Thursday

A fourth day of great beauty! A dreamy morning of blue skies and light tiny wisps of a cloud or two. Breezy, mild, heavenly.

It's not unusual. September in the upper Midwest often offers up these pots of gold. And we love them!





Early morning belongs to the cats and as always, there is a new variation to the feral theme: Stop Sign is coming around more frequently. She still spits at the other kitties, teaching them, I'm sure, the worst of manners. But, I feed her nonetheless. Not only because her personality should not lead her to go hungry, but, too, she is probably hiding a litter somewhere. Her good health assures their good health. We'll see what develops in the days ahead.

In the meantime, we love playing with Dance's little guys...










And try hard to relax the teenagers. Sometimes they seem to be almost comfortable with our touch. Other times, they run like the dickens.

And the flowers continue to bend with their weight of splendid autumn blooms and bees and Monarchs dance a wild autumnal jig...











(But it is a little chilly in the earlier hours. We eat in the kitchen.)






Ed coaxes me to a bike ride and a game of disc golf. It's probably our last barefoot run under sunny skies. We revel in it! And enjoy the views onto soy fields that are also as buttery gold as the prairie blooms and goldenrod growing all around us.






In the afternoon, I take Snowdrop to the local market again. She wants little golden tomatoes. I want lettuce. Ed wants cheese curds.






"Can I ride the cow??"






(Back at the farmette...)






Dance class ends my time with the little girl.






And late in the evening, Ed and I settle in for warm bowls of home made chili, made with a combination of homegrown tomatoes and ones we get from Natalie.

Glorious days like this stay with us long after the last sun ray has disappeared. Skies grow dark, stars come out, you give one last nod to the farmette animals and go inside with a smile. It's been a good week.

Wednesday

Are you a parent of many kids? Like, maybe nine? Is there a day where no one presents a problem? Without a worry requiring guidance or intervention?

I thought having two offspring was a good number. As they grew to be more independent, I worried only 65% of my waking hours. Now, of course, I have the equivalent of five: one tends to worry about grandkids, though not in the same fashion. Feeding them, making sure they sleep enough and do their homework is not on my worry agenda.

You cannot compare caring for feral cats to raising children (Ed would ask -- why not?), and yet, it holds true with animals as well -- the more you have, the greater the number of problems.

Some are small. This morning, as I put out food for what should be nine kitties, I noticed that Little Gray had a bunch of prickly seeds in his coat. I tried discreetly to pull some out, but his coat is thick so it's a tricky business.

More troubling was the fact that Yo-Yo, our second little one, did not show up for the morning feeding.

Oh, there have been times when all have dispersed for one reason or another. But they stick together. Or at least in groups and formations. The little guys never go away without Dance, their mom.

I searched all the usual places: old orchard, flower beds, garage. Nothing. By late in the morning, I had to conclude that she is gone. Was it a predator? One day this winter, Dance's brother disappeared overnight. He surely was the victim of some animal raid. Did we just lose Yo-Yo?

I linger until the cheepers come out. Funny how all the cats are comfortable with even the big rooster...






Well, until he bellows loudly in their ear! Even then, they are curious, they come up from behind to see what's cookin'...






It's a pretty day once again. We were up very, very early -- before dawn in fact -- sharing stories and anecdotes, and so the morning then moved slowly, on wheels coated with molasses. This is what happens when you don't get enough sleep, several days in a row! But, a good, leisurely breakfast out on the porch...






... puts some oomph into our step once more. We opt today to work rather than play: all those seeds and burrs in Little Gray's coat indicate that there is a lot of junk growing in the old orchard (where they once in while hang out). Burdock seeds and other stick-tight seeds -- we find many, many clumps and they all have to come out.

You must dress properly for this: keep your arms and legs bare, take out your wellies or plastic shoes, tie your hair back. Even so, inevitably you'll be picking out noxious seeds from tricky places on your body.

Still, we clear the old orchard and while we're at it, we dive into the raspberry patch and pull out the offensive plants with burrs, and, too, bunches of stinging nettle from there as well. It's stuff you want to keep out of your compost pile and so we stamp it down in the wheel barrow and set the whole thing on fire.






And then we play with Little Gray because, well, it's sad to think his little sister is gone.






(Photos from an autumnal farmette...)

















The afternoon belongs to Snowdrop. I stay with her in school for a few minutes, because she is busy drawing letters in the sand...






We half-play outside. Just for a little while. I think we're possibly taking this stretch of good weather for granted.





Or maybe we're just hungry for a good long read of Ramona books. The protagonist's father just lost his job. There's a lot to explain and think about in that subplot.


