Monday - 94th

What stood out for me was the intensely fragrant air: first, from the pine trees, then, on the ride back, the warm scent of grasses hitting us squarely in the face. This is the pleasure of riding behind someone on a motorbike: you can close your eyes and take in the smell of late spring.

It was late afternoon and we were returning from a game of tennis at our local tennis park. I couldn't believe it when Ed reminded me that we hadn't played for two years! Was last summer that busy? I always think I'm in the thick of a big rush and yet I do wonder if this isn't somehow an illusion. Maybe I'm inclined to fill my schedule no matter what? Maybe I have yet to enter a do nothing (of great import) retirement mind set? I seem always to be so busy! In any case, we hadn't played and now here we were, on an empty court and the sky was faintly blue and the breeze was gentle and the scent of the white pines towering over the courts -- intense!

Earlier in the day I had run through the usual morning stuff. (It's a very green world out there...)






(Breakfast...)






But it was all rather brisk. The kids are here now every day in the morning and I'm trying to come up with some new activities for them, in an all out effort to create something fun this summer (as an alternative to the summer school they would be attending under normal circumstances). I'm thinking that adding more structure to their time here is a good idea. And with that structure comes a schedule. Gaga's Summer School would follow a preset timetable where we would  be moving seamlessly from one activity to the next every day of the week.


(Sparrow loves Happy. Who knows why. Luckily, the rooster is totally on the friendly side. A rare well mannered bird!)






(Snowdrop is less excited by the cheepers. They've been here as long as she has. They're part of the farmette landscape.)






(Sandbox... Just for a few minutes.)






That is the plan. Snowdrop is on board! We'd be "playing school," after all. She loves pretend games!

But of course, Gaga's idea of summer school does not necessarily jive with her idea of pretend school. She quickly explains her preferences and before long we are back to where we have always been -- in a loosey goosey pattern of reading, with some art time, and a lot of unstructured play.

I vow to do better tomorrow!











The kids leave immediately after lunch... (wait, is it a standing lunch??)






... because this is the day for my Zoom call with my Polish friends.






And again, I marvel at how they are all in such a different place from where we are here, in the US. Nearly all of them have reestablished connections with others. Some orbit only within the family unit (children, grandchildren), but others have now had social outings and in one case -- a weekend away with friends. Poland's infection rates continue to be lower than say, in western Europe, but they're not declining by a long shot. Indeed, the data tell me that Poland is one of the few European countries where infection rates are still on the rise. (Sweden and Norway are other such countries.) Still, people are tentatively and with some protocols letting go of strict adherence to distancing. This is the trend here, too, of course, but I think Poles have concluded that for whatever reason, the statistics that terrified Italy, Spain or the UK, are just not going to take hold in their country. A slow trickle of infections -- yes. But a super-spreading and overwhelming pandemic, knocking out whole cities? No. And with each Zoom chat, I see that they are inching closer to some form of normality. Oh, the kids are all staying home: no camps, no schools, no summer programs. But the adults are moving around more. Going to parks, taking river walks, perhaps indulging in an outing by the Baltic Sea.

Ed and I -- we continue to isolate. Nothing has changed for us. We remain cautious. Had there been other players on the tennis courts this afternoon, we would have left.


Evening: such a beautiful beautiful time now! Crisp air, calm winds. The sound of birds, cranes, of frogs, the smell of a garden readying itself for a summer of flowering. It could not be a more beautiful June.

And oh! Primrose calls! We are back to FaceTime visits. And yet those ten days of their real visit transformed our FaceTime. We have memories. We recall stuff she did when she was here. On this porch. Eating many meals with us.






As for Ed and me -- I cook up a dinner of soup: with beans, with rainbow chard, with a handful of other veggies. And a new show to start watching. Ed is determined to bypass a Netflix signup. There's so much free stuff! -- he reminds me. We're trying out the BBC series Scott and Bailey with our popcorn. I'll let you know if it's a good call!

