Earth Day

I sheepishly stand before you with a proclamation: I love Earth Day. Why be self-conscious about it? What could possibly be wrong with loving a day that celebrates the Earth? That has as its slogan to preserve, protect, and defend it?

Because I recognize the hypocrisy of this in me: a love of this special day, at a time when I (and countless others to be sure) contribute to waste, don't live nearly humbly enough, throw away plastic containers, and turn up the furnace when I am cold. That I try to do otherwise is not nearly good enough.

And yet.

I was the lucky child that got to live her first years in the deep countryside of Poland. With a grandfather who worshiped no deity but obsessed instead about nature. His DNA jumped a generation (my parents were urbanites to the core) and found its way into my every cell. And in Ed, I found a soulmate. Indeed, he likely exceeds my grandfather's respect for the environment. Or at the very least -- they're tied.

To have Earth Day follow my birthday solidifies in me this idea that April 21-22nd stand for something big: a fresh chance to contribute to the beauty of the natural world all around us. These days, to me, celebrate our work, our commitment to reaching a better understanding of and support for the complicated, beautiful systems of growth -- of which we are a part. It's as close to religion as I'll ever get!

You probably know that Earth Day was started by a Wisconsin guy (Senator Gaylord Nelson) back in 1970. I was still in Poland then and knew nothing about it. And yet, I've not lived through a single April in my life without thinking about how truly beautiful this planet is. How surely we must do more to contribute to its magnificence. 

I suppose my obsessive gardening is tied up with my thoughts about nature. Or, it's that I just love being outdoors.

So, my Earth Day starts with a walk to the barn. As usual. You'll notice in my photos from the growing season that I focus on one or two special spots for a handful of days before moving on the some other place. It's because for a short while, this spot becomes a visual favorite. I love the combination of color and texture! Why look elsewhere, when today I have this:

Breakfast: Ed is on a work call so I stall the meal and make the next batch of granola.

And wouldn't you know it -- once the granola is in the oven and he is done with his call, he remembers that he has a morning appointment, so he is off. Breakfast, thus, is alone, but not too bad! I put on music and bring to the table a book about backyard birds.

A few minutes of pause -- with a back and neck massager, gratis Snowdrop (man, that gizmo feels good!) -- and then I'm off to do some planting.

I accomplish a lot. 

 

 

 

With deep satisfaction, I throw down the shovel and head out to pick up the kids.

(Right about this time of the year, I always ask them which is their favorite spot in the gardens at the moment. I can't say they give it much thought, but they do always have a firm conviction!)

 

A normal day today. No one has lessons, nothing is required of us. 

I drop them off toward evening and because it is still light outside, I swing by Kopke's on the way home. Two tubs remain empty. I pick up a few baby annuals for them. Might this be my last trip to the Greenhouse this year? In another week I'll be mostly done with planting. Could we be really that far along into spring already?? Incredible.

I hope you had a moment to celebrate Earth Day and that you gave, that we all gave, some thought to how we might take care of all the plants and animals that share space with us here on this great big beautiful planet.

with love...

72

Another year down and a new one ahead of me.

Each birthday is unique: 72 is not the new 52. It's not even the new 71. My 72 comes today and, as always, I feel it to be special. Not because it's mine, or because I want a fuss (though Ed, can you maybe make a tiny bit of one, even though I know you think birthdays are silly?), not because I want to celebrate, but because I have always used this moment to revel in the fact that I am still on this planet and to think about what comes next for me, for my beloveds, for everyone and every place where I can have some influence. 

My meditative April 21st!

I can always expect full blown spring to have arrived by now and this year as every year, it has, with the caveat that today is... on the cool side. Jacket weather. 

(walk to barn)

(Tuxie, our stunning cat, waits)

(breakfast: I'll allow myself a selfie for today. As a marker of being freshly 72.)

 

On your birthday, if you are lucky, you get to hear from people you love. And I do. Zooms, calls, texts, emails. And it's grand. This, I feel is a benefit to an already special day.  

Then, despite the cold and the clouds, I go out and put in some more plants. Lilium bulbs. Two perennials I'd never tried before (an Agastache and a new Geum). And a bunch of annuals for the pots. It's what I do! And it is grand!

