La Fête du Muguet.

Did you know that May Day, or May 1st is called La Fête du Muguet in France? A festival of the lily-of-the-valley. The custom is to give a bunch of these dainty white bells to friends and family as a gesture of friendship and appreciation and with the hope of bringing luck to the recipient. 

For you, from me. True, they're still buds, lily-of-the-valley buds.

Our May first is brilliant. A bit chilly, but appropriately so. It's only May 1st after all. A cool breeze is perfectly seasonal for the day. 

Ed says that his favorite moment for the crab apple is when it's all white. So, right now.

Without doubt we are at the peak of beauty here, on the farmette. True, I may repeat this claim in July and maybe in October, but this year, I have to think May 1st will win. Take a look at my walk to corral the animals to their feeding stations this morning.

My schedule yesterday was wild. Today? Wild times two. First of all, Ed is to spend the day at the machining company, so he is up and out at the same time that I am up and out. But we cannot eat breakfast: he has an early meeting and I have one of my usual appointments -- this one with a new doc who is replacing one of my retiring docs. So it's like a meet and greet. And as luck would have it, this new doc has a love of travel -- to Italy and France. I think we remembered to touch on some medical issues and questions, but I'm not sure. In any case, we had a lovely time explaining to each other our historic affiliations with these two countries. Medicine, as it was once practiced: with a heart.

Ed was gone by the time I came home, so breakfast was on the porch, but without him. A bit cool, but so very lovely that I did not mind it in the least.

And now I have competing projects bearing down on me: I want to seed the meadows, I want to transplant some lilies from shady spots, I want to chip the spot where we dug out the rhubarb, I want to spray the last batch of late tulips that came to life overnight (see above). And I need to feed the potted flowers -- keeping to a first-of-the-month schedule. But I also have to help with the Steffi House project. Phone calls to make -- that kind of stuff. 

And, I have to pack an overnight bag. Long ago, I promised my daughter that I would move to her place for the day and night while she and her husband went away (work, not pleasure). This used to be an easy peasy thing, but has become more of a Big Deal, ever since Sandpiper grew to be an active, willful (but delightful!) almost three year old, and ever since getting everyone off to school by 7:30 became a Project of Great Magnitude and Impossibility for me. I can imagine a time when babysitting all three will not be so demanding. (Maybe.) But that time is not right now, so I have to psych myself for it and pack up all necessities to take with me just in case.

Okay, I have a few hours for all the above! Can I do it? Almost! (I run out of time on the meadow seeding project.)

Before long, it's time to pick up the big two at school. Damn. Police in front. No kids in sight anywhere. A lockdown? I check the news. Indeed. Active shooter in a school in the town just to the west of us. How do you count your blessings when some kids, dozens of kids, not too far from here, are running from school because they are told to RUN? While others are hiding in closets and bathrooms? Because there is that pop pop sound of gunfire? Are we insane to let this happen again and again?

Thankfully, my two had a lockdown without being told they had a lockdown. They come out happy and excited about their special eve.

They've already decided that today will be ice cream day and so we go to the local coffee shop first.

Then to the farmhouse...

And finally, we head out to Sandpiper's school. We pick up the lively little guy. (You cannot just tell him to stay on the sidewalk. You have to chase him to make sure that he does not choose this moment to act out his playful impishness. Out on the street, for example.)

Initially, the kids wanted to go out for a pizza. Is that doable? A 71 year olds taking three little kids to a restaurant? Crazy, right? Luck is with me: they change their minds and opt for Culver's. Nice drive up Culver's. America's best fast food! No restaurant manners required! No chasing down of little restless ones.

Sparrow has a date with the neighborhood kids, so I need to get him to the house, fed and ready by 6:25. We just manage that.

And eventually the youngest guy's (theoretical) bedtime approaches. (Well, I tell him that it is bedtime when I feel I need it to be his bedtime.) 

 

 

 

Good night, Sandpiper! One more Daniel Tiger story! Good night Sandpiper!

Many minutes later, he is settled. Snowdrop and I read, Sparrow returns, bedtime routines put everyone where they need to be. Except for the cats. They look for opportunities to claims some food as their own.

Finally. All is quiet. And here's another break for me: parents are eager to return home today. Midnight maybe? Or later still? In any case, I dont have to sleepover (unless I fall asleep, over here) and more importantly, I dont have to be the one taking them to school tomorrow morning. Life is suddenly very very easy!

Happy, happy Fete du Muguet! May the tiny lilies continue to bloom in your life! Figuratively speaking and for real. Intoxicating fragrance! The hygge of spring!

with so much love...

milestones, generational shifts, and highbush blueberries

Did you know that all blueberries are native to North America? Canada is the world's top grower of lowbush blueberries (the wild ones) and we are the main exporters of highbush blueberries (the cultivated kind). The ones I see in grocery stores in Poland are, in fact, from here and not surprisingly, they're called "borowki" which translates into "cranbaerries." Highbush blueberries are from the same family as cranberries. They're all Vaccinium plants. 

