Sunday - 100th!

Really? 100 days of isolation/quarantine/stay-at-home/don't-go-anywhere-or-see-anyone-with-the-exception-of-family-cocoon-and-one-dentist? Wow. To the next 100 then!

It's not the only milestone: today marks the sixth anniversary for my younger girl and her husband. Married here, at the farmette, next to this barn...






Six years! Primrose and Sparrow were nothing but a dream and Snowdrop was slowly growing in her mommy's tummy. A beautiful wedding, a fish fry among farmette fields, a warm day, a lovely day of flowers and rose wines, a partnership solidified with the vow you want to make only once in your lifetime.

And of course, it's Father's Day. May it be a happy day for my sons-in-law and for you, fathers of the world who are challenged with an ever evolving role to play in family life! I hope in all this, despite everything that's going on right now, you all find moments of joy, plenty of laughter and of course -- love.

Here, at the farmette, we are working on fulfilling our gendered roles: he's working on fixing his truck and now, too, on changing a belt on the tractor-mower, while I'm cleaning the farmhouse, doing laundry, ordering the very last delivery of asparagus from our asparagus farmer and probably not the last delivery of mushrooms from the Fungi Farmers, and of course -- cooking dinner. Well, wait. There are flip sides to every coin. I'm also mowing down paths and Ed is "about to clean the stove."

(A breakfast photo: the meal and the people...)











The thing is, we like this division of labor. Oh, I gripe about house cleaning (who doesn't...), but sliding underneath a rusted truck for hours on end is surely not my idea of fun, while peeling eggs and snipping tails off of shrimp and snapping beans and washing lettuce leaves is.

As for the flower beds -- I'm taking a pause with them today. The gardens are well soaked by yesterday's showers and the weeds are under control. It's a day to admire what's there...

(I do love phlox!)






(Working hard...)






(the many shades of green...)






... and to look forward to the next stage -- the period of lily blooms. (I should give a nod to the first lilies: the delicate yellow ones are popping up already and of course, right at the head of the big lily parade are the tiger lilies, a.k.a. the ditch lilies that I love to hate and Ed has me transplant rather than chuck, so that they are now 99% out of the lily bed, but in about a dozen various locations all over the farmette lands. Like for example here, at the side of the house...)






And now it is evening and the young family arrives.

(Sparrow's love for the cheepers knows no bounds...)






(Even when one of them, the indefatigable Peach, pecks a cheese cracker right out of his hand. He's just the right height for a cracker heist! Still, Sparrow is very forgiving...






(Snowdrop is just ever so slightly amused...)






Dinner. Salad Nicoise -- my own version of it. For the adults, it's all in the dressing.






And a family photo. A dad and his bunch.






Okay, let's rest up and get ready for the next "100 days of solitude." Hey, like the book, only different...

Saturday - 99th

You try hard not to have negative thoughts or opinions and then something comes your way that hits all your nerve points and you blurt out "hate" and then you feel like you maybe should have toned it down some.

That describes a good part of this morning.

It's a cloudy day and for the first time in a long time I sleep in. The animals are typically fed by 7:30, but this morning, I'm still dozing then and it isn't until 9 that I push myself to get going. I am shocked at the hour. I was that tired.






Overall, the garden seems weedy to me. This is unfair: there hasn't been much rain. Why the sudden proliferation of weeds? Have I not chipped the beds enough? So before I even get started on breakfast I weed.

(Clematis, climbing the sheep shed)






It's pleasant enough. The bugs are coming out just a little, but nothing severe. For our first day of summer, it's quite a good weather moment. The garden isn't flowering heavily yet, but there are signs that it's all just around the corner.






And then Ed comes out to move the old truck out of the driveway and into the concrete slab by the garage so that he can replace the rear spring hangers. There's a lot of rumbling and grumbling and eventually, he comes to me and says -- I can't make it move forward. Backwards -- yes. Forward -- no. Can you help? 
What do you need me to do?
Put it in first, release the clutch and I'll try to see what's going on.

The truck is a pretty gross thing. The body, what's left of it, is all dents and rust. The windshield is cracked in a hundred places. The inside is perhaps worse. I wont post a photo. It will ruin your day. Still, I want to help, so I try to put it in gear and Ed watches from the ground up and everything stinks to high heaven and it still wont move forward.

This is when I say it: Ed, I hate this truck. I will never ever ride in it. It is beyond gross. I don't care if you fix it. It will never be okay in my book.

He knows this of course. Several years ago, when we drove out East in it, I spent one hundred precious dollars to fly back so that I wouldn't have to sit in it for one more minute. It's loud and stinky and it feels like all the insides will tumble out right there in the middle of the highway. Still, if he can fix it, he will. But right now it only drives backwards.

