rain

I remember well the rainy days of summer in my childhood years. Almost all were spent in the village in Poland. With my sister and my grandmother. My grandfather was an elusive presence, roaming in and out of the village all the years I would stay in the house he helped build. Those cool wet days were plentiful and my sister and I would search for ways to keep ourselves busy. Not much in the way of toys, not many kid books around, no libraries of course, so we'd pick up the occasional magazine before it made its way to the kindling box. Kobieta is Zycie (Woman and Life) ranked high. They had a column that posted funny things little kids have said. And tips on keeping your hands from drying out in the winter. More serious stuff too, but in those summers in the village, I avoided the serious stuff. Newspapers? This was so called Communist Poland. Newspapers were poor sources of information. Still, they'd keep you busy for a few minutes. No TV, no films to stream, not even a radio to offer up some music. Just the sound of rain outside.

The rest of the time we spent on drawing. Maybe a few village friends would stop by if they were feeling brave. (My grandmother did not like kids messing up her well scrubbed spaces. She'd greet them with a frown rather than with a plate of cookies.) We'd quickly scamper off upstairs to the attic bedroom -- a vast space where we could spread out and take out sheets of paper and shared colored pencils. Some of us had talent, most of us did not and still we would draw because, well, what else could you do when the rain pattered rhythmically against the roof above us. 

When the showers and storms let up, we'd go for a walk to study the puddles formed along our dirt road. Sometimes we'd go to the forest to pick mushrooms. Sometimes we would ride our bikes, enjoying the spray of water we deliberately created as we pedaled the bikes into long stretched of wet rivulets forming along the road.

I thought of this today as I woke up to rain. I thought how different my life is now! I opened up my laptop and checked the forecast, noting that the rain would stop by 9:15. 9:15!! I can now tell almost to the minute when it will rain, when it will not rain, when the sun will come out, when it will hide again. As a child I functioned with none of this information. When will the rain end? I don't know. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow. That's the best I can tell you.

So I have a couple of hours of rain, gentle rain, much needed rain, and I dont need to go out to feed the animals until it tapers off to a low drizzle. They can wait. The coop door will swing open for the hens at 7:45 (unless it gets stuck in the dampness), they'll go out, I'll stay in. For now.

What do I do in those early hours? Cut up fruit for myself (always the gray bowl), for the two kids who will be here this afternoon (red bowl, white cup). [It used to be for Ed as well, but our garden has been overproducing melons and so he is off the line-up for now, cutting off endless chunks of melon for himself.]

(Sparrow is not a fruit guy but I insist. He chose apples and strawberries. Snowdrop cleans her big bowl of every fruit I put in it, every single day that she is here.)

Then I bake muffins. Yes, for here, but also to send back with the kids. Getting them to eat breakfast is a challenge. But at least one of them never ever refuses one of my "best ever" blueberry muffins.

And now the rain has calmed down. I go out to feed the wild brood of cats and chicks.

Finally, breakfast.

Having put in 18 solid days of good movement, I do not want to stop now. Here I am, 70 rather than 7 or 17 years old, taking out the bike after the rain! But avoiding the puddles. There's no joy at this age in splashing the world on a cool September day. It's only 60F (15C) out there and already I'm wishing I had brought along gloves for the ride. Are my biking days coming to an end for this year? Ed will keep going until there's ice on the road, but Ed's blood is made of different material than mine. So what will replace biking? I think about it as I pass the wet and beautiful landscape.

(so often they walk in pairs...)

And in the afternoon I pick up the two older kids at school. 

A good school day today. You can't hope for that every time you pick them up, but I am pleased as anything when no one has any mean kid behavior, or great disappointment to relate.

And now they are home and I am home, feeling a little like I have to dodge bullets for the next two weeks. My mom developed Covid (second time for her) at her assisted living facility. She is vaccinated and boosted, so we expect her infection to run its course without issue, but still, I checked the data: there's Covid in our community, that's for sure. Ed and I have avoided it thus far and we'll double down on precautions before we get our next vaccination (end of this week!), but still, we wont close off the world. We're not at that level of concern. Heightened, but no cold sweat or pounding hearts! Kids are here, I'm planning to travel in October. Lots. With a packed supply of masks once again. 

At the farmhouse, the colorful lights I wrap around the stairs for year-round cheer have gone out, as have the ones on the porch. It's a reminder that the holidays are around the corner. Time to start thinking about hyge once again! I've bought a candle that promises to give us the slightest scent of a boreal forest. I had found the scent in Copenhagen, so it's about as Danish huge as you can get. We have three full freezer bags of corn kernels and forty bags of tomatoes in the ice box, waiting for those cold weather chilis. We are so ready for cozy farmhouse moments!

