Memorial Day

I hope you have a peaceful, reflective holiday.

Here, in Wisconsin, It's getting up there in weather: hot and dry. Not yet air conditioning weather (if you manage window closures right), but definitely summer-like temperatures. And so I continue the watering project and thankfully, I finish things up. It takes four, maybe five hours this time, but this includes a break for mowing down the paths with the tractor trailer and, too, it includes moving a few day lilies that have been obscured by a bit of the garden that I've handed over to wild stuff (mostly raspberry canes, anemone and nameless weeds).

All this after a morning walk...

And breakfast. Prolonged. On the porch.

And I swear, this is my last huge effort to put the dozen flower fields and couple of meadows on good footing going into summer. Yes, there will be daily work. Probably spot watering. Lily clipping! And daily tub maintenance and of course, constant endless weed pulling. But I think I'm done with the six hour stretches of work outside. I'm aiming for half that amount each day, until the middle of August, when I cut it back to a paltry one or two, because by then, I will have had enough.

In the meantime, I'll leave you with a photo of my foes of the day -- the Bresse girls and Unie, their partner in crime. They have been digging up my transplanted lilies, because they love to lie down in the cool, damp soil. This on top of their munching of alyssum, strawberries, and other favorite annuals! Cheepers, must you?!

Well, at least they leave the peonies alone. The majestic, beautiful stars of a May garden.

meditative Sunday

I have been known to say that watering my plants is, for me, serene and meditative. Intuitively I count out sets of numbers - usually working with 16, but more for bigger plants, and sometimes I go back to ones I already counted out, other times I move systematically forward, all the while being at peace with my environment. Today, however, toward the end of the afternoon, I had had it. Indeed, if watering is meditative, then I could well have thought through all the major religions of the world, and considered them in their relation to the great expanse of our cosmos -- from every angle. I spent that much time on watering.

And I'm not done. Tomorrow, I'll get to the Big Bed -- the one flower field that still hasn't seen water for several weeks now.

I've been growing plants long enough to remember summer droughts and to worry if flower horticulture really makes sense given the possibility of long spells of dry weather. We pump our own water from the well at the farmette and there is no indication that we are at all depleting a water source, but still, you dont want to engage in something that requires so much intervention! So I paid attention to what I planted. Most (but not all) of the stuff that goes in is drought tolerant. Even during dry summers, I rarely water established fields. But rarely does not mean never: maybe twice a season I'll feel compelled to douse the beds with a steady hose. (Yes, a drip line would be a better plan, but I still believe that I dont need to water so often that it would warrant running those ground hoses.) Today was one such time. Five hours, maybe six total, I stood there and poured water on the hundreds of plants that badly needed it.

My knee held up, but man oh man did I need an ice pack afterwards!

Forgetting the sheer tedium of standing with a hose for so long, and even if you aren't inclined to treat it as a meditative experience, it's good for you to come in such close contact with all that you have planted. You get a keen sense of the health of your garden. Every plant receives a thorough inspection. And you notice the pretty details that can oftentimes remain hidden.

(new Clematis)

(older Clematis)

Still, it was a long day!

Of course, it didn't start with the watering job (nor did I think it would take that long!). I did my morning walk to care for the animals (another raccoon! Ed!), appreciating the stellar morning -- not so cool anymore!

(it's peony season!)

We ate breakfast on the porch...

... and then I chipped the new shade garden and Ed took down some dead branches from the pines that grow right by the front of the house.

(Dance watches)

I dig and move some hostas and a day lily or two and then, in an offhand manner I say -- I'm going to do some watering, and that's the last anyone heard from me until it was time to fix supper.

The young family is here for the Sunday meal. They had a joyously busy set of days, what with Brat Fest fair rides and kiddie pool play (it's that warm!). At the farmhouse, we slow things down a bit. 

Quiet play.

With the magic of an evening meal outside. 

Before they go home, I take a few photos out front. The three little chickens!

And a quiet parental moment...

There was a time when Snowdrop and Sparrow jockeyed for the platform of the front steps to make "important announcements." It's funny to see how naturally Sandpiper, too, now takes to this "stage."

