the ridiculousness of being an early riser

Who would voluntarily get up and get going at 5 in the morning (or was it 4:30?)  if they didn't have to? What insanity propels you to shower, to dress and to step outside and do some random weed picking then? I have no good answers for you. All I know is that Ed mumbled something about having to plant tomatoes before it's too hot and that woke my brain up to the idea of being up and out then as well and once the motors started churning (and the door had been left open, and the cat came in, and climbed all over me), well then it became a foregone conclusion: I would join him outside, though not really join him in his work because the tomatoes are mostly his project and the rest of the garden -- mine. 

 

 

 

I didn't have to feed the animals -- he had done that -- and so I got busy pulling out junk weeds from the flower beds and I thought about how right now, all that's blooming is so difficult to photograph! Like, the false indigo.

And the white iris: ever try to do a credible photograph of a white iris half exposed to the now streaming sunlight?

I had a sort of mini breakfast alone, with a cat - not the one who had climbed all over me, but the decent one, who doesn't do jerky things like that when a person is hovering between sleep and wakefulness.

Fruits and honey. 

 

 

 

That's it for now, because at a decent hour, I had a real breakfast date with my good friend who is in town right now.

In fact, you might say that this is my week for friendship because I see at least one and most often two of my very oldest friends every single day, all the way through Wednesday. More on that later. Today wechatted, interrupted several times by phone calls concerning my mother's care. Which is complicated and with challenges, because forever anxious people present their own sackful of never ending quagmires. 

Barbara (my visiting friend) and I then walked State Street -- that street that joins our university campus with the state Capitol. I had read that they were experimenting with turning it entirely into a pedestrian zone, with flamingos and all to make you feel safe about walking in the middle of a once busy street.

Good luck with that! Since major arteries cross State Street, you're never really safe and carefree. And some blocks did not have pink flamingos on them at all, making me wonder if maybe it's only safe in the pink parts, and on certain days or hours -- which, of course, means that you should stick to the sidewalk if you really want to avoid being smashed down by a car.

 

Errands to run, more weeds to pull and then it's time to pick up the kids.

It's hot outside today and it will be even hotter tomorrow and the next day. You might say yay! Looking ahead, I see that the period of excessive heat will end with two days of storms. I'd like the rain without the storms. But for now, I'm sort of enjoying the heat. Like, for example, it is the first day this year that I am seen out and about in short shorts.

I dont really think it's entirely correct for people who are 71+ years old to be seen in town wearing short shorts, but I've stopped caring about such details the day I submitted my retirement papers at the university. 

I drive up for the kids in the hottest part of the day. 79F (26C). They always tell me the car is hot when they get into it. Well sure it is! I'm not going to run the AC while I stand and wait for them to emerge! All this is part of my vague plan to toughen up the next generation of young ones. With a hot car comes the story -- when I was your age, I sat on vinyl seats in the back of a smoke-filled car with no AC whatsoever for hours on end as we made our way across the country "to see the USA in our Chevrolet," only it wasn't really our Chevrolet, it belonged to the government of Poland. The kids have no idea what vinyl seats are but they felt plenty empathy for a world without AC.

We don't drive far. today They twist my arm to give them time in the school playground. I park, they play.

There follows a complicated afternoon. Food, books, play, but interrupted by many phone calls. Many moving pieces in my mother's impending return to her assisted living quarters. Luckily, my ASC (annoying summer cold) ran its cycle, though according to at least one report, I should be on antibiotics for it. Something about maybe a collapsing lung... Well fine. I can dose up. I have a super week before me, may as well get rid of whatever it is they think I need to get rid of.

Late, very late, Ed and I drive over to Natalie's Greenhouse to pick up some more watermelon seedlings. We lost the wee ones we put in a few weeks back. Chickens? Weather? Groundhog? All of the above? Who can tell. Ed puts in the new ones, I water my radichios and romains and radishes. 

 

 

Late supper, late bedtime, late everything tonight! I am aiming to at least have a later wake up tomorrow!

each and every one

When you grow hundreds of perennials (some day I will count them all! Are there thousands? I keep adding, extending, adding and almost all do come back each year...), you tend to concentrate on the impression they make within their bigger group of flowers. The Big Bed. The lily field. The sloping bed along the secret path. The bed by the road, the bed by the driveway, the bed by the parked cars, and so on. Sure, sometimes a favorite flower stands out and every now and then you'll see a photo of a day's selection...

