Saturday - 169th

It's as if the rain clouds are boycotting where we live. The heat wave passed, some weather front pushed it all away and we have brilliantly cool and sunny days ahead. But we never got a drop of rain.

Needless to say, my morning is spent giving relief to at least some of the flowers. They need the water.

Here's what's still blooming:
















Breakfast is very, very late.






I have a bit of straightening and house fussing before me. This day and the next one truly belong to the young family. We've tried to fit in time for some of the things that wont be possible going forward: a sleepover, a longer visit with my daughter, a Sunday farmhouse family dinner. And so I get ready for their visits.

Here's a welcome pause. FaceTime with my Chicago girl! Almost like being in the room with her!





Almost like eating pretend ice cream popsicles together...



Snowdrop and her mom arrive toward evening. Sparrow stays home today. He hasn't yet the sleepover bug. He'll be here tomorrow.






The little girl and her mom take things slowly, leisurely. There's a lot of hanging out, some reading, some lovely play.






There is, of course, the pizza dinner out on the porch...





















And a movie (Snowdrop refuses anything new: she just wants a replay of old favorites), popcorn...

A glass of wine, maybe a second, trying to remember all that I want to ask now, to find out still, before everyone gets busy and we have to retreat to socially distanced encounters, outside, separated by some invisible wall that seems to me to be very thick and forbidding.

Photos, videos -- should I take more? Here, at the farmhouse? I want to and yet, I want to not think about that part of our life together that plays itself out on a screen. For now, we have the real deal and it is grand.


Late night for me. Windows open, cool breezes, wistful wishes for a gentle end to summer and most importantly, for a gentle fall and winter for my beloved children and grandchildren.

Friday - 168th

Hard to believe that it did not rain at the farmette last night or this morning. It rained to the north of us. Indeed, there were floods from an overabundance of rainfall. It rained in my daughter's place, just fifteen minutes away. But here, the landscape is parched and dry. Though not without flowers.

An incredibly long run for this day lily! And I see two more buds, so not done yet!






Then there are the rebloomers. Their first burst is toward the end of June, and now they're back, against all odds.






Hi Unfriendly! I know you're just shy, but still, you're awfully fearful for being so well cared for all your life.






Phlox and false sunflower...






Breakfast.





It's Friday, the day that I pick up just Snowdrop. As we chat about the weather, I mention to her that I've not been able to get corn from our local farmers, but that I can pick some up from Eugster's Farm -- the place where you can also visit some farm animals and where kids are especially welcome. Would she like to go there now?

Yes! Can Ats come too? (Snowdrop feels he needs a nickname. Ed tells her -- but ahah is already a nickname. No matter. She likes Ats. Fits with Gogs.)

It's a big deal outing for us, the isolated stay-at-homes, but. there is a threat of rain and it's early in the day and the end of summer. How many people are out looking for a goat petting experience?

Not many. Still, we put on masks. I don't have a child sized one for Snowdrop, but we make do. (And when it becomes clear that there's plenty of distance so that masks aren't totally necessary, Snowdrop wants to stick with it anyway.

Highlights? Let me put in a vote for the pigs. The little girl has been drawing pigs all summer. I'm going to like pigs.






And I liked the ducks. Waddle waddle...






But hands down, the favorites are the baby goats. You can look at them, touch them, feed them (with sterilized bottles, provided at the site). At first, Snowdrop is shy. They can pull on that bottle pretty fiercely! Eventually she relaxes.






Feeding the older sheep is another matter. She leaves that to me.







And Ed.






A final pet...






A final photo.






By the time we return to the farmhouse, it's the lunch hour. This is the little girl's last day alone with me and you can bet your sweet booties that I'm going to give her whatever food she wants. I give her the beloved peaches and strawberries to stave off a hunger attack and ask her about the main course.
Pizza! -- she says enthusiastically.

I didn't see it coming. None in the freezer. But wait: I just whipped up some pizza crusts this morning. I can do a homemade pie!







