apples and oranges

I'm thinking that if I water the garden thoroughly, maybe it will rain. Doesn't it always work that way? You see the effect a drought has on plant life, you finally give in and work the hose over the flower fields, and then when you're done it rains. Either that or do a rain dance. Because, oh, do we need that rain! All of April goes by -- you know, the month of showers, and we get almost no rain.

And now, here we are, starting in on May, that stunning month that belongs in paintings that line museum walls, except that it doesn't feel like May at all. It is hot. A high of 86F, or 30C! Oh, not right away: the morning is still cool enough for a light sweater, but by noon the heat is on.

I'm up early. Animals to feed, chicks to take out, garden plants to inspect.

Breakfast, on the porch, just with Ed.

And then I go with the two young families to Eugster's farms. It's just about ten minutes up the road from the farmette and it is beloved by kids, especially in these last days of the lambing and kidding season. But here's something we didn't bargain for: it is a windy day! Really windy, with gusts up to to 40mph. Wind that blows hair in your face and sand in your eyes. Wind that disturbs every photo, every quiet moment with the young animals.

Surely it poses some challenges, but wee do not let the gusts of wind stand in the way of our fun. At Eugster's you can  feed, pet, admire, and even hold the animals. We do it all. Here's a mini album of our Eugster's farm adventure:

(Primrose meets a goat...)

(Sparrow is shy about lots of strange things, but when it comes to animals he is right there, with all hands on board.)

(this mama preferred to feed her own...)

(this is the last weekend where you can come and hold some of the baby animals, including the goats. They are getting to be large and wiggly!)

(goats with goats; you'd get this if you knew the nicknames that are tossed around between my two daughters...)

Lunch time. Where to eat? We head back to downtown Madison. The young family picks up pelmeni (Russian dumplings) at Paul's. It's a great day to have a picnic on the Capitol Square. Another mini album, this time of our last meal en famille. 

(the wind is so strong that we can easily and safely remove masks for a few minutes...)

(and this is when it starts to feel really warm... summer warm.)

And these are my last minutes with Primrose and her parents. They're returning home to Chicago and honestly, it's a good thing that I have to rush now to the "apples" part, because otherwise the sadness of missing them would creep in and take over the rest of the day.

 

So those were the "oranges." Now the apples: a while back I got an email from the Cider Farm guys with an invitation to visit their orchards. It's a promo thing they do each year: they offer you a tour of their beautiful hills of apple trees (when at least some of them are in bloom) and they talk a little about their business -- which is getting quite the reputation, at least in our neck of the woods. 

They grow apples for quality cider -- the kind that you'll find in Normandy or Brittany in France. Dry, with wonderful aromas of a variety of cider apples (I suppose I should refer to it as hard cider as it is alcoholic, except that the more appropriate term would be wine cider, as the apples are carefully selected and cultivated in much the same way that grapes are grown for fine wine). Too, they manufacture a Calvados-like apple brandy. I'm less interested in the brandy, but both Ed and I do love good ciders. We rarely drink them, but when we do, we're always happy to have done so.

And so I have for you a third mini album -- of our trip to the southernmost region of Wisconsin, where on the extremely wind slapped hills, Ed and I spend some time among apple trees, picnicking afterwards with a box of breads, cheeses and salamis provided by the Cider Farm people.

(Pink blossoms for pink apples for rose cider. Or is it cider rose?)

(picnic)

(Ed took this selfie and in his grasp of the camera, he pressed some color balance setting, creating a rather pink toned picture. I don't mind!)

And now we're home and it is so very quiet. Weirdly so. Except for the sound of that wind sending gusts up the farmette hill, stirring up trouble on parched, dusty fields around us, as the dry air stubbornly refuses to allow for any rain to come our way.

(Doesn't the landscape -- all blossomy and bonny and still a touch pink -- lead you to hum English folk tunes as you take in the heady scene of a blooming apple or pear tree? It does for me!)

Tomorrow -- water and dance for rains. And of course, pick up the planting again.

what a beautiful day to be with them all...

There is a song I made up several years back -- I sang it pushing a grandchild in a stroller. The lyrics ("what a beautiful day to be with ...") changed at different times, only to reflect the name of the child before me. 

This was the day to sing it again as I walked swinging the hands of one, often two young ones on this cool but brilliant, sunny day, the last day of April.

 

I'm going to do a post of family photos. Nothing more, but nothing less! It's a day that calls for it.  The Chicago young family is here for three days and we all want to soak in the magnificence of being together after nearly a year of being apart. So, twenty photos depicting this most splendid gathering, still with pandemic overtones (mostly masked, mostly outdoors), but we do not let that stand in our way. Let's start the album right after breakfast -- which was on the porch because it really was a bit nippy this morning, but Ed and I were nearly sweating from a rush farmhouse cleanup in anticipation of family arrivals...

 

We launch our time together with a trip to the zoo. And not just to see the animals. There is the merry-go-round, though Sparrow prefers to sit it out...

... while Primrose happily rides in a carriage with her mom (and later on an up and down animal, having figured out that that is where the thrills are).

Snowdrop is happy to be left riding her favorite each time: the koala.

Next, a few of the animals. A very close encounter with a very energetic polar bear.

Walking toward the playground: two girls having a wonderful cousin moment.

Here's a photo with the whole lot of them, minus the men in our family. Well, except for Sparrow.

One more, of Snowdrop and Primrose.

Now they are on the playground structure. And the swings. And the rest of the stuff that so grabs the kids.