(clematis, this morning, on the walk to the barn)

But mostly, our vision is broad and it takes in the entirety.

(a part of the Big Bed, this morning)

It's like a walk in the forest: the sensual experience is multifaceted and we're always trying to use every bit of each gift that we have to take it all in: the smell, sound, sight of birches and poplars and walnuts and chestnuts, the birds, the breezes, the bugs!

But there is a time when I am entirely focused on one single plant at a time. My special moment with it, where I pay attention to just that one guy. That time happens when I take up the hose to water the flower fields, pointing the stream to that one, staying there for a minute, before moving on to the next one.

 

Once again I am up very early and after feeding the animals, I check the weather one final time (25% chance of rain today and then nothing more until next week) and I decide that this level of moisture, with a low likelihood of rain is not good enough. In spring especially, the newbies especially, this week especially -- they need a steady amount of water.

And so I turn on the hose and make my way through most of the courtyard-facing fields.

Most people underwater their plants. A good soak means that the roots will not strain toward the surface to pick up the incoming water. It makes the plant more drought resistant and we may well be facing another hot and dry summer this year. But a good soak for every plant in fields of hundreds (thousands?) is not doable, so I do my usual triage: more for the newbies and for the fragile, but also more for the well established beloveds.

There is no way I can cover the entirety. And there's no need for that. I'm hosing them this morning because a water bath would be good for them, but also because I want this alone time with each plant. (And I know them, each and every one, by heart, intimately!)

This is the time to mark the progression. What's coming up soon (peonies!), what will need staking (irises!). What's not germinating (some of the nasturtium seeds), what is sprouting (cosmos), what is getting too big for its britches (the tree peony and the iris clump). It's also the time to admire and smile at the little guys who never get any attention whatsoever, even though they are instrumental in making the whole thing work. Team players! For example, this line of hostas that makes the walk from the car to the house so pleasant. Never saw them before, right? Under-photographed, but not ignored by me!

It's also the time to take note of all that I should do in the next few weeks. 

 

Okay, duly noted. Time for breakfast. Sure, it's now late enough that the temps have already climbed to the mid-sixties F (about 18C). But all those hours with the hose chilled me and so we eat in the kitchen.

More garden work. I think I needed the garden even more than it needed me. Even though the kids yesterday were fantastic, the earlier meetings were real downers. It took a while to shake off the gloom that comes when you're around those who are determined never to let light in to their inner core. By evening, I was calm. By this morning, out in my garden, I was full of smiles. I'm sure you've come across this Camus quote in any number of places? I think it works for me -- today, most days actually:

Quand tu te lèves le matin, pense aux précieux privilèges que tu as d'être vivant, de respirer, de penser, de sentir, de toucher et d'aimer. (When you get up in the morning, think of the precious privileges you have to be alive, to breathe, to think, to feel, to touch and to love.)

Walking the farmette lands, it all becomes so obvious... 

 

The kids are with me in the afternoon. 

 

 

 

Fine moods once again! They want to go to our local farmers market. I am so glad! I let them pick bakery treat of choice. 

 

 

 

Chocolate covered scone for Sparrow (it was pajama day in his class today), a small cherry pie for Snowdrop. (Ed joins us, motorbiking in from the farmette.)

Evening. I love this time of day so much! Today, I pop a cork on a Alsatian Cremant (sort of like Prosecco only from France) and I mix in a touch of Campari, with a splash of Torino Vermouth. An absolutely delicious (in my view) combination of sunshine, cloves, and rhubarb. Beautiful colors!

An easy reheat of veggie soup topped with Parmesan, a luscious salad and chocolates for dessert. On the couch. With Ed. And so much love... 

better

Better weather, better options, better moods all around. Well, in most corners of my small world here, in south central Wisconsin. I can't say that everyone is fully grasping the heaven that has been handed to us just outside our doors, but here, at the farmette, Ed and I sure are loving the beauty of this day!

Up early once again. Farmette summer hours! 6 a.m. and we are reviewing our schedules for the day. I'll need woodchips... This from me. To cover bare patches of the flower beds. And I want to dig out the tulips because if I dont do that now, I wont know in the fall which bulbs are to be left alone and which should be replaced. How about you (this to Ed)? His list is equally ordinary. Except for one detail: the apple trees in the new orchard.

