Tuesday

It is about as normal a week as you can come up with these days. Routines are with us again. And I like that! The interplay of chaos and the ordinary is a good thing and it's quite pleasant to switch into a steady pace. For a while, anyway. You don't want to get complacent, or grow dull through endless repetition of the same. (Of course, the balance has to shift over time: chaos or even grand adventures become less desirable as you pass a certain age -- not sure which age, but something tells me I'm not awfully far from it!)

We have a stream of good summer weather before us: pleasantly cool in the morning, with plenty of sunshine throughout the day. The lilies will definitely rejoice!

Not that they have been completely silent. I picked off nearly 300 spent blooms from all the beds this morning, mostly from the yellow girls. They're nestled in all corners of the flower fields and they have been really blooming up a storm for a while now.






It wasn't totally pleasant work because the mosquito population is rapidly growing. It's five weeks delayed as compared to last year, but in the morning, among dew soaked foliage, they are now buzzing away.






I was up early of course because of the cats. Here are three out of the six youngest ones, hovering near Stop Sign.






All one family, all getting along right now. All needing to be neutered soon! (The task of doing this is daunting: tell me, how do you trap cats and not terrify the rest? And how do you do this when the cheepers are endlessly trying to get to the cat food?)

I go back to gardening thoughts -- enjoying the rhythm of my work outside, delighting in the slow but steady appearance of some of my very favorite day lilies: I love the ones that have many hues, gently moving between one and the next, like these Francis Joiner ones:






Breakfast is wonderful. If you were to ask me which moment of the day is the calmest, I'd say this one, right here.







Later, stepping out into the sunny path, I can only think how gorgeous gardens are right about now.






After a three week break, Snowdrop is back in school, overjoyed to see her class friend again. I pick her up, she grins broadly and announces to anyone who will listen -- my grandma's here for me!











(the devotion to drawing does not stop, thank goodness!)






Evening: the fireflies are tremendous! I go out for just a little bit. (The mosquitoes are also tremendous.) Dance comes out of the garage meowing, wanting something that I cannot understand. The other cats? Gone. Up and left. For how long? Perhaps two hours, perhaps two days.

A normal week. Predictable, yet never fully so.

work day

Most beautiful summer days provide an opportunity, especially for those, like me, who are no longer tied to a work schedule. Work in your garden, play, go for a hike. Right?

I did none of that today. For the better part of the day, I stayed in the farmhouse glued to my computer.

Before you tell me what a mistake this was, hear me out:

First of all, I did go out early. To feed the cats. All of them were enjoying the lovely, cool morning. And this is when I was able to count them: six kittens. Stop Sign had six, not five, not four like we had previously thought! They were all there, snuggled together on Ed's old sleeping bag. Oh my...

The morning itself was rather buggy, telling me that our mosquito-free days are over. Until we resume our garlic oil and rosemary essence mistings, working in weedy areas is going to be no fun.

But, breakfast on the porch? Heaven.

(View from porch)











(one of the first colorful daylilies)






(Pepper follows us as we check out the progress of the tomatoes...)






(Views of the Big Bed...)






I wanted to devote my morning to working on my trip photo book for the kids. I'd been at it for two days now and I thought I'd give it a big push forward before noon. Typically, I would pick up Snowdrop from school and have an afternoon of play with her, but I find out that she is still a tad under the weather and so she will be staying home today. That means I can devote a whole day to the book project.

And I finish it! Nearly 100 pages of photos and captions. Phew!

And so this is my day: writing, editing, and eventually uploading and printing. Well, I don't do it myself, I work with Blurb.

Tomorrow I may resume life as you and I know it. Today -- I was lost to the world.

(The two big cats, lounging in the evening...)

a July Sunday

Oh, summer! You can be a pain, a headache, a torment. But you can also provide us with days from which dreams are made! Warm, but not hot, sunny but not humid, some flower buds opening, most still holding hope for a future riot of color.





On such a gorgeous day, I get up happily. Early. To feed the cats, and to continue with weeding. The flower beds are mostly well tended by now. Weeds pop up, I pull them out. It's all rather straightforward.

