hot, continued

I am on the mailing lists of three farming families. They send newsy updates every week or so and last night I heard from them all. Their stories were uniformly grim: the wild weather this spring has really messed with the growing season. One weekend, a farmer sprayed water to keep his crops from freezing during that unexpected late coming of night frost and the next weekend he was spraying again, this time to help his crop weather the unusually high temperatures. And it's been in the 80sF and 90sF (upwards of 30C) ever since. With no rain. I read reports of crop failures and of necessary purchases of miles of drip hose. And there's no end in sight. The skies are clear, the air is hot. And so it shall continue.

On the upside, some plants do like (or at least tolerate) heat, and drip lines aren't prohibitively expensive (though putting them in properly is time consuming, which is why I don't use them). All is not lost. But it is a challenging spring.

Morning walk? Hot! This is what summer phlox looks like!

(The first sweat pea...)

Morning breakfast -- on the porch, but we're chasing the shade and we have the fan going.

 

 

 

Immediately after, the two older kids come over for a morning here. They're a little spooked by my message to them this weekend. I'd said "watch out for the deer flies." This is a necessary warning during the intense deer fly season because if you inadvertently allow a fly to follow you into the car, it can be a miserable ride for all. Luckily, our deer fly population seems to have gone down substantially (theirs is a short season), but still, every time something buzzed nearby, Snowdrop would ask in alarm -- is that a black fly? Sparrow seemed to take it in stride. Bug bites aren't firmly implanted in his three year old sensibilities.

Flies, or the threat of flies and the real hot air chase the kids inside. Oh, the safe cool haven of the farmhouse during a heat wave!

Toward lunchtime we pile into the car for the trip home. As I back out of the driveway, I hardly notice that the radio is on. It always comes on when I crank the engine. Who knows why. Anyway, there's some very lovely chamber music playing and I'm tempted to leave it on, but I hear protest from the back seat.

I don't like classical music. (This from Snowdrop.)

Why?

It's too sad.

Oh yes. It's so easy to be overwhelmed by something astonishingly beautiful, but of course, this is just a small chamber piece!  I wonder if she will change her mind once she begins seriously taking up a musical instrument.

Sparrow lightens the moment by chiming in with something silly and funny and we switch to discussing where we get our ideas for names.

In the afternoon, I have a visitor. A friend whom I have not seen for a while. Someone longtime Ocean reader might have known from the early years of blogging. We were a group of six bloggers and we would routinely get together over a meal, with lots of carefully prepared food, wonderfully paired wine and six laptops turned on to our common interest. We not only blogged, ate and drank together, some of us went so far as to travel together. I said -- come to Poland and they did.

He and his wife recently moved nearby and we discovered that we share a CSA now and so here we are, meeting up again, though without the computers or wines or even foods. Just stories. From all those years of navigating life as presidents came and went, grandchildren came and stayed, and a pandemic raged.

In the late afternoon, I turn on the hose. I have to. Up to now, I've only watered the new plants. This time, I include old ones as well. It has come to that. My pause from garden work was very short indeed.  

I don't care what the calendar says. Summer has surely arrived.

(Today, in our CSA veggie box)

inside

Would you believe that I spent 98% of the day indoors? Am I running from the heat? From the deer flies? Am I taking a gardening break since, you know, I'm caught up?

None of that. I have cooking and baking on my agenda for today. And both, last I checked, are inside activities.

So, a brief walk to check on the animals...

(Clematis, climbing the sheep shed...)

 

(the very last peony blooms...)

And a steamy breakfast on the porch...

And then I get to work. Why the added kitchen time? It's Sparrow's third birthday today and the young family is with us this evening to continue with his celebrations.

As I work in the kitchen, I think about being a second child. I'm one as well, though there was no third in my family. You could say that my upbringing has nothing in common with Sparrow's. I didn't even live in this country and on my third birthday, home for me was in the village with my grandparents (rather than in the city with my parents). Nonetheless, I know what it's like to be the "next in line." To have an older sister in school when you yourself are not yet there. To have her art outpace my scribbles.

Sparrow has a powerful sense of humor and he will not take the back seat during a meal time conversation, even though his stories can't stand up in content to those offered by everyone who is older at the table. But he doesn't give up. He just keeps on going and there is always a chuckle in him, which of course means that we all chuckle too.

So I think about this three year old as I first make the caramel sauce, then the cake layers and then the ganache for his birthday cake...

 

 

 

... and it strikes me that cakes in bakeries are way under priced because the labor involved is always so huge! Here I am, baking all day and it's just one cake and it's not even especially complicated, though I am once more trying a new recipe because with chocolate cakes you can never just settle for the one you did in the past, you always have to try someone's idea of THE best chocolate cake ever (this one comes from Tartine, though the sprinkles are a nod to a the boy who loves sprinkles).

The young family comes...

 

 

 

 

 

... and the heat drives us inside and now here we are, celebrating this little guy who happens to be both a younger brother and an older brother all at the same time and how remarkable is that!

And we linger and chat with the Chicago family... 

 

 

 

... and eat dinner and open presents... 

 

 

 

 

"Happy Birthday to you..."