From there to the farmhouse porch. We're keeping to the outdoors. Do note the birthday presents from the Chicago bunch. My birthday does not end at midnight of April 21st! A memorable moment: when the three kids (and only them) sang happy birthday to me.

It's not all porch time. Just before lunch (well, that meal is in fact on the porch), we open up the sand box...

And, too, there is time in the magic meadow.

Yep, the two locals share the idea of making announcements from the front steps with their cousin.

(happy guy)

In the afternoon, Primrose gets to spend a tiny bit of time inside the house. The cousins aren't around at the moment. She is just after her nap, happy as anything to rediscover farmhouse treasures, including Gerald and Piggie.

Okay, back on the porch. My younger daughter has picked some farmette wildflowers and she is showing these two how to do a flower press. With ferns picked by Primrose and Snowdrop.

Lots of art done before dinner. Lots of smiles and funny moments too.

Including a robust tickling session.

 

And eventually, dinner. I'm not cooking this time. We do a pub take out just so that I can be here, with them, rather than inside, stirring stuff in pots.

The day ends. But not the memories. Sacred stuff. We all love our families and we are going through some really tough times and we all want sweet and awesome "normal" to be with us again. If we are lucky, we will get there, one vaccinated step at a time. In the meantime, we have this: a spring of joy, outdoors, together, though still mostly with masks, but hey, together, in sunshine, among blooming flowers, so very happy to have this much. So very very happy!

A beautiful day to be with them all...

primal scream

In all my careful ordering and planing and listing and mapping of plants this year, I made a couple of errors. For example, today, after a sort of leisurely (but not really leisurely) breakfast...

 

 

 

... I sneaked in a few hours of planting (23 plants, so not too bad!). It was that or scrub the house. At the last minute I let the house go and went for the shovel. One of the plants that was to go in right next to a path (so a place of honor!) was a day lily with the name of Primal Scream. But I couldn't find it in my carefully laid out collection. Did they forget to send it? Or did I mistakenly place it somewhere else? I called White Flower Farm and she waited for me to say  "it was your fault," but instead I said "it may have been my fault, I don't know!" The people there are very nice. I've been buying from them for well over thirty years and they are always very patient with me. 

In the end I decided that it wasn't fair to ask them for a replacement, but so long as I had them on the phone, I ordered the last three lilium they had for the year. And also the missing Primal Scream. And then I wondered -- can primal scream be a positive shout out, or is it always somewhat tinged with horror?

I think it can be a scream of exuberance, touched with perhaps an overflow of activity. That would describe my days now, because in addition to the planting and my mother and the forest and the chicks and everything else that has been filling my waking hours, I have (today!) the arrival of my younger girl and her family for a quick visit. And I should correct that: it's not "in addition to," but rather -- the main attraction!

And we have good weather for outdoor play and outdoor meals, which is important because we're mixing two households where the kids aren't vaccinated and some adults aren't 100% finished with the vaccinations, so we will be doing most everything in the fresh air. Masked where possible.

Who can complain -- this weekend, the crabs are launching their beautiful display.

(One could argue that the peach trees are even prettier, but I don't engage in such comparisons!)

In the afternoon, I still pick up Snowdrop and she still does come to the farmhouse for some books, snacks and play...

...But by 4:30 we (and this includes Ed) are back at Snowdrop's home. The Chicago family has arrived.

(unmasked for this photo, but maintaining distance on this suddenly windy and cool-ish evening)

I can write nothing more  -- it's all a blur of play, of food, of rainbows.

And tomorrow, it will continue thus. I could let out a primal scream of enthusiastic gratitude!

it's not a race...

Planting is, in many ways, the final frosting in establishing a new flower field. Clearing a space, digging up weeds, rocks and chunks of clay soil, bringing in compost, then a thick layer of mulching chips -- those are tough jobs. Putting an infant plant into a newly created space is the joyous denouement. 

So why am I in such a hurry to get this last beautiful job done? Why work so hard every day? Like today: from right after breakfast...

 

... without pause, until it was time toward evening to talk to my friends on Zoom.

I suppose nearly every weird thing that we do today can be linked in some ways to the pandemic. Me, I got overambitious. Winter was dragging. Spring would be offering us so much hope! The heart swelled and the plans for my gardens grew bigger and more detailed. I envisioned huge new flower fields created out of a mess of weedy terrain. I couldn't wait to get started.

And the plants arrived and if you know nursery plants, they should go into the ground pretty quickly. Put them in right after the threat of a hard frost is behind you. We were given heavenly planting weather this past week: I got to work.

Today -- 33 new babies went into the ground. 

I did think I'd have an easier time of it with some of them, but the soil isn't uniformly good in the new fields so I have to haul in some more composted material to loosen up the clay. Everything is so damn dry (it has to be the driest April ever in Madison!), that digging isn't always easy. 

Still, I'm happy with the progress. And of course, there is joy in working next to a blooming peach tree or crab apple.

The emerging pink in the gently greening tree is just so beautiful right now.

But I am spent. After my Zoom call, Ed went biking and I ventured out to my first dinner with (vaccinated) friends since the pandemic ripped our social fabric to shreds over a year ago. And now I am home and munching on pop corn and thinking that perhaps it's a good thing that I will be giving my gardening a rest for the next three days. We have some family activities scheduled. The rest of the baby plants will have to wait. And they can wait. This isn't a race: a leisurely trot or perhaps even a gentle meander to the end of flower planting is fine way to garden.