second day of summer

Did you know that we said goodbye to spring this past Saturday?

It's summertime. For us weary and battered northerners, it could not come soon enough. Hello, second day of summer!

Wisconsinites were lucky last night: the heavy and violent storms passed us by. We had a trace of rain, maybe one eight of an inch by our measure, but none of the tornado activity that damaged homes south of us. And today, we have a most unusual (for this time of the year) day: brilliant sunshine, gusty winds, and significantly cooler air. I took out a light sweater this morning!

In other words, it's a beautiful start to summer.

My flower beds are budding, but most of the active flowering is a few days off. I look at pockets of blooms rather than fields of color.

Still, on a day like this, everything is lush and gorgeous anyway (in my view)!

 

Breakfast is probably as good as it gets: the peaches, the flowers, the cool sunshine!

Soon after, a guy who owns some farming equipment comes over to talk about prepping the new forest land for us. The goal is to take out (as much as possible) the noxious weeds - the thistle, the honeysuckle, the wild parsnip, the quack grass -- and put in.... something! Honestly, Ed has not yet read enough, talked to enough experts, or thought enough to decide what should go in its stead. I have some solid ideas, but they're whimsical. To repeat the obvious: we have different decision making styles.

John, the farmer with the machinery, comes with what to me are the most perfect words: he surveys my flower fields and says -- now that's a labor of love.

Yes it is. I want to hire this guy! (I will not think about the fact that most of John's customers are guys setting up food plots for deer. The motto here would be "prepare now for a successful hunt tomorrow!")

Now, can we get going on creating something as beautiful out back? 

[We have another farmer offering similar services, but he's not likely to want to do the work for us ever since he found out that his dog is the dog that bit Ed during a bike ride along the rural roads last year. Ed called the police and the guy was slapped with a fine. It's a small world.]

But, for Ed it's all in the process and the process grinds slowly forward. I leave him to talk to John about soils and machinery and weeds and seeds and the mechanics of going forward... 

 

 

... and I walk over to my current slice of heaven, the meadow in the new orchard. 

It's taken a while to establish itself, but this year, I finally do see the results and they are, to me, magical.

And so, as I wait for decisions on the new forest land, and I wait for the blooms in the flower beds, I spend my time here, among the rudbeckia and linum and fruit trees. Oh, the cherries need to be picked! 

Toward noon, Ed and I take a walk in our county park. We're a little too focused on what's happening with their prairie: we see slumped invasives, sprayed with herbicide. Is that what it takes to keep a flowering field going? Is Canadian Thistle going to be our enemy for life?

As we crisscross the fields, we pay attention to the birds, the views, the magnificent weather!

And as we take a detour into another portion of the park, we spend a good amount of time watching these dragonflies:

It appears that the two are in a courtship dance. It's mesmerizing, really it is. Ed says -- I can't believe you're not making a video of it. 

Oh, that takes me back! Some ten years ago, he and I were in France, watching a dragon fly show over some waters of a stream or a pond and he said the very same thing. I can't believe you're not making a video.

Is this a sign?

In the past 16 months, I spent four nights in Chicago and one night at my daughter's house (when she was giving birth in the local hospital). Otherwise, I have cooked, showered, slept at home. I should be planning a return trip across the ocean. It's time I unfroze myself, before the cold air sets in again and people are sneezing and coughing on airplanes once more. I have been waiting until I feel normal about travel, but I'm realizing that I wont ever feel totally normal about travel. Which doesn't mean I should not get on that plane and get going. As I talk to Ed about this, he repeats himself, with the same defiant statement: I like what's here.

Well so do I. More than ever. But to better understand what's good about here, I have to go elsewhere. But where? I'll be thinking about it for the next few days.

summer solstice

So is it going to be quick and dirty, with immediate results, or slow and contemplative, with a gradual improvement? When you ask it that way, it seems obvious that the latter path is the one to take. Defer gratification, enjoy the journey.

