have a happy Fourth!

Without question, the Fourth of July is many things to many people. History, personal good or bad fortune, played out differently depending on where, when and to whom you were born. So you're bound to feel privileged or disadvantaged, included or pushed aside, depending on any number of things. And yet, all of us feel the significance of the Fourth. Few if any would want to turn our backs on the project of being American, even if some of us aren't so sure if we can celebrate how we got here, and a small fraction of us (not me!) would like to go back to the way things were in the past. 248 years to build this, on a foundation that most of us believe or at least hope is pretty solid. Two years short of a semiquincentennial. My, we are young! Young enough to be foolish I suppose. You know how teenagers are -- always taking that chance at something goofy and self-serving because they think they're invincible and deserving. Let's hope that we get some maturity and wisdom going as we elect our next batch of leaders this coming November.

Happy Fourth to you!

On a slightly lighter note (but be warned -- not in any way good!) -- the Fourth has always been momentous for me because by this date, you know if you're going to have an okay mosquito year or a bad one. And sure enough, this morning dispelled all hopes of a good one. All that rain, all that green jungle growth? Their heaven, and therefore our hell. Those nasty guys are out in armies posed to kill right now!

A few years ago, when things were even more dismal mosquito-wise (hard to imagine, but yes, it's been worse), we did spray. Every two weeks, for a couple of months. We hired someone to pump some frou-frou organic stuff, guaranteed to at least decrease their population significantly. There was all this promise of survivorship among the "good bugs" -- meaning everyone else except for mosquitoes -- but of course, that has to be hogwash because to my knowledge, there's nothing out there that kills off JUST mosquitoes. In any case, the stuff was good for about two or three days and then slowly they would come back. The yard smelled of garlic. I was happy, in the way that you are when your own personal interest has been served and you've managed to block out all the residual consequences your happiness may have had for others who inhabit the planet.

Today I suggested to Ed that we consider spraying this year again. Just to do away with the great bulk of the menace. Because they do multiply and so things tend to get worse, not better, as the season progresses. Sort of like old age.

July 4th, therefore, is a turning point for me. In some years it is the day I start to think  -- you know, winter isn't so bad after all. You may need a warm jacket and mitts and a cap, but at least you're not zapping away at swarms of blood sucking bugs. Yeah, winter's not so bad!

The cruelty of it all is that everything outside is so beautiful right now! The lilies are just now beginning to come into their own...

The air is warm, the fragrance is of the earth, of flowers.

And yet you can't fully revel in it, unless you spray yourself with some poison to ward off the aggressors. (Which is what Ed had to do as he went out to deal with our mounting compost pile.)

Still, I slap and smack and I clean the garden. It takes about 90 minutes to snip and pull some weeds while I'm in there being bitten alive. I'm hauling in about 300 spent lilies a day, which is on the low side, though I haven't bothered with the road-facing bed, so the count is really a bit more than that. Still, it's a sign of either the earliness of the season, or of the fact that we just haven't had that much sunshine. Lilies, like tomatoes, like sunshine.

 

Breakfast, on the porch.

With this guy.

Then we get a little lazy. Ed biked yesterday so he feels like he's paid his movement dues. Me -- no excuse. I got up too early! I deserve some couch time!

After snacking away at what I would affectionately call "lunch," Ed proposes we head out. Where? To a place we like to go to every couple of years -- the Stoughton Fair.

 

 

Stoughton is a small town to the south of us and it holds an annual fair which has the typical rides and stuff that goes from town to town in the summer, and then, more importantly, it has the farm animal show and competition. You will find a lot of beautiful cows, goats, sheep, chickens, pigs, turkeys, rabbits and ducks.  And I mean a lot. You'd never know we have so many young people taking care of farm animals in the vicinity. (It is mostly young people and they are all locals.)

We spend a good two hours walking the fairgrounds (just the animal part). Photos? Of course!

It is just awesome to see kids doing such good work with their animals. I mean, to bring a sheep to such excellence is work. Round the clock hard work. And I cant tell you how many beautiful lambs and sheep alone were paraded before judges. (A lot!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gorgeous animals, loved and well cared for. Though as Ed noted - probably slated to be eaten at some point. But then, Ed usually can be counted on to bring up the unfortunate side of these things.

I can't say that I moved with any vim and vigor today. And I noticed that although my cough was finally going away, I seem to be back to sneezing. Too many animals? Maybe, but I also traveled. For the first time, without masking. (No one masks in airports anymore. Maybe one traveler in several thousand.)