 

 

"Happy Birthday to you..."

 

 

 

... and here's another thought I have on the subject of this day and birthdays in general: June celebrations are wonderful. 

 

 

 

Typically we are not in a drought with crazy hot temperatures, but even as we are riding this heat wave, I have to say, the nights do calm down a little and the grasses are still green and there is that promise of a garden about to bloom. And perhaps most importantly -- the days are so long! So that when the young family has left and the dishes are put away and even at this late hour, I have time to go out for a little ride on my scooter to review the day in my head with the breezes blowing and the animals sharing my space and the pungent aromas of a lush landscape hitting me from every side and yes, it feels so good!

 

 

 

(the last climb uphill back to the farmette)

Happy days, happy birthdays, happy moments. They don't just show up on your doorstep. You have to look for them and make space for them and it's like baking a cake -- it takes time and it's not easy, but oh so worth it. And the more you do it, the more adept you become.  Good cakes, happy birthdays, content moments. To be shared. With those you love.

flipped

My daughter sends a morning text: can we switch Snowdrop's farmette visit to this morning so that she can go swimming in the afternoon? Me, I'm full of weather information! I quickly respond: she is going to be disappointed! There will be storms all afternoon. 90% chance. She may as well come here then.

And once again Ed and I get to work early. I have some garden adjusting to do: transplant some flowers that will do better elsewhere. Weed, snip, take stock.

And pause for a late breakfast.

 

 

Immediately after, I return to work. To beat the rain. And it is hot. And the clouds move on. And I'm thinking -- if it's going to rain, then it will have to come from sapphire blue skies. There's not a cloud up there!

And so Snowdrop does go swimming and I continue to work until Ed says (three times) -- Nina, you have to come in from the sun occasionally. You'll get heat stroke!

Ed never urges me to do anything that's safer than what I'm doing and he rarely calls me Nina, so I know he is serious. But I can't come in! I want to put in this lily and divide that one and there are so many weeds in this bed and why don't I move that lavender plant...

And what June flowers are blooming now? Well, there's the ever lovely penstemon (you may know it by its common name -- beardtongue), this one called "Mission Bells."

Here's a cheat, because it's not really a June flower: Hemerocallis Primal Scream. Out of the 232 new perennials I planted this year, 80 were day lilies (aka Hemerocallis). It is an exercise in patience since the day lily hugely under-performs the first year in the ground. So often it will put out one or two early blooms and then call it a season. That's what's happening with this one:

 

Keeping me company: the two little pullets. Here's Cherry:

... now joined by Unie:

And by early evening, I catch up! With just about everything! Planting, dividing, deadheading, chipping, weeding. I do not have a to do list anymore. Weird to be looking at a blank slate!

Oh, I could walk the fields and always find another handful of weeds. Too, I'm sure I'll need to water later in the week. We had sunshine all day long. Not a drop of the predicted rain. But in the end, it's the deer flies that cause me to stop for the day. They aren't the worst we've ever had (so far!), but they are pretty annoying and I have many itchy bites to show for it. Hateful things. Luckily, their season is typically short. I'm hoping in a couple of weeks we'll see the end of them.

To celebrate the incredibly productive day, I take an evening scooter ride again. That cool breeze that comes with trotting along at 35 mph is heavenly and when you're scooting, there are no biting flies. Nothing but the views, the chat with animals encountered along the way, and good thoughts about the incredibly good fortune of being alive.

luck of the draw

This is all we talk about in our fleeting exchanges -- with the plant sellers, the farmers, even with each other: it's so hot and dry! Dusty, parched! We need the rain.

This morning I set to work right away. Carry those buckets of water to the meadow, dump some, too, on the new lilies, keep at it for a bit -- the plants need it. They're getting by, but they sure would be happy with a nice steady rain shower.

Still, there's stuff to admire in the farmette fields. Slowly the late spring flowers are opening up.

The first phlox paniculata is one such early bloomer. This native to North America is one of my favorites: the clumps of flowers are often fragrant, but even if you can't really pick out the scent, the look of a phlox is just enchanting, no matter what color you choose as your favorite. The first one here is always white. I have it throughout the gardens, one right by the path to the door.

The tiny dianthus is also blooming, if you can find it! (It gets a little overwhelmed by the bigger flowers in the yard.)

And of course, the campanulas (here, mixed with the white iris) are really lovely now. I don't plant many, but in June, I totally appreciate these gentle bells.

Breakfast. 

 

 

Quick, because I have a dentist appointment. One of those prophylactic ones where the technicians yell at you because according to them you never floss enough. I did enjoy checking in with my dentist -- we exchanged stories about predators. Bunnies eat his hostas. That's bad enough, but I could up that with my stories of raccoons that eat our chickens. [Yes, we identified the culprit last night. It's an unfortunate consequence of having the development nearby. We never had problems with raccoons before. Hawks, possum, skunks, coyotes -- all those are real threats, but raccoons were not in the mix until the buildings went up and the people moved in.]

My dentist happens to be close to where the young family lives. And so I pop in on them. Of course I do. So many kids to say hello to now!