But today, I opted for the quick and dirty.

The day began early and with many phone calls. One of those things that one has to iron out when there is a hiccup in the health of one's parent. I did not work in the yard before breakfast and that's okay. The flower beds can stand a short period of neglect.

(small corner of Big Bed)

The day will have rain and possibly storms and so I anticipate more time inside than outside. But breakfast is on the porch. Late but lovely. With perfect peaches and day old berries (so they are perfect minus a day!).

And now comes the fork in the road. Ed is off helping a friend acquire a broken motorbike. Don't ask. It's the type of project Ed would wrap himself in, because the friend is enthusiastic and the outcome may eventually be a good one and a piece of machinery is salvaged from someone's dump pile. 

Initially I sit down on the porch and speed read my mystery book. The last four chapters are always the best: like a delicious finale to a grand meal. Ed is in and out, trying to decide how to go about fixing the wreck of the motor. I'm done reading and I pull him away for a minute to ask if we are ever going to take out the incredible weeds in the remains of the raspberry patch. 

We walk over and take a look at how bad things look. 

Pretty bad. Vines, black walnuts, weeds of incredible proportions, smothering the raspberry canes. It's not as if the canes will ever produce edible fruit. They do not have much (any?) sunlight and we haven't harvested a decent berry here for years. Still, the weediness of the place is frightening.

I should not be surprised then that in the end, Ed agrees that we should mow the whole patch down. 

I'll do it later -- he tells me.

Well, once I stepped into the thick of that mess, I could not let it go. And so when Ed went off to deal with the motorcycle, I take out the tractor mower and plunge into the patch. And I continue, mowing down other horribly weedy farmette areas. And I mow. And mow. And I have to say, I dislike mowing immensely because the bumpy tractor ride makes me totally sick. My insides heave and my head spins from the noise (Ed wears noise canceling ear muffs but somehow that feels weird to me, so I don't bother). But I just want that quick result! The gratification of taking out weeds (including not a small amount of wild parsnip) from swaths of farmette lands is there before me.

It begins to rain an hour into my mowing craziness and so eventually I have to stop. I am grateful for that rain. I'm sure otherwise I'd be out there still, taking down all that needs to be taken down, even if we can't yet figure out what to do with cleared uncultivated land. Keep mowing it? That's no solution! Plant something to outcompete the weeds? Sure, but what?

The rain is slow and gentle. I brew a cup of delicious coffee and return to the contemplative path. Really, it makes more sense to enjoy the journey and not rush to the end post. The burst of ferocious energy that has you rush to get things done is best left for those days when you have a spa moment waiting at the end of the day. Or at least a glass of Cava and a piece of fine chocolate. Wait! Day's not done! There's still time for that! 

But first, dinner with the young family! With predinner play.

Hey! Happy Father's Day! (To the two best-in-the-world sons-in-law!)

Dinner!

And later, much later, I pour myself that glass of Cava, take out a bar of dark chocolate with bits of orange peel, and think back to the day, the week, the year. 

Happy summer solstice to all you northerners!

With love.

can't deal with perfection

Flawed is good. You eat an apple that's a touch sour and you think -- well now, that wasn't so great. Maybe the next one will be better. Or, I saw a lily put out her first bloom yesterday and I took a photo of it. Meh. Looking at the picture later, I noticed a few weeds at the base. And the lily leaves weren't nearly lush enough. Not great at all. Will try again the next day!

But then comes along a perfect peach (proclaimed to be that by Ed) and you eat it, and the juice and texture are just right, and it's sublime, and you think -- it's gotta be downhill after this one. I had the best. You can't improve on it and you're not likely to repeat it after this batch.

(Morning walk reveals a good sweet pea growth, a lovely little poppy, and one day lily that actually does belong to the older generation so that the leaves are beautifully mature. Note how subtle the colors of a lily bloom can be! Is it white with a green throat, maybe with a touch of peach and a streak of gold?)