But there are farmette places that are just OOC. Around the sheep shed, for example. I tug at so many weeds the size of me, that my back starts to creek. Must slow down... More importantly -- must complain to Ed. I tell him: I am swallowed up completely by the weeds of your yard. I need help!
I can't tell what's a weed and what's a plant...
Everything by the sheep shed and in the raspberry patch is a weed! Don't you see how awful it is here?
It all looks rather verdant to me...

Oh, Ed...

Three hours later, I am spent. But on a day like this, that's okay! I have breakfast on the porch to look forward to!






(looking out on a garden that is still not even close to being at full bloom.)





Ed wants to seize this great weather and do something outdoorsy, but I am too tired. Those three morning hours really wore me out. I settle in to work a little on photography issues (and watch a great soccer match!).


In the evening, the young family is here for dinner. Both kids had been a little under the weather and so it's just grand to see them chipper and joyful once again.





















(Yes, art hasn't left her blood after the trip... And that's such a good thing!)





The smell of summer is in the air. Rich, heavenly summer.

soaky Saturday

... because what we really need more of is rain.

A rush to feed the cats before the heavy downpour. But never am I so rushed that I would miss a pretty bloom, for example this iris right by the walkway to the farmhouse door.






And the astilbes on the other side of the path...






The rains pass and we linger over breakfast on the porch...






And just as I get up to head out for the farmers market, I hear the ping of a text from my daughter -- it's about to rain again, she tells me.

No market for us. Poor farmers, soaked out in the fields, rained out during the peak selling time.

Snowdrop is disappointed and so her mom offers to bring her to the farmhouse for a special play date. She hasn't been here for several weeks -- there's a freshness to everything that she plays with here. She's excited and I am very happy to see the smile on her face and bounce in her step once more.






Happiness is a catchy thing...






We play hard. I don't think it rained again, but no matter -- we had plenty to keep us busy indoors.


In the evening, Ed and I take a walk by Lake Waubesa. It's a good place to stroll -- the bugs are never intense and you can speculate to yourself what it would be like to live along the water's edge. Well, possibly not so good this year: there must be any number of flooded basements.

Back at the farmette, the evening light is gentle...





Sort of like the rest of the day: sweet and mellow.

four and a half

It's a hot day here, in Madison, Wisconsin. Toward the end of summer, one gets tired of these toasty days, strung together one after the next, like a never ending chain of heat and humidity, punctuated with storms that never really clear the air. But I'm not tired of them. I'm still smarting over the lateness of spring. Sunshine is my friend. My garden is begging for it!

(purple)






In the early morning, I work on pulling more weeds. It's getting to be a little buggy, but honestly, not even half as bad as most summers at this time.






(the annuals in pots: always strong, all summer long)






I also feed the cats. Since the kittens are less frightened, I see their little faces poking out curiously. Wait, how many little faces are there? Five??? Stop Sign delivered five this April??? We have got to fix these guys! I mean, currently we have seven cats, all related, hanging out in the garage. Ed!!






And I may as well say it: we should not be keeping goats here. It's all fine and well this year, maybe even next year. But five, ten years from now? Will I be able/happy to tend to them then? When I'm 76? Or 81?

The goats are once again off the table. The shed order is cancelled. I will write the goat owners that we are just too old to embark upon this venture now.

The garden is and will continue to be my farmette work. That's it. No more speculations about goats.


Breakfast.






Around noon, I go visit the young family. It's Snowdrop's half birthday and though normally we don't celebrate half birthdays with any of the kids or grandkids, I find it to be a good excuse to go over and say hi to the little ones.

First, Sparrow. Just one pic today. He's under the weather... can you tell?






... but Snowdrop has bounced back to her normal chipper self.






A crown...






(dimple still there at 4.5!)






A cake, with four and a half candles...






What could be better?!






At home again, I fill my hours with small stuff. Weeding. There'll be many days of it.

(Path to farmhouse, lookin' tidy!)






And indoor stuff:  I write reviews for all the AirBnBs. I count up all that I spend in travel. I attend to the details of my mother's stuff. And I exhale. April, May, June -- they were such terribly busy months. July is proving to be my month for one giant exhale.