(from youngest to oldest)

The two older ones are setting out with their sitter for their first swim in their neighborhood pool! First of the season and, too, a significant first, because last year the infection rates were too high to safely go to the pool at all. I am told that Snowdrop was in heaven in the water today. Sparrow had, of course, forgotten what "going to the pool" was all about, but I hear he got into the swing of things as well.

And because of their water play, I had to groan when I got home and climbed on to the tractor mower to mow down our paths: I felt the distinct drops of rain. By the time I was done mowing, the drops were multiplying rapidly and I even heard a distant rumble of thunder. 

We hadn't expected a rainfall and I put aside my drought concerns to shake my head at the timing! The kids were enjoying their first swim in the pool! How can it storm now!

But, as it happened, the rain was not widespread and Snowdrop and Sparrow were in a pool ten miles away from the farmette lands and that proved to be enough to keep them dry, even as we got a nice steady shower that amounted to about three fourths of an inch of water dumped on the flower fields (and elsewhere!). Like giddy kids, we left out cups to measure!

Well now, what an unexpected surprise!

 Meanwhile, down in Chicago, a little girl tells me (while slurping on a cool drink) that it was very hot!

 

And here's another pleasant surprise: earlier today, Ed worked over and spiffed up my scooter.

I missed those rural little scooter trips to catch a sunrise or sunset, or to check in on the cranes at dusk! I used to use the scooter to get to work, but of course I do not go to work anymore and if I am out and about, I typically am carting kids or driving with Ed, or lugging supplies. So the scooter collected dust and the battery gave out and so it stood, abandoned.

But tonight I went out on a quick scooter ride. Twice! It was good to see the fields wetted by the showers here. The air smelled so fresh, rinsed clean of the the heaviness that sets in with a drought. 

And as always, there were the encounters with friends. Sandhill cranes, deer...

And a more unusual one. Big. About two feet long.

I pause, wondering if I should move it away from the road. A guy, our neighbor of sorts (in rural areas distances are large so we've never met him before), comes out.

We've been watching her all afternoon. Waiting for her to lay her eggs. She's done it now.

Here? At the edge of the road?

She likes the gravel. She's tired now, but we'll make sure she gets down to the creek.

And what will happen to the eggs?

Oh, they'll hatch. Some of the babies will make it down to the creek as well.

Good thing I didn't move her myself. I was just getting up the courage to do it.

Oh, you need to be careful around her. She's a mean girl. She'd snap your fingers right off!

I wave and continue back. The sun has set now, but the sky is beautiful! On all sides of the road!

Lucky to have had the rain, lucky to have my fingers still attached to my hand, lucky in so many ways. 

With love.

hot

That one word says it all. Hot. You could add "dry" and then you'll have the complete package. Our day is built around this prolonged blast of desert like heat.

We are up early because we're still on edge about the lurking nocturnal predator. I know the orange cat has been hanging out here when it's dark (I see its tiger-like large form moving stealthily in the courtyard just before daybreak), but surely he can't be the one who snatched our young hen!

Today, though, the morning is calm. No sign of any disturbance in the barn. And since the morning air feels fairly pleasant in those early hours, I stay out and tend to the flower beds before even a thought of breakfast crosses my head.

What am I doing with the flowers now? Well, they need to be watered. Most of the established ones will get by without rain for a few weeks. But the new ones need help. I'm thinking it surely is unfortunate that I planted so many new ones in a year cursed by a drought. Between the 225 new perennials, the 67 trees and the 70 tomatoes, we have our work cut out for us!

In truth, I like watering plants. It's a chore that I find deeply satisfying. I imagine their dry roots gratefully filling with water, ready to grow, to deliver needed nutrients. I refresh one little one and move on to the next. Sometimes with the hose, sometimes with a watering can. As I've said before, it's meditative work.

Nonetheless, this year the typically satisfying task has been a challenge. I'm never done! I do two fields one day, and the third and fourth the next, and by the time I've cycled through the entire rotation, a week has passed and I need to go back to fields number one and two again. 

When is it going to rain?

(water drops from the hose, not from the sky)

(Unie with her unique cheek plumage)

(what's a peony without an ant...)

(Cherry, picking on my tub flowers)

(the two oldest ones...)

(Dance, keeping an eye on... everything!)

Sometime toward noon we pause for a very late breakfast.

 

And then I continue watering. All the way until it's time for me to drive over to the Flower Factory, where I've been cleaning them out of their last ancient day lilies. They're getting rid of all of them and I am just the sucker to bring some of these gorgeous flowers home.

In the late afternoon, I leave the garden and start in on dinner. The young family is here again, for the first time as a family of five.

(the middle child)

(the oldest)

(the youngest)

It's hard to think of Sandpiper as just less than two weeks old. It seems he's been around for a while!

We have the fan out on the porch, but no one's really complaining about the heat. I think the first weeks of this intense summer-like weather is a bit of a gift to winter chilled northerners. It's only after a week or two have passed that you begin to wonder if you've been cheated of a typically milder month of June.

Later, much later, I sit back and think about the summer before us. I'm sure it will speed by too quickly. It always does. For now though, I have grandkids in my days and a whole season of lilies to look forward to. How beautiful is that!