once in a blue moon

Did someone say "in a blue moon?" Hey, that could be a ride in my new-ish car (named by me "Blue Moon"). Or it could be a random rare event. Or it could be the full moon that lights the sky for the third time in a season of four full moons (unusual, as normally, each season has a total of only three).

Today, we have all three. 

It's a stunning day. Perfect, in fact.

But I do not linger on my morning walk.

I have errands to run. By car. To the bakery. For fresh loaves of dinner bread and while I'm at it -- let's throw in some breakfast croissants. 

 

 

 

And the radio happens to be on in the car, and the morning talk show on WPR happens to be about plants. Communicating their relationship to all growing things. Their care for us. Our abandonment of them. (Here is just one story featured this morning, in case you're interested -- and you should be.)

This topic has been flitting in and out of discussions Ed and I have about the natural world for a while now. The complexity of the ecosystem, communication between plants, trees, our inability (and unwillingness, with exceptional arrogance) to listen to what is truly taking place out there... Ed takes a predictable and some would say extreme position on these matters and I often accuse him of stubbornly closing the door to nuance. This happens at breakfast today.

But of course, it's not clear whether I am pushing back at the overly dramatic words of my stubborn dystopian,  or if perhaps I'm the one who is steadfastly refusing to admit that we all have collectively strayed from living in harmony with the natural world. I mean, how many of us spend any time thinking about how trees heal each other and, too, help us live a healthy life? Well, Snowdrop insists on regular visits with this tree:

But she is a child and we tend to dismiss kids' ideas as being fanciful, born of whimsy.

 *   *   *

So what random rare event can I claim for this day? Well, there was the breakfast that broke from my usual: not only did it have the bakery treats, but, too, we finally sliced up our "perfect peach." And it was indeed delicious and beautiful.

Then, too, there is the fallen tree just to the east of the barn: it's monstrously big and it split and crashed and now Ed is tasked with the job of taking it all down and heaving away the logs and branches. Though perhaps this isn't an unusual event: the farmette has many trees and some of them do split and fall. 

Here's a rather predictable event for you: a family dinner on the porch. Perfect weather, I tell you. Absolutely perfect.

I have been making this spin on a Greek shrimp salad, with couscous on the side for more than thirty years...

That's just a bit longer than the friendship between these two college buddies. (He's visiting this week and so he joins us for Sunday farmhouse dinner.)

("who, me? I'm not visiting! I'm a regular here!)

(golden watermelon bliss)

And the moon? It's full, it's beautiful, and it will be several years before we get another summer with four such masterpieces in one season. It shines brightly on us tonight, and I hope it does on you as well.

Saturday

A rainy morning. Muggy and wet. I'd been up since well before dawn because mouth surgeries have a way of annoying the heck out of you on the third day after the fact. Ed looked inside my mouth and said it looked weird. Maybe we should send a picture of it to your doc?

Nah, not that weird. A quick consult, some tips by phone on what to do next and I put the whole matter aside and moved on with the day. Yawn... Is it nap time yet?

It's now officially super buggy outside and so I have little interest in lingering during the morning walk. Just a quick clip of this last set of summer lilies...

... and I'm off on my Saturday rounds: to the downtown market, for a few essentials, including flowers.

And to meet up with Snowdrop and her mom for a croissant breakfast at this cafe:

We eat outside, but the food pickup is indoors. Everyone observes the posted mask requirement except for one dude who refuses. Absolutely refuses. And so they refuse to serve him. And there is a brouhaha, and I think to myself -- people are so strange... You watch all these nature movies and you see how smart animals are at protecting themselves and their own and then you watch scenes like this one and you think -- humans just don't measure up.

Afterwards, Snowdrop comes over to the farmhouse..

(bringing in the flowers...)

(book time!)

(haircut time: must get her spiffed up for school!)

(And home again. One brother napping, the other eager to say hello. In his own way.)

Back at the farmette, I wash my car. We are entering a car nuisance phase of the year where the sap from the willow (which overhangs our car park) drips down on the car, attracting yellow jackets and insects I'd never even heard of. There are three solutions to this: move the car, wash the car, or build a small roof over the parking area. Might you guess which option I favor? And which one Ed opposes? And thus which becomes the only realistic solution?

Yep, I take out the hose and aim hard. 

And this is how washing compulsions start. From car, I move indoors and wash all the throw covers in the living room, quilt covers, napkins, diaper table covers, dish cloths, and as long as we're going that route, isn't it time to thoroughly clean the house? 

I think if I had to give a title to my everyday it would be: "and one thing leads to another..."

And eventually night takes hold and all good people go to sleep. Well, not us. No pop corn allowed yet, but "cheddar cheesy smiles" are a good substitute!

 

Friday

Many a retired person will tell you that Fridays aren't the game changer they once were for us. The TGIF acronym fizzles and fades. We're more likely to say "thank goodness it's Monday!" because on Mondays parks, trails, markets empty out as people return to work. That is, non retired people return to work. We the no longer employed continue with our engagement in projects, families, gardens, and routines on Tuesdays, Saturdays, Mondays and yes, Fridays. Each day is at once unique and special, and independent of its position in the weekly line up.