And still later in the evening, Ed and I exhale, big time. Leg up, iced and resting, TV on, chocolate out. Oh yeah!

full day

Memorial Day weekend: it's time to take stock. 

I have several thoughts this morning. Here's one: if I did "all the spring garden work" in April, then why am I so busy doing garden work now? Another: why is this day so full, given that I had absolutely nothing scheduled for it? And one more: am I ever likely to sit back and let this season wash over me with its singular beauty, enjoying every sensual moment without feeling compelled to get up and, for instance, pull some weeds? As a P.S. I'll add this, which a friend recently posed: am I going to reengage in the more serious writing, the one that lead, for example, to the publication of Like A Swallow?

The answers to these have one thing in common: all that I do now is by choice. Well, perhaps not the blundering around, trying to get my knee to function properly. That's a necessity. But the rest? I like moving sprightly from one project to the next! I will always have a million things that I will want to do with my time. I am not a moper, a recliner, a brooder, I meditate actively, I choose creating stuff over letting time drag me along on something like a river cruise, where I passively look at the scenery, entering none of it. All this may sound great, but it means that I am forever running. Which has its drawbacks.

This morning, I was up and ordering breads and pastries as the bakery opened. A quick walk to feed the animals, to take note of another raccoon, trapped, to admire the small blooms -- here, take a look at a couple of false indigo plants opening up their blue or yellow flower buds.

And then I'm off -- to the downtown farmers market before it gets crazy crowded on this gorgeous day. I haven't the stamina yet for the whole thing, but in addition to salad greens, I do pick up flowers from my favorite flower vendor. It's all blue today -- she tells me with a smile. I love this aesthetic that she brings to her bouquets. Simple but thoughtful. Seasonal and beautiful, and at a good price!

To the bakery, then home, for breakfast on the porch.

We talk about happiness. Ed is a content kind of a guy, so you'd think I'd let him rest in his cubicle of modest joy. But, he does care deeply about the natural world and there isn't a news story out there that doesn't bring with it a negative consequence on the environment. And if it's there, he will find it. Even the positives have their detrimental effects! So this is what we talk about: how to live with an ongoing frustration (with people's cavalier destruction of nature) without letting it take over your whole mindset, so that it becomes the underlying theme for so much of what you say and do. I think we all need to take stock every once in a while of where we're at in our day-to-day expressions. If we feel happy, isn't it grand to share that thought too with those whose paths you cross?

The rest of the day we spend on work in the front yard. The new shade garden which we are building by the front entrance has me so close to the roadside flower bed that I cannot stand any more the neglect I have bestowed on that field of hapless flowers. As Ed heaves dirt and edging timbers to the new bed, I weed and water front road bed with the poorest soil and the driest environment. It's work well spent -- to my eyes it always looks so much better after I've given it my full attention.

And finally the bed is ready. I plant my shade loving perennials.

And toward evening, we go for a walk. I was a tad disturbed at how quickly I got tired from walking this morning. I have to build up my stamina again! Besides, it's such a pretty day and you can't just spend all your waking hours digging around in dirt! We do our usual loop. The whole thing! Slowly.

(on the way to our beloved park -- we haven't gone there for over a month!)

Easy dinner of reheated soup. And a delightful late evening of doing not much of anything at all. Happily.

birds

Next week, a year will have passed since the publication of Like a Swallow. With the exception of my stumble over working on publicity (is it a stumble if you don't really engage in it?), everything about this year of distribution, sales, and LAS discussion has been extremely gratifying. Readers, reviewers, friends -- have been generous with their kind words. I've met people, I've learned what spoke to them, I've grown in my understanding of that postwar period in our collective history.

And in this year, I became a birder. 

If you read the book, maybe you saw it coming? The reference in it to swallows isn't inconsequential. All last summer, I watched these graceful birds that have numerous nests here at the farmette with special interest. And this spring I opened myself up to the next level of bird watching. Suddenly, my days are punctuated by bird mindfulness! [This morning, just before dawn, as I was doing my usual shifting around, trying to find the elusive comfortable position where my leg would ache less and I could sleep more, I heard that unmistakable birdsong outside. Which bird is it? I had to know. I reached for my phone. Ah! Nothing more, nothing less than a Robin. You'd think I'd know him by now -- we have so many!]

