor weather (as opposed to dangerously violent weather) takes a back seat to other stuff that's going on all around you.

So today's unusual cold air is just one of those things. It has no impact on the utter magnificence of the farmette right now. If it wasn't for the fact that I am such a day-lily nut (and day lilies reign in my gardens in July), I'd say that this week, perhaps this day is at the top of the top. The entirety is just so outrageously beautiful that you can't imagine anything being this grand again. Until next year, all over again.

(The reason for it lies, of course, in the line up of our blooming crab apples...)






(But do not underestimate the power of the lilac!)






(Oh, but those crabs!!)






But breakfast is indoors, which is a shame, if only because the heady fragrance of the fruit trees and the opening lilac bundles is truly intoxicating.






Our morning is busy. Ed has two work meetings and I have my weekly grocery shopping. But more importantly, this morning is "grandparents at school" time at Snowdrop's school. The little one is super excited to welcome me to her classroom. And I am super excited to be there!






She has it all planned out. First, we have to sample the muffins she and the kids baked yesterday!






(a timed release...)






She then shows me her favorite work stations. The art table takes top billings. Drawing, cutting, pasting -- she demonstrates all of it.

This being a Montessori school, there are many many ways to grow in your dexterity, self sufficiency, curiosity. She runs through a good half dozen with me...






(I found this one to be maybe the most smile inducing: you are to polish this wooden, ornate pair of characters. Decades of oil have been wiped onto the bellies of the figurines.)






Despite his various work commitments today, Ed asks if he can stop by. She is delighted. She shows him the magnetic maze. He is hugely impressed by her patient resolve to get it done.





(She insists that he has a muffin. There aren't enough little chairs to go around and arguably, Ed is too big for one anyway, so he sits on the floor.)





(Well in that case, she'll join him there, perching on his lap.)






Snowdrop is utterly serious in her demonstrations.






But at group time, she turns outward...






I know this girl well, but this peek at her school day was special. A child in a school setting is particularly vulnerable: the teachers, peers, demands placed on her, rules thrust upon her -- it's a storm of experiences. No wonder she falls asleep each afternoon. The hour on that mat is the needed quiet time, where nothing else matters but rest.

In the meantime, the skies remain cloudy. The threat of rain is with us, even as a glance outside gives us that spectacular view to the powerhouse bloomers right now.






I pick up a tired but happy girl.






And, what a surprise... She is again drawn to art.






And now it's evening. I made up a pot of soup last night, in part because I thought the upcoming cool weather warranted it. Ed and I are big fans of veggie soups!

I think about the weekend ahead -- there surely is flower field work to be done. But the biggest chunk of it is behind us. We're slowing down already. And once the tomatoes go in, we'll be coasting to summer.

Thursday

Do you like to take all your blows at once, then sit back and enjoy a sweet ride downhill all the way? Or, do you prefer to sprinkle your bumps throughout, knowing that in the scheme of things, they're small little nothings and your overall ride through life (or at least the week) is a fine one?

I'm not sure where I stand on this, but I'll say this much: our morning was of the little bumps kind, with unexpected views onto a splendid world.

Let's get to the details.

First of all, we wake to a threat of rain. Not just a shower, but a thunderous, vicious rain. Expected at around 8:30 -- how is that for precision! That gives me a couple of hours to work with. First, I feed the cats. Unfortunately, Stop Sign's newest -- called Tulip Meow because, well, some of us thought it was fitting -- did not make an appearance today. I would be less worried if it weren't for the fact that we heard our neighbor fire his gun twice this morning. He likes to shoot at moving things and Tulip Meow looks like a small racoon from a distance. I hope the neighbor's marksmanship is off to a rocky start today.

Then, I take in the fragrance and beauty of the blooming trees. You'll see the crabs throughout the day's post. It's such a gorgeous tree (actually clump of trees) and her best performance is so very short lived!






With predicted rains for today, tomorrow, the next day and the next, I don't expect to see the tulips still standing tall by the end of it all. So these, too, are my focus today.






Oh, who am I kidding -- the whole garden is to be my focus -- splendid, even without the summer colors! It shouts at me -- remember this when times are tough in February! Take note and don't forget!

(the lilacs are finally coming around!)






I take out our wildflower seeds now and I seed the spaces we've cleared for them by the sheep shed. I want to do it just before it rains, mainly because I am hoping so very much that they'll sink into the ground then, before the cheepers find them. (Unfortunately, the cheepers are not fooled by the rain. They canvas the flower field throughout the day, picking out the large and tasty seeds. We will just have to see what survived their assault.)

I go inside just as the rains approach. Do you see how visible that approach is??






The rain is intense, but we do not get the worst of it. No hail. No torrents of water. Just a solid, two hour splash, with a handful of crashes of thunder to amplify things a bit. I mean, our ground doesn't need the water and I feel terribly sorry for the farmers, but for us, it is not a significant weather event.

Still, we eat breakfast inside.






I am prepared to spend the morning catching up with indoor tasks and so I am surprised to see that with the passing of the rain system, we get some pretty darn good weather again! An occasional flash of sunlight, really warm temperatures -- stuff that feels grand for a mid May day.

And so I go out again.






I don't tackle any larger project. That's not my goal right now. I just enjoy walking this beautiful landscape. A blooming tree will always be lovely, but growing along a rural path, it looks so contextually perfect!