Breakfast, with that perfect peach.

And a pretty perfect breakfast companion!
 

I have mentioned that we are receiving CSA boxes of veggies from Tipi Produce. I love these farmers! The quality is there, the effort is obvious, the newsletters are super interesting. And in June, they add strawberries to the box. Moreover, they invite CSA members for an hour or two of berry picking. You sign up for a designated time slot and pick a small section of a berry row.

I signed up. And I took the young family (or three fifths of them) with me.

(Heading for the fields)

I have been berry picking lots of times. It's what you do when you have kids and then grandkids: you teach them about berries and you let them experience the joy of popping fruit, still warm from the sun, into your mouth. But it's not always 100% fun. The berry u-picks are vast and there is almost always a good bit of walking. And it can be buggy. And hot. And the berries vary. Sometimes they're okay, other times they're really average. Bulk seems to be the main point: people walk away with full boxes of berries. Probably for jam making and pie baking. 

Not so at Tipi's.

Their berries -- at least the ones we picked (they do grow several varieties) are magnificent.

I mean, over the top. So that even the reluctant fruit eater popped a few into his mouth.

Snowdrop was a pro, not once complaining about the thistle that does invade the berry plot.

The sun was warm, but not hot in the morning. We surely were lucky there!

The perfect berries I picked came home with me (the young family took their share home with them) and now I am left with the dilemma. Just put them in the fridge and eat them? (They're organic and straw keeps them from getting sandy so they don't need to be washed!) And then go back to store bought berries? After eating these perfect ones, picked just minutes ago?

Snowdrop stayed at the farmhouse after berry picking and I offered her a peach, and she, too, proclaimed the peach to be just grand. 

 

 

 

This is after she devoured an orange and a mango. On top of all those berries. I refrained from offering her cherries. We haven't finished picking them, but even I think that there is such a thing as too much fruit in one day. Maybe.

 

And dinner? I'm back to making pizza. Must use all that fresh early summer basil in the garden! At least that sweet herb is not perfect. It's just basil.

(before)

(after)

two inches

Oh, the storms raged at night! Flashes, bangs and a steady rain, lasting at least an hour. I thought about the fragile stems of young flowers and wondered if I should have built more supports in preparation for a downpour. But mostly, I felt a sense of relief. This year's drought is by no means a thing of the past, but the night's rainfall surely helped bring us a tiny bit closer to normal.

In the morning, the first thing I do is measure our various containers to see what the actual rainfall had been.

Two inches! Yay!

And after feeding the animals, I clip some fallen phlox (they were done for the year anyway) and I pound in more solid stakes for the delphinium and lilium.

Looking good!

Breakfast on the porch: it's all about strawberries now. Our local ones are delicious but fragile. Eat them right away, or lose the essence of a lovely berry.

They are impressively good this year!

And here's something I do not have to do today: water the gardens! We're good for a week, I should think. (A happy garden receives about an inch and a half of rain per week.) And so I suggest to Ed a hike. How about a reconnect with the prairies and forests of the Brooklyn Wildlife Area? 

 

 

The weather is good for it: the temps are climbing up again, but there is a breeze. And besides, the trails are mostly forested.

It is unfortunately just a little bit buggy. We're fighting with the deer flies. Nothing that a hand wave or swat can't tame, but still, I am reminded that at this time of the year, it's hard to find a trail anywhere in Wisconsin where you're not going to be sharing space with either flies or mosquitoes. One pleasant side effect of a drought has been that we have yet to get the summer influx of mosquitoes. But black flies, horse flies, deer flies -- call them what you want -- they have stuck around the woodsy areas for most of spring.

But it's a beautiful walk nonetheless. 

 

 

 

The views from the top of the hill let you take in the truly special landscape of this region. From here, you can reflect on everything and anything. It's that kind of a corner. Shaded, or dappled with sunshine. Pick your favorite and exhale.