In the early evening I meet up with my daughter and the big two for a mini celebration. This has become somewhat of a tradition -- a time for just us, whomever is around for that "us!" (My younger girl will have her own time and place down the pike.) We go to Cooper's Hawk, chosen as much for its location -- a good jump off for Snwodrop's ballet after and my later date with Ed -- as for its essentials -- a place for a calm moment and celebratory something. (Prosecco for me!)

The kids are very much involved with the gift selection and this year, Sandpiper thought I should get something big to hug when needed. Fluffy and soft. Totally appropriate!

If Ed tends to underplay birthdays, my girls are the opposite -- they give them all they've got! 

 

From there, I pick up Ed, who is feeling "much better," and we go to Naples 15. This is a place chosen entirely by him and it's one none of us have ever heard of, despite the fact that on their website, they announce that they once hosted Tony Bennett. 

I have to hand it to Ed -- finding a place that has food and I would like (I dont want heavy, he doesn't want fussy), on a Monday, is not easy, but his random search was good! Old world Italian. Not fussy. And very tasty. With a smug grin he hands over a card. Yeah, he knows me well.

The day ends too quickly. It's always like that: on the one hand, it's like all other spring days -- loads of garden work, exchanges with those close to me. And yet, well, to me April 21st is one of those good markers of time.

with so much love...

 

holiday

If you celebrate Easter -- happy Easter. May there be chocolate eggs and storybook bunnies in your day. May you find joy.

I was told in Grindelwald that tradition has it that there will be a snowstorm right around Easter. And I know they did have one just a day or two ago. Well, tradition has it here in south central Wisconsin, that there will be cold wet weather on Easter. I don't wake up to it, but it gets here soon enough.

What I do wake up to is a sick Ed (some bug, not Covid) and a fairly decent morning out there. Maybe I can get some stuff done today after all?

Breakfast: Ed gets up for it but just barely. 

We talk about trees -- a recurring topic. I push for some pruning, he resists. And since he has veto power, nothing much happens until the next time I bring it up. (He claims to have given in plenty of times. I do not remember this. I only remember my failed efforts!)

As if to compensate for his stubbornness though, he asks me if maybe I'd like to eliminate the wide path between two beds that do still get a reasonable amount of sunshine. We don't use the path much, but navigating flower fields without one can be tough. Nonetheless I agree to it. More space for growing things! It is an offer I cannot refuse.

After breakfast I head out to Kopke's Greenhouse. I need to start filling the tubs with baby annuals.  This is always a risky proposition because it is entirely possible to get a frosty night all the way until mid May, but I'm going to bet against it. We're due for a warm up!  Gardening is a chancy thing. (Let's hope I'm right.)

I drive up to the greenhouses too early. Different holiday hours! Well that's okay, I can go for a quick walk along a nearby trail and wait for them to pop open their doors at 9:30. 

It is a very successful shopping adventure. Eighteen pots and tubs to fill and I think I've got now the foundational plant for each.  And the greenhouses are empty today! I suppose people are Eastering it up. Me, I cannot imagine a better way to spend this morning -- among flowers, with hope for the season before me.

 

Toward the end of the afternoon, the young family comes over (at long last!) for dinner... 

 

 

 

... and for an Easter egg hunt. I'm not the hider, the dad is. I gave him free reign of farmette lands, so long as everyone stays away from the flower fields!

Since Ed is feeling pretty down and out, he stays away from our gathering. Looks like he'll be staying away from a bunch of things today and tomorrow! (More on that later.)

The young ones leave, I tidy up and I sit down in my usual preferred spot on the couch. Time to think a little -- about the years leading up to this day, about the days going forward. This is what I love to do on the eve of my birthday. 

There is, of course, a lot to process: it's not been a calm year for Americans. And yet, in our coming together (and I do feel that there is energy in the movement to oppose the horror show), I see hope. The destructiveness, the hatred and evil in those that promulgate it -- they're having their moment, but I'm confident it wont last. All the good stuff  -- the wisdom, sound knowledge, concern for the welfare of your neighbor, of our planet  -- they're on our side. They're not going anywhere.