In the evening, Ed is biking and I'm cooking up a pot of chili. I hear him pull in just as the big pot is ready to come off the stove top.

Hey, Gorgeous! -- he calls out. Yo-Yo is back!

Incredible. She'd been gone the whole day and at some point, Dance disappeared too, presumably to look for her little one. Yo-Yo must have gotten lost. Dance lead her back home.

As for Stop Sign -- yes, she came around again, hungry as hell. She has hairs missing around puffy eyes. We don't know why. She also has droopy teats. She really must be nursing kittens. Will we ever see them? History would tell us that sooner or later she'll bring them here.

For now, there are nine. And a half. And the sun continues to shine down on farmette lands. And we are grateful for that.

lingering...

It's as if summer does not want to leave just yet. We have a glorious day today -- a repeat of yesterday's beauty. A heavenly day of sunshine and gusts of refreshing breezes! All against the backdrop of goldenrod, goldencone and dainty purple asters.

I have an appointment early this morning and it's a good one because it gives me some answers to questions I've had for many months now. I come back in time for a sweet breakfast on the porch. It's warm enough this morning!






Of course, we have to go out. We just have to! A rerun of grand weather calls for a rerun of bike rides and disc golf games. I leave my camera at home once again, but I do take out my phone for just one quick photo after a particularly good round on the disc golf course!






I pick up a bouncy girl at school! Once again she has produced a picture she'd been working on of a penguin house and this time I snap her with it, in front of all those purple asters.






And as the breeze tussles her hair, I have to ask -- isn't this a fine day to go fly a kite?

She is all for it! I ask Ed to help us. My history of kite flying hasn't always produced tangible results.






We go to a playground with wide spaces for kites. We give it a go.






It isn't easy. Snowdrop runs with it, mostly in good directions. She surely got the lift!






... up up, aiming for those "highest heights."






And when the running wears her out, she puts her energies to the playground. Want to join me, ahah?

He never says no.





At the farmette again, Ed offers her a bite of the only two pears that the ancient pear tree produced this year. I am surprised that she likes it. Here she is, begging me to help her pick the second one. It's not ripe, Snowdrop. No, it wont get ripe today...






Inside, she settles into story telling. As always, she mixes up her medium. Things make it into her dollhouse that surely were not intended for it (birthday cards??). Snowdrop, you have a terrific imagination.






Play with me, gaga.
I am right here, listening to you.
No, I mean sit down right here, pick up some of the characters and make up stories about them!

I smile at that. Snowdrop doesn't hog the spotlight. She likes nothing better than a partner in crime. Right there on the floor beside her.


Evening. Ed plays with cats, I fix supper and look in on my grandgirl in Chicago. Doors and windows wide open. What a day! What a beautiful day!

first day of fall

What a gorgeous day! Could it be more beautiful? I don't think so. Simply stunning. You can't ignore it. That inner voice shouts "go out! go out!"

And we do,  but not right away. Fall mornings here are cool. And this first day of fall is no different. Breakfast in the kitchen.






This corner of the porch always gives me a seasonal bit of beauty: lilacs in the spring, lilies in the summer. Today, there's that last burst of lilies, lots of golden coneflowers, and of course, the purple aster sprigs.






The cats love the warm sunshine!

(Little Gray is nursing, Dark Blue Tulip is snuggling...)






(Dark Blue Tulip wants a turn! Yo-Yo -- the newly named little guy -- comes in as well. Dance is a true milk machine. But she also teaches calm and sharing to all the cats here. She's a fantastic matriarch!)






Purple and gold: it defines the Big Bed now...






(the occasional reblooming lily)






(Dark Blue Tulip and Tomato: cats and cheepers get along very well...)






(Happy wonders if he could ever climb the lilac in the way that the cats do...)






Ed asks if I'm up for biking to the disc golf course for several throws of the old frisbees. You cannot say no: it's an outdoor day. A soak in all that wonderful sunshine day. A retired person's dream day.

(Quick lunch afterwards...)





And in the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop.

I suggest a walk to the coffee shop and playground.

Oh, yes! Definitely!

At the coffee shop, she asks about something that's been bothering her since our reading of the third Beverly Cleary Ramona book. Remember, this is a series from the 1950s and in this particular book, Ramona has a first grade teacher who is prissy and staid, even by the standards of that era. The teacher has a favorite little come back for students who complain about the behavior of a classmate. "No one likes a tattle-tale!" -- she repeats again and again.

