in the heat of the day

What does it say about us hardened northerners that when the temps reach the mid seventies F (about 24C) it feels hot? Short sleeves, no jacket, not even a sweater on my morning walk.

(the colors of May!)

(the final round of tulips)

 

 

 

And a lovely breakfast out on the porch because it offers plenty of northern exposure shade.

But immediately afterwards, we go out back to continue with the tree planting. We're finishing on the pecans and starting in on the English walnuts. Both tree types require sunlight and so we work out in full sunshine.

And it feels hot. 

We mow down another row of prairie and prairie invasives and the soil feels stubborn, and the roots of weeds that took over this once farm pasture land are deep, and the work is hard enough for Ed to say -- I hope that at least fifty percent of these trees make it. It's a lot of work for them all to fail.

Why should they fail? - I ask, more out of defiance rather than curiosity.

Who knows if these young roots can compete with the aggressive stuff that's growing there now. 

But these trees sprout and do fine in forests, where they have to compete with other trees! I say this again daring them to fail on us. "You do well in a forest, can't you managed a weed infested prairie?" The fact is, we don't know.

In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop at school. There are only ten days left of classroom instruction. It's funny to think in terms of vacation -- it's been such a strange school year!

Is it too hot for her as well? She is so in love with her cotton cardigans. More clouds roll in...

 

 

But I had been feeling toasty, so I had decided to clean out the small baby wading pool I have had for her since she was a one year old. As the summer season unfolds, this small nothing will have little to offer for her. But since it's the first time that I've filled it with water (hoping the hose water would warm up by the time she came here), her joy at seeing it (and the handful of the cheap color faded toys that I threw in with it when she was just a toddler) is immense!

Yes, of course she wants to play in it! cardigan comes off, swimsuit comes on.

(The young chicks wonder -- what is this now? Something for us??)

(Splashing Gogs is a must...)

Evening. 

 

 

 

Ed and I had planted only three trees this morning. Time to return to the fields. The sun is low, the fragrance of sprouting plant life is everywhere. But we turn our backs on the trees for now. We have to get going on the tomatoes. Thirty two plants planted tonight, a similar sized batch tomorrow.

 

 

 

It is there, out in the tomato field that I pick up a call from Primrose. 

 

 

She ends the day for us, in that nothing else that follows is either memorable or significant. The night brings in cool air. We have no more tax forms to fill out (they were all due today!). Just trees to plant. Still lots of trees to plant.

is it Sunday?

If the goal of a Sunday is to take it easy, then Ed and I failed miserably. We again spent half the night on taxes -- me learning how to file corrected returns, Ed plodding along with his own paperwork -- and we again spent the entire morning and most of the afternoon on the farmette tree project.

It's a warm and pretty day for it. 

 

 

 

I do still have flower work ahead of me and Ed has said that we really have to start putting the tomatoes into the ground, but all this is put on hold: we need to plant the bare root trees (more like pencil twigs at this point) before they start to bud. The goal is to do at least ten a day. Yesterday, Ed caught us up on his own, but today, after breakfast...

... we both go out and get to work. We put in a few maples, then switch to chestnuts, and still in the sunny stretch of land -- finish off with a handful of pecans. 

It takes time. Once again I stop before we reach the magic number of ten. I switch to dinner prep because the young family is here this evening and honestly, these are the last minutes of a life as a family of four for them. In a few days, life will get more complicated, in as much a newborn complicates routines for a bit before a new rhythm is found.

Before we sit down to dinner, we have a few moments of play. It is the perfect day for it -- not too warm, not too cold, not yet buggy. I mowed some paths earlier in the day so that the kids can go further afield. And of course, we visit the newly planted trees.

Dinner.

 

And afterwards? Well, we return to the tree planting, working past sunset to get the last three into the ground. So no couch time, no sip a cool drink outside time, no slow paced time at all. But you know, we did occasionally pause and listen to the birdsong. In the evening, the sandhills came to the edge of farmette lands as well and Ed looked around and said -- we should have done this tree project fifteen years ago: this is such a good place for trees!  Yes it is. And I'm glad we pushed ourselves to finally do it this year.

showers

Oh, the unpredictability of scattered showers! If you look at the little weather chart on your device, you'll get drawn into believing that those percentages actually tell you something: At 10 a.m. there is a 40% chance of showers. At 1 it goes down to 12%. But by 4, it's 35%. Why do we buy into this? Showers spring up like pop corn -- randomly, in one place but not another. They'll try their damnedest to fool you! No, not coming your way. And then boom! The drizzle starts.

Mind you, we could use rain. A steady one. A good soak of all those thirsty roots. But this cold weather fleeting drizzle (thankfully only a day of it) is just a nuisance!