It feels good to be on the right side of history.

with love...

a day of gardening

When I first began to aggressively engage in gardening (I was 30 years old and we had purchased our first wee house with a patch of lawn out front) I had this image, borrowed from magazines of English gardeners: you had your neat little tool set, painted green maybe, you purchased your baby plants, you cleared some space for them, put them in, as birds chirped and sun rays warmed the back of your neck. Or maybe you'd wear a sun bonnet -- so attractive! Straw, definitely.

Let me describe the reality, the details of which I'll take from my morning work today.

On my early walk to the barn, I survey the flower fields. I should never step outside in spring without putting on gloves, because always, always, I'll reach for weeds and my hands will get crusted with dirt immediately. No matter. Things are looking good out there (they always look great in spring!). 

Let me hurry up with breakfast. (Finally: I took the shears to his beard!)

And get going with today's first big time planting regimen. 

I'd listed all the perennial plants I have to put in and I noted where they may go. This is a rough outline. Reality will often shift things around once I start digging.

I have three roses to plant (again, what was I thinking??). Two are trailers and come bare root, so they have to be soaked and importantly, the hole for them has to be big.

One by the house. The soil quickly turns into clay as I dig away. I kneel on my one good knee. I keep at it. I'm still congested, so I need to pause to attend to that every now and then. I put in the rose. The crown should be covered. It's not. I dig it out and return to digging. Ed had brought over some compost, but the wheelbarrow cant be put into the dense flower fields with new growth everywhere, so I have to get up and get some every now and then. No big deal, unless you are two days short of 72.

One plant in. The next one -- I chose a place next to a stump. The stump is wobbly and I decide it's better to take it out now before the roots of a new plant get established. Out comes the stump. I'm panting, but I manage to put in the second bare root rose. I carry buckets of water over. Sure, there's a hose, but uncoiling it for two plants? Not worth it. Sneeze, snort. Go over to the wood chip pile, load up a bucket of those, disperse them over my work, watch the chickens scratch them out of place. Chickens! Go elsewhere! They ignore me. They've long learned that where there is a shovel in my hand, there will be worms.

Pause to use the facilities. Oh, what's this? The first baby tick of the season on my hand! Well, at least I found it. 

And now it's noon and all I've done is put in three roses (what was I thinking??) and one clematis. My tools are scrappy, the creeping bellflower weed is again threatening all my flower fields, and the branches of all the farmette trees are shading too many of my plants. 

 

Gardening is hard work. So why do it? I honestly cannot say what drives me to it. But this much is true: I cannot imagine a spring without planting. Like with travel, I have to think that at some point I wont be able to continue. But that seems as remote to me as a day without a milky coffee in the morning. My life, as I see it, has me planting flowers by my house. It has me writing. And traveling to far away places. I cannot imagine it being otherwise.

 

I pause to drive over to Madison Sourdough. I need to pick up a cake for tomorrow's dinner -- my one contribution to the Easter holiday. Well, that and the chocolates I picked up during my travels. While at the bakery, I purchase some croissants for the week. Ah, but fresh croissants, just sitting there in a box? Too tempting. I have one for lunch, with our own blueberry jam. Outside, taking stock of my work.

And now I go back to planting. A new hibiscus -- in. All new day lilies (only six this year) are in. Clematis, roses -- in.  My glads and lilium bulbs haven't arrived yet, so I pause now. Ed tells me to go easy, but of course, it's hard not to overdo it because you want everything to have a good start. Our growing season isn't that long. The longer I wait with planting, the shorter it is.

One great surprise is in our weather: it was to be cold and cloudy and instead it's pleasant and partly sunny. I wore my Interlaken Switzerland sweatshirt and smiled recalling the day I purchased it, randomly, because I was in Interlaken and I was cold. 

By early evening, I stop. The perennial planting will keep me busy for a few more days, but, too, I want to get going on the tubs of annuals. And I have seeds that should be in the ground shortly. All this is for another day.

The skies continue to give us a mix of clouds and streaks of evening sunlight. We go out for a walk, passing sandhills on the way to the park and deer on the way home.

 

 

 

 

 

At the end of the day, as I fix us a light supper, I think about all the stuff that's growing so rapidly now. To be part of that, to structure a flower field and keep it going over the years is its own reward. From now until mid August, I'll be thinking every single day about flowers. And that's such a good thing!

with love...