It strikes me that this was a big thing in the decade when we were blind to the problem of bullies, of sexually inappropriate touching, even of stranger dangers.

And so we spend a good while sorting through what Ramona's teacher may not have wanted to hear and what definitely calls for teacher notification. Now if I can only find a good explanation for why bologna sandwiches have gone out of favor in school lunches and why most moms these days do not stay home and bake chocolate chip cookies while their kids are at school...

We walk to the playground energized by the brilliance of the day!






We spend time on the structure, and of course, she swings with wild abandon...






But today, she also wants to go to the beach. And into the water...


(time to tie up those skirts...)






(no, Snowdrop, you cannot go swimming!)






She gets wet. Of course she does! And who cares -- it's the first day of Fall!






Eventually I figure out a way to get her home, wet clothes and all.

We read more of Ramona, we play.

And in the late evening, Ed and I sit at the picnic table and watch the cats do their own evening dance. Cats, like people, know when the going is good, when the weather is golden. Perhaps they suspect that the cold season is just around the corner. Play now, play hard! And they do... Yes they do...

Sunday

And now there are nine (cats in the garage)!

Such rains fell on farmette lands all night long! Heavy enough to make puddles in the driveway and to knock down a tree limb from one of the ancient maples. And it continued into the early morning, so that when I received a text -- "we're on our way!" -- I couldn't help thinking that there was a lot of drama to the scene before us!

The message came from my friends, who were picking up two of the littlest kitties. Lucky guys! (Both friends and kitties.) Well, lucky once everyone makes the adjustment!

We had established a feeding routine in the morning that would have made the transfer a cinch, but the rains messed with the normal. I ran to the garage, turned on the lights and tried to keep all felines on course. Luckily, the little guys are not at all skittish and they pounced on the food and I whisked the two away before anyone noticed.

We were rewarded later with beautiful photos of the little guys being cuddled in their new home. Everyone there seemed content!

As for the tribe remaining here -- I'm sure Dance, the mom, notices the absence of the two. But what does she make of it? Does she think the rains washed part of her litter away? Might she wonder if they are hiding? Who can tell.






Breakfast, on the porch, with the patter of rain on the glass roof.





It's otherwise a quiet day, here at the farmhouse. Well, except for the noise I made when I wasn't looking where I was heading and crashed into a table that happens to be on wheels, sending everything and everyone careening in a wild and crazy spin before tumbling to the floor. I spent the remaining hours of the day nursing whatever sores and bruises I sustained, remembering the old adage: use frozen peas, not steak and resist the impulse to rub! Easy enough: we have no steak and frozen corn is as good as a sack full of frozen peas any day.

No family dinner today: remember? Sunday was yesterday. Tonight the young couple is celebrating seven years of marriage. Stay happy and strong, you two! Never hold back that joyful laugh!

I shift my elevated wounded knee. Ed, can you feed the cats tonight? All nine of them? 

(note chicken feather on little guy... the cheepers spent a good many hours with the cats during the heaviest rains today)



 


Turns out it's 9.5 cats. Stop Sign returned -- a little bruised, a little angry, but trusting us to feed her once again.

Saturday

It could be Saturday, it could be Sunday. We have elements of both.

The pace is slower. Yes, the day starts early -- it always does, on account of the animal feeding and, too, because I like mornings and I'm used to getting up with the light, especially when the light comes to us so late! (Sunrise today: about 6:45, though honestly, when the day is this cloudy, it's hard to talk about a sunrise.) But there is no hurry.






Tomorrow, two of the little ones are going to their new home and so I watch them one last time as they climb, tumble and scamper about.

(this one, who will be leaving, is the smallest of them all, but she is also the friendliest...)






(this one, whom we have taken to calling Gray Cloud, is staying...)






Because the day threatens rain, I do not meet up with my granddaughter and her mommy for a protracted farmers market walk. Instead, I take my scooter out very early and do some essential market shopping on my own (corn, peaches, pimento peppers, flowers, cheese)...

(it's the grandmas who arrange the bouquets; they're small women and they tend to hide in the mass of flowers before them...)











(Door County fruits, still going strong!)






(scooter basket is full!)






After picking up breakfast treats, I scoot right back to the farmette. Breakfast on the porch.






And now there's a flip to the day: we have a Sunday-ish family dinner.






You don't often have a chance to see Sparrow, so I'll end with a photo of the little guy playing blocks with Snowdrop. Sort of.






Despite the drippy weather, it's a beautiful evening. The kids are happy, the grown-ups -- full of plans for the year ahead. And the fresh corn, picked this morning -- you know what I think of that! Farmette life at its best!