But, we start the day with no rain. Lookin' good out there!

(Still a lilac moment...)

Ed wants to get started with the tree planting right away. No way! Breakfast first.

And of course, life gets in the way immediately after: I need to tidy, clear, feed, put away, pick up asparagus -- I mean, a morning is never totally clear. Well, for Ed it may be. He works according to his own schedule, avoiding most dictates that the world may wish to impose on him.

Finally. We set out to the back of the barn. But how do we even begin? Setting up a step-by-step plan of attack is half the struggle.

Alright, I think we've got one! Here it is:

Mow down parallel rows. 

Till a square spot every 25 feet on each row. 

Dig out a hole. 

Bring in composted dirt. 

Put in the tree. 

Bury it with compost and clay mix. 

Cover it all with a tarp. 

Nail down the tarp. 

Put up the cage. 

Wire it to the ground nails. 

Voila! All that for each tree, so seventy times.

By noon, we have put in three trees.

 

 

 

And then, just as a drizzle moves into the area (completely by surprise of course), I have to stop. I'm off to a planned and predicted shower -- for my daughter, given by some of her friends.

The shower is outdoors and though I am absolutely sure that all adults there were fully vaccinated, we were still mostly in masks (well, not for the photo). Some kids were present, so it's good not to completely go hog wild just yet.

It was, despite the cold and the frequent spontaneous drizzle, a lovely afternoon. My daughter, whom we would all place high on the extrovert scale, has had (because of her work) an ungodly amount of zoom meetings this past year and almost no real face to face time with anyone and I know she has missed these guys (well, mostly women) terribly. Colleagues, school friends, book club friends, family. They make up her world and today, just ten days before the expected arrival of her third child, she got some of it back again. (Far away friends and family participated by Zoom, but we integrated them well I think, with some clever games that used the talents and recollections of all.)

In the late afternoon I am back at the farmhouse and my first goal is to dry off and warm up. Ed asks -- you want to plant some more trees?

No, I do not. Tomorrow, we can plunge into putting in more trees. Today -- I'm turning my back to the threat of showers. A nice tea with a stolen cupcake from the planned shower. That's my idea of a perfect late afternoon. 

Evening. He does taxes, I do taxes. And in doing my mom's, I realize I omitted something in mine. Outcomes the X form, amending my omission. Gotta now do this one too. It's not only just late by the time we sit down to dinner -- it's stupidly late. Like maybe around 10. Take-out sushi, because it's the only place we know of around here that delivers. Rain, snow, sleet, late night, wet night, tax night. They will deliver.

taking care

I would like to believe that ultimately, we are destined to take care of each other. That aberrations in this regard are flukes, based on temporary strays down wrong paths and eventually we default to concern for others in our behavior. 

I would also like to believe that we care for all living things, and distraction rather than selfishness leads us sometimes to act with vindictiveness or indifference to the plight of flora and fauna with which we coexist.

I would also like to believe that if you care about people, animals, plants, they do better, you do better and we reach a sweeter place in life, thriving rather than wilting, withering, disintegrating into a heap of rubbish.

I thought about this yesterday as I surveyed about half a dozen sick day lilies in my yard. Day lilies that received my utmost attention: proper care, even deadheading religiously each spent flower, promoting more vigorous growth. I read on the internet that they are likely infected and they pose a danger to the rest of the lilies in the yard. And yes, I have hundreds of day lilies here, in the farmette flower fields.

Last night I did several things: Ed and I stayed up until some late night hour (or was it early Friday morning?) starting in on our taxes (due on Monday). I have mine and my mom's to do and the process is always tedious and time consuming. My tax work was interspersed with an online search for Mom furniture and for sick lily remedies. The lily news I picked up was not good. The verdict appeared to be a fungus infestation and treating them requires frequent applications of a fungicide that may poison who knows what in the area. Or I can dig them out and burn them (or throw them in a sealed bag in the trash). Otherwise, the spread of the fungus may take away even more lilies.

This morning then, after the walk (and after Ed puts out the tomatoes for the day)...

And after breakfast...

I take stock of the sick lilies. And I can't get myself to toss them. I call Oakes, my favorite day lily farm. I talk to the woman in charge there and she tells me to forget about what I read on the internet. The day lilies may be stressed from the heaving weather we've had here in Wisconsin, but they are not dying from any fungus. Take down the bad leaves (which in a couple of cases means take down most of the leaves) and leave them alone. They will rebound once the weather stabilizes. And so yet again I come to this same old conclusion that seems to evade us so often: be careful in accepting at face value anything you may read on the internet. Right? You think you're a seasoned researcher, but you're not. Watch your sources and the application of facts to your particular reality. Wisconsin is not a place where day lily fungus thrives.