 

changed

Yes you can go from a hailstorm through rain to sunshine and then back again. All in one hour. We did, here in south central Wisconsin.

We were lucky. The hail was loud and large, but it did no damage to farmette lands and structures and, importantly, flowers. Just south of us, windows were shattered. 

I go out to feed the animals in a moment of quiet.

And what I notice is what Ed will notice as well when he comes down -- the world outside has changed. It's no longer dominated by the brown earth tones of winter. Our farmette lands bear the gentle green imprint of spring.

With the added bonus of blooming bulb flowers and my occasional hanging basket, it is a very pretty landscape!

Breakfast -- during which we talk about what it takes to change a person's mind. How long does it take for you to admit you've made a huge mistake? In the way you voted, in what you held onto as gospel truth, in the way you proceeded, thinking it to be for the good, but learning that it caused harm to many instead? Turns out it takes a hell of a lot, because right now, not many are backing down from their support for the current leadership (insofar as they supported this guy back in November).

The question is why? Why accept the cruelty and incompetence? I'm thinking -- people in "happy countries" (Scandinavia, etc.) want the basics covered (healthcare, good affordable education, time off to raise families and to then vacation with them) so that they can go on to pursue their passions, perhaps enjoying the great outdoors, or meals with close ones. We're a little more confused about what we want from the government. Those who wanted "change" are smugly satisfied. They got change. But at what cost, and with what result, going forward? And who has been made better by it?

 

The sun comes out briefly now.We use this next window of warm, good air, to drive over to Natalie's Greenhouse. Kopke's has an abundance of plants that is unmatched anywhere that I've seen around here. But Natialie's is a small, family run operation. Less than half a mile from Kopke's it is our go-to place for at least one hanging basket, and friendship.

We see her at our local summer farmers market and we always pause to catch up. Hardworking, with plenty of worries on her shoulders, she nonetheless pushes forward, always with a good spin about what's ahead. [She is a half a dozen years younger than me, but nonetheless, we commiserate about how hard it is to stay "focused and present" with young grandchildren. Something happens in your sixties -- it's as if you've hit pause buttons in all aspects of your life. I completely understand this: you can be strong enough to dig up a garden or a field of tomatoes, but young ones can totally zap your energies within the space of an hour!]

Back at home, I give some thought to what goes where in my flower fields. I think the time has come for me to take some notes when I envision a garden addition in January. That vision can get awfully blurry come April!

In the afternoon I pick up the grandkids. Why do they love pajama day in school? Such a nothing event and yet, they're thrilled with it. Should we learn from that?

It's a short stay at the farmhouse, because Snowdrop has her violin lesson later in the afternoon. I drop her off, then backtrack to Barrique's with Sparrow for a meet up with my older girl. Believe it or not, I haven't spoken to her for maybe a month! In texts we pass on basic information, but of course, that's a poor substitute for a face-to-face. We finally take a few minutes for that today.

And in the evening, I cook up some farmette eggs and CSA spinach. I have a lot of garden work before me, but unfortunately, the three loose days ahead coincide with cooler temps and periods of rain. On the upside, all this will change soon. You know how April works: whatever comes your way never stays for long. And here's the thing: unlike in life, in politics, in the world, what comes next is nearly always better than what was there before.

with love...

the need to find happy places

You know what I could do all day? Sit inside the greenhouses at Kopke's and watch people buy plants. At Kopke's the staff is always joyful and helpful and the shoppers are at their moment of pleasure -- enriching their gardens, porches, decks with blooming plants for the season. People have very divergent approaches to this, and of course very different tastes, and this is what makes it so interesting. And they like to talk about it to someone, anyone, so I'm sure if I sat in a corner, I'd be engaged in a conversation about the virtues of a pink versus red fuchsia flower.

Kopke's opened for the season today and that, to me is one huge reason to be joyful. Theirs is a very short season: mid April to late June. Sure, they pick it up again in the fall with a burst of chrysanthemums, but this is not interesting to me, nor to most serious gardeners. Our planting time is now.

