the peak of summer

Today is my midsummer. It's the summit of flower extravagance. It's that moment when life's faults and foibles diminish and all attention is drawn to all that's blooming at the farmette. It's the lily's finest hour.

The weather for it? Absolutely glorious! Mostly sunny, breezy and a cool high of 75F (not quite 24C).

It is a landscape of magic. Snowdrop talks of fairies quite often: they're part of her imaginative tableau. Today, you believe that they inhabit our flowery fields. Along with the butterflies, colorful birds, and little green frogs.





Last year, that peak of flower perfection came three days earlier (my harvest of spent lilies maxed out on July 19 at 745).

This year, today, I snipped off 876 lily flower heads.

I did it early in the morning. You might think this was sheer lunacy. The bugs were horrible and we were about to have areas of the farmette retreated with a border spray of garlic and a touch of rosemary. It keeps the mosquitoes away for a good handful of days before it wears off. But I did not wait for this. Why? I can't really answer that. It's a compulsion that I have to improve on something that is already splendid. Or maybe it's that I like to do the day's most difficult tasks early on. Or perhaps it's the light: the gardens arguably look their best in the morning. And so isn't this the time to bring them to order? So that they can truly revel in their magnificence?

There is a lot of excess today: an overabundance of blooms, of good weather, of good feeling. And so you have to forgive me: it calls for an excess of flower photos. I mean, this is it! Their moment of glory. How could I not give them the platform they deserve? Here they are, photos, looking at my favorite spots from any number of angles.

Flower madness, farmette style!


(a corner of the lily field, looking toward the porch...)






(the other corner...)






(from the porch, looking out...)






(a part of the Big Bed...)






(the other part...)






(one successful segment of the bed by the sheep shed: the wildflowers took off here, forming a beautiful small meadow behind the lily)






(midday sun: one side of the Big Bed...)







(one pretty segment of the roadside Front Bed...)






(a conventional but beautiful frontal view of the lilies by the porch...)






I wont neglect the breakfast photo. Not even on this flower-focused day.






And I surely will not neglect my after-school time with Snowdrop!

(Pick up: her teacher tells me -- she's such a sweet child, and it strikes me that this is so correct: she really is a sweet little kid...)






(Running into the farmhouse: gaga, I really love your home...)






(I told her this week will be a Katie Morag extravaganza! I have amassed over the last month five unknown to her books about the little girl living on a remote Scottish isle...)






And now it's evening and the air is so refreshingly crisp that I close the window just a little. Too cold! -- I tell Ed, who nods from the sidelines.


(the small bed by the parked cars...)





I read a story in one of my usual online news sources about a mom who writes a letter to her daughter every year on her birthday, putting in details that she recalled of the girl's last year. Many years later, her daughter tells her that these proved to be invaluable markers for her: they helped her understand who she was. You think that both of you will always remember that your wee one loved a bowl of ripe July cherries and a good Katie Morag story, but the fact is you wont. Of course, what that mom's letters describe is her own take on her daughter's year. Perhaps those moments are not ones that the girl herself would have marked as telling. Still, the daughter later said that it made her feel good to know that trivial particulars were noted and that someone delighted in them.

If they get wrapped up in the craziness of life as they grow older and have little time for reflection or recollection, this much Snowdrop, Primrose, and Sparrow will know for sure -- their grandma was utterly charmed and transfixed by the tiny quirks, raging passions, and sweet fleeting delights of the three little ones. You're not convinced? Just read Ocean of the past 4.5 years.


I step outside when it's already dark. I've always loved the sounds and smells of a summer night in the country. Fireflies, froggie noises, and yes, the distant hum of Madison traffic miles away. It's a beautiful night here, in Wisconsin. I hope it is for you as well, wherever you may be.

Sunday, summer Sunday

Without doubt, the day lilies have loved the occasionally wet, but also sunny and hot weeks of this year's July. Not one of them is complaining! And the blooms? They're splendid! Yes, they are always splendid, but this year's show surpasses any expectation. In the morning, I snipped a new record that felled yesterday's record: 836 lily heads, into the bucket!

(today's fair lassies...)











It's almost too beautiful.  I feel  a bit overwhelmed by it, really I do.






Breakfast is late. The garden care took a couple of hours and the rest of the morning put me back on track with my regular farmhouse chores: a thorough farmhouse cleaning was definitely in order.

And only then, close to noon, do we sit down to a breakfast on the porch.






(looking out toward the flowers...)






We are back on track with Sunday dinners at well. The young family had spent a week in Chicago -- Snowdrop attended (and loved) a summer science camp there -- but today, they're back in Madison and I am so very happy to have them here, at the farmette once more!












(The request for spaghetti with seafood had been put in by the little girl a long time ago...)