Maybe I could drive it backwards onto the road and turn it around at the intersection then back it up the driveway and toward the garage...
What if it gets stuck on the road?

This is where we pause for breakfast.







Everything seems more doable and sane after the morning meal and indeed, eventually he figures out what the blockage is and within an hour or so, he has it moving loudly forward, onto the concrete slab where he will conduct more extensive truck surgery for the rest of the day. A great part of me wishes that he will fail and that we'll have to dismember it and carry it out piece by piece each week in a garbage can, but I know Ed's genius for solving complicated problems, so my wish here is little more than an idle dream.


So let's switch to more positive feelings, because there is this greatness to the day.

Take my afternoon on the porch: it has a FaceTime with Primrose! Every week she is that much older, that much more playful and chatty.






Welcome to summer, little girl!

And speaking of summer, here's something that thrills me: the length of daylight up here, in the northern hemisphere. If I had to pick a favorite one day of the year, it would be this one.  I mean, I do love a number of other seasonal milestones, but summer solstice is at the top of the heap. The lushness of the natural world, the long hours of daylight, the promise delivered.

(view from porch)





And let's not forget the appearance of so much fresh produce!

[Our CSA box still has tastes of spring. Rhubarb -- oh, no! We already filled two gallon sacks with our own chopped stalks, and loaded it in the freezer for the promise of rhubarb cake everyday this winter! Big fat red lettuces. Okay. Always useful, since we eat salads daily. Garlic scapes -- love them. Yay. And kale, in addition to the rainbow chard. Both? That's a lot of green leaves for one week. Parsley -- I grow my own, but fine, I'll use it. Baby turnips. They say you can eat them raw. Otherwise I'll have to roast them and pretend they're potatoes for a fish night. And here comes summer: Zucchini! Another veggie that I love and Ed is tame about. And the amazing local strawberries. Late spring, no?]

I'm 67 years old and I've yet to find a good way to commemorate this Midsummer's Day. June solstice. In Europe, the important June date is St. John's. But it can be confusing: the talk is of Midsummer, but the merrymaking doesn't track the seasonal shift. The festivities typically take place on the eve of St John's (June 23rd) or on the day itself. Music, bonfires, food. I loved being in the French Catalan provinces then. They add dance to the mix and it's all rather enchanting. So, too, in the Basque region. And I can't begin to give words to the beauty of a late June evening in Scotland, especially on the Isle of Islay.  The sun does a quick exit after midnight, but it never really grows dark and within the hour it's back again, as if to tease you into thinking that the next day of gentle summer is well underway.

But I love summer solstice here, on the farmette as well. We wont have the late night sunset (remember, it's a cloudy day), but can I interest you in an evening rainbow?


 



Or in a deer, pausing to acknowledge the uniqueness of this day, this moment?






So it wasn't a time of music. And food for tonight is slated to be the second half of yesterday's frittata. But in my heart and soul, I know that this is the day that marks the success of the spirit: the dark days seemed interminable, but in fact, they did not last and now here we are, living in the light of the longest day and it is sublime.

Friday - 98th

It's the last day of spring. Everything beautiful about the last three months unfolded here at the farmette, without the horrors of a more violent season. No big storms, no killing frost, no endless rains and horrible mosquitoes. Such an exquisite unfurling of nature's magic, even though it did take place against a drama that brought a lot of disruption and sadness to the lives of so many.

Am I ready for summer? Of course, though I am already looking forward to next year's spring!

Our morning is quick and busy.

Breakfast is on the early side.






The kids come immediately after and as always we start with a nature walk. Well, nature in name at least, though I do try to spot and admire at least one miraculous little wonder out along the mowed paths or in the meadow fields. It's not hard.











Inevitably, we walk over to the barn. Snowdrop loves to check the coop for eggs and Sparrow loves a visit with Happy. (The girl is generous with her corn treat for the cheepers!)






Sparrow wants to hold the discovered egg, but the instruction to hold it gently backfires: his hold is so gentle that twice the egg rolls out of his hand and hits the ground. Strong shell! Nothing breaks.






Inside the farmhouse, we do short spurts of everything: music, art... (for father's day!)






And we complete the kite project.
Let's go fly it!
There is no wind outside...
Then let's fly it inside, Gaga. You be the wind!

I am the wind.







Reading, pretend play...
My girls eat plenty of vegetables! -- Snowdrop proclaims proudly. Her brother acts as if he doesn't understand. (Sparrow has an aversion to anything that grows out of the ground, it seems. Fruits? Vegetables? Bleh. He is in this way the complete opposite of his sister.)