Ed picks peas I'd planted some months back. Steamed, with a pat of butter -- perfect for a summer supper.

Evening. Stop Sign leads the little kittens to the water dish. They're curious. One climbs up to the picnic table, where Dance is sprawled out in the way you'd only want to do on a warm summer eve.

home for the 4th

It's always good to be home. I told Snowdrop this when she was mulling over the idea of returning home after the two week romp around Dublin and the UK: travel makes you understand what you love about your home.

In the time we were away, it rained quite a bit. Storms, rain, rain, storms. That means that when I get up at my usual post Europe ungodly hour of 5, I see a garden that's very lush...


 


... and still very reluctant to send forth flowers. Too, I see a lot of weeds. I mean -- a lot.

My first chore always is to feed the barn cats. The little ones are still shy and spend most of their day hiding in the garage. Stop Sign (the ancient mom) has reconnected with her grown daughter Dance. I'm happy about that!





After putting out food for the whole lot of them, I turn to the weed problem: is there an easy way to pull out all irrelevant stuff? No there is not.

After two hours, I have only the first five beds (more or less) cleared. So many weeds!


I wont recount in any detail the rest of the day's activities. Laundry, grocery shopping, weeding, tidying. It's all important work (well, most of it is important), but you don't need many words to describe it to a reader.

Of course, there are a few moments that stand out for me:

Breakfast, on a hot and humid but nonetheless beautiful porch. Happy fourth indeed!






Finding a patch of true lilies in full bloom...






Taking an evening motor bike ride with Ed, past fields and skies that remind me why I so love this neck of the woods. You just dont get skies like these in many places! (There are cranes in the field.... Can you find them?)






And finally, a walk with Ed in the nearby county park. It'll likely be the last one this summer: the bugs are starting to act out. But still, tonight, it was all rather lovely. When people on the other side of the ocean ask me about the place I live in  -- "Wisconsin? Where is that?"  - I think, in my mind's eye of scenes like this one. From this image, I'll return to a verbal description... Cold in the winter, hot in the summer, lush, with golden flowers dominating the prairie landscape...






Much later, as I tend to dinner stuff, I glance outside to see Stop Sign and Dance sprawled out on the picnic table. There is something so trusting and beautiful about their great moment of peace...






Happy fourth to all of you who share with me a humble respect for the prouder moments of our country's history.

leaving Dublin

We wake up to the rare blue Irish skies. They will make the Irish happy. For us -- it's a travel day and this time we're not aiming for a grand adventure: we just want to get home with as little fuss and bother as possible.

I'd been thinking about this day for a long time: how do you make it smooth and easy, given that a one-year-old is with us (and the four-year-old, as it turns out, still has the remains of whatever bug toyed with her for the past two days)... I'd struggled with getting good seats on the long flight: remember? I must have spent five hours on getting the bulkheads for at least two of us. The rest? We're at the mercy of passenger bargaining: would you be willing to trade seats so that the little girl can sit with her family? Same leg room, just two rows back... That kind of thing.

We have a flight that leaves for Chicago at 12:25. That's pretty good: enough time for a regular wake up and breakfast. Enough time to clean the AirBnB. No stress! That's the goal. (Well, at the very least -- low stress.)

Snowdrop bounds into my bedroom a tad too early. She can't sleep anymore. She and I do a pretend sleep for a while and then, with a sigh, allow ourselves to fold into the routines of a departure morning.

I do go out for breakfast breads. Down the Mew, onto the street with all those cafe bakeries, including the one I've been favoring, Voila.






The streets are full of people going about their daily business. I imagine they're rushing to get to work.





Each city looks different to me at this hour. The buses, the crazy cyclists weaving between cars, the cafes filling with people who want a grab a pastry on the run -- they all are country specific.






Back at the flat. Now it's a question of bathing the kids, eating our breakfast...






... and hoping that my online cab booking was successful.

One last photo from our little place above the stables...






Cabs are here! We're off.


At the airport now...