Sunday - 93rd

The reality of outdoor work is that you're never caught up. Take this moment: you've weeded the flower beds. You planted everything that you intended to plant. You sowed seeds, you mowed paths, you clipped spent flowers and trimmed vigorous shrubs. So, sit back and admire it all from a comfy position? No. The minute you step outside, your eyes are drawn to the place that needs work. And so you dig in: trim the edge of a bed. Or two. Or three. Clip those irises and remove their supports. And weeds: how did I miss these? They're tough!

This is my morning. And a beautiful one it is: sunny, cool, perfect once again. Working outside is a pleasure!






But by 11, I am so ready for breakfast. Somehow three hours ran past me and I hardly noticed. Ed, wake up!






We sit for a long long time on the porch, enjoying this stellar June day.

Ed suggests then that we walk the farmette lands. The goal is to look around, to take pleasure in the small corners of this vast space, but of course, inevitably, we take pauses and new projects fall our way: the crab apple has some dead branches. Off they go. And in the young orchard...





... a black walnut has grown to such heights that it's blocking the light to no fewer than four fruit trees! It has to come down.

Ed attends to the tree, I mow down the grape arbor. Someday we may get grapes out of it, but thus far the beetles have taken all the fruits. Still, it's a pretty place and de-weeding it helps keep the grape vines healthy.

We never finish our farmette walk. It's late afternoon by the time we're done. We go inside.  Ed needs to bake cookies (tragically, we have none left!) and I need to cook dinner.

The young family is here for our Sunday evening meal. Sparrow is happy to settle into his Duplo Lego land...






Snowdrop's thoughts are elsewhere (with a song she was hoping to hear on the car radio on the drive here)...






But it takes no time to have her perk up (Ed helps by playing the longed-for song...)






Dinner. On the porch. Of course.











And after, the kids and I head out for a walk along the mowed path.






I want to show them the felled tree. We count the rings. Snowdrop thinks it's nine years old. That may well be correct.

The young orchard is lovely in the evening: the sun still shines down on the grasses and the young trees. The colors are gentle. The kids like it as much as I do.


Later, much later, Ed and I tune in to the last episodes of our crime drama series. I hated it yesterday (killing off beloved characters is not my idea of a good script), but we've watched it this long, so we may as well finish it. Popcorn helps. And a glass of white wine. It's a good way to end a day where the muscles are stiffening up from the hours of work outside.

Want another chocolate chip cookie?
Of course!

Saturday - 92nd

Rumor has it that the farmers who lived for the better part of the twentieth century here, at what I affectionately call the farmette, were not good and noble stewards of the land. They were careless. They were sloppy. I gather they threw garbage out the window. The barn caught on fire, the silo smoldered for years. The rubble of that original barn is buried somewhere under my Big Bed of flowers. We find junk when we dig around the farmhouse. Tin cans, bullet shells, metal scraps.

But my oh my, did the family grow good rhubarb! They planted some right by the back door (which we use as the main entrance to the house) and it explodes each year with ruby-green stalks. I've taken out big chunks of it and transplanted them elsewhere around the farmette and they now, too, produce tart stalks in abundance.

In other words, we're swimming in rhubarb.

Ed suggested we harvest most of it and freeze it for winter use. I finally agreed, even though I'm generally opposed to freezing stuff we're not likely to use. This time he convinced me that making rhubarb cake in the winter would be delicious fun. So we picked rhubarb.

That is the lightest of my gardening jobs today. On a day that is so completely, unabashedly beautiful, both cool and sunny, just downright perfect, we're going to work hard at catch up outside. Weeding for me tops the list. And sowing seeds on our now expanded meadow out by the new orchard. (Slowly but surely, we're laying on dirt and sowing flower seeds, which we hope will blend with the grasses already slated to grow there.)

(People aim for neat, short lawns. we aim for this...)






(The rooster, following the big guy...)






On days like this, you just have to love life!