After a farmhouse lunch, Sparrow returns home for his nap, but Snowdrop stays with me for the afternoon. This is the time to build Legos and do quiet stuff. Her workbooks, which she loves. Big girl stuff. Sometimes with me, sometimes on her own.


Evening. The clouds roll in. I'm glad. The seeds I sowed in the meadow last weekend never got a needed shower. The flowers need water too.

Ed and I take a farmette walk. To the orchard, where small cherries are ripening and delicate flowers are popping up in the meadows...










Then round the barn and back again. We pause and review patterns of growth so often that this little stroll takes a good half hour. If I weren't hungry for dinner, it would take even longer!


I take out the ingredients for a frittata with broccoli, garlic scapes, a potato and mushrooms. And don't forget the copious amounts of cheese!


June 19th. I tell Ed that I had never really focused on this date before. Having studied and taught Property at an American Law School, I am well aware of the history of slavery and of the very slow granting of rights to African American people in the decades that followed the Civil War, but I did not link any of it to this specific day.
Ed laughs -- You missed school here. You don't have a lot of American culture in your head!
Maybe. But it seems to me that there are many others who haven't paid much attention to June 19th before this year.

It's a time to pause and think a little about what we know and what we probably don't know, but should know about the lives of those around us. Here we are, on this last day of spring, when the garden is quiet, your house is quiet, and no one is asking me to be somewhere or do something at this moment.  So, chop the mushrooms and scapes, stir in the broccoli flowerettes and think.






With love.

Thursday - 97th

It's late afternoon and I am sitting on the porch, taking a pause from kids, animals, groceries, gardens. For a minute, I think about how warm the air feels. Hungry for that time when you wear no more than one or two articles of clothing when you go outside, hungry for that vacation feeling of the great outdoors, right there before you, in the many colors that nature has to offer, hungry for it all -- I could sit like this for a while, thinking about nothing in particular, listening to the back and forth between birds, and the occasional scratching noise of a chicken searching for whatever it is that they dig up from the dirt.

But I don't stay with those thoughts for long. Instead, I turn to something that's been on my mind in these recent weeks: how is it that we teach children to love and respect all living things that share this planet with us. All people, all of the life that unfolds before us.

You can't speak in mere platitudes, nor can you wait until a situation arises that calls for your instructional voice to tell them that what they witnessed is wrong. We see our kids and grandkids at home and there isn't much here (I would hope) that would shock the conscience and lead to a serious discussion of human weakness and failure. With my own kids, I used books as a starting point. You don't have to be preachy. Read to them "When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit" and suddenly they know. And they will ask questions. And you gauge the sensitivity of the child and you can guide them through the broader context, so that love and hate suddenly are out in full view.

It seems to me that none of this is great dinner table discussion, where conversations can be jumpy (hey, hold that thought... Sparrow, sit down and keep the cheese on your plate! now, what were we saying?) and where you can instill fear, which, after all, isn't the point. Seems to me you want to empower to think and act benevolently with confidence, with a sound moral compass, knowing that your family will always be there for you when things get tough.

So books. Compelling story lines. They shouldn't hit you over the head with their message: life is more subtle than that and we have to teach kids to spot disturbing character traits in complicated situations.

At the elementary school level, such books are not easy to find. Young adult literature has exploded with good stuff (from my scant survey of what's there). But elementary school chapter books still lag behind. All this to say -- if you know some good stuff out there, send me an email. Snowdrop and I are always looking for new good chapter books with believable characters overcoming tough circumstances and coming out stronger for it. (At home, she is reading Harry Potter, so she can handle long texts!)

My day otherwise is fairly predictable. Cats, plants, chickens.












Breakfast.






And the grandkids.






Spirited grandkids!






We checked for eggs, we made paper kites, we solved word puzzles, we build cities and villages. Sparrow?  He was all about puzzles and letters today.

So often I see the two of them being worlds apart on so many things! Fruit, for example -- she loves it to pieces, he wont touch any of it ...






(Ed, the kids, and a watermelon...)






But more often, I'm impressed  how they come together throughout the day. No more is this evident than when I offer them a splash in the wading pool. That thing is smaller than a bathtub. And yet these guys can sit in it for a long time and elicit nothing but giggles from each other!







In the late, late afternoon, Ed works to get the second rusty disc replaced on my car's brakes while I struggle to make sense of some weird bills that had come to my mom (in my care) in the last few weeks.

By evening, my bookkeeping and his brake replacement work are done.

Want to drive out to the wetlands and ponds where I biked yesterday? I saw the most amazing number of geese families...