(Trying to ascertain if the half with mushrooms -- for Ed and me -- is bigger than the plain half)











She wants to do art then. Ah, this is tough. Likely our last art session. Over the years, watching her do pictures has been almost as good as listening to her tell stories. Possibly because her art work always does also come with a story. But lately, when it's just the two of us, she wants to add ornaments and details to my sketch. And I never do a good sketch, partly because I don't want to and partly because I'm not especially talented. Today, she wants to do the clothes for my "family of five." Okay.






All good until she decides a detail of her clothing addition just wont do. She crosses out the whole picture and looks at me to gauge my reaction. I smile and fold up her work and put it away. No admonition about wasting paper today. She grins, relieved.





I grin back. That's what you do when a child looks you in the eye and asks for support. You grin back.

On the ride home, we talk about the virus, the vaccine, science. Snowdrop grows excited. People are counting on science?? These years, when she doesn't want to be a dancer or an artist when she grows up, she wants to be a woman of science. That the world awaits, placing the greatest hope and confidence in good science thrills her.


Evening. Scramble eggs, steam some corn, cut up lettuce leaves. And try to keep that grin going.

Thursday - 167th

Ceremonies, tears, certificates.

Dry flower beds. This is when you seek inspiration in the pots. Pots of flowers, watered, thriving.


























Not to take away from the very last lilies: you've been great!











Calamintha, cornflower, sweet pea, all in a little blue vase from Turkey. Breakfast.







The last day of that unique dynamic, when both kids are here for Gaga's summer school.











Today, for the first time, Sparrow joins Snowdrop in the plant watering enterprise.























What's there to harvest? Well, there are the green beans. He has seen her eat them raw. He wants to like them. But you know, a raw bean has a bite to it. "Crunch," he says. And then hands me the remains.







She just eats them up as if they were potato chips.






Snowdrop finds the path I'd put into the Big Bed in early spring. You couldn't walk it in the thick of summer growth. Now -- no problem. (I hold Sparrow's hand and we follow.)






In the farmhouse: reading. A big shift here. At the beginning of summer, Snowdrop treated reading as something she had to study. It was work. Now, she is excited to apply her skills to books, any books, all books. She cant' yet read all the words in them, but she wants to see if she can give it a shot.






This is tough for the little guy. He wants us to play, together, like yesterday and the day before.

Eventually, we do. Puzzles, old pretend stuff. Hair clipping once more. And then Snowdrop wants to put on a dance show. The three of us take part in it. There is a lot of energetic movement.






Sparrow joins in, but he is just at that age when he understands that things aren't random, they have meaning, yet, he's not quite sure what that meaning might me.






Art distractions...











Time to go! Ahah, are you coming with us? Of course!





Graduation: Snowdrop spent nearly four years at her beloved school. She would have had a ceremony, an ending, closure, but you know, she, along with millions, billions of kids the world over, was robbed of that meaningful milestone. This summer, she had a weekly Zoom meeting with some new teachers and a handful of schoolmates. Everyone tried to make it fun. Missing were her friends, her own teachers, that special doll house where she and her BF squabbled over who should play which character. And then, it all ended, with barely a fizzle.

So her parents staged a graduation today. To give her the closure she needed. To recognize that she was transitioning to an exciting new place.











Congratulations!






Ice cream sundaes follow. I eat a lot of chocolate ice cream.

Just a few more minutes... with the kids.  She reads, he snuggles.






Grandkids. Yours, mine, you know how it all plays out. You know how beautiful their sweet souls are, how making do with Zoom and FaceTime is fine, really more than fine, but how you really are just counting the days until it can all be real time once more.



We leave. Ed and I do curbside errands. He needs parts to attempt a fix of the water heather. We need corn. There is no corn. Maybe on the weekend. It's going to be a short season this year. No rain. Lots of other unfortunate events all around us, but for our gardens and fields of produce, what stands out is the fact that there is no rain.