The horseflies have a very brief season and I swear it's nearing an end. Today I only fought with two or three during my work. And no, there aren't the mosquitoes yet. In other words, life for the gardener is pretty good right now.

Breakfast is close to noon. Ed tells me it's his prelunch snack.






And the afternoon? Well, that's an easy one: more outdoor work! Ed attacks my car breaks (despite a replaced brake disc, the old wreck still shimmies as if it were on the dance floor, so yet another disc has to be switched), me -- I attack weeds.

And we survey our veggie patch: the tomatoes are finally picking up after a fertilizer boost. The lettuces are actually doing nicely as well.

One last task: the trimming of our second lilac. I mean, why stop at just one!

We walk back along one of my mowed paths, feeling really good about some of this year's projects. Almost no one sees the heart of the farmette land, but to us, it's a place of great loveliness. Quirky in places, well cared for in other spots -- overall, a sweetly satisfying work in progress.


And now I'm done for the day. It's time to pick up our CSA box. Here are today's treasures, next to my own rhubarb mound:





Lettuces, garlic scapes, the last bunch of asparagus, rainbow chard, kohlrabi, dill, rhubarb (!), pea vines, and a real treat -- the first Wisconsin strawberries!

I finally get to my lunch coffee break. At 5:30. And it matters not at all. The sun sets today in Madison at 8:38. Even though our dinner of leftover frittata and a huge salad (have to use those lettuce heads, pea shoots and kohlrabi!) isn't until after 8, it feels right to be late with it. Evenings in June are beautifully long. One must grab them. In a week, we'll be shifting toward a shortening of days.

Later, much later, we watch the nearly last episode of our British crime drama series. The love interest of the inspector gets killed. I swear I'll never watch a crime drama again.

Friday - 91st

My day here, at the farmette, can be summarized thus: sunshine, weeds, horseflies, weeds, horseflies, hot sun, fruits, Snowdrop, collapse over a frittata.

I knew the rains would create havoc in my flower beds and so I was ready for the worst. I'm out early with hand shovel, clippers and bucket. I start with some transplanting because some lilies had grown to be so dense that they threatened all existence within their immediate perimeters. Stuff had to be moved.

I do not notice the horseflies. There is the occasional telltale buzz, but this horrid strand is mostly silent. And oh, do they bite. Big welts on my arms and legs are there to demonstrate their noxiousness.
Ed asks me -- did you at least swat them dead?
No, I did not notice them until it was too late!
You mean you let them go off and feed the next generation on your blood? You should have curly hair like me. It traps them.

The man has no sympathy.






(Happy! Get off of the flower bed!)






By breakfast time, I had weeded the Big Bed. Meaning breakfast is very late: close to noon. But oh, what a breakfast! Mid-June begins my most beloved fruit season. My favorites appear and stay with us for about a month. Everything that I love: berries, of course. Cherries. Peaches (admittedly, from states to the south of us, but they are magnificent!). It's all so abundant and fresh! (One for me, one for Ed, one for Snowdrop. And an extra peach for Ed. Well, Snowdrop asks for another too. We go through a lot of peaches on this first day of this sweet and juicy fruit!)









 

More work in the now hot sun. I don't even pause for lunch. Weed, dig, transplant, horseflies. Mosquitoes aren't especially drawn to me, but I seem to be a Michelin starred meal for horseflies.

I am very glad that Snowdrop's arrival puts an end to the toil. (But I do have a sense of accomplishment! Some of the beds are looking good again.)






Snowdrop had had her fill of outdoor play in the morning and is ready to settle into her usual routines here. Chapter book over a bowl of fruits!






Ed adds watermelon to her heaping bowl. I'm thinking -- two months ago it was snowing outside and now the fruit season is fully upon us. It's all rather overwhelming...


I do have a task for the two of us: I volunteered to supply flowers for my older girl's wedding gift for a friend who is getting married tomorrow. The friend can't have guests present, but she will have flowers. Snowdrop loves this assignment, even though this really is a tough week for bloom clipping: spring flowers are nearly done and summer hasn't yet begun. Still, we do okay!