In the meantime, Ed, groggy from lack of sleep (he wears tiredness right there on his sleeve), slogs out to the farmette lands which are soon to be converted to a forest. He is still pruning, mowing and clearing the land. I'd say 90% of the job is done, in that we can start planting when the trees arrive. Still, I hear that power saw going back there so we are not totally out of the woods (ha!) yet.

In the meantime, it is a lovely day -- ravishingly beautiful. May beautiful. In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop. 

(watering the lilac...)

 

 

I have to say, if Snowdrop was to pick one color (and outfit) to wear again and again this spring, she chose well for this brilliant month! Blues in the fields of lemon green and yellow dandelions... Colors of a painting.

We walk to the field which is to become the young farmette forest.

She is especially exploratory today. I can keep up, but just barely!

As I get ready to take her home, Ed asks me -- you want to plant trees when you get back?

But, but, the taxes! Dinner! Everything else on this planet!

Still, the trees have arrived. We're set to start digging. Tomorrow. Tonight? A sweet moment with Primrose...

... then a work night, to make progress with "everything else on this planet."

those little white flower heads

When I was young, I could not get enough of that lily-of-the-valley smell! In Poland, bunches of these flowers with their stiff green leaves and dainty white blossoms appeared on street corner flower stands. Old women would bring them in from the countryside and sell them to you for small change. I thought the scent was incredible! So much so that I rushed to buy some muguet des bois perfume when I first spotted it as a young adult, only to be deeply disappointed. Perfume, even with that familiar fresh scent, cannot take the place of the real thing. Bringing a flower to your face is heaven. Spraying scented water on yourself may be pleasant, but it's not heaven.

It was no surprise that when I first moved to a house with a shady space for a garden, putting in some lilies of the valley was a priority. What a mistake! These flowers are harbingers of a beautiful growing season, but they are also extremely invasive. They will find their way from one side of your garden to the next, creeping between dense grasses and vines to get there. 

Still, the farmette lands are vast enough that there is room for them here and though I myself did not plant them, they have been growing abundantly in several shady spots. Picking them for the table is always such a joy!

(I do this right after my morning walk.)

(There, lilies at the breakfast table.)

Sparrow comes over right after the morning meal.  

 

 

 

I lead him to the most fragrant corners of the garden and encourage him to smell a lilac stem. 

"Yuk," he tells me. The little guy is a huge tease. He knows how to get your attention!

After I take him home, I spend some time at my mom's place again. She needs adjustments to just about everything. Her medication regiment. Her furniture. Her food supplies. We sort through some of this stuff today.

Afternoon: I should work on my outdoor flower beds. Tomorrow the trees are coming and Ed will really need my help with those. But I need a pause. And I get one! A Zoom call with my Polish friend is like a coffee date in Cafe Finca, only without the coffee and without the El Salvadorian ambience. 

The day goes by way too quickly. I do get some outdoor work done, but I find myself looking up at one point and wondering how on earth it could be dinner time already. 

 

 

 

Never mind. Dinner can be late. Indeed, dinner can be very very late. Mid spring allows you to jiggle the clock a little. To move things around so that you can enjoy every warm weather minute of the day outside.

the scent of May

It's a beautiful day! Stunning, in the way that only May can be -- fresh, vibrant, sunny, fragrant.

It's that last trait that so often gets lost in our recollections and memories of beautiful moments. It's hard to think or write about fragrance. And yet, it matters so much! That whiff of a lily of the valley, or of a lilac branch -- how do you describe its delicate sweetness? Snowdrop always wants to bend down and put her nose to a flower. To her, the flower has an impact only if the eyes and nose work together to create something magical.

I get it. That delicate scent of an apple blossom creates something unusual and magnificent when coupled with the image of those lightly dancing flowers on our trees. 

And what can I say... the heady fragrance of lilacs is like something out of a fairy tale. You could never get enough of it!

Big purple clumps of lilac scent!

(I bring some to the breakfast table. On the porch, finally!)

It's a yard work day for me. I've planted most everything that's newly coming into the garden, but the old stuff, now nearly halfway there toward its seasonal maturity, needs adjusting.  I can see where plants would benefit from being moved and so I move them. Dig, transplant. I do a lot of that today.

And in the late afternoon, Ed goes on his bike ride and I head out probably for the ast time this year to the greenhouse. I need just a couple of replacements for the tubs. Cats and chickens conspired to bring down several baby plants. They need to be replaced. You gotta love those cheepers! All claws and very little brain power.

(And the little girls... under the lilac..)

Evening: Ed is wiped after his bike ride, I'm spent from a whole day of outdoor work. Well matched for once! He naps, I sip a glass of Bergerac white after a day well spent!