Could I have Covid? For the second time in my life? Nah... I feel fine. Waste of tests. But then again, there's Ed. There are the kids, soon to return to farmhouse schedules... I'm a compulsive tester. I'll test.

The rain came down hard as I sat there with my test kit and watched the line move right into positive.

Oh damn. Ed!

He moves out of the farmhouse. 

Our Fourth ends this way: I'm alone, he's alone, the mosquitoes are multiplying, it's raining like nuts.

I made a pot of chili so that I wouldn't have to cook for the next several days. Is there such a thing as a too quiet an evening? Ed and I are not fans of fireworks. We're on the side of all the birds and animals that hate all that noise. But this farmhouse emptiness is something else altogether.

Well, so it goes. I do hope you had a cheerful, thoughtful, reflective, beautiful and healthy Fourth!

with love...

this is the life...

In your crazy existence, there are moments when suddenly you get a breather, maybe on vacation, say by a pool or by a lake or ocean, stretched out on a lounger, cool drink in hand, good book on your lap, gentle breeze rustling the pages (well, maybe not on a Kindle page, but you get the idea) and you say -- ah, this is the life! As if this moment of idleness is what you aspire to, eventually, and especially when you retire. 

I get it. Reclining in the middle of the day, coddling yourself with a book that promises a good ending, after the rush of each working day -- I get it. I used to love sunbathing on beaches for this reason. You are lying down and doing nothing! Unimaginable on a regular old day back home.

But the standards (for "this is the life!") change over time.  For me, there is still the exotic allure of being in the Luxembourg Gardens on a sweetly perfect spring day, or sitting at Cafe Varenne and watching the hum of life around me -- that's feels awesome! But the time I say "this is the life!" with the greatest amount of vigor and conviction is on days like this: hot outside, a little too buggy, but still, I weed and snip and fix things in the garden. And then I sit down to breakfast with Ed on the porch and it's a tad too warm for him, but still, we do it, and the skies are dazzling and the lilies are perky again, and I think -- ah, this is the life! And then I work some more -- not too much, because honestly, things are looking okay out there, intervention not needed on a grand scale, just small bursts of weeding in the usual spots that always produce too much of the stuff that doesn't belong, and then I come in to our cool living room -- no AC yet because if you keep the windows closed there is so much shade around the house that it really does keep things cool inside, and I sit down and Ed is there too, and I maybe make myself my second cup of milky coffee, so un-Italian and un-French, so incorrect, but so yummy and I think again -- ah, this is the life!

Because really, it's such a beautiful day that if you can't find pleasure in it now, in your older age, well then what's the point... (Exceptions allowed! Older age can raise tricky health issues and can bring with it a lot of personal loss. All the more reason if you are not suffering either of those, you really ought to take a look around on a day like this and admit this much: to be here, in this world of flowers and trees and foods that nourish you and people you love -- well, now, sit back and let it out -- this is the life!)

As for photos -- well, as I said, the morning, after all that rain was buggy. And I had to get Ed out of bed because when I went to feed the animals, I noticed that once again someone had taken down the cat door to the sheep shed. We think it's a skunk or a racoon who wants to get inside to eat the leftover cat food that we leave out for the three cats that basically live in that shed. In any case, Ed needed to fix it ASAP, because with the downed door, the mosquitoes had been given a clear passageway to the inside and they were making use of it! 

Some early morning garden photos:

Ed absolutely would not pause until that cat door was firmly in place. That means that breakfast would be very very late. Well, here's an idea -- why dont I bike over to Tati's Cafe in the new development and pick up some of the Madison Sourdough treats that they now sell on most mornings?

Yeah!

I also bike over to take a peak at Steffi's House. Did the rains wash it away? They did not. Is the crew doing the landscaping? They are! (Well, one of them is...)

Home again. For breakfast. With Ed.

More work outside.

Some afternoon garden photos:

And now time on the couch, over that second milky coffee... Such a feeling of contentment and well being washes over me... The stress (and excitement) of climbing a mountain, of making a flight connection, of driving a single-track -- all that's behind me. Things are calm right now... How good is that!!

(Dance, on the couch...)

(hens, at rest: one in the barn, two in the shade, three in the sun...)

Finally, an evening garden photo:

 

with love...

messy second day

What a mess! Total chaos. Everything in shambles.

Yuk.