So I wake up with not a small amount of enthusiasm, even though, darn it, I do have a cold. It came suddenly and of course it could be from anyone anywhere, but I know it's not Covid, just sinus stuff and yes, I do wish I had a Swiss pharmacist who could advise me on what herbal concoctions to take for it, but I don't, so I'm just barreling through with it.

But here's a Swiss remedy of sorts -- my wonderful teas have arrived (I purchased them in Zurich). Very herbal and very delightful! So if there is a psychological boost that comes from drinking fantastic infusions, I will surely benefit from it! Too, my daughter found a recipe for granola that she liked and shared and I decided to make it this morning. In reading the recipe (it's called Eleven Madison Park Granola and you can find it in the NYTimes if you have a cooking subscription, and if you dont, send me a note and I'll copy the recipe for you) -- I learned that it was created by Daniel Humm (a Swiss plant based chef working in New York), and it hails back to his childhood in Zurich. Well now, if that isn't a good omen then I don't know what is!

I make it for breakfast. Oats, pistachios, coconut flakes, pumpkins seeds, sour cherries and some brown sugar, maple syrup and olive oil. There! I've given you the whole thing, it's that simple.

Breakfast, together at last.

(meanwhile, the destroyers are out there, digging up my bulbs...sigh...)

 

 

(and still, things are looking so good now! color has returned to farmette lands...)

 

 

And then I am off to Kopke's. A piece of springtime heaven.

 

 

I stay a while, I pick out a few plants. 

Transformative!

Of course, you can't go hog wild just yet. I don't see any frosty dips in night temperatures for the next ten days, but we are not yet in the safe zone. Pansies will survive a light frost. Most of the other stuff wont and would have to be carted inside. Still, even the appearance of a few annuals, coupled with the emerging bluebells, daffodils etc. -- are enough to make anyone smile!

And my first box of plants -- these from Bluestone Perennials -- arrived today, so I will have my hands full in the coming days!

(one flower basket planted, a dozen more to go!)

I pick up the kids. I'd been stalling the weekly ice cream treat because we've had so much work to do after school, but today is the day for it!

(back at the farmette, he's finally tall enough to manage the tree...)

 

 

We're to get rain this evening, but it's slow to arrive. Ed and I are so overwhelmed by the constant news pouring out at us from all corners of this country that I suggest we postpone dinner and take a walk in our local park. If the greenhouse was a morning happy place, our county park surely is our evening dreamland. The prairie fields have just recently gone through a controlled burn and so the look here is eerie. And yet... We know there are seeds and roots just waiting to shoot up after a spring rain. Somehow this is reassuring. 

Soup again tonight. Good for a sniffly cold, good for the soul.

with love...

 

decade by decade...

Someone -- a famous news correspondent who is now in her mid eighties -- was asked this: which was your favorite decade in life? She said, with little hesitation -- 50s. I can see the allure. If you have a family, you've done your grunt work. No more nose wiping and stuffinga reluctant little one into snowpants in the wintertime. As for work -- chances are you're stuck with a chosen career path and so you either like it and feel in control, or you're looking forward to retirement, which isn't that far off. On many fronts, life is stable (assuming no great upheavals like cancer, hurricanes, wildfires and any number of other tragic possibilities that can wreck your life). At the same time, you haven't reached the decades of Many Doctor Visits yet. An author of books on aging (of course I can't remember his name) wrote that he is lucky at 85 to have only five specialists who routinely check in on various organs of his aging body. Apart from the occasional special encounter for incidental questions and issues that come and go, I have only three, and one is my primary care physician who basically oversees the entirety, to make sure it all stays afloat. The other two? A cardiologist -- new, because I've lived through two already who have retired, and a pulmonary guy (lungs, for the medically uninformed) -- whom I saw today and who, too, told me he is retiring this summer.

You'd think that's pretty cool -- only three!  And neither my lungs nor my heart are deteriorating at any clip pace, so it's all rather measured -- needed bandaids rather than major interventions. But in fact, these visits do take time, because the docs are chock full of ideas about new tests I should have done to make sure I wont collapse say on the next mountain hike in Switzerland.

All this to say that early this morning, I had my pulmonary check up. I pushed off all this stuff 'til April, not wanting to bother with it before my big trip and now I am stuck with appointments, one after another.

Feeding animals? Quickly. And very early. (Still time to pay attention to what's blooming out there...)