Morning walk on the most beautiful day ever. Perhaps this is Wisconsin's best -- the beginning of May. (I know we're not there yet, calendar wise, but we are ahead of ourselves this year. When I look at photos from just two years ago, everything was rather tame, whereas this week, we have an explosion of blooms outside. The lilac is catching up to the crab apple, the unique daffodils are still popping up, the tulips, though nearly done, remain radiantly colorful and of course, the plants in the tubs and baskets have happily embraced their new outdoor homes for the season. Til frost do us part.

(from both sides now...)

I pause at the sheep shed, ostensibly to feed the shed cats, but of course, none of them are anywhere near the place. Ed's work colleague, the one from Poland, moved in yesterday and with that fell swoop, the cats moved out. They are terrified of all humans (except for the two of us). I use the moment to chat with the guy, whom I would say is maybe a tad younger than my daughters. This generation of Poles is a world away from my generation. Sure, people born into the age of advanced technology are going to live in a new stratosphere in any country, but I feel that young Poles, especially the ones I know (mostly city raised, or at least schooled in the bigger cities of my home country) speak a language that is far removed from that of their parents. We, their moms and dads, are the postwar babies. The ones who suffered family memories of Germany's attempted destruction of our country. And we suffered the political upheaval that took place after the Soviet Union seized indirect control of our future. We were homogeneously of one religion, most of us traveled rarely. Gender roles were fixed far longer than in the western democracies. As my friend noted a few days ago, we can be described as a generation of scared introverts -- intensely private and often finding fault with life, with everyone who is not like us.  (I'm borrowing from others' words here -- I know too few Poles by now to feel confident in my own views on how they present themselves.)

But this next generation -- the one born as the country moved to a market economy and dusted off a dormant democratic tradition -- they're different. I see that in Karolina and her husband, I see that in our visiting friend. And though you can't shed cultural norms and values in one generational shift, I'd say Poles are doing a pretty darn good job of it. And really, that's a good thing!

Breakfast? On the porch! 

And now I'm off for my one year anniversary visit with my knee surgeon (well, not the robot who actually did the cutting and slicing but the control guy who directed the operation). Do you remember how competitive I felt after the knee replacement? I had to be at the top of performance standards at my physical therapy! I pushed that knee to do thing it was reluctant to do. It paid off. My fantastic surgeon said that the knee is about as good as they get. My knee bowed down, did a good bend and seemed to smile humbly at the words of praise.

See you in four or five years, my doc said. Four or five years? Do you say that to all aging patients? I tell you, I have myself a very optimistic doc!

And now finally, Ed and I attack the blueberry plants. These guys:

It's a process! Digging up the soil, mixing in the needed ingredients, putting down fabric for weed control, throwing chips on them -- it takes time. We finish putting in four and then pause, because Ed has machining obligations. Me, I have zero seconds to spare and I quickly move to my other project for the day -- digging out and moving a great bug chunk of the rhubarb plant. That baby is monstrously huge and it holds a prize spot along the path to the farmhouse. I want to move a lily to at least part of the space. Ed begs me to find a spot for what I take out and I do, but I warn him that I have already moved out clumps of rhubarb to various corners of the farmette land and we hardly use any rhubarb at all in the course of the year. Still, he begs, I oblige.

And now it's time to pick up the kids at school. 

 

 

 

Though our farmhouse time today is slightly limited (you'll see why!), I nonetheless convince them to take a hike across farmette lands. On a day like this, it's absolutely awesome in every corner of this place!

And we find some asparagus stalks!

... but I need to get them back to school by 5 (and so I hurry them inside for the usual food and books and play) because tonight is their music concert night. Each grade is performing a series of songs and of course, count me in on being in the audience, even though the kids are spaced in such a way that Sparrow is up on the stage at 5 and Snowdrop -- not until 6:30. In between? I hightail it to a coffee shop. It's way too late for coffee. I choose an alternative.

Here's Sparrow on stage, singing...

 

Here's Snowdrop...

And Sparrow playing an instrument...

 

And Snowdrop playing an instrument.

I'm not home until way after 7. And I have no clue as to what to do for dinner, but hey -- I ate a bag of potato chips and I can worry about more food later. We want to finish planting the blueberries!  

And we do finish. To a darkening sky.  Dinner? It's close to 9 by the time I fry up some eggs.

You could say that this day was a bit wild. Yes you could. Or you could say that it was intensely beautiful with all the goodness of the season thrust upon us. It was that for sure.

chips ahoy! (or -- be careful what you wish for)

Stunning landscape, blooming crabs, lovely May-like weather. Perfection. Truly a gardener's dream.

Cloudy initially, but it hardly matters. It's beautiful out there!

(the last of the tulips)

(yet another crab apple)

(wet from last night's rain)

(the last of the unique daffodils)

(magnificent!)