Monday

You can't sustain that kind of tempo for long: weeding a garden with a new knee means basically working in a down dog position. For hours on end. The next day you pick a few weeds and say -- enough for now. I dont want to come out of this with a bad back. 

I try not to pay attention to the work that needs to be done out there and this morning it's easy to scan my eyes over a broader landscape. It's foggy and the views are gentle and pretty.

I note my neighbor's forest across the road. He had planted all the trees -- hundreds of them and now there is this forest and in September it is beautiful.

In our own space, there are still wisps of flowering plants, always inspiring me to want to do more...

But, I go easy on outdoor work. Two buckets of weeds instead of ten.

Breakfast, inside!

And I take a walk. No ambitious hike, just in the neighborhood. Enough to (eventually) close my rings! (The clump of taller trees? The farmette.)

And after lunch, Snowdrop shows up at the farmette. No pick up at school today. The kids haven't even been in school for a full two weeks and already there is a day off for teacher whatever. Training? Service? Discussion? Catch your breath? All this makes sense to me -- teachers have a heck of a load to carry these days. Kids and now parents as well bring their whole load of issues to the classroom door. Nonetheless, what is a parent to do when the demands of work are such that you cant take random days off to mind the kids? We are so unkind to parents, forever sending the message -- fend for yourselves! Having money and/or an available grandparent helps. Most people don't have enough of either. 

Snowdrop is in a happy mood and peace reigns at the farmhouse for several hours. 

(Ed brings in the largest of the watermelons we've grown behind the barn. It's good!)

In the evening, I drop her off at the pick up point and I meet up with my former colleagues for a dinner at an Indian place. This is nearly always the cuisine of choice for all of them (rarely, Thai steps in) and I'm fine with it as well, though I wonder how it is that we come to be stuck in our habits so much. (I am not exempt from this!) I cant imagine meeting these women without the aroma of Indian spices rising from the table. It sets the mood. 

At home again, prompted by an article in the NYTimes about the declining birthrates (in all countries), Ed and I talk about children (he has none) and how they change your life, your schedule, your ambitions, nearly all your waking hours. Rearranged because of them. (Not for all parents, but for many, perhaps most.) Your emotions, swaying, tilting, moving around because of them. Your bank account emptying because of them. Because I love my girls so much, I would change nothing. Indeed, do it all over again, but perhaps with fewer illusions that it would ever be an easy breezy sail. In my retirement now, however, I'm holding onto my quiet evenings and movement-based mornings. These and travel keep me spry. Though less spry than I was ten years ago. Ten buckets of weeds turns out to be too much. Two is plenty.

with love...

Sunday

It's worth remembering that some of the most important, worthwhile, positive things we do bring no tangible reward. No prize, no promotion, no kind words from the beneficiaries of your effort. No exercise ring closure on your smart watch.

I began the day with, well, animal care.

And immediately after -- weeding. Much of this involves digging up the incredibly invasive common violet. This is one of those flowers that inspires people to get into fistfights over its worth (figuratively of course). It invades lawns, which in my opinion is a good thing, but it also invades flower beds and it is persistent. It has at least a hundred ways of spreading (an exaggeration, but indeed there are many) and it uses all its available tools to take over beds that are not yet established. I have maybe a million of them growing in my one sunny bed by the secret flower path and the only thing to do is to take a shovel and dig each one out. There will be seeds and left behind and next year I will find a whole new ground cover of violet clumps, but at least I will have saved the bed from total destruction. (They suck up the nutrients and moisture and latch onto roots of other flowers. And no, they do not have a lovely smell and they do not add color to the garden. Their bloom period is short and they are fragrance free.)

An hour's worth of work before breakfast, another hour after, and of course, there's not much to show for it: a tiny fraction of the bed is now weed free (not that anyone could tell) and my watch rings moved, but imperceptibly to complete their circuit. Bending and digging doesn't count as heavy exercise, even though I am exhausted from the effort.

Breakfast is late. Again, I dont mind and, too, it gives Ed a chance to sleep in.

And I return to weeding.

Later, in the afternoon, Ed and I do our bike and walk loop. Trail to park, a forest hike, road to farmette. It's unusually lovely at this time of the year. You see the beginnings of a fall landscape, but it isn't intense yet. Gentle greens, a touch of yellow. The prairie is drying up, but it remains stunning even in this autumnal iteration.

