Monday

The horror of feeling as sick as a squashed pumpkin battered by winds and witches. That describes my Sunday. Today I just feel normal sick. Like in the days when I used to teach and students would come to office hours sneezing out of control and inevitably passing on their colds. That kind of sick.

I am relieved. I have before me a complicated week and I cannot afford to be down and out. I have two more days of isolation and then I'll test to see if masks are in order (they probably are) for the handful of days after. May this Covid thing be a bad dream that inevitably comes to an end! Not my end, mind you, but a Covid end.

Still, I cant say that I am feeling peppy. On a slow crawl in the morning and dragging in the afternoon. That's okay -- I relish a (rather late) walk to the barn to feed the hens and yes, that more or less fills my movement quotient for the day...

But at least I do not pass on breakfast.

My clinic nurse asks the usual questions targeting an ancient Covid patient -- are you sure you can breathe, are you confused. I mean, I'm talking to her a mile a minute. So no, not any of that.

My daughter tells me the kids miss farmhouse time. Well yeah! I have to think Ed does too. Mostly, I miss the days when I did not fret about Covid. Yes, I'm sure after all this is said and done, I will come out thinking -- oh, that was a no big deal! A few sick days and boom, onwards and upwards.

But I'm not there yet. Ask me tomorrow.

Sunday

Guess who will not finish her movement rings for the first time in months today? Yeah, not even close.

It's hard not to get neurotic about symptoms if you've recovered from Covid. Is that a scratchy throat or am I imagining it? Am I blowing my nose excessively? Probably in line with all the work I'm doing outside. Still, every tiny something makes you wonder.

Everyone has heard about Covid rebound and people tend to link it to those who take Paxlovid. The theory is that you take the antiviral right away and your immune system relaxes and lets the drug do the work. It doesn't ready its soldiers. It goes and takes a nap. And Paxlovid is miraculous! You start feeling better right away! You find yourself having a very light case! You're golden. Except, the theory goes, not all virus is out of your system after the five day Paxlovid treatment. And what's left behind rebounds once you're off the drug. And your immune system has a rude awakening.

That's one theory. Another is that Covid, like many viruses, simply has a two stage cycle. According to these folks, many people have Covid rebound except that they dont know it because either 1. they have no symptoms of it or 2. they dont bother testing, having pronounced themselves Covid free just a few days ago or 3. they are in denial and do not want to go back into isolation.

When you take a Covid test at home, you have this little Covid indicator and if you get that telltale second line you've got Covid. As many have observed, this is all too similar to a pregnancy test: a line indicates a positive outcome, or not. When you take a pregnancy test, feelings run high: you either really really want that positive outcome or you really really don't. It's all very emotional. Covid testing is the same, except I don't know anyone who has mixed feelings. Unless you hate your job and want a five day break from it, you're going to want a negative result. If you ever have seen that pink line indicating a positive result, you'll agree that this, too is an emotional ride. It's not just a cold after all, it's Covid and Covid triggers all these consequences -- for your health, sure, that most of all, but also for all those in your life. So you get worked up about it.

All these thoughts were in my head last night as I went upstairs with my neurotic thoughts about possibly having some symptoms but maybe not and in any case I should test.

And once again I got a positive.

There is some clarity as to what is best when you get your first Covid positive. There is little clarity as to what Covid Rebound means. It could be that you're not contagious. It could be that you are. So of course, the recommendation is to isolate once again. I'm told that a negative test can get you out of it, but a continued positive means nothing, so if you turn negative, you can resume life, but if you're positive, you should stay  away from people for the same 5 days, as if you had just plain old Covid. 

Covid is determined to be the bully here. So, late at night, Ed packed up his things and left for the sheep shed once again, which I can tell you, was very very sad.

Today, I expected to feel way better. That's the conventional wisdom: rebound is lighter. 

Today, it was a real effort to go to the barn to feed the hens...

(oh that crab apple! so splendid in all seasons!)

... and that wiped me out completely. I could do nothing more but retreat to bed.

We had great plans for this day! We were to bike over to the city and stroll leisurely through the Monroe Street Farmers Market. Maybe stop by the Arboretum once again (I know! What's with the Arboretum this week?!). And bike back past trees of gold and crimson. Ed asked if I was up for it, but he didn't wait for an answer. It's clear that I am completely absolutely totally zonked. 

So he went alone. And he bought me delicious mushrooms which I cannot eat because the idea of food is just so repulsive to me right now! And he bought me flowers...

Which is both sweet and a demonstration of how shocked he is and I am that we are once again separated.