I'm talking about the flower fields of course. Indeed, all fields, forests, meadows -- everything. It rained crazily hard last night, into this morning, into the afternoon and evening too. Sheets of water to an already saturated landscape. Tall flowers keeled over. Lilies drooped and hid their faces. Puddles, mud, streaming water. I got drenched going out to feed the animals.

What a day...

Breakfast says it all: inside, oatmeal. Last time I had oatmeal was in Scotland, once, in Tongue. Before that? On a dismal cold day at the farmhouse, probably when there was still snow on the ground. Today -- I'm in an oatmeal mood.

 

 

There is a dry window right around lunchtime and I dash outside to pick off some spent lilies. I'm already near 300  flowers in my bucket for the day. I also try to stake the hollyhocks, but they are so heavy with rain that it's a little pointless. They are nearly broken with despair. 

Still, this is a good time to take at least a few photos. There is some color out there! Let's love it for what it is!

I get wet. You try plunging into a flower field after a heavy rainfall. And inevitably, it starts raining again. I go in. It stops, I go out, now in dry pants, which get wet again.

I'm on pants number three for the day. But, I did clip the lilies and I pulled some weeds. And I am sooooo looking forward to a drier tomorrow!  

the farmette in July

Spring is vibrant and bursting with the early pinks, yellows and blues of the growing season. Autumn throws upon us the purples and golds. But July is the month when the flowers in the farmette fields show off all the best of the year's colors, textures and combinations. July here shines!

I'm up very early. As always after a return from Europe. 5 a.m. and I'm done with sleep for the day.. The better to see what's outside!

Ed had warned me that it was a green jungle out there, that everything is dense, that several of the lilies had already burst into bloom. He was sort of right, but not entirely.

It is true that we had an unusually large amount of rain this spring and too few sunny days. An early heat wave pushed everything forward by a week or so, but now the temps are moderating. So what does this kind of a year do to the flower beds?  Well, as he said, it's densely green out there. Last year there was a drought and the lilies and phloxes were restrained in their stem and leaf production. This year? No restraint. But we could use more sunshine hours to pop those lily blooms out and bring out those strong colors. Still, this is a picky picky assessment. For the most part, it's been an easy year to be a flower grower. Well, unless you counted on the spring peonies to stand tall for you. The rains did knock things down a bit in June. And of course, all the rain meant that there was an EXTRAORDINARY amount of weeding to be done. Still, it's been good out there!

Let's take a look at what's blooming on the farmette on the first day of this beautiful month:

Looking good!

But I do need to weed. A lot. And I need to clean up the already spent day lilies. So I get to work and I go at it for a good three hours before I give it a pause.

A pause for breakfast. On the porch. With Ed. And the no longer flea infested cat. (I pick a small bunch of flowers for the table. I never like to deplete the fields too much, but here's a wee bunch -- living proof that I dont just grow lilies!)

Perhaps the stars in the garden right now are the alceas --- hollyhock by common name. There have been years were they stubbornly refused to throw flowers. This year? Splendid!

Too, the lavender field is stellar! Absolutely beautiful.

And Ed is prodding me to pick radishes. I grew them from seed, did not thin out the extras and I have a total explosion out there. We will be eating lots of large radishes.

 

 

We survey the stuff together. His tomatoes are doing well so far!

We pick a handful of wild blackberries...

 

 

 

And go on to the meadow by the peach orchard. It's producing the most amazing assortment of flowers...

I should do some more work out there, but I have errands. To pick up the car (in the body shop for the ten days I was away). To visit my mother. To grocery shop.

[My mother is doing as can be expected. Still tired, still not very happy, perhaps a little more resigned to the fact that she's not going to bounce back to where she was even just a year ago. And of course it becomes a self fulfilling prophecy: the more tired she is, the less she wants to move at all, which makes her even weaker.]

Home again. Groceries put away. Laundry, lunch, laughter. All that. Just happy to be back.

In the late afternoon I bike over to Steffi's House to see how the young Polish couple is doing and to check on the outside mess that has yet to be dealt with by the construction team. Result: the newborn baby is lovely and the the plantings are all positioned to go in! Soon I hope. We could all use a little more green stuff in that block and a little less mud.