Suddenly, I'm seeing stories everywhere about birding, including the very beautiful one today in the NYTimes -- Birds Show Us What it Means to be Free. You may remember the Central Park incident described therein. If you have a minute, read it -- now from the perspective of bird watching. And this weekend, go out early and look for a Bunting or a Warbler. I promise you, nature will not disappoint.

And of course, birds need trees, which brings me back to the struggle Ed and I are engaged in concerning farmette trees. The tug of war here does not put either of us in the right. Well, perhaps Ed has the morally justifiable foothold -- he speaks for the trees. He'll be the one to remind you to read this article on trees (this week in The New Yorker). I'm not sure either of us have fully bought into the idea that trees are sentient beings, but he comes pretty darn close to giving it due consideration. In that case, how can you disturb the natural progression of tree growth and forest development by taking down a team member? And where are all the farmette birds anyway? Up in the higher limbs of the trees of course. Perhaps ones that are creating the shade over my flower fields.

The other side of the argument -- my point! -- is that everything I grow attracts its own species of wildlife. Insects and frogs, hummingbirds. Wild bee species. Moths. All of it. Nonetheless, people destroy trees, forests as if it had no consequence. 

It's complicated!

Morning walk: 

I veer toward the meadows to check up on seed germination, and to pull up all that we try to eradicate -- Dame's Rocket, garlic mustard, catchweed. 

This is the time when the first meadow flowers appear: Blue Flax and sand Dune Wallflower. So lovely to see these pods of color!

It's cold this morning -- the last of the dips into chilly weather. We eat breakfast in the kitchen. Bread from the farmers market black walnut guy, and a rhubarb cherry bar from the Sugar River Country Bakery -- we've been giving them our rhubarb every week now because we have so much of it!

Our work outside continues on this brilliant day of sunshine and warm temperatures. I divide and move hostas. Ed pulls up sod and spreads chips. We both miss our naps! Too much to do out there.

And then it is time to pick up Snowdrop. 

We go to the neighborhood playground for a few minutes. She wants to move through her equipment routines...

... I want to see if I can still hang on monkey bars. (She offers to hold on protectively to my injured leg, but I assure her that I can handle a light descent.) 

And in the farmhouse, we read. Hey wait, that's not Snowdrop, that's me, reaching for a muffin for the girl.  Next to the bucket that catches the ceiling drips! She's good with working that camera!

Afterwards,  I organize my ideas about the shade garden. I'll be planting tomorrow. From a standing position. It can be done!

And the evening light is so pretty and I see the first peony against a golden mass of false indigo. And the birds are chirping and it is one heck of a stunning show out there.

May 25th

In the places I have lived (Polish countryside, Warsaw, New York, Chicago, Madison, the farmette), May 25th has always been nothing short of spectacular in terms of natural beauty and robust flora. Abundance (in nature), freshness, promises of bounty, coupled with (most often) warm weather and still the lovely absence of pesky bugs, so that you can actually sit outside at dusk and not feel like you're fodder for the mosquito population. It's just a perfect calendar moment for a gardener.

(first day lily of the year!)

When Sandpiper was born on this day two years ago, honestly my first thought was -- lucky guy. It's a beautiful day to have a birthday!

It's a little cool today, but it's sunny and the heavy gardening work is behind me, so yes, I can take in the loveliness of the moment. Morning walk:

Nonetheless, at breakfast (which is in the kitchen because the morning is unusually chilly), Ed and I argue.

I'm actually not sure if the proper word is "argue." We dont shout, we don't say nasty things, quite the contrary phrase such as "nice being here with you" flow freely, we are sweetly helpful and pleasantly calm. But I revive an ongoing discussion that has no solution and so I have to think that this can be classified as an argument. Ed has a position, I have a different one and neither of us will budge and I feel wronged and he seems indifferent to the whole matter -- or at least my disappointment does not change his view on the matter. And unlike in his refusal to travel, where I don't want him to change, because I understand the deep-rooted nature of his convictions on that matter, in this discussion, I want him to change his view.

So what's the problem? Well, you've heard it here before: it's about trees:

There are too many and they keep multiplying (on their own).