And as we cut through this verdant landscape, I think about a childhood friend who died this summer. She belonged to the pack of friends who came to the village in Poland year after year, in much the same way that I did. Parents remained in the city, kids stayed with grandparents, or known entities who lived in the country and could stand to look after them. We were free to do what we wanted so long as we showed up for meals and didn't get into too much trouble. Of the maybe a dozen kids that we would get to know over the years, three have already died. Poor health, maybe substance abuse. I dont really know what happened. But back in those tween and teen summers, when we sat on the hill that sloped down to the meadow, trying to decide whether to walk through the forest and catch the sunset on the other side, or toss a volley ball around in a circle, thinking no great thoughts, floating no great ambitions, I have to think we defined living in the moment. It's funny that we should work so hard now to rid ourselves of sinking off into the past or endlessly arranging our lives to meet some insane future expectations. Back then, it came naturally to move with whatever idea came to mind, to walk, to maybe sing a Polish pop song, like our friend liked to do. O mine sie nice martw, o mnie sie nice martw, ja sobie rade dam... (dont fret about me, dont fret about me, I'll manage just fine...) 

Evening. Young families are in their own orbit tonight. Ed and I fix our supper and then we exhale. It's been months since I'd worked this hard in the garden. You can't tell by looking at it of course. Behind the scenes work. Laying the foundation for next year's growing season.

with love...

Saturday

If one fourth of the general public will experience some degree of fatigue and achiness following a vaccination, well then I can tell you right now -- I will be in that fourth and Ed will be in the larger set of perfectly fine people. Not surprisingly then, following yesterday's foray into the autumnal vaccination lineup, I slept little, he slept a lot. Equally not surprisingly, we both took naps in the afternoon -- me, because I was tired, Ed because this is what he does.

Nonetheless, sleep or no sleep, we both were up quite early. It's market day and a bike ride downtown is such a great way to begin a weekend. And of course, September is dahlia month for the vendors that grow flowers. Lots of bright color!

And not only in the flowers.

From the market it's only a few more minutes to Madison Sourdough, where I can stock up on croissants for the kids for the week.

Then home again. Of course, all this takes time and so when we put off breakfast until after the market run, it feels in the end more like brunch and thus the porch is warm enough for out "morning" meal.

Rain comes to Madison toward evening. We listen to the rhythmic patter on the roof,  It's not enough. 

We have a severe rain deficit here in south-central Wisconsin and drying leaves and grasses surely put us at an elevated fire risk. We could use a steady pounding shower that lasts for hours. Still, for me it's sleepy weather. I pick up a book, I doze. That's the pattern of the day. All projects are collecting dust from neglect (as is the house). So be it. Maybe tomorrow I'll plug away at winterizing the garden. At house tidying. At baking. At a return to writing. At ballet.

Not today.

speedy Friday

A string of lovely days! That's just sooooo September for you. Stepping out into the cool early morning air, I'm thinking it's jacket weather, but that wont last. By mid morning, it's more like shorts weather.

Breakfast, now inside. It's unlikely that we'll have many more meals on the porch this year. The mornings are always going to be on the cool side. (Sleepy Ed...)

Afterwards, Ed and I go off together for a bike ride to the pharmacy (some 30 minutes, pedaling not too crazy fast, but 25 minutes for us because Ed is a speed demon). We have our fall vaccinations to take care of and from what I understand, you need to keep the RSV one a couple of weeks away from the Covid/flu ones, so we're starting off with the RSV today so that we can get to the others! Very complicated? Only if you're spoiled and think any effort toward improving your chances at good health is a bother. Me, I remain so grateful that we have all these ways to stay safer this year.

The bike ride is mostly along the Capital City trail which is very varied and very lovely. I take no photos because, well, the speed demon zips forward and I dont want to fall behind.

It's close to noon before we get home. Hardly enough for anything. Except ballet!

And now I am picking up Sparrow and Snowdrop and bringing them to the farmhouse...

... for a really speedy snack, reading session and play moment. 

(loves to try on my readers...)

I have to get the little guy to his violin lesson and the little girl to her ballet. In that order!

Off you go, little guy!

Off you go little girl!

Phew! 

Now begins a restful weekend for us. The young families have plans which do not involve me so I am seizing the opportunity to catch up mightily on winter garden prep and on the calm that is at the foundation of all of my more busy days.

Thursday

Well, I was supposed to go to Chicago today for a visit with daughter and grandkids, but that got derailed, so here I am, on this perfectly gorgeous September day, enjoying the sunshine and the quiet of the farmhouse.

Good morning, animals! Good morning September flower beds!

Ed, having fixed the furnace yesterday (it was the micro switch on the air pressure sensor -- it seemed to have developed a nonconductive film over the summer), is ready to attack the leaky shower pipe. After our breakfast moment.

This leak has had our kitchen ceiling dripping down water for months! Not anymore. Late in the morning, he proclaimed the pipe to be refitted, sealed, and moisture free!

And immediately after, we set out on our bikes for Stoneman's farm. They have corn today, and as you know, we love their corn. 

We asked how much of their crop was lost to the drought. They estimate that they're getting this year about 20% of their regular yield. What a bummer! On the good side -- their season is extended now and we can expect one more haul after this. Our freezer will be humming away happily with several freezer bags of kernels for winter cooking.