We never do see the geese, but the drive down the beautiful rural roads to the south and east of us is pretty special.






Evening light, summer light. We're in the thick of it and it is beautiful.


Earlier, Snowdrop and I had been talking about Gaga's Summer School.
It's spectacular! -- she tells me. Except for one thing.
What ? -- I ask, even though I already know.
My friends, my best friend -- they're not there.

Ah yes. That not so small detail. Snowdrop hasn't quiet yet grasped that she will never be returning to her school again, or sharing classroom space with her best friend. Everything stopped suddenly 97 days ago. We're inventing something new, trying not to think too often about the old stuff that had to be left behind. On the upside, we are fine. Her friend, somewhere on the other side of town is fine. We are the lucky ones. We can invent and create and imagine all that is yet to come.

Wednesday - 96th

The second half of June. Is any summer flower blooming yet? Well, there is this very unusual color in my June garden.






Mostly though, I see the remains of spring. This peony is having a second wave of blossoms.  Then there's the white David phlox next to it: it's your transitional flower: one foot stuck in spring, the other testing the waters of summer)...






Oh, but see this? A day lily. That is one sweet summer girl.






(Looking out at the beds from the porch, you still mostly see a sea of green...)






We clicked on the AC today. Hot days are back and they bring with them the lethargy of a lazy summer season. I smelled that idleness when our breakfast lasted way past the normal fifteen or so minutes we typically allocate to it.






And I could also see it in the kids. They arrived peppy...






But our nature walk resulted in this:






And no one felt like running on the way back.











(A pause at the barn: he wanted to see Happy the rooster, she wanted to see if there were any eggs. Ooops! Two girls are laying right now!)






So I flipped the switch and the cool air filled the farmhouse (it's never really that cold -- I truly dislike an over-air conditioned space) and everyone felt bouncy happy again.


I'm only in the third day of Gaga's Summer School, but already I'm spotting some pretty determined students who are happy to guide me through what they feel would be an optimal school schedule.

Gaga, we always start the day with free time in school. Always! -- from Snowdrop. Sparrow let's me know this as well by getting up and leaving "group time" in search of his favorite books.

You mean you want to go off and play first?
No. I think we should have choice and one of the choices should be painting.
But didn't I say we'd do painting every other day? (My theory is: keep the excitement going by taking pauses.)
No, Gaga. Absolutely not. In school it was always available -- she says with such great hope. Her pleading eyes melt me to the core.






I do suggest a theme. We'd been to the meadow. Let's paint meadows!






For Sparrow, this meant introducing blue to his already available yellow. He got the green grass going pretty quickly and so vigorously, that even the sturdy art paper wilted under the onslaught.






Happy kids and clean kids. If I expected Sparrow to take the brush to his clothes, to his toys, indeed, to the walls, I was to be pleasantly surprised:. He is a very neat painter and so is Snowdrop. The smock hangs, unused, unnecessary for these two.





Music follows. I had tuned my guitar and I came up with a repertoire for the summer where I might teach them some classic folk songs. Ones that wouldn't make anyone wince. (I hesitated before throwing in Home on the Range, but then decided I could interpret it as a person's lament over the degradation of the environment and a longing for what once was. I mean, if you look at the words of the original poem (written in 1872) that was then set to music, you may conclude that my interpretation isn't all whimsy. Every American knows the first verse:

Oh give me a home, where the buffalo roam,
And the deer and the antelope play,
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,
And the skies are not cloudy all day.

 But add now the last two verses:

I love the wild flowers in this bright land of ours,
I love the wild curlew's shrill scream;
The bluffs and white rocks, and antelope flocks
That graze on the mountains so green.

The air is so pure and the breezes so fine,
The zephyrs so balmy and light,
That I would not exchange my home here to range
Forever in azures so bright.

Wildflowers and curlews running through prairie grasses... How evocative is that!

Where did the rest of our time fly? Oh, the usual. Books. Pretend play. Arithmetic puzzles. Buffing up little frozen pizzas with extra cheese for lunch, eating watermelon and ice cream bars. Take a look:















In the late afternoon Ed is off biking. Should I at least take a walk? It's a splendid evening!

But the very idea that I "should" pushes me away from it. For the first time in quite a while, I am not terribly busy. Oh, I have a mountain of mom paperwork, of my own paperwork (taxes come to mind), of delinquent chores and projects, but it can all wait. I put on music and do none of it. Reheated soup for supper, burnt popcorn (Ed! You need to finish biking in time for popcorm!). But, too, a sense of inner quiet.

How I wish everyone had the time and life's circumstances to reach, even if only for a few minutes each day, that sense of inner quiet!