The ones that have been here since our time have grown to be monstrously big. They shade everything.

Newer ones that used to be a mere nothing, have also grown to be monstrously big.

I agree we can't do much about the maples out front. It's their domain. The flower bed by the road has to live in their root system. They were here first.

Nonetheless, the box elders (dont get me started on box elders!), the black walnuts (so many new ones pop up from the nuts each year!!), the honey locust (seed pods the size of whales litter the flower beds and of course, sprout new trees everywhere!) -- in my view they are invasive and if you let them be, they will shade your property completely. I mean, even the beautiful crab apples grow to a size that threatens my flower beds, but they can be forgiven: a nice trim will keep them from totally blocking out the sun.

Enter Mr.-I-don't-want-to-hurt-any-trees Ed. If I beg, he'll cosmetically trim some of the smaller branches. Maybe. Giving my flowers perhaps ten minutes more of the sunshine they crave. When I started the Big Bed, the flowers there had plenty of sunshine. Now they have far fewer hours than they need for a full bloom. They wont die (for a few years anyway), but their flower output diminishes each year. 

So at breakfast I once again lobby (argue?) for a tree reduction around the Big Bed. Take down a third of the locust and remove some of the invasive ones further down so they dont overwhelm the courtyard with shade.

He wont budge.

I will not give up!

In the late morning, I finish work on the meadows, though I keep a pack of seeds for damage control. The chickens will surely dig up spots that will need reseeding. I'm prepared! I divide and move a couple of lilies, and I water some of the newbies. (Ed weeds out the big hosts bed by the barn. He tends to put in some extra work in or near my beds to compensate for his stubbornness on the tree front. Ho hum, big deal. I'm not impressed.)

In the afternoon, Snowdrop is here...

We do some of the usual stuff, but, too, I have to get ready for a birthday dinner party for Sandpiper. Just with family, but still, the little guy turns TWO today!

With three kids in the family, he falls into the category of kids who can do without new toys. There are so many that his sibs have outgrown! Nonetheless, you do not want to have him pay the price for being third in line, so yes, there are a few gifts, and there is his favorite food (pasta!), and of course, there is a birthday cake. Not baked by me -- he's too young to request that! 

He is, like all my grandkids, a happy happy kid! May it always be thus for you, little one! May you and your sibs and cousins thrive and bounce through life on big balls of happiness!

Happy Birthday, Sandpiper!

With so much love...

Wednesday

Today I moved slowly. Maybe it's the cooling down outside. Maybe it's that I missed naps the last two days. I shuffled at a snail's pace.

(the cats get their cues from me...)

I do try to locate the morning song bird as I walk to the barn. Indigo Bunting. No luck yet on the sighting, though I'm beginning to recognize his music! 

And at this more lethargic pace, I pay good attention to what's blooming. Irises!

I notice, too, that my trailing plants are not finding their trellises or teepees. That's a project for today (in addition to weeding): help them along with string!

But first, I need to bake muffins. Snowdrop has been asking with such hope each day. Time to oblige. I'll also add them to our own breakfast.

And after all that, despite the huge mug of breakfast coffee, I take a nap!

Later in the day Ed and I do the final prep for the front of the house bed and I continue to do spot weeding and daffodil/tulip deadheading. They say that doing this will put more energy into root development of these bulbs. I want them to come back strong next year! It's an easy job, far easier than bending down for hours on end to get at stubborn weeds.

And then Snowdrop is here.

In the evening, Ed is off on him bike ride and I go back to the flower fields. I move hostas. I move a poor old day lily that has been struggling in the shade for a few years now. I want to finish up work on the meadows, but I run out of steam. There was the matter of chicken damage in the Big Bed that had to be fixed. And sunflower seeds that needed a dousing of water. (And in case anyone involved in cloud production is listening -- we really could use some rain! Thank you!)

Dinner, thankfully, could not be easier: a tossed salad and reheated leftover pizza. Believe me, that's about as much effort as I wanted to make tonight! Slow days are not good for the supper menus. But they're awfully good for tired muscles!

Now, let me put my leg up and watch a gardening show while Ed finishes his bike ride.

with love...