We planted the entire new orchard the year after I moved into the farmhouse (so, 2012). The pears are doing fine, the plums never bore fruit, the cherries have been a success. But the apple trees? They have produced the world's worst apples! Even the birds wont eat them! They are so bad that even Ed, tree loving Ed, suggested that maybe we should take them down and try again, with a credible and edible variety. Did we deliberately buy awful varieties? We did not. What we think may have happened is that our preferred apples were grafted onto a root stock of an unknown variety. The root stock took hold, the grafted twigs failed. We're not growing honeycrisps or pink ladies or any of that. We're growing a horror show that most likely was on that original root stock, developed not for any other reason but to withstand our climate and growing conditions. This morning he talks of taking down the trees, but after some deliberation, he shifts to the idea that we should graft honeycrisp twigs (or whatever variety we like) onto the existing trunk or branches. 

We know nothing about grafting, but that's why the good people on earth invented YouTube -- to teach us how to go about anything at all, including stuff about which we are totally clueless.

After some deliberation and inspection, he tells me that it's too late in the season to graft, but at least we have a plan! (It takes us a while and a heck of a lot of discussion to come up with a credible plan.)

Me, I focuse my attention on the meadows, which actually are doing fine. Meadows usually look good in May, just okay in July and terrible by September. But our two stretches of grasses and wildflowers are in fact sprouting more and more flowers among those tall grasses. Perhaps in time, they really will out-compete the pernicious quacks and charlies and who knows what else.

(The perennial flower fields are very green right now! This is the Big Bed...)

(the color is still in the allium right now...)

Breakfast. Borderline outside! (Meaning, I set the table outside, then decided that 58f (14c) is too cold for outside and so I move it into the kitchen, and then Ed comes down and asks '' aren't we eating outside?" and so I switch again.)

And then I go to a provider team meeting in my mother's room at the Rehab Center, to determine the level of care she needs going forward. Her room is full of staff and I marvel at this level of attentiveness: her occupational therapist, her physical therapist, the social worker from Rehab, the social worker from her assisted living place, a speech specialist, the floor nurse, the nutritionist, the care coordinator. Impressive. 

The thought is that she may in fact regain most if not all her strength as soon as next week, and therefore be able to resume her life at the assisted living place where she had been before she pulled a muscle and wound up in the ER. I have some trepidation about her return to assisted living. Not because I doubt her ability to regain independence, but because, well, she has a very, very tough time accepting imperfection. She wont have eight specialist hovering over her. (Nor will she need eight specialist hovering over her.) Her assisted living facility (right across the parking lot from the Rehab Center!) is good, but it is like a very defined plane of reality -- not all of it always functions perfectly. This, not the physical stuff, will be the biggest challenge for all of us who are involved in her care.

(here she is, visiting with the one person she would call a friend from assisted living)

I suppose one of many lessons to be learned is that if you want to be a model of resilience and calm, start working on it early in life. Today! Go ahead, practice as you finish reading this post! I'm told 100 is a poor jumping off point for entry level deep breathing exercises. 

Back at the farmette, I marvel at how quickly the clock ticked through the morning hours. I barely have time to throw down a wheelbarrow load of chips, and dig out maybe a dozen tulips (Missing the bulbs half the time, which really defeats the purpose of early removal), and now it's time to pick up the kids at school.

Surely they must be tired! Today was the day of the Hotdog Hustle. Kids race for money. Or something. I miss it each year because it always falls on a day when I have a million other things on my schedule. But surely running around a track for as long as your legs will carry you will wipe you out, no?

Nope.

They seem peppy and fine, lending support to the belief that the more you move the stronger you become. 

Such good moods, great weather patterns, and boisterous camaraderie deserve an ice cream treat! We go to Tati's in the new development.

Wait, what is it that I see? Madison Sourdough bakery treats?! 

 

 

 

I ask the cafe manager -- how did you score that victory?! We tried and tried and tried and finally they said yes!

Oh my, a coffee shop within a short walk, with my favorite croissants and cinnamon rolls? That's just heavenly!

From ice cream, to tree climbing....

 

 

In the evening (after drop off), I return home to a quiet house. Ed is biking, I survey my flower beds. There are signs of trouble here and there. A rotting root stock on my heliopsis prairie sunset. A bug on some of the leaves of the true lilies. On a few day lilies as well. Golden rod, where there shouldn't be goldenrod. Lillies of the valley where there shouldn't be lilies of the valley. Apple mint everywhere, where there certainly should not be apple mint. 