I have learned what I already suspected: Covid doesn't follow predictable paths. Covid is noxious. Covid is not just like a cold. I have no fear that this will pass in a day or so. I keep thinking how awful it would have been if I had become infected early on in the pandemic. I belong to the lucky vaccinated bunch, with miraculous antivirals available for the asking. Privilege or what?!

But, today was a waste. No planting, no biking, no walking, no anything. Just waiting for the next day. Believing that all this will pass quickly. In the meantime, I'm hiding under a blanket on the couch. Cosy comfy there! 

with love...

season's end

Over breakfast, Ed and I talk about the greater challenges of maintaining the farmette lands. Just the two of us, both in our seventies. We don't accept or buy help from anyone. It's all maintained by Ed and me. So I ask him today -- what if I can't do this much every year? His answer is both simple and predictable: then don't do it. Work as hard as you can for as long as you can.

I agree with him on this. Apart from the fact that it's blasted all over the internet via Ocean, our gardens, our plantings, our lands are so private that no one would notice neglect, in the same way that no one (or at least a minuscule number) sees the beauty of our work (except through the photos I take). If I let go of some of the flower fields, weeds will take over. And so what? Our lives will not be diminished by it. We will do as much as we are able to do. 

And today, that amount is... huge!

The day started off slowly. Ed was sleepy, the sun rose late. No one was in a hurry.

Breakfast-- lovely, gentle, yummy for me.

And then we went out together. I've thought of a new place for daffodils, but we need to build up the soil there. Ed worked on bringing in compost, then wood chips. I weeded. And I mean weeded! Every bed received some of my attention. I'd already done work around most of the flowers, but the peripheries were loaded with every weed imaginable. I attacked those. Bucket after bucket of weeds, piled high. (Ed mows them down and then hauls the shreds to the compost piles.) Most weeds require digging, but the soil is saturated right now so the job isn't impossible.  And I trim down spent flowers, working now on creating that winter garden. Phlox is unattractive when it dries up. So are peonies and indigo plants. Others? It depends. Some monardas can stay to add texture to the landscape. And so I continue, up one field, down another.

(a last gladiolus murielae bloom: white, against autumnal colors, reminding me that I should dig these bulbs out and store them for the winter... )

It's exhausting work, but it's good work!  And we got so much done! Yes, there are still bulbs coming in the mail. And locust pods to rake away. Yes, I'll have to plant them, and rake the beds in the weeks ahead, in colder weather. But if I felt I'd lost a grip on the work just days ago, right now I'm at peace with where we are and what we've done this year. Despite the knee surgery, despite the travel, the Covid, the drought -- we had a beautiful growing season where we learned a lot! The flowers for the most part did well, the fruits -- better than in an average year, with melons, tomatoes, pears and garlic leading the pack in their sheer abundance. We are eager to move forward and begin work on next year's farmette projects.

A quick bike ride to relax the limbs...

(Yes, there are cranes in this pic, but the autumnal field is in its own right beautiful...)

(Don't you think this has to be the utter peak of fall colors?)

In the evening, we build the new couch. It could not be easier! Taking out the old one is the bigger chore, but at long last we have something in place that sits more than two. We cover it as the cats like to sleep on it and the kids like to eat potato chips on it.  There, done! All for $308. Remarkable. 

(Friendly says it's a go!)

Afterwards, Ed dozes, I write. It's so beautifully quiet! Good night, all you planters and growers out there! In camaraderie and love...

on this day...

Has it really been 18 years? Me, at 52, hesitating, but finally accepting an invitation from a stranger. Based on the few words I wrote to him and he wrote to me. I took a risk. So did he. We've been together ever since that day, since October 20th, 2005.

And is he really 73 years old today? I did not know this about him then, but I know it now: he is terrific at navigating every unique period of the lifecycle. Knows how to feel grateful rather than demanding better outcomes. How to find pleasure in what you can do rather than grief in what cannot be yours. 

In all this time, we have only had one major blow up. It was big, it was a misunderstanding, emotions flared. Otherwise, for better or for worse, we avoid conflict like the plague. Neither of us came into the game knowing how to properly resolve disputes and so we do the only thing that's left for us: we don't ever argue. This despite our tremendous differences. (Ask him how he feels about Christmas. About travel. About a dirty dish! Mine will be the opposite view.) And, even though I spend so many days in travel without him, I cannot imagine life without him.

Birthdays come and go, but this one, coming after a period of separation, feels special. 