Sweet, sweet grandkids!  How young and playful they make us feel!

moving on

The weather has been uppermost in our minds: you can't ignore it. Hot, clammy, oppressive. Still, these things pass. We are lucky: the heat wave didn't settle in for a protracted visit. Today, after tumultuous ups and downs, after rains, and some sunshine, and heavy storms, it all retreated, as if it had lost its battle to dominate. This time around, we won. (I sit this evening by an open window, a cool fresh breeze making its way inside...)

Several notes on this on the one hand calm, but also tumultuous week: I realize that my calm isn't everyone's calm. I feel sad about that: while I'm counting lilies, I hear from friends who have serious issues before them. Two of my closest friends have sick children and grandchildren. My mom, too, has had a mixed-bag week. I think things are finally settling down for everyone, but I do want to note that even in the calmest weeks, I track your worries. No one is free from them and this week, some of you have certainly had your share.

In my garden, I usually find the peace that I wish was within reach for everyone. Though even here, it can be tricky. Although I go out to do my clearing and snipping work very early, these last mornings have been oppressive nonetheless. And the bugs! Oh, the bugs! The mosquitoes land routinely on any exposed skin. And the horse flies! Damn things buzz around your head, driving you nuts!

Nonetheless, I stay firmly in the thicket of plants, bugs and clammy air. Beauty rarely lands in your lap without effort on your part. I wait all year for a lily's one day of magnificence. I am determined to give each flower a beautiful frame in which she can be admired. That means each day, I snip off spent, wilted blooms. Each photo that I post here is without the distraction of yesterday's droopy flower heads.






Today's pretty girls:
















(Mixed in with true lilies)






This morning, I snipped off a record breaking 800 spent day lily blooms. True, I spent a long time searching for that 800th one! (I was stuck on 799 and I canvassed the flower beds several times before I found one more that had finished her glorious day of flowering.) So, 800 day lilies bloomed here yesterday. And today's show is all new. Isn't that remarkable?


(Front field...)






(Big Bed...)






Breakfast is very late, because Ed is determined to go have his cholesterol checked at Walmart's at 10 in the morning. Why? Well, it's free and close by. Reasons enough for him. (In this regard, we are healthy thugs: we both have good cholesterol and low blood pressure.) Anyway, breakfast is on the close to noon side of things.






Reminding myself to keep moving, despite the heat, I take out my bike for a quick but vigorous ride. There! Now I can settle down to my book reading. Tomorrow, I return to a slightly more demanding schedule!


(looking out, from the porch)

Friday toast

You think you've got problems! It is so hot today here, in the Upper Midwest that every farmette animal is hiding in the coolest spot they can find. After a night of torrential rains, there are some secret wet places, but by afternoon, all of them will be toasty hot. Sort of like lounging near an oven where you're baking your pizza at the highest setting.

So hot, that our smoke and heat detector refused to be quiet, leading Ed to rip the battery out (Ed, you can't do that! We're awake, there's no fire. I'll put it in tonight), which only means that it utters an annoying beepy noise every now and then, rather than a continuous screech.

And on this hottest of hot days, Madison Gas and Electric had a morning explosion and fire, leaving thousands downtown without power. That outage just missed my mother's building. Elsewhere, people are scrambling to find cooling spots.

Knowing that this wave of furnace air was coming, I went out early to feed the cats. There are now only five kittens left and Dance, who never goes anywhere, has disappeared. I imagine she found a spot to deliver her litter. What a day to pick for your birthing day!

The constant nightly storms have rinsed our garden clean, so that we cannot really fool mosquitoes anymore: the pizza-like repellent is nearly gone. The bugs are returning, suitcases in hand. Still, I work the flower fields this morning without pause. Better get it done now, before the afternoon sweltering heat settles in.

I snip 640 spent day lilies.

(here's one that's just coming into bloom today)







There is no earthly reason to spend any time on the porch. Nonetheless, we eat breakfast there. That memory of a long bleak winter hasn't totally left me yet.






The flower beds are built around lilies and I can say with confidence that this is their very best moment: abundance, color, vitality. It's all there.






(looking out from the porch: what about this is not sublime??)






In the evening, a deer comes to help decapitate some of the lily heads. I tell her to go away. She says -- no, please share. Farm visitors are so unreasonable.





Night. The air conditioning is on. The air outside is sticky hot. Tomorrow, we'll get the pounding rains again. Storms, thunder -- all of it. But right now it's quiet. Sticky hot and quiet.

Thursday

The night storm came and made itself comfortable over the farmette, throwing down bolts of lightning in succession for what seemed like hours. It was loud, violent, without mercy. I asked Ed if he thought we may be in for a tornado.
Go to sleep gorgeous. It's just a thunderstorm. 

Easy for him to say -- that man will sleep through anything at all (except when my phone pings and then he is wide awake, undone in the end only by the technology that resides at the side of the bed). Eventually the storm moved on to torture others further east and I let myself drift off again. For a short while.