And at 7:40, I am at the clinic, where I remain for a good three hours, because, well, these things take time.

I'm telling you this for a reason: I love each decade of my life even more than the one that came before. But to maintain that love for the present, you have to think of it in new terms, using new parameters. Being in my 70s is different than being in my 50s in a million ways. It requires greater patience. And in my opinion, you should not compare. For all the quirky aspects to life now, for all those rotating clinic visits, there are such great joys to being alive, and in your seventies, and retired, and free to fashion a day in a way that suits you. You have the ability to dedicate a whole two hours to extricating your granddaughter's summer shoes out of customs, for example. Or, to sit on a bench outside and survey the garden, trying to remember where you intended to put in the rose bush that is arriving at the end of this week (gulp!).

 

Breakfast? Alone again.  Ed is gone by the time I return from the protracted doc visit. That's okay -- I wanted a moment with my granola! (I purchased it in Paris, with my daughter, on a quick run to the bakery on the other side of town.)

It's cool outside. Not even close to the warmth I was lucky to have on the other side of the ocean. But, the perennials are coming on strong. If only the chickens would quit digging up the flower fields, I'd be happy.

(yes you!)

In the afternoon, I pick up the grandkids.

One more day of heavy duty homework for the girl (she is extremely good natured about it, in ways I wouldn't have been at her age, since I regarded homework as a Great Evil Interferer into life as I wanted to live it then). 

 

 

Sparrow is happy to return to his Legos and his apples and croissants and pieces of chocolate chip cookie.

In the evening Ed is still working on his machining project. Me, I take a walk. It's my time of peaceful reflection. On the day's joys and good moments. But, too, on how tragic the unraveling of this country has been, all at the hands of the few who cannot see beyond their own well being, or what they imagine will preserve their own well being.

We sit down to a soup and salad. It's late, but the light is still with us. We are, after all, entering the lightest, brightest quarter of the year. My favorite. Oops! No favorites allowed. They all have great moments of joy. (But I do so love spring!).

 

pushback

After the euphoria of a return home, there is often times a period of recalibration. How do I manage life now, in my old environment? Should I make adjustments? 

Ed is out at the firm today, working on his new machine design. I tell him I'll be doing some house cleaning in his absence. In there is a hint that perhaps I shouldn't be doing so much housecleaning, because, well, you know, it should not be a one person job when two people inhabit a space? Recalibrate.

I have my annual check up. I'm thrilled with this: I can discuss with my doc the ways I could improve my strength. She tells me I'm already strong. And she is correct, except in the places where she is not correct. Recalibrate. 

I eat breakfast very late. Call it brunch and an unhealthy one at that -- I stopped by Madison Sourdough to get cookies for Sparrow and of course, I could not resist their cinnamon roll. Wait, wasn't I hell bent on making Bircher Muesli when I got home from Switzerland? But of course, you have to do that the night before breakfast. Recalibrate.

 

 

I check my smart watch health data every night. Mostly I like to see what the step count was for the day. During the three weeks I was in Europe, I'd walk at least 15 000 and as much a 25 000 steps every day. But how does that happen here? Even if I found the time for it, wouldn't it get awfully repetitive to do in the new development -- the place of my nearest walking path? Should I do less? Should I go to a gym? Should I just forget steps and work on my garden? Recalibrate.

Typically by mid April I am ready to start planting. Annuals in tubs, perennials into the ground. Plants that I ordered back in January are arriving next week. Annuals I purchase locally. But am I ready for all this? The daffodils are just starting to bloom! I review the list of flowers that I need to put in this year. Did I really purchase a rose? Another clematis? Where am I going to plant these? What was I thinking? Recalibrate. 

The morning just disappears on me. 

I pick up both kids today. 

Snowdrop has two more days of intense homework, as she tries to master another grade level of work -- an option given in her (public) school. Between that and Sparrow's reentry into farmhouse routines I'd say we have our hands full.

 

 

So in the early evening, I go for a walk. I should be working on supper. But you know, there are too many sentences already in the this post that have an "I should" motif in them. Perhaps I should, instead, just go for a walk and not think about much at all.  

Great plan! Fully realized. No recalibration needed.

with love...