Still, if you have kids in your life, you pick up that weekly rhythm again. Their Friday becomes your Friday. And weekends become breakaways from routine.

 

This morning, the bugs were out again and so once more I walked briskly to take care of the animals and then equally briskly, I retreated inside.

(chicks)

(tubs)

(the buggy farmette)

To the porch!

For reasons of various visits and engagements, I did not see the kids as much this week as I normally would so today I trudged out to their place to hand over some odd stuff I'd picked up for them in preparation for school. Perhaps the best thing about living so close to them is the fact that I can drop in like that. Even a few minutes matters. 

(They are speed reading library books to meet the public library's summer challenge. Their baby sitter is keeping an eye on things. Sandpiper is not participating in the challenge. He prefers to nap during reading hour.)

(a break for art)

Since I am now very close to Owen Conservation Park, I decide to take a walk there afterwards. I've not checked it out since my spring search for Virginia Bluebells. 

At the end of August, the fields here are deliciously golden!

Really stunning!

The park isn't vast, but it's large enough to be home to a herd of deer. Nonetheless, in all my decades of hiking here, I have never crossed paths with a deer. Until today. A young fawn, engaging me in a staring contest.

Owen Woods Park puts me back in another era, when my daughters were little (we lived just blocks away from it) and when I would come here for solitary walks to clear the head and refresh the spirit. I still like it for solitary walks: the loops aren't especially long, and still you have to love the feeling of nature's dominance, right in the middle of the city.

Once again I can't help thinking that Ed and I live in a perfect bubble of farmette rural quiet, yet we are so close to the city, and within that city -- to a world of nature all over again.

I did my walk for the day. Afterwards, I felt no guilt in picking up my kindle and spending the rest of the day reading. On the couch. I even chased Ed off to the lesser (smaller) couch so I could stretch out on the big one. No guilt whatsoever!

predictable

First of all, you knew that I would cave and get a new pocket camera. And sell the old pocket camera. I watched the refund for my flight from Milan to Paris come in and said aha! That's a deposit for a new pocket camera! Now all I have to do is sell the old one. We are in the process of writing up a Craigslist ad.

I mention this because the new camera came last night and I stayed up  poring over the book of information that came with it. Since it is made by the same company as my good camera (that's in the shop this month) -- Fujifilm -- somehow I had thought that knowledge about one would be transferable to the other. It isn't. I went to bed very late (or early this morning, depending on your perspective) and still didn't understand half of the most basic parameters of its functions. I couldn't sleep anyway.  I'm forbidden popcorn for at least a week because of the mouth surgery and you know how dependent I am on Ed's popcorn. Shattered routines. I munched on stale cheese puffs that melt in your mouth and still manage to taste like cardboard and studied the densely filled pages of the manual.

This lack of complete knowledge did not prevent me from taking my nifty baby Fuji along for my morning walk. You wont notice any difference, but I sure as heck did. A  new and wonderful picture taking experience! I loved it!

(step out into sunshine)

(on hot days they like to hang out together in the shadows of  the old barn)

(the perfect peach)

(the venerable farmhouse)

Breakfast on the porch. This one I will remember! (Yesterday's is a complete blank. Indeed, anything that happened to me yesterday before noon is one misty slate (effect of medications). Whatever I said or wrote to anyone -- know that I wasn't altogether there! 

 

 

 

Today is indeed a hot day. That's fine. August days can be toasty. But for the first time this summer it is also really buggy. I am fighting mosquitoes! This is a terrible disappointment! We thought we were past their threat, but no! They are here and they make life outside difficult again. Ed asks -- should we move? I say -- where to? He says -- New Zealand? Or Ireland? I say -- too far from the kids. He says -- they can visit. How many times have we gone around this? Oh, maybe 100. There are some things that just drive us to despair. A swarm of mosquitoes is one of them.

In the afternoon we go to the farmers market. We are late, it is hot, we want to avoid coming into contact with people. In other words, the nifty little camera stays mostly hidden. We just want to get our cheeses, give away a few dozen eggs, say hi to farmer Natalie and run.

Since the market and our CSA pick up spot are both close to our local Thai place, I suggest a take out dinner. It's been a while! Of course, this means that we must balance the huge bag of CSA groceries and the cheeses and hot Thai food on Ed's not too large motorcycle. It is a tricky deal! Our success today is marked by the fact that nothing spills, nothing goes haywire, and we don't actually look at places in Ireland or New Zealand, but instead call someone who will spray some garlic stuff on mosquito infested farmette spots. Hey, I call that a pretty good run! All that and a new pocket camera too! 

I ask Ed -- want to watch Rick Steves PBS travel show on Europe? I mean, so long as I'm staying put I may as well throw comments at the TV screen as Rick has us traipse through old markets and ruins of Greek theaters. The man's made a fortune by putting together itineraries for bewildered and confused travelers. I admire his business acumen, really I do. Even if it always seems just a little too touristy, who cares. I can only wish to walk those same cobbled streets and cross the grassy sheep fields some time soon. 