At home again, we get our first box of peaches. This is one of those post-pandemic carryovers. Last year's "order everything, because we can't go to stores" has had an impact: I continue to not go to the grocery store and I once again ordered peaches on line, even though I am surely capable of safely entering a store that sells peaches.   (Ripening on the counter, along with some avocados and mangoes.)

If you love fruits and veggies then this is your month: everything is abundant, fresh from the vine or tree or bush, aromatic and beautiful. 

In the meantime, guess what! There's more work to be done outside. A wasp nest to remove from the sandbox (Ed! Help me out here!), two lilies to transplant, lots of weeds to pull! 

 

 

 

But, the soil is moist, the plants have renewed vigor, the day is solidly beautiful and by evening, the fireflies are out en masse. How good is that?!

too hot for words

We moved slowly from a pleasant, summer-like morning too a hot and humid afternoon. There is a menacing storm brewing to the west and I just want to say for the record that I am very careful in what I wish for: I do not want a night of strong winds and damaging golf-sized hail. I want a sustained rainfall. So please, let's have a night of wetness without craziness out there.

It is fortuitous that the two older kids are here during the best hours of the day. The cherry tree with the golden cherries is in its peak moment right now. Snowdrop loves these cherries best and though Sparrow, consistent with his "I prefer to eat no plants" policy, really doesn't adore any cherry, still, I want him to experience the joy of climbing a ladder and plucking the fruit right from the tree. This morning is perfect for it.

But first, my morning rounds. I check on the flowers and yes, the ones I watered have perked up a little (you know that things are okay when even the pansies -- planted for the cold spring and not for the heat of the summer -- are standing upright).

I see another bloom among the newly planted day lilies. You cannot expect much from this flower in its first season and indeed, though you may see a handful of blooms, they will come early and they will be on tiny, immature plants. It always seems a little funny to see a big head on a little plant. Still, the color is just lovely!

I try not to look at fields and flowers that are in need of water. I'm banking on the rains tonight, so I'm not taking out the hose for them. Still, things look pretty dry in many places around the farmette. May that change overnight!

Breakfast, on the porch. With Dance.

The kids come here right after. Sparrow is always just a touch apprehensive when you suggest something new and he has no recollection of cherry picking a year ago. No surprise there: he had just turned two and climbing ladders was a bit too ambitious then.

Snowdrop first checks in with her tree...

... and then it's off to the young orchard. She goes straight for the ladder, he follows.

She wants to reach every cherry. 

He wants to climb too! The ladder, now that's fun! (Like a young cat, he is confident about going up, less so coming down.)

Picking cherries is okay as well. Eating them? Well, he gives it a try, pit and all.

But, somewhat predictably, one cherry, partly consumed is plenty.

(Hey, a double! To hang over the ear!)

I notice that the orchard meadow is sprouting flowers despite the drought. I let them meander among the dainty blooms...

They pick some, because you know, kids just love to pick flowers. 

And it feels so fine to have them mingle with the coreopsis, the sweet william, the gentle blue flax... Sparrow snips a flower with a very short stem. No problem: Snowdrop trades, clipping his little flower to her hair. 

And then I take them home and I return to a very hot day. So hot that when I ask Ed if he is game for a one hour outdoor project, he doesn't even pretend to consider it. The project -- clearing out the small raspberry patch which has been overtaken by awful weeds -- is put on hold.

We do go out again -- on his motorbike, to pick up our CSA veggies and to stop over at our local farmers market. These are the weeks of the most fantastic produce, in my opinion. We have the sugar snap peas. The grand lettuce heads. And we are, quite suddenly, in the peak of the strawberry season.

(market berries)

It's about a week earlier than in normal times. The heat has been that strong. Maybe tonight there will be a heady, prolonged rainfall. Maybe. I don't know a grower in Wisconsin that's not hoping for it.