Anniversary, birthday, rolled into one. Reasons to feel happy because, well, that is our job in life -- find those reasons and stay the course. We live in peace, we live in warmth, with food, we live with love for each other, for those in our midst. What else could we possibly need!

Happy anniversary, happy birthday!

Animals first.

I go out to Madison Sourdough then. He loves their bread, the big round one, I love their croissants.

Breakfast, together.

And then we take our ride and walk. It's a cool day but a stunning one! All that sunshine! Where to? Well, the day he and I went to the Arboretum, he had stayed behind after I had to scoot off to get the grandkids. He met the head curator (that's a fun job -- I comment... Yes, he tells me, no one wants to leave it! Since 1935, the Arboretum has had only three curators!) who showed him the handful of pawpaw trees growing there. You know Ed has this thing about pawpaw trees this year! They talked for a long time (there's a lot to be learned about, well, trees in general and pawpaws especially). In the course of this encounter, the guy told Ed that his favorite local path is the Spring Trail that circumnavigates the ponds that feed into Lake Wingra (all this is in downtown Madison). Say what? I never heard of the trail! And neither had Ed. So today we look for it and we find it. Pretty nice for an inner city pathway!

(ponds, fed by springs, emptying into Lake Wingra...)

From here, it's a hop skip to the Arboretum and yes, I know I said we wont be back soon and here we are, two days after our last visit. Why? Because I want to see the pawpaws! (What do they do with the pawpaw fruits? -- I ask. They churn them into pawpaw ice cream. Someone on the staff has a recipe. I'm sure I can get it...)

(the other parts of the Arboretum are also looking pretty nice right now...)

But we cant be gone too long -- our couch number 2 (even cheaper than the last cheap one that we sent back!) is scheduled to arrive. And it does. And I am full of hope for it! But we leave it cartoned up for today. We have a full agenda already.

In the afternoon I pick up the two older kids. 

The unfortunate thing about having an ice cream store in your neighborhood is that the kids now know that there is an ice cream store in our neighborhood. Never mind that there is ice cream in the freezer at home and they never ask for it. The idea of going out for a cone seems like a supremely yummy deal and of course, the minute we drove past the new development yesterday they lay on the coaxing, begging, cajoling, until I finally said -- we'll do it tomorrow, in celebration of Ed's birthday.

So, we do it today, in celebration of Ed's birthday.

At the farmhouse, it's a bit of a rush. Violin, ballet. We need to be ready and on time for both. (They're in skirts today. Not sure why...)

And here's a little side step for me: at the time that Snowdrop dances, I meet up with my daughter's good friend who is in town for the weekend. These friends of long duration are like family, and when they come here, they are respectful enough to always want to spend time with me. Of course, I love young people -- they tend to still have more than an ounce of joy in their souls.

Evening. Ed and I go out for moulles frites. For him. Fish for me. 

The day ends with our quiet time on the couch. The old one. (The new one is under construction.) With one or the other or both dozing because we've had such full days. Such happy days. Despite all those entanglements and peculiarities, despite all that's there to cause you to shake your head in bewilderment and dismay, we remain happy. That is our job. Our course. Our love.

Thursday

If you ever have had an infections disease, the kind that requires people to wear PPEs (personal protective equipment) or at the very least N95 masks when they come near you, and if you have even a shred of empathy for humankind, then you will have experienced this day -- which is my day today -- when by at least some markers you are deemed disease free (completed period of isolation, with two negative tests, spaced, afterwards), even though, of course, these markers are a standardized fiction, because nothing is certain, nothing is without doubt. And so you are deemed safe, but those around you kind of still keep their distance and you want them to, because what if, what if... You do not want to be a Typhoid Mary (the woman who was an asymptomatic carrier, infecting everyone left and right). And of course, Covid gives you ample opportunity to have doubts: you can get a rebound! The burden is on you to identify a Covid sniffle and distinguish it from a winter "I've been outside, damn it, so my nose drips" sniffle. I've already used five tests for this course of Covid. The UW Health Covid specialist tells you not to pay attention to tests anymore. Too many false positives can follow a course of Covid. But I don't have any positives! Am I golden? Or am I an outlier? In Covid, there are outliers. 