Naturally, I allocate time to take those kernels off quickly and freeze them now, while hot off the fields. 

And I allocate time for ballet.

And then it's pick up time. Just Snowdrop today. Don't ask. Our plans are still in a flux.

She'd been asking for a visit to the Chocolate Shoppe (an ice cream place nearby) and the weather seems just right for it.

(She's thinking about what new ice cream flavors might win the "name a new flavor" contest they're sponsoring. We entered her idea!)

From there it's home, for a replay of countless afternoons of years past: lots of uninterrupted reading, some play, some discussion of important things like...whether a daughter of a cousin's child on her father's side is the same relation to her as a daughter of my sister's son. (It is!)

The day flew by.

Just as the sun gets close to the horizon, Ed and I pull weeds. He wants to plant next year's garlic patch (you do that in the fall), I just need to get those flower beds cleaned up.

And in the evening, for the first time in a long long time, we no longer listen to the drip drip drip of water leaking from the kitchen ceiling into a bowl. Heavenly quiet!

Wednesday

If you leave the porch door wide open all night (because you want to give cats the freedom to go in and out, because you're very sympathetic to cat feelings) and it's right around 50F (10C) outside, you're going to wake up to a cold house. If, furthermore, you decide (therefore) to test the furnace in the morning and find it to be not working, your house will not miraculously warm up. Thus, in addition to the new hole in the wall exposing the leaky shower pipe and a new determination on the part of Ed to fix that pipe, we have a cold me, asking to maybe delay the pipe fix and explore the various furnace error messages that are causing our house to remain cold. All morning long.

When you live with someone who designs tools and machines, you have the enormous benefit of having a person at home who can basically fix any machine or device that is humanly fixable. But it can take time. Still, a warm house is a priority, don't you think?

He wanted to sleep in. Instead, I did the animals, glanced at what's blooming in mid-September...

... then I bundled myself up in a fall jacket and sped out for a quick bike ride (because biking warms you up and besides, I have no time later in the day), while he contemplated what of the many possibilities could be wrong with our heating system. By the time I came back thirty minutes later, the house was almost warm.

I celebrated with a special breakfast (of a reheated croissant with milky coffee, to match my new sweatshirt for the year, one that celebrates my most favorite breakfast).

The rest of this morning is spent with my dentist. Sure, he did dental work. (He is excellent at it.) But we also compared in great detail our replaced knees. He had his done two days before I had mine. Same hospital, same procedure, completely different experience, down to the final stitch -- well, neither of us had stitches. I had staples, he had glue. 

In the early afternoon I pick up the kids. It's the kind of day when we're not in a rush to get inside, despite just-purchased croissants and yummy fruits waiting for the little guys.

And in the evening, I sat over drinks and food with my two good friends in town. They're recent empty nesters and this really brought back memories because we became friends just when I became an empty nester, nearly twenty years ago. I assured them, kids never go away. And they never ever leave an emotional vacuum within you. Every single day has a kid or a grandkid thought to mull over and evaluate and feel deeply about. Every single one. They move out spatially, but not otherwise (well, unless you're the kind of person who goes out on a boat and disappears over the horizon, leaving no email address behind).

Later, much later, I drive home and think about how calm a September evening can be. No mosquitoes, no threat of heat. A sunset that's not too early and not too late. Sweetly gentle, glowing with gold.

and love...

Tuesday

It's the kind of morning you dream about: cool, comfortable, with the promise of sunshine. Ed asks, even before we are fully awake -- want to go for a bike ride?

I do. Very much so! 

The animals and the garden walk first.

And we're off. It's still cool (mid 50sF, or around 10C), but nothing a sweatshirt cannot cure.

Our loop is the same, but as we challenge ourselves more, so that it is now reduced from 45 minutes to 40. 

It's beautiful: the pause by the lake, taking note of the animals we pass (families of wild turkeys, groundhogs, always the Sandhills, occasionally a deer), the rolling hills of farmland, a pig farm, a prairie, an oak savanna. All on a splendid September morning.

(the golden soy at this time of the year almost looks artificial...)

Breakfast, on the porch, together.

Then ballet. I have the confidence of a person who likely doesn't know how poor her technique really is: I finish Ballet 1 and go on to Ballet 2! All these years of lesson-watching pays off! (Or, inflates the head and pushes you to keep going.)

And then I pick up the kids.

Have we established a good routine yet? Two steps forward! 

And have I told you that it is a beautiful day? In and out and all around.

And the evening? Time to roll out comfort foods.  Either that, or turn on the furnace. It's nippy outside tonight!

(farro with tomatoes, doused with parmesan cheese and basil, from the Smitten Kitchen)

with love...