the Peak

There comes a moment in the growing season -- it lasts maybe two days -- when our lilac opens up its blossoms, while the crab apple is still in full bloom, when many daffodils are still standing tall with their profusion of yellows and whites, when the tulips are fully on board, when the whiff of blossom perfume hits you the minute you step outside, when the lilies of the valley are there for the picking, when the sun pops out and the air is pleasantly warm. This, I regard as the summit. The peak of my gardening efforts. We are in that moment right now.

It really is warm enough to take breakfast to the porch. And yet, we've only done it once this spring. That tells you something about my May mornings so far -- they've strayed from my normal patterns and routines. And today's is also off, and boring, belonging to those I would love not to have to bother with, but there you have it -- Alpine Blue, my now four year old car needs a maintenance check. No matter how comfortable the "waiting lounge," I consider this to be a tedious imposition, a time suck, a chore of the dullest proportions. And a money drain because of course, at this age the car will begin to develop issues. 

Because I dont like sitting at the car shop, I schedule it at the earliest possible hour (to get it out of the way). And so my morning walk to the barn is very early.

And very beautiful because, you know, it's the moment!

It's too early for breakfast -- Ed is catching up on sleep and so I take the risk of pushing it until after the car work. That does not pay off: by the time they're done with Alpine Blue (leaving me with a $700+ bill), he has had to go off to continue with the machine launch work. And so I eat alone. Not on the porch yet because, well, my table cloth is so pretty and it's still on the table after yesterday's meal.

One thing I cannot postpone is deciding whether to invest time into the roadside flower field. It's long, it's in need of a soil upgrade and a serious weeding job. Should I do it or leave it to its wild state?

I opt for something in between: a modest clean up. If Ed was around I'd dump some compost as well, but that's a heck of a job for just me, so I stay with spot digging up of weeds and grasses. I spend the rest of the morning on this and I only manage to do a half assed job on half the bed. Maybe I'll get to some other upgrades next week. Maybe.

Of course, by the time I'm done, it's "rescue the kids from the horrors of school" time. Actually both of them like school and especially the social aspects of school, but you know how it is in May -- you want vacation to come now. You're ready for it.

I listen to their stories from the day (Sparrow only recalls the ones that did not go well for him!) and sometimes I want to protest their conclusions, but I try not to. Their reactions are their own. To protest is to dispute their take on how things played out. It always amazes me how many events and encounters kids have to navigate in the course of each day. That they emerge at the end of the day unscathed, or at least with still positive feelings about what they left behind, speaks mountains about kid resilience!

In the evening, Ed comes home late. The water sensor in the basement is beeping (aka driving me crazy). That means the septic system is backed up. It's been a good day, a full day, a beautiful peak day. Even as the beginning was tedious and the ending -- well, a pain! 

 How about a photo of two dainty little tulips, just to end on a high note?

 

 

with love...

May gloriousness

A day like this one happens maybe what, three times a year? Stunning, no matter how you look at it. I could tell the minute I stepped outside.

 

 

 

The blossoms are at their mightiest, with still a touch of pink around the edges. The abundance in the gardens is palpable, even without the full swing of the lilies. And the weather? Perfection.

Ed is up and out early. By 7, he is on his way to the next stage meeting of manufacturers, engineers, mechanics, CEOs, so that the details of his machine design can be further studied and incorporated into the production cycle. I have to say, I'm pretty proud of him. He has spent many hours every day for several years now trying to create something that many thought would not be possible. And now it looks like it'll work and, too, create a platform for further innovation. Impressive!

I'm up early too. I do what I rarely do for reasons that are not all that clear to me -- I have a long, leisurely, protracted, lovely breakfast that I fix for my two local friends.

 

  

Foods consumed? Well, you know me on the subject of brunches: simple stuff. I do bake blueberry muffins (I have just enough time for a batch), but otherwise, cheeper eggs are the centerpiece. With picked chives and salmon. And fruits. I could have steamed some asparagus, but I stopped with the basics, just because I did not want to rush.  (Noticeable, I hope, is the tablecloth which I picked up on April 5th, along the Rue du Cherche-Midi.)