It's important to feed the cats before the chicken coop opens up at 8, otherwise there's war between chickens and cats over who gets to finish up the "mixed grill" or "turkey giblets," and so despite a few distant rumbles, I force myself to get up and out to feed the cats at my usual early hour. But afterwards? It's back to bed. For the first time in many many years, we both sleep in until an insanely late hour.

Breakfast is on the porch. It will be hot today and hotter than hot tomorrow, but the morning is actually quite pleasant -- washed out and a tad drippy, but of course, on the porch all is peaceful, all is dry.






Eventually the winds chase the clouds away and I go out to survey the damage. Everything is very wet, but only a few flowers were done in by the storms.  (view toward the Big Bed)






Lilies are pretty resilient.

I pick 572 spent flower heads today, which may be this year's record, as the most prolific bloomers are nearing the end of their run. The more exotic lilies are rarely repeat bloomers, but still, every flower head is spectacular!






And again, a nod to the lilium! Oh, if I could only reproduce their fragrance here!






(smaller, but no less lovely are these -- the Lilium Roselily...)






But let's get back to the day lilies: hey! it's time for Ocean's annual sing-along! This is what runs through my head as I approach what I call my trumpet girls. And I post the song by the British composer Purcell every year, at exactly this moment, because, well, you know -- we are creatures of habit and repetition. (I am returning to this version, as it's my favorite -- sung by a bunch of kids with no musical training from Manchester England.)

What, you want something a little less ornate for your stroll through my gardens? Less Baroquey and closer to our more modern sensibilities? How about this beautiful piece by another Englishman, Delius (I love the selection of art for the youtube clip -- it includes a painting of his home in France and, too Impressionists whose works match the title of this piece  -- "Summer Evening.")

Evening music calls for an evening garden. I'll end with just a few impressions from the farmette tonight. Summer can be so immodestly beautiful!

(we walked over to the young orchard where we seem to have successfully planted a meadow!)






(evening light on lilies)






(yep, immodestly beautiful...)

Wednesday

It's a hot, hot week in Madison, Wisconsin! Yesterday, very late in the day, Ed and I went to play disc golf (where you throw frisbees into distant cages). Just to get in the summer spirit, we both left our shoes behind and romped barefoot in the grass. It was an interesting hour. Though we were there at dinnertime, the heat was intense. The bugs kept us company, though in the open spaces, they (mostly) left us alone. The bees buzzed in the clover and when our discs flew off into the brush, retrieving them was murderous. My sweet partner in crime offered to brave the thicket and go after my misfires. I stayed on the grass and said "thank you" many times.

Early in the morning, the bugs at the farmette were so intense, that I snipped only twenty spent lilies, then said -- "that's enough." But this was my last real struggle. By mid-morning, we have the mosquito control squad here, spraying garlic oil at the periphery and a rosemary oil combo in other corners (making this place smell for a while like an Italian restaurant!) to scare away the vast majority (though not all) of the mosquitoes from farmette lands. Unless there are heavy rains, the mosquitoes will avoid coming back for a good two weeks.

The flower heads are mostly untouched and we are always happy to see butterflies, bees, humming birds and dragonflies (and unfortunately the japanese beetles) hover in the yard despite the pizzeria odor. (The smell does go away after about an hour.)











For now, the mosquitoes have been chased away and I spend many hours today fixing the flower beds in ways that I just couldn't do for the past several weeks.

And they are in their prime right now!

The Big Bed is two sided, meaning against a backdrop of taller flowers, there are blooms to the east...







... and blooms to the west. I suppose its main characteristic is that it's super loooooong!






The other eight beds are more manageable. Well, one of them -- the one by the sheep shed -- is still a work in progress and the front bed -- the one by the road -- suffers terribly from the dumping of salt each winter (here is a combination that I look forward to seeing each July...).






The biggest concentration of day lilies is by the porch. They're just coming into their glorious moment right now. Remember how the porch was flanked by daffodils and lilac in April? Right now it's all about the day lilies (against a backdrop of Monarda to the west)!






As for a favorite lily of the moment? How about this one, from the day lily collection:






And this one from a true lily set:






[Speaking of "fixing" things, we do share your concerns about the growing number of barn cats here. At first there was just Stop Sign. Then came her daughter, Dance. Then Stop Sign got pregnant again and in April she added six kittens to the pack. And now Dance is pregnant. This is, of course, unsustainable. We know that. But having them neutered is a complicated business and the timing has to be correct. We can only catch them one at a time and it's a crap shoot as to who will be the one to enter the trap. This isn't the best month to do it: the kittens are too young (the recommended age is 4 or 5 months; they are just a little over 3 months old). Stop Sign would be a good candidate, but surely Dance is not. Again, we're not ignoring the problem. It's just a wee bit more complicated than it seems.]


Breakfast is on the porch. Hot, but not so hot that we would give up on this beautiful summer morning ritual.






From our vantage point at the table, we look out on this (yep, that's Dance resting her belly on the picnic table):






And there you have it. Summer. In full swing.