The funny thing is that all these doubts, the potential for spread, your own safety markers -- they exist for everyone, perhaps especially for those who think themselves to be Covid free. Only a hermit can rest comfortably and think him or herself to be clear of the virus. (Ed comes to mind, though he spent four hours this week in the Social Security Administration office. Masked, to be sure. But no one else around him was masked. So even Ed has to question his potential for being a carrier.) But you dont think much about it if you've not had Covid. You think -- I'll know it when it's here and then I'll be a good citizen and take precautions. [Caveat: there are those who do not think this way; I personally know of people who boarded a transAtlantic flight knowing they had Covid. Good people. They found suitable interpretations to allow themselves a different thought pattern. And of course there are those who simply equate Covid with a "bad cold" and carry on as if it were nothing more than that. I can only say -- tell that to the long Covid sufferers, currently somewhere between 6 - 28% of all who have had Covid. I know, quite the spread of probable cases!]

So I am in my gray box, ostensibly disease free, and honestly - a safer bet than the stranger you'll bump into at the grocery store because I have a stack of fresh negative tests! And yet, I am cautious. Because just a few days ago, I could have messed with you, and you, and you....

That's one perspective. Another is my daughter's who cannot wait for me to pronounce myself to be Covid free! She leaves it to me to make that determination (she knows I am submerged in all the science around Covid), but once made, she is willing, nay, eager for me to resume afterschool childcare! And so today, I reclaim the kids.

But of course, that comes later. In the morning there are the animals to feed...

Breakfast to eat.... (why alone? Well, you know, my gray box...)

And a bike ride to get under the belt before the rains come down. Ed and I go out together.

(Still catching those shots from pedaling behind him)

Theme for today's ride? So many cranes!

And home again.

Afterwards, the farmhouse is once again his. And this is so good, though once more we must find our center: he must get used to me clearing a dirty plate from under his nose. I must get used to having a dirty plate in plain sight. The melons come back to occupy half the refrigerator, dripping their sticky juice. My breakfasts come back to tempt him even as he likes these days to push off the first meal of the day. All this is refreshing for us: we are back to navigating our common waters, together. And it is wonderful.

The kids? Oh, they're excited to be back. In this week of isolation, they have managed to cycle through a school closure, their own set of non-Covid bugs and a visit from another grandmother. Nonetheless, give a child her known routine, with indulgences and attention thrown in and she, he is happy.

(Today, I also pick up Sandpiper)

So maybe we have Covid behind us for now? That's the hope and expectation! 

Now, onto our shared evening. Just Ed and me -- so missed by the both of us!

with love...

Wednesday

Well, when even the cat abandons you for breakfast, there's nothing left but to bring the laptop to the table.

It was in many ways a celebratory meal. I'd done my morning chicken chores...

(hey, you're sure you're going the right way??)

And I scrubbed the house up and down and all around, running loads of laundry, vacuuming, you name it, I did it. (No, not a thorough job. Give me a break. A sufficient job.) Why the fuss? Well I got a "for sure negative" Covid test result. If it repeats tomorrow, I can reenter society. Isolation ostensibly ended yesterday, but I find that to be an empty victory, because if I see people, I still need a mask. By tomorrow's negative, that requirement goes away, so Ed can come back to the farmhouse.

We time our bike ride to fit the weather pattern for the day. For sure, the best is slated to be with us in the morning and so we do our loop then. My challenge? To photograph from the big camera slung around my neck without braking pace! Pedal, focus and snap!

And again!

In our little corner of the world, you can't go far these days without spotting a crane. Or two. Or more. Today, cranes in flight. And I'm in flight too, except they're faster than I am, electric assist notwithstanding!

And home again.

I'm thinking how the suddenness of certain events (say a Covid diagnosis) really messes with your sense of time and place. It is hard to believe that I came back from France exactly a week ago. It feels at once more distant in time, but also, since I've stayed put, canceling all my dinners, doctors, grandkid pickups, and everything in between for the week, my return seems like it happened just a day or two ago. I came back, I had a normal day and then there is this void. Not an unpleasant void, mind you. I had such a mild case! And for the most part, good weather has given us the gift of many outings, rides, hikes. I've put the house in order -- something that I always have to do upon a return, but can't quite accomplish in one fell swoop, ever, because there isn't the time for it. I've beat the deadline for Christmas cards! Under the wire, to get that coveted discount that only comes if you put your order in before October 15th. I haven't yet planted the spring bulbs, but I have done some gardening. And I caught up on sleep. So -- not bad for a void!

In the evening, I promised myself, and you, that I would cook something new. Smitten Kitchen posted a recipe for chicken tortilla soup and I suddenly wanted that very chicken tortilla soup. With a tomato base, black beans, and a reach for my frozen corn kernes, oh, and importantly -- some fried up tortilla strips, it really is good!

Now all that has to happen is for me not to get a rebound case of Covid and I will consider myself very lucky indeed. 

with love...