It's okay. Imperfection is what gardeners work with all the time. (The kind of gardeners I like and identify with anyway.) We puzzle over it, we learn from it, we delight in the twists and turns and always new challenges that gardens have to contend with all the time. 

And the birds sing (robins, sparrows and the rose-breasted Grosbeak!), and the clematis throws down a dozen more big blooms, and the Bresse girls lose themselves in the thicket of plant life...

... and it is such a very happy place in which to spend my evening. Such a very happy place indeed.

cool Tuesday

There was a time when I would have regarded 55f (13c) to be a mighty warm temperature reading. (Say back in January.) But with an overcast sky, that reading, today, just feels... chilly. No way do I want to work outside! (Perhaps getting over a light summer cold gives me an added incentive to stay cozy!) Still, the animals have to be fed. I step outside...

... and head out to the barn. Very early. I have errands to run and Ed has to be done with breakfast before a scheduled morning meeting.

(Spanish bluebells, now in all colors, next to the absolutely final daffodil blooms.)

There's much to be done again in the flower fields, but it will have to wait. A cloudy and cool day provides little incentive to get that little spade out. 

Instead, I drive over to Madison Sourdough Bakery to pick up cookies for my cookie loving Sparrow. (Drive: 12 minutes each way.) I am that kind of a grandma. (On the flip side, I rarely bake for the kids these days. So not that saintly after all.) Too, I miss having a fresh from the oven croissant with my milky coffee. (Admit it, sounds heavenly, doesn't it? With blueberry jam. Bliss...) Breakfast -- in the cozy kitchen of course.

And now is the time to start making decisions about how to deal with the car mess. File with the guy's insurance? Cant do it without the police report. Don't yet have access to the report. Guy may not even have insurance for all I know. File with my own insurance? I started that process. Say I do that. Do I stay with their body shop? It's easier. They may provide loaner cars. But it feels weird taking a Subaru to their designated Ford Body Shop. Does my Subaru then take on the look of a Ford Pinto? Okay, fine, not quite that. But still, am I being guided to a cheaper place that will skimp on the job? And if I stay with the Subaru shop, then I have to rent a car. Repayment for that will be another struggle. 

In other words, loads of decisions, all because I have a dent in the rear of the car, not of my own making. I spend a good two hours working through those very boring details. With a cup of Schisandra Berry Blush tea to keep me happy and to hurry that summer cold along, so that it will be over and done with by... the goal is tomorrow! No, no, not Covid. Just a nuisance cold. And yes, I know rest would help. Finding the time for that is... an issue for me.

 

I glance outside. And still it's only 55f (13c) out there. So maybe I should do grocery shopping now, instead of on a more sunny day? Cars and groceries. I mean really! What a tiresome set of activities! (Drive: 16 minutes each way.)

And as soon as I unload the groceries, I turn around to go pick up the kids at school. (Drive: 17 minutes each way, plus a 30 minute wait in the car line because I get there early to be toward the front of the long line.)

As the kids get in, I can tell that moods are... varied. Before the day is out, both the older two and their little brother will have cycled through a series of ups and downs. It's rather unusual. Most days they're all chipper and joyful. I'm going to guess that the cold weather has knocked everyone off their regular platform of good cheer!

(some finer moments...)

Okay, time for the big two to go home. I drive them to the drop off point. (Drive: 9 minutes each way. So, total car time for this day -- 108 minutes driving, 30 minutes sitting in it and waiting, 120 minutes negotiating payout for the repairs. A total of 258 minutes, or four hours and eighteen minutes  where the car was prime and center for me. I've fallen into the American automobile rabbit hole today! Sucked in, all the way.)

Now the upside, because, you know, the day was actually sweetly pleasant: I left the kids chasing each other boisterously and happily on the sidewalk. The fridge is stocked with fruits and veggies, and there's a fresh bouquet of tulips on the table. My insurance company wrote to tell me that it just issued me a check for repairs (I like you after all, State Farm). And the skies cleared and it is going to be one gorgeous day tomorrow! And most people can't tell what's a weed and what's a perennial flower anyway, so who cares that I haven't quite kept up with that job!

Supper time. How about a veggie soup and a great big salad? Keep it healthy! Keep it happy!

with love...