I suppose I could have taken us out onto the porch -- it is that warm. But the cool early morning fooled me. No matter -- it was grand to spend the morning with those two! We covered a lot of ground!

When I finished putting the last dish into the washer, it was time to pick up the kids.

You could not paint a better day for ice cream!

At the farmette, I see that the crab apple has opened to its fullest. The pink edges are nearly gone. We have before us a splendid cloud of white, impossible to take in just from one angle.

 

 

 

A tree of hope. Every year, I wait for this moment in its cycle and when it comes, I am humbled.

But of course, no plant stands alone. It fits into a sea of compadres,  And this is what really strikes you about the farmette lands right now: everything is so fresh, abundant, and swimming in a sea of green!

 

 

 

 

Still, the crab apple blossoms are with us so briefly, that I go back to them after each venture outside.

 

 

The day ends quietly. I was going to cook up a soup. I didn't do it, opting instead for leftovers. Somehow the heady fragrance of apple blossoms and the emerging lilac took away any desire to stand over a cutting board and chop onions. 

I'll end with flowers. Tulips. Those that look like someone took out a paintbrush and added color to the already beautiful flower cups. 

I hope you had a bit of nature with you, or at least nearby today. I hope it made you feel content. Maybe even euphoric? Take a whiff of all those floral scents. And give yourself a pat, or even a hug for having made it to May.

with love...

 

 

May flowers and ballet

You may call me a day lily person. I love growing them and I cannot imagine a sunny flower field without them. They figure prominently in my garden photos. I spend hours each day tidying them just so that they'll always be at their finest in their season of bloom.

And yet, I have to wonder if my greatest joy really comes from flowers of this season, this month, this moment -- when fruit trees, lilac bushes, daffodils, tulips, bleeding hearts, Virginia bluebells, and the emerging peonies fill me with total rapture. 

Perhaps it's because this period is so fleeting.The daffodils have peaked, the lilacs burst with fragrance then quickly wither. The apple blooms are even more ephemeral. Blink and you will have missed their best moment.

Or maybe it's because the transformation is so monumental and comes so quickly at the heels of winter. The freshness is phenomenal. The air pulsates with fragrance. It's a great moment to be alive!

(Morning walk) 

Breakfast -- leftover cinnamon rolls with lots of spring flowers on the table -- from the market and from my gardens. I dont normally pick flowers, but daffodils do fall down and in any case they are abundant.

Ed is out all day (most of the week actually), as they work on bringing his machine model to manufacturing. For me, today's job is obvious: finish digging in the remaining 50 glads, as well as five dahlia tubers. Yes, I seem to have purchased a few of those as well back in January (what was I thinking??). And of course, there is the nonstop weeding that awaits me every single day of the growing season. Not to complain -- there are days where I barely bother. But after last week's rain, I have to be more energetic or else I'll lose both the battles and the general war on their invasiveness.

The sun is out, the chickens follow me in search of worms (and obnoxiously scratch up the beds, but that's a constant), the birds are out. 

 

 

 

It's a splendid day and by early afternoon, I am done with all planting. I suppose I still have to decide if I want to attack the neglected road-facing bed. That's tomorrow's problem. For now, I feel deeply satisfied. Everything is in the ground. Let the magic unfold.

 

I pick up just Snowdrop today. 

We have an interesting evening before us: the dad is out of town briefly and so the mom has to attend to the two boys. Therefore Snowdrop is stuck with just me at her end of year ballet recital -- significant especially because she's ending dance classes after today's class and performance. 

She has been dancing for some seven years and the rigors of this have taught her much in the way of movement, concentration and expression. Still, the older dancers will begin now to focus on the rigors of technique and this is not something that she wants for herself going forward. The girl is busy enough. This is a good time to start limiting her activities to ones she cares about deeply (and there are many!). 

So I watch and smile at all the growth that has happened in her life, in all my grandkids' lives. 

I already saw this over the weekend when the big three went off into their own world of ideas and games. The two little ones are catching up. I cant help but notice this each time I see them.

 (they do a dance from Giselle at the end)

 

After dance, I have to take her home, but first there is a celebration at the ballet school and of course she wants to attend. And after I do take her home, I still have to stop in at the grocery store for foods for tomorrow morning. It's close to 8 by the time I pull into our driveway.