We're patting ourselves on the back on how smooth it all was: on time, easy check in, easy security clearance. The young family is hungry for something bigger than a baguette or croissant. We pause over a meal.

We pause too long.

What one has to remember is that each airport is different and it treats security issues for travelers going to America differently. I almost always fly out of Paris or Amsterdam and so I forget this. And, moreover, these procedures change over time. In Dublin, you're not done once you've cleared security. You have a second carry-on baggage screening and a line for a passport check. For all these steps, there are lines.

In the end, we run to get to the plane before boarding is closed. Now, I know that the flight would not have taken off without us. If you check bags and the passengers have not boarded, the airline has to first find then remove the bags. And in the end, we are not the very last ones to board. Still, it was a little tight. Note for the future: Dublin airport is more complicated than I remember it being.


The flight itself? Good. There is always work involved with kids, but in my view, the daytime trip is easier: we're not all sleep deprived. We can manage!

And now we are in Chicago.

I hitch a ride with the young couple to Madison. And I think back to the incredible adventure we have just been through. I think of the lowest points: Snowdrop's bug was like a three day see-saw: she's good, she's not good, she's good again. I tend to worry about health stuff, so I worried.  And here's another worry: it happened in Belfast, when suddenly, out of nowhere, I felt faint. I don't know why. I thought: damn! How reliable am I with the kids? It was the beginning of our trip and I did not know if this was going to cut things short for me, for everyone. Eventually, I did stop worrying. And all was fine! And another tough hurdle: when my son-in-law realized that he needed to see a dentist ASAP.

But in fact, these were not terrible worries: we are in Europe. There is help to be had and it's not even expensive help. Because, you know, back home, we are unique in our expensive approach to health care.

Here's one more sticky point (literally!): at least two of us really did not like the dirty carpet in Glasgow!

And another: the ferry crossing to Ireland. Ugh!

I can't think of any other low points. Oh, maybe when I realized I was a tad too bossy at a meal we all shared in Wales: Snowdrop should order this, because I know better. I didn't say those words, but I may as well have. I looked at my son-in-law's face and I saw that I overstepped.

The high points? Oh so many! So many! These are mine -- I'm sure the young family will have their own:

The artwork Snowdrop produced during all those meals in restaurants! All in blue, because these days, it's her favorite color.

Sparrow's newfound love of real food! His sharing of pizza with his sister that night I ate with just the two of them in Wales will always stay in my memory.

The rose garden in Belfast. Period.

The first dinner in Glasgow. Sparrow, poor guy,  was at his worst. We managed, but just barely. Then Snowdrop and I stepped out in the courtyard and I will never ever forget the sweetness of the couple who were having a drink and took note of her wistful craving for the rocking chair that some other diners were occupying. Snowdrop never made it to the rocking chair, but what she got was so much better: the kind attention of these sweet people who listened to her recount of her travels thus far with rapture and such heady smiles, fulfilling all my stereotypical feelings about Scottish people: they are genuinely lovely and kind.

The ship we explored on the rainy day in Glasgow. Snowdrop was in heaven, Sparrow was the captain.

Perhaps our favorite dinner: at the Ox and Finch in Glasgow. It was so perfect! Sparrow finally got the hang of eating out two meals every day. The small plates were memorable!

Without question, up there on the list is our Snowdon ascent (train plus a wee climb) in Wales. So crazy windy! So remarkably beautiful. We went nuts in the gift shop after, probably because no one wanted to forget any bit of that day.

The beach: in Llandudno. Snowdrop's laughter as she "jumped" the wee waves and watched the jellyfish roll to shore.

The beach redoux: that same day in the evening, after dinner, on the sandy shores of the Irish Sea.

Entering the Merrion Square in Dublin with Snowdrop: she had been so out of it with her climbing fever, but upon entering the gardens she insisted on abandoning the stroller. She wanted to be out there, among the flowers.

And the last evening, when the young family brought home a bottle of champagne for me and we stayed up finishing it off and finding humor in just about everything.


The car pulls into the farmette driveway, Ed is there. So, how is everything? -- I ask.
Quiet. 
I smile as we go inside.

(My last photo of the trip? At O'Hare airport.)