 

entering the world of insurance claims

When someone crashes into you out there, on the road, assuming no one is hurt, your first thought is -- damn! This is going to suck up my time. Because even if it's 100% not your fault, it is going to suck up your time. And it will cost you. 

What?? How could that be? Insurance is mandatory in the state of Wisconsin. Their company pays! All you have to do is drive in, get a brand new door, maybe a fix here, a twitch there and you're good, right?

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Number of phone calls made so far, simply to figure out how I can proceed, after having a police officer give me a crash report number, following the accident on Friday? Ten. [To the police department: 3, to my insurance company: 3, to the claims department of my insurance company: 2, to the Subaru dealer for a drivability check: 2. To the guy's insurance company: 0 because the guy spoke no English and I got nothing out of him. Status of car? Banged up still. Tab thus far: $189 plus tax, just for an inspection of the mechanicals.] So where am I now? Messages left everywhere, nothing learned except that my insurance company (State Farm!) tells me I'm better off going to his company first because the "new rate schedule" has it that if I file a claim with State Farm, even one where it is 100% not my fault, my rates may go up, substantially! My response? That's reason enough to switch insurance companies. My sheepish agent -- I absolutely agree with you.

One morning devoted to this, with alignment tweaked but not much else accomplished, except that the car has been deemed drivable, which I already knew.

No matter. The day is cloudy, I needed a break from weeding. (This is what I tell myself as I sit at the Subaru dealer's service department waiting for my car report.)

 

During the earlier morning walk I spent some time poking around the flower beds. I noticed the bearded irises are ready to pop open. There was a time when I was really into the bearded irises and they've done well over the years, coming into a period of bloom right around mid May.

 

 

 

I still like them, but they get to be tall and wind and rain can knock them down if you dont stake the stems. So I have to keep an eye out on all of them.

Other flowers? The false indigo bushes. They're grand, even though I have never found a good way to photograph them so that you can fully appreciate their abundant beauty.

Okay, animals fed, breakfast served. 

And now comes my waiting time at the Subaru shop, phone in hand as I navigate the claims departments of various players in this "who is going to pay" game that is launched by a vehicle crash.

Back in the garden, I deliberate whether to water the tubs and newly planted veggie seeds. We keep getting a 40% chance of rain weather report. On the one hand, it makes you think that it'll be a wet day, may as well stay indoors, on the other hand 40% does mean that there likely will be no rain at all, or too little rain, which is just as bad, and your young babes will not germinate and it will be your fault!

So I throw some more seeds on the meadows, and I water. Veggies, meadows and tubs.

And that is how it gets to be time to pick up the girl at school.

We finish the third in a series of World War II books we've been reading and so I leave Snowdrop to fend for herself for a little while as I tidy things up a bit. And I have to smile at her choices -- still drawn to her little mice, and to her dolls. Still making up endless stories with them.

Sad will be the day when the grandkids move away from their favorite toys! Well, given the ages of the youngest, it wont be for a while before that happens, but still, it's on the horizon.

No rain tonight. Still, I stay indoors after Snowdrop leaves. Truth is, I am sleepy. Reheat leftovers and give it up for the day. Both Ed and I need to catch up on sleep.

Mother's Day

For every mother who loves this day, there is, I'm sure, someone who wishes it would be wiped off all calendar pages forever. We are complicated in our feelings, relations, our memories, our expectations. Maybe you wish your mom still lived, or lived closer to you, or you saw her today and everyday, or maybe you wish she'd been that person award recipients always praise and thank for her full throttle support of their ambitions, their trials through life, their risk taking, their choices. Or maybe your mom person isn't your mom at all. Maybe your motherly nurturing came from someone outside the family, or at least at a distance from your nuclear home. 

Fact is, moms are not monolithic or all singularly awesome and heroic, or necessarily committed to keeping you happy and calm. But this one thing I am certain of -- we wish them well and what better day to say this obvious truth than on this day, marked in our consciousness (and marked in all emails coming from all vendors!) as Mother's Day. A day belonging to her, for all that she wanted to do when she gave birth to you and me. (Never mind how that finally turned out! We are a forgiving species, right?!)

How to celebrate this day? Well, by saying Happy Mother's Day for sure, to all but the die heart feisty moms who abandoned us in some fashion and refused to honor our personhood when we needed them to do just that. And maybe even those -- they all deserve a smile.

Me, I focus on my daughters, who are extraordinary mothers in the love and total support that they give to their kids (and the time and attention they give, and the joyous times they create for the children and their families). 