Ed is back, the chickens are in the barn. I don't cook dinner, I throw stuff together and call it dinner. Busy days demand slow evenings. I am aiming for that tonight!

with love...

family

How I love the Sundays when we all come together here, at the farmhouse for brunch. Especially on a fine May day. When no one is sick. Nor in a rush. When the kids' moods soar. When the farmette lands are at their best.

I move quickly this morning. There's food to prepare!

 

 

 But not too quickly. In May, you have to pause, smell, take note. These are the weeks we've been waiting for for such a long time!

 

 

 

 (The daffodils are still radiant. Most of them. The tulips are, of course, the attention grabbers.)

 

 

I chase the cats away and put a leaf into the table. This makes it just long enough for the 11 of us.

 

 

 

The first arrivals, finding their way along the secret path.

 

 

When everyone's here, the big three go off to plot something. When I ask for details, I get nothing. You'll find out after brunch!

 

 

 

But I can spy! I see that it involves the new orchard...

 

 

 

A pause in their scheming for brunch. Which is easy and wonderful in its variety and ease. (I did manage to bake a chocolate cake this morning, but even that was pure simplicity.)

 

 

 

 

 

Okay, the kids are ready to make their announcement.

 

 

 They are going to run for dollars (or pennies, depending on the grownups' generosity). Each of us pledged a certain amount for every lap completed by one child. It was suggested we pledge a $1 per lap. None of the other grownups followed this suggestion but dumb me didn't know that. But what the heck, my runner was little Juniper. How many laps around the new orchard can she do in a mere five minutes?

 

 

 

Turns out quite a few. She simply, um, cut some corners. Before I knew it, I was handing over my life's savings to the Cousins' Bank (for a future use).

 

 

 

A pause, a book, shared stories...

 

 

 

And now it's time for them to leave. Ed does the group photo...

 

 

And they are off and away.

There will never be a departure and dispersal that'll be easy or fun, but on the other hand, as I clean up the house, I know how completely happy they are in their chosen lives. There is nothing more that I could wish for them.

The late afternoon warms up a little and so Ed proposes a walk. Maybe the Brooklyn Wildlife Area? I'm reluctant. I'm tired and couch time seems awfully tempting. And yet...

I've never regretted taking a walk with him. And in fact, the trail is magnificent on this fresh May day. Full of apple blossoms and dogwood blooms and puffy clouds in a deeply blue sky.

 

 

If this weekend isn't a model of good energy, good spirits, beautiful celebrations, fantastic cousin games,  walks, talks, foods, shared and loved, then I dont know what is. And all on a weekend of blossoms and beauty that only May can deliver. Total heaven.

with so much love.

 

family

Yes, family. All of it. Younger, from Chicago, slightly older from this neck of the woods. Wonderful daughters, husbands, kids. Together here, for the first time this year. Celebrating, playing, eating, walking, running, joyous -- all of it.

I have little time to think about it, let alone to write about it. Let's stay with photos. They speak volumes.

1. Morning walk. Finally dry out there. But cool!

 

 

 2. First iris of the year.

 

 

3. Tulips, hanging in there!

 

 

 4. Breakfast, with spring flowers. Ed sleeps. Me, I'm in a hurry to go downtown to the farmers market.

 

 

 5. For more flowers from my favorite vendor...

 

 

 6. But mainly to meet up with these guys!

 

 

 7. My most awesome five.

 

 

 8. They all wanted lemonade. I'm not sure the younger two loved it.

 

 

 9. A time of play. Many games. Running, tagging, climbing.

 

 

 10. From there, to the Arboretum -- where the lilacs are blooming!

11. So much energy!

12. Keeping up with the big ones is not easy. They slow down for Sandpiper. Sometimes. (The very youngest one, Juniper, is napping.)

 

 

 13. In order, by age.

 

The big kids, joined now by Juniper, come to the farmhouse. No photos from there! I was busy chatting to the Chicago parents!

Of course, one could say that the important event was the dinner -- officially the family dinner celebrating my birthday.

14. Lucky break: a young woman at another table actually knew how to work my camera. To her I owe this wonderful group shot.

15. A group hug to grandpa Ed who was our official dinner host.

16. We walk over