Chicago week

Morning walk to feed the chickens? Not today! Morning walk from my AirBnB (or, let's call it my pied a terre) to my daughter's house. 29 minutes of very typical and at times very lovely Chicago blocks with that Chicago vibe that I've grown so fond of since I began coming here to see my girl and eventually my girl and her family. 

I used to live in Chicago while going to graduate school, but that was a different era in the city's history and I lived in the south and the air was charged (for good reason), and I can't say that I fell in love with what I saw then. But, there is so much to like here now and if you could only begin to solve the country's problems, that would surely trickle down to those neighborhoods here that continue to suffer because, well, too many people don't care enough to support an effort to find solutions. Chicago is no different than New York or LA or Miami or Minneapolis. Or Buffalo. It reflects the best and sometimes the worst of human impulses. And let's remember this: our small towns are not free of trouble. Maybe we should dust off that slogan that was fleetingly popular just a couple of years ago -- we are all in this together.

In the meantime, spring is in full swing. Everything is fresh, everything is green and lovely.

I arrive at the young family's home just as Primrose gets ready to leave for school...

... and her parents start their work schedules, sometimes at home, sometimes in an office. So Juniper and I are left to our own devices.

(Let's see a pic without a rattle in her mouth!)

And in the afternoon, I take her out for a walk. It's a path I walked again and again three years ago when Primrose was her age: all the way to Milk & Honey -- a neighborhood cafe that is especially great these days because it has expansive outdoor seating. Not all babes love a long stroller walk. So far, all my grand girls (less so the boys) have been fantastic stroller adventurers! Juniper is no exception here.

We pause for lunch. Well, I munch a frittata, she watches. 

Juniper is 5 months old, Snowdrop is seven, and the other three are spread in the middle. There have been seven years of babies in my life, which is sort of remarkable because they're so young and I'm not so young and they're so impressionable and I'm not so impressionable, and yet grandparents and babies are such a good fit! Well, for bursts of days or hours. I imagine round the clock care for months on end would be pretty harrowing for us older types.

Toward evening, my girl comes home from her work (and her husband stops his) and she and I walk over to pick up Primrose at school. A picture? For me? Thank you!

(Passing lilac: there's lots of it!)

(Dad and Juniper are waiting outside. It's windy!)

The day ends with my walk back to the pied a terre. 

Back in the Lincoln Park neighborhood, I stop to pick up some supper food at the Blue Door (which, after my daughter's cooking, feels just okay!). I was going to get some work stuff done tonight, but all the walking and the early start to the day made me far too sleepy to be productive. No matter. This is my week for Chicago family life. A rich week indeed!

With so much love...

To the city

My frequent switch from country to city, then back again to farmette lands reminds me a little of a TV sitcom. The contrasts are so great that it all lends itself to humorous commentary (think: Green Acres). One minute you're furiously cutting back rhubarb which is threatening to take over an entire field of lilies (we did that, then put out a sign by the road...)

 

... the next -- you're checking into a tres cute little pied a terre (more accurately -- under the terre, as it's only halfway above ground), where you'll be spending the week, because the young urban family needs you to help out with baby Juniper.

In the morning, I'm chasing chickens...

In the evening, I'm sipping a glass of wine in the young family's home which happens to be walking distance to an elevated train stop (the L) and really close to a lovely store that sells delicious chocolate covered caramels.

The thing is, I love to live in the country, but I do also love visiting what was once my turf -- city streets, with all their bakeries and cafes and little shops and pot holes and urban noises and people not saying "hi" when they pass you on the street. Living in contrasting spaces is good for you. 

 

Morning, however, is still at the farmette: it's beautiful outside. All lilac and crab apple and lilac and emerging yellow iris and lilac. A splendid show. Truly at its peak.

Then the basement floods. 

How many times has the curly willow pushed its roots into the pipes running from the farmhouse? Too many to mention. In the past, Ed has left the task of unplugging the blockage to the rooter guy. But recently he picked up a pipe cleaning machine to do the job himself and so now, instead of planting trees, he's down in the basement doing stuff I'd rather not know about.

Success! -- he tells me.

We eat breakfast.

And now he goes off to plant...

... and I get into the car and two and a half hours later, I'm in the city.

I dump my bags and head over to my daughter's home. Hello Juniper! So, you're five months old already! And hello, Primrose! I cannot believe you can carry that little sister already! 

(This is what love looks like...)

It's a special time -- we celebrate Mother's Day with a home cooked meal of gnocchi primavera (so many delicious signs of spring in it!) and and a mother daughter baked lemon pie. Yummy stuff!

And great company. Eating dinner at daughters' houses can be habit forming!

I shouldn't linger, but I do. To play with Primrose. And then to catch up with the two grownups. 

And in the meantime Ed calls and asks whether to put the chestnut next to the maple, or the walnut nextt to the other walnut and I get a whiff of our country issues right here in Chicago. Oh, and I brought a bag of popcorn with me just in case I missed our evening routines too much, though really, I'm too full of pie and good moments with the young family to want to tear into it tonight.

With so much love...

Cooling Down

Slowly, the heat is moving on. We didn't get violent storms, which are often the ticket to exiting a heatwave, but we got a little rain. Enough to make me think the plants are all doing fine.

It's a beautiful day -- one where I have to do more clearing and cleaning and pulling and digging, but it's good work, because in spring, the soil is moist, the plants appear well spaced and moving between them is a cakewalk. 

But all eyes are on our spring jewels -- the crab apples and the lilac, now fully in bloom.

Stunning and full of that fresh fragrance that stays with you for years and years. Who doesn't remember their childhood whiff of lilac?!