Evening. I take Snowdrop home.

(Someone's cooking supper!)






(Someone else is climbing away!)






It's the last day of a hodgepodge schedule of childcare. Next week we're moving to something different: gaga's summer school. To keep the kids out of their usual school for several more months, I offered to up the babysitting for both of them. They'll be with me every morning until after lunch. But today we're still hanging on to happy memories of Primrose's visit and so we're only slowly transitioning to something more structured.

Home. Farmhouse home. Time to roll out a frittata again. Last batch of fresh spinach, cheeper eggs and a handful of pretty ancient mushrooms. And cheese.

Thursday - 90th

A thousand faces of Primrose -- this should be the title of today's post. Primrose. Granddaughter of mine. The girl I want to see in real time, real life, with real hugs, tears, giggles, songs. The girl that I can only see when her Chicago family can take the time to come here, and only if they can isolate beforehand. So many uncertainties going forward! But these days I never look ahead to some points in the future. There is this week and this day. And today, Primrose flashed her grin, held onto me, sneaked a peak into my cupboards, picked flowers, dug sand, splashed water, wolfed down broccoli and mango, sang songs, drew pictures and did a thousand beautiful things and it was magnificent.

The young Chicagoans are on their last day of a 10 day stay in Madison. Primrose spent yesterday and today with me at the farmhouse while her parents fit in a much needed escape.


After yesterday's rains, we wake up to your perfect sunny day. Thick humid air? Gone. Cool breezes and deep blue skies? Here once more.

I needn't have worried about the night: Primrose slept a deep farmhouse sleep and she woke up at exactly the right time with the most cheerful enthusiasm for the day ahead.






And so you get a thousand images of little Primrose. How can I do anything but snap one more picture, so that I can insert into my bank of stored memories, to relish during those longer weeks when she is just too far away...






Breakfast. "This strawberry is so big!"






Hey, we haven't done our usual timed release photo! Sweet radish girl, here we go!






Outside. We need to, we want to go outside. Thankfully the bugs aren't bad at all. She spots the sandbox. She wants the sandbox.






Oh, life! Aren't you just so beautiful?!






We explore. The barn. The cheeper coop. I show her where the hens lay eggs. Peach is there, but I push her aside for a second and boom! There is her egg and there is also a green one. Henny's laying again! Primrose, see the green egg?
Can I hold it?
You have to be ever so careful. Hold it lightly. Don't squeeze.
I'm not squeezing.






And now it's warming up just enough for me to consider pouring water into the wading pool. After her cousins' mega pool, this one is very tame. But still offering great splashing fun!






My older daughter and her two kids come for lunch. Primrose is a hugely affectionate child and Snowdrop, too, has missed running into a room with an excited hug for her best friend. It is no surprise then that a greeting between the two girls would look like this:






I want a cousin photo!






And now we eat lunch. (Aunt and little one)






And once again, we go outside. I suggest we follow all the paths I mowed yesterday. And we do! Primrose loves taking the lead!






Sparrow is content keeping to a steady gait next to mommy.






Wild daisies!










In these last minutes with all the kids, I have this great need for one more photo. Should we try for a group one? It used to be predictable: sit the kids down, give a tickle or say something silly. The perfect photo emerges. Now, it is anything but predictable. And still, a most perfect photo emerges.







The Madison family leaves. I am in my last minutes with Primrose. It's her nap time and she will be napping on the car ride home. Her home. So I do what I would do before any nap of hers -- read books. Favorites.

Parents are driving up the farmette driveway. One last hug, one last photo...





... and I send the little girl up the path to her waiting mommy and daddy. With some farmette rhubarb. If only I'd remembered to cut down some peony blooms to take back to Chicago!


Quiet house. And for the first time in many days, a dinner for only two. Leftovers.

It all came suddenly and it was intense and now we're back to our previous patterns, only not really. Predictability went out the door months ago. So we invent something new.

At its base, there is love. Always. Love.