In my walk to the barn, I made a list in my head of all I could/should do today. The blueberries. We should put those in. Weeding. Always that. And I see some forgotten plants that could be moved. Spraying of the deer fodder (with our special hot pepper spray! It works!) -- hostas, strawberries, tulips. Yes, definitely. Need to spray.

And since we have all those wood chips, I should spread them over several beds that are showing many bare spots and plenty of spaces for new weeds to emerge. 

During breakfast (on the porch!)...

I talk to Ed about our various outdoor projects. He has been busy the last few days cleaning out the sheep shed. A young engineer (or programmer, or something) from Poland is going to be staying there for a couple of weeks and the place needs to be made habitable. (I mean, I wouldn't overnight there, even in its cleaned up state, but then I'm older and fussier. There was a time where I did sleep in the shed, with Ed. Those days are, thankfully, behind me.) I do all the work in the flower fields, though Ed does help with the occasional heavy duty job. He calls the flowers my "hobby." I dont quite agree with that definition. It's more like a challenge: to give a helping hand to blooms that need it, to more fully realize nature's potential. It's making room for the little guys. Getting rid of the bully plants. The invasives.  But I do agree that this is my project. Still, I need his help in loading up carts and wheelbarrows with wood chips.

And so this morning, we set to it: he loads and I spend several hours with a pitchfork, distributing the chips in two flower fields -- the glorious one near the house and the front one along the road. (That last one has been neglected for years. Between the drought, and the slope, and the winter road salt, and the encroaching maple roots and branches, it's been a pretty challenging space. This spring, I'm trying to restore its vitality.)

 

(busy bees...)

 

 

It's good for your upper body strength -- Ed tells me as I heave another pitchfork-ful out of the cart. And I agree with that, but it's also true that I don't actually exercise my upper body musculature with any consistency and so for me, this morning's work is tough! Load up, heave out, sprinkle nimbly between plants. Load up, heave out, sprinkle nimbly among plants. Over and over again.

...until it's time to pick up the girl at school.

That smile you see in the photo? It lasted all of one minute. Maybe less. There had been a grave injustice committed toward the end of the day by the teacher and Snowdrop was crushed by the unfairness of it all. It's tempting to dismiss it with a "life's unfair" kind of response, but if you think about it, aren't we all crushed when someone whose respect we need in life points an accusing finger at us with a string of unfair comments and characterizations? 

We talked it through, weighing her options. Confrontation? No, that's not Snowdrop's style. She tells me what would please the teacher most is if she lied and admitted to doing something that in fact she did not do. Well that's not right either! In the end she settles for moving on. 

(a distracting playground pause on the way to the farmhouse)

 By the time we pull into the farmette driveway, she is her old cheerful self again.

 

Monday is our nonstop reading day and today we started in on a new book about a Jewish girl forced to take on a different identity to survive the war years in France ("The Night War"). Heavy stuff, but of course, you can't avoid heaviness with kids. And maybe books like these give perspective. Suddenly the school injustice seems, well, inconsequential.

 

Evening. There's a cool breeze, but still, it's beautiful out there! Looking out our kitchen window, you can't help but smile. Lilacs are days away from blooming, and the crab? Ah, the crab!

You can never tire of it. All of it. The unfurling of gazillion petals in a season of flowers.

rain

Our bucket shows that the night's rain was intense. We missed the dangerous storms that plowed through the Great Plains, but we got plenty of thunder and rain. And the showers continue -- all day long.

Perhaps the only pause in the relentless patter of rain comes in the early morning, when I step out to feed the animals. It's an otherwise very pretty day, if you concentrate on the plant life rather than the darkening skies, and I would have loved to spend it in the courtyard, in the shade and light fragrance of the crab apple, but I only get this one pause in the otherwise wet day and I use it to pick out the weeds that have doubled in size in the course of this one rainy night.

I do give at least a few minutes of my attention to the beauty of all that's around me right now. By some markers, the first week of May -- with that crab apple tree and the emerging lilac flowers -- is the most awesome of them all, because it's not just about the flower fields. It's about all that grows and blooms, whether you're looking down at the fields, or up at the bushes and trees. It's all perfectly sublime.

(stepping out into a la vie en rose...)

(this tree's best moment is now, before the blossoms are fully opened)

(we don't have just one crab apple on the farmette lands... here's another)

(but this one, at the edge of the path to the barn, is our queen of the week!)

The rain then comes back and it's a cool day, so no porch breakfast this morning. Back to the kitchen.

And back to reading and writing. I should relish the break, but what can I say -- the grass is always greener over there, where you cannot be. I miss my gardens!

 

In the later afternoon I start in on dinner for the young family. That, at least, is not weather dependent. I cook the usual, and it is, as always, great to have them here.

 (someone does not mind rain...)

(and if she can walk up the secret path, so can Sandpiper!)

(dinner, inside of course)

Tomorrow -- it's back to outdoor work. I expect the weeds have been doing a celebration dance with all that rain. I wont let them win this round! 

And a happy end of April to you too!

with love...