One foot in spring, the other seems to be testing summer waters already. Yes, it's warm, but, too, the schedule is starting to break up routines that have been with us for most of the school year. Things are happening! Some family members are returning to work (post maternity/paternity leave), some are planning vacations, some are thinking of upcoming child birthday celebrations. All this in the next few weeks! We are zig zagging between pleasures and gatherings and hefty schedules, mindful of the pandemic (no, it's not over), giving in to the pull of the great outdoors.

Disrupted schedules start today: we're having a family Sunday dinner on Saturday and not at the farmhouse. Don't ask. Our scheduling details are not that important. I'm still cooking, partly here, partly at my daughter's house.

Hello, Sandpiper!

Sparrow, do you think you need a haircut? No I don't!

Daddy's teaching me poker! I love it!

(Dinner)

 

I pull up to the farmhouse just before sunset. Ed is out in the courtyard, gathering shovels and buckets. The trees have arrived! -- he tells me with not a small amount of excitement.

We'd been waiting for them for a while: they're replacements for the ones we planted in the New Forest last spring that didn't make it through the winter. (We'd put in 67 and we lost 14. Considering we'd planted six inch dried twigs with insignificant roots, I'd say we were lucky!) 

 

 

As dusk set in, we put down our tools and headed back inside. Well, almost inside. The tractor mower is out and the meadow trails are disappearing under the grasses and weeds, so I take a spin around the property reaffirming the paths that would be with us all summer long. It's pretty dark by the time I roll the machine back into the barn.

And at home, Ed and I slide into our usual couch time together. If I am here, this never changes. An evening of reading and show watching, over popcorn. And maybe a bar of chocolate. A glass of wine. This side by side time is solid. Keeping to such sweet habits keeps me sane, even when there is so much going on that it boggles the old mind! 

One foot in spring, the other in summer... Hey, need some summer reading? May I suggest Like a Swallow -- just a click at the sidebar will lead you to a preorder form (or, find it on Amazon. No, silly reader, you can't get it yet. June 3rd, okay?)

With love...

Hot New Title

Well, it's hot outside. The crab apple is in full bloom, the lilac is catching up. We've moved forward! In the wee morning, I look out from the porch onto this:

 

 

Within a few hours, the crab apple will have fully opened and the lilac will be just behind! For the next day or two, everything else will take a back seat to these two grand dames of the farmette landscape.  Sorry, tulips. I know you're beautiful. It's just that the blooms of a crab apple are so fleeting!

Oh, the beauty of this tree! Of the path to the barn, snuggling between a number of crabs and peaches, all in bloom now!

It's stunning looking back at the farmhouse too.

Okay, the tulips still deserve our happy gaze.

Yes, the landscape is transformed. The farmette has moved on.

And so have I: the Great Writing Project is officially behind me! I have a release date for you: June 3rd. My book -- a memoir on growing up in postwar Poland -- has the title Like a Swallow: Looking Back at a Polish Childhood. You can pre-order it at Little Creek Press (the side bar link will lead you to it) or you can wait until your big pal Amazon (and Amazon.co.uk for readers on the other side of the ocean) lists it in the next few days. 

This is what you call a soft release. I'm sure I'll write more about it as time goes on, but right now Ed and I are getting ready to plant trees and finish the tomatoes and redo the lavender bed. 

 

(Walking through the young orchard, in bloom...)

 

 

 

And don't forget about baking! Snowdrop asked for rhubarb muffins (with instructions: use the recipe for rhubarb cake only bake it as muffins! Okay, little one, Done.)

She is here after school, in this summer heat. Climbing the suddenly stunningly beautiful tree.

 

(Inside, she reads the next in a series of actually very simple books on some of the great classic painters, but they're really loved by her, because they rip to shreds conventional ways of looking at a painting. This one is about Van Gogh, but you'd never know it. It's more about what a young child might see in a painting by him.)

 

 

 

And the swallows dart in and out of the garage, repairing their nests from years past, laying their eggs, waiting for the new generation of little ones to be born.

Hottest Yet

We broke down and flipped on the AC and thanked our stars that this old farmhouse does indeed have central air. I mean, it's just plain hot, record breaking hot -- downstairs, upstairs, everywhere. (We're hitting a high of 93F, or 34C.) So we cooled ourselves off and pretended it's summer.

Even though the plant life outside belongs to spring.

Our lilac and crab apple are yet to bloom, but I can see the buds racing to the finish line. With this weather, I expect they'll both explode within the next day or two, which is a good thing as I am away next week (in Chicago) and I would have hated to miss the fragrance and the utter prettiness of these two spring beauties. 

For now, I watch their tight buds slowly relax their grip.

 

 

I took a few photos of the farmette from points I don't normally photograph. Everything is so beautiful right now that no matter where you stand, you're going to be enchanted. Unless you're one of those people who never smiles at a pretty meadow or a patch of unfurling ferns.

(old orchard, with some newer quince trees, in bloom)

(breakfast: there are about a million violets, growing everywhere; may as well bring some to the table...)

It's hot enough for me to take out the toddler pool for Snowdrop. No she is not a toddler. It's stupidly tiny for her. But splashing is something you can do even in the kitchen sink if that's all you have available to you you. Predictably, she seizes the moment (after school).

And as every year, I get her to pick some of our asparagus. She'll eat a few stalks right there, before handing the rest to me.

A blast of summer. Strange and a bit surreal, but after that never ending cold early spring, I don't hear anyone complaining. 

One more day of the heat wave. Then, of course, come the storms. And a gentler end to spring.