Evening. The mosquitoes are not that bad! The birds are singing up a storm! And once nighttime settles over the farmette fields, the fireflies do a magnificent dance for us, showing their spark, their beauty, perhaps joy too? Because it is so great to be alive and dancing at night! (Or sitting on the farmhouse couch again...)

with love...

leaving Paris

When I leave Paris, I always know when I will next be here. And I know now when I will be returning. Of course, life may interfere, and with rare exception, I do not book things anymore that cannot be changed. Covid and age did that to me. (The rare exception is when a place insists on a nonrefundable prepay for at least one night. The Torridon in Scotland asked for that. I freaked! In the end I decided that it was worth it, but I worried the whole while beforehand.)

Age is such a hot topic in political discussions right now and I feel privileged to know something about it! I am in that decade where people start to think of you as "too old."  And I feel too old. Too old to enjoy scaling every summit on a hiking path. Too old to relish a daylong drive along a narrow single-track road. Too old to shake that cough quickly. Too old to stay in a crowded museum for many hours.

On the flip side -- not too old to get on an overseas flight again and again. Not too old to carry that (now heavy) suitcase down a flight of steps, at a run, to catch the train for the airport. (Paris is getting better at access for wheels, but it's not totally there yet.) Not too old to log in 30 000 steps in the Highlands and another 30 000 in Paris. Not too old to add strange words to my French vocabulary. Not too old to feel joy, every day of my life.

Good morning Paris.

It's voting day here. If you have at all followed France's own political woes, you'll know that the centrist government is being squeezed from the right and squeezed from the left. A new coalition is expected to emerge and one can only hope the French people know what they're doing, because things could get pretty dicey here going forward. 

I notice none of this as I come down to breakfast, at my usual table in the corner, perfect for a solo traveler...

(Such a pleasant staff here -- new to me in the dining room, but so very cheerful and kind.)

(If you use the stairs at the Baume Hotel, as I do, all the time, you get to know these six pretty well! Each landing has one of them, front view. I had to explain to Snowdrop what Claudine's outfit is all about!)

And I notice none of the election stuff when I go out for a walk. My flight is in the late afternoon. I can afford time for one last walk.

(not too old to walk, not too old to ride a bike!)

Where to? If you had one last morning in Paris, where would you go?

It's Sunday. It's a gorgeous day -- mostly sunny, pleasantly warm. Upper sixties F (20C) maybe? A no brainer, right?

I walk without purpose, but with an intention -- to take it in, this wonderful park, at its finest moment.

I pause by the pond -- yes, there are others who adhere to the "not too old" philosophy of life. He's not too old to play with a boat at the Jardin Luxembourg! And the other guy too! Big boat, little boat...

Big people, little people. Three generations of people:

 

 

And here's the flip side -- these scooter kids are not too young to listen to music in the gazebo. 

I listen as well. It's a bunch of teens from Devon England performing -- one group sings, the other forms a band. I watch both, but I especially love hearing children's choirs. This one isn't some Cambridge Kings College perfection, it's just kids, enthused about getting to come to Paris for the weekend, to sing for a scant audience at the Jardin Luxembourg. (They had t-shirts printed for this!)

And the conductor shares their enthusiasm and I think -- they will return home tonight, but they will always remember these two days in Paris (I asked -- they had two performances here). And I will too. Kids enthusiasm for life! How I wish older people would hang on to it as well! Some do. Thank goodness.

 [As an older traveler, I was amused to read that for a couple of days this week, some countries in Europe -- notably those I was in! -- had a cellular disruption, so that if you rely on Google maps or Uber to move around, or if you text your way through the day -- you were screwed. I of course noticed this, but assumed it was a phone malfunction, so I just turned the thing off when I was out and about -- without really being bothered by it. And of course, I, being older, dont fully rely on technology anyway. When I needed Google maps to navigate in Scotland, I also wrote out the road numbers I would have to turn on, just in case. Old people habits sometimes pay off!]

My watch tells me it's time to head back now. Just one more picture. I see a very British-like line has formed for pictures by the Olympic circles. Just a handful of people, but a more disciplined assortment. This makes it easy to wait and then ask someone to snap you a photo.

What the heck -- not too old to do this too!

I grab my bag and my backpack and my spill over satchel (buying stuffies for kids will create that need for an added satchel), and to head uphill to the commuter train that will take me to the airport.

Flights on time, Minneapolis, then Madison, where Ed waits patiently at door number 4. Hi my love! Dont get too excited, the mosquitoes at home are awful, but I did get rid of the fleas that Unfriendly had picked up!  I smile. Welcome home!

With so much love...