In the meantime, Ed is out solid, asleep next to me on the couch as Rick drones on about Greece, about Sicily, about Portugal. Europe brings out the sleepies in my once-travel-companion. Maybe it's a good idea to follow his example just this one time. Good night! Until tomorrow!

... and counting

Poles used to spot an American visitor by looking at the shoes. Americans have singular travel shoe preferences. These days with open markets in Poland you can get fooled. I have a better tool anyway: a pretty reliable marker of American citizenship is that smile and those rows of even teeth. When we watched the Olympics, Ed and I would grin knowingly each time an American stepped up to talk about that won medal: look at those American teeth!

My crucial childhood years were spent in Poland. No fluoride, not enough restorative bracing. Possibly lousy genes there too. My dad had teeth which he hid all his life with a tight-lipped smile. Anyway, blame it on birth, blame it on fate -- I do not have American teeth.

And so this morning I had yet another surgical appointment to remove some big time offenders. Forget the details -- teeth stories are not interesting stories -- but I do want to note that I have had more teeth pulled in the last two years than there are fingers on one hand. Today's twosome was, therefore, no big deal. (It is however only stage one of the process. You need to put something in the vacant lot! Three more stages will follow. If all goes as planned.)

I had finally convinced the dental surgery that me inquiring about vaccination status of the team is NOT a violation of HIPAA and so I did ask and everyone assured me that they had had the shot (but oh, the struggle to get that information!). And so very early today, after a very quick walk through the gardens to attend to the animals...

...I drag out of bed a sleepy Ed (you need a return driver) and I have my surgery, enjoying the woozey state of being half under and half with the rest of the world for pretty much he whole morning.

(Breakfast, so much later!)

It happens to be the day that I have a Zoom call with my Polish friends. Perhaps they got a version of me that wasn't altogether sharp. All this at a time where our discussion veered toward such lightweight topics as Afghanistan and the delta variant. Still, it was really good to talk to them. Poland is where we were in June: low infection rates, no surge yet. People are feeling comfortable in settings we here know now are no longer safe. So it's goofy fun to hear that two were heading out to a concert, and a child of theirs was heading out to Corsica, and a child of another was about to embark on a flight to Croatia, while one set of grandparents was heading out to Italy. It was wonderful to imagine a normal-ish life for two hours. May it last for them, may it come back to us. And to everyone on this great big beautiful planet! 

In the evening, Ed abandons his ambitious Wednesday bike ride and tags along with me on a more modest one. We head for the lake.

It's not in a good state. None of the lakes in our county are in a good state. This great big beautiful planet of ours needs our help. Ed says quietly -- imagine how wonderful it would be to jump into a clear lake. Yes, imagine.

We pedal back slowly, because when you return from a lake you are usually going up a hill. Besides, we aren't in a hurry. Internet is down at home. Our computers are sitting idle. 

My dinner plans are simple: reheat the corn soup. Summer food. Wonderful, wonderful summer food.

Tuesday

I don't think anyone is still hanging onto a summer schedule. The second half of August is when you're left scrambling: to fit in all that you had seen yourself doing this summer, to get your schedule in order for the Fall, to check off any last appointments, to reset your brain to the rapidly approaching new season. And of course, kids are either starting school now or counting (on one hand) the number of days til that start.

For me, this period is a mixed bag of goodies. I like my garden, but I'm less keen on taking the camera out. Except for the early morning. Like today. During the walk to deal with the animals. That's it.

(In my fields, end of August means a proliferation of purple blooms interspersed with deep yellows.)

(Why does this girl lay her little green eggs in my lily bed??)

(tail end...)

It's a time when I most love breakfast on the porch. Because I know there's about a month left of this incredibly relaxed meal -- something that you could not do when working a full time job or raising kids or in the dead of winter, but now -- it's yours for the asking!

 

 

 

It's a time when I remind myself to get moving, because it really is a lot easier to hop on a bike or do something super sporty now than it will be in November. So once again I pedal out and about, enjoying the sights and smells of August.

When Snowdrop comes over, I don't push the great outdoors on her. Just a couple of quick pics with my wobbly camera and we go in to read, and build a Lego set, and tell stories.

On the one hand you want to say -- romp! It's warm! It's easy! It's rural and grand! On the other hand, it's warm. Maybe a little buggy. Hey, have I showed you the size of these guys? Total menace in the garden. Go find some grasses to feast on and leave my flowers alone! (It's time to take out the home made pepper spray again...)

Time to go home. She and her brother have one week of summer vacation left. Funny how for the adults in the family summer always moves so fast! And then the school year moves even faster.

(no school for this guy yet...)

Evening at the farmette: here, the daylight hours start fading by dinnertime. This is new and very Fall-ish! I think about the candles I'll soon be bringing out. Another seasonal imperative: finding ways to bring light inside your living space even as the natural light fades with the setting sun.

I say to Ed -- between the rural bike paths and the county cross country ski trails practically out the door, could we be living in a more beautiful place?

We're doin' alright, he tells me. We're doing alright.