 (last week, with my bunch of offspring)

 

 

And some time in the course of the day, I focus, too, on my own little world, here at the farmette. Mother's Day is a time to smile at the grand memories and at the sticky moments which somehow all worked out in the end. To think back and to think ahead and, too, well, truthfully, I like to spoil myself a little today.

During the walk to the barn, I take extra pauses. (Seems that the allium flower is boss right now!)

And breakfast -- well, that had been a little contentious, because I ordered a panettone (in response to one of those emails from a bake shop, suggesting that a chocolate and pear panettone would be so wonderful for a breakfast this Sunday!) and Ed could not believe how much I was willing to spend on it. Sure, it's a two figure sum, but a brunch out would have cost more! Besides, I explained it was mostly the shipping that added to the tab, which just made him groan louder. Me saying "I paid for it!" did not help. It only solidified the thought that I was, well, nuts.

Nonetheless, I had my dream breakfast, outside, amidst bunches of market tulips.

Then I washed kitchen windows. I'm sorry, but the smudges on the porch door and the panes by the stove were too much. They needed a wipe down.

Now, back to a little bits of spoil. (After washing the outdoor tablecloths. Because the cats just love to laze on the porch table and it shows!.)

Where was I...

Since the day I first had land where I could plant something (flower pots count!), I've spent at least a portion of Mother's Day in greenhouses. Years of planting circled this second weekend of May. But today, when Ed asked if I needed to stop at the greenhouse, I thought about it with some longing, but gave an honest response: I'm done with planting for the season. Sure, I can find space for a plant or two, but that's rather random and certainly unnecessary. We spend money on plants, but we do exercise care and throwing dollars at flower beds that have plenty of old and new growth is not sensible or wise. Our climate now is such that I can plant around the weekend of my birthday. Three weeks earlier than in decades past. This year I got to it even earlier. Now, going forward, it's all about maintenance until I (grudgingly!) return to planting bulbs in the fall.

Maintenance sounds a lot less sexy than planting, but this is what I do and I happily set out today toward the new blueberry patch in the new orchard to see what needs attention at the moment. 

The answer is, of course, weeding, everywhere. Now is the time to put some guardrails around my sanity: it's when I realize I cannot weed it all and some parts of the garden will have to take on the status of "controlled chaos." (Thinking about it makes me smile -- it's like raising kids, no? Controlled chaos!) In the garden, this means that some areas will be lightly tended. Some weeds will be removed, but many will be left to do their thing. I always pull out garlic mustard, and try to break down the common burdock (horrible seeds on that one, sticking to everything, though traditionally those very pernicious seeds have been used as an herbal medicine -- as a blood purifier, if you can believe it!), and of course saplings from trees (lookin' at you, honey locus!) dont belong in flower beds. Additionally, I try to control creeping charlie, and creeping bell flower and this year, we are both committed to getting a handle on the horribly invasive sticky willy. In my walk to the blueberry patch, I stoop and pick, and my bucket overflows with just those invasive horrors, before I even get to the new orchard.

Some of the more distant flower fields are also an imperfect blend of flowers and weeds and at this point I am reconciled to it, convincing myself that this is not only inevitable (I cannot do it all, alone), but good for the farmette lands, for the insects, for the birds, for all who pass through this way.

 

And in the early afternoon, Ed and I go for a bike ride to the nearby town of McFarland. It's great weather for it... 

 

 

 

... and we pause there at a coffee shop...

Afterwards, I return home and he continues to the park-and-ride bus stop where our Polish engineer has left his car as he took the bus to O'Hare for his trip home (to fetch his pregnant wife). Ed reclaims the car, I do a leisurely pedal back to the farmette.

 

And now it's full steam ahead to get dinner ready. The young family and visiting friend from New York  are coming and it will be our first dinner this year out on the porch. That's surely wonderful, but it does have some extra steps associated with it, so I get to it with alacrity!

 

With a pause for a beautiful visit with the younger family!

Okay, dinner's ready. And here they all are.

It's part two of my Mother's Day celebration and it is summer-like and joyous.  My daughter's friend is, by now, like a family member. We all love her.

My son-in-law took this picture:

...just before they headed home.

It's a beautiful Mother's Day for me. For you as well maybe? Did you think about this holiday just a little? Because, you know, mothers do leave their mark. They matter to their babes. Just ask these goslings...

 

 

 

With so much love!