And massive!






When I pick up my four-year old granddaughter at school, I am suddenly struck by her height: she is no longer the shrimp on the sidewalk. She is young girl. One who loves picking flowers. These weeks of prolific dandelion blooms are a piece of heaven -- there are no restriction as to how many she can pick.






At the farmette, I tell her that more asparagus spears have sprung up overnight. She finds them all and eats them all.






It's a good time of the year to be a kid at the farmette!






(it's also a good time to be a cat at the farmette!)






(... or a chicken!)






You wont see photos of it, but Snowdrop and I do play inside as well. In many ways, it's the same make believe game, but there's a huge difference: indoors, she uses toys as props. Oh, it will be a creative use and have little to do with a toy's intended function. Still, at the end of the day, there will be a lot to put away.

Outside, twigs, flowers, chips and grasses will be her tools. Oh and the wading pool umbrella.






(... always the dandelions!)






With the morning rains and the constant threat of their return, the development construction crews stop their work for the day. When they retreat, all we are left with is the sound of frogs that have found a home in the ponds the crews have (intentionally or unintentionally) created.

I ask Snowdrop: do you hear the frogs? She listens for the "ribbit!" Nope!
What do you hear?
Birds.
What else?
You.
Listen carefully.
(ribbit, ribbit...)
She smiles.


Eventually I have to chase her inside. She has to get herself ready for gym class.

She walks over to where Ed is glued to a youtube.
What are you watching?
A chain saw.
What's that?

She gets a lesson about chainsaws, about cutting down trees and picking out past weather patterns from studying the stump rings.






The weather continues to hold into the evening. Ed and I ride his motorbike to our local farmers market to do our egg - cheese exchange with Farmer John...






... and to pick up a big batch of fresh asparagus from Farmer Natalie...





I make veggie soup for dinner. I'm told it will be really cold and really wet tomorrow. A tumble back down, but as measured against a constant progression to more and more beautiful days.

Wednesday

The trouble with throwing around the label of "perfection" is that you can't top it. I mean, if Monday was the best, then what would you call today -- with warm temps, partly sunny skies, blooming crab apples and opening lilacs? Super perfect? How about simply sublime!

We start off with a porch breakfast.






And then we go out and stay out. Ed is working on replacing the benches at the picnic table (the old ones rotted through). Me, I take on the packets of seeds, purchased with hope and anticipation way back in March.






I put in cosmos at the edge of the lily bed, in the back beds by the sheep shed, and ever so lightly in the front bed.

I put in nasturtium seeds between the pots of annuals and along the edge of three other beds.

I put in icelandic poppies, alyssum and babies breath inside the teepee that supports peas and clematis.

I put in beans by the teepee and by the sweet pea flower trellis.

And all the while, I take in the sweetness of this perfect day, where the blooms on the crabs are at their most perfect moment -- still pink, still unfurling, and absolutely stunning to behold. (By the end of the day, the buds will be mostly opened, mostly white.)






It truly is hard to believe that a month ago, we had nothing to admire. Today, we have everything!






We pause in the afternoon. I eat something, Ed eats something. And I study the bags of wildflower seeds. These will go in tomorrow.





They're our great experiment. We worked so hard to clear the beds by the sheep shed. If the flowers take off, we'll have a prototype for the weedy fields in back of the barn. (We're a tiny bit apprehensive: we didn't get all the weed roots out and, too, the cheepers appear to love pecking out fresh seeds and sprouts. Ed tried planting some grasses in places where he felled a few trees and even a covering of hay did not keep the chickens out. It's a good thing we like them, or we'd be pretty annoyed!






Snowdrop is here after school, but it's Wednesday, so play time is limited. No time outside.


 



(well, unless you consider the porch to be outdoors)






(clothespin play...)






A few pages of a book, a few twirls... (She is so tall already!)





... and we're off to Storybook Ballet.

Snowdrop has her last dance class of the season and it is a good one -- tracking her current favorite story, Mary Poppins. When I tell her it'll be Mary Poppins, she throws down her play, dashes to get ready and is, in fact, first in line for class.






(Sitting up, straining to catch every word...)






And away goes Mary Poppins!










I return to the farmette just before 6. I glance at the weather report: hmm, not so good for the days ahead. Maybe I should take another photo of the crab apple tree. If the weather turns awful, her blooms may get knocked off pretty quickly.

As I look out the front door, I hear the meowing of the little ones. Hi Jacket. Hi Dance.

Wait. What's that? It certainly appears that Stop Sign has brought her kitten here! That's Jacket, and Dance, and.... a new one!






So, Long Whiskers, the winter visitor, seems to have left a bit of himself behind! That young one most certainly has the markings of a Maine Coon cat.

She is calm. Somewhat more approachable than the others. And Dance and Jacket seem unbothered by her presence. They sniff her and let her be. Oh, but feeding her with those two around is a challenge! It takes the good part of my evening to sort out who should be eating what and where, (I do manage to push some deworming meds her way. We haven't been able to grab any of these guys yet to take to the vet, but we surely can at least take a stab at keeping them healthy!)






The last bits of sunlight... One last view toward the crab.





 You should never take the most beautiful days for granted. Love them, revel in their magnificence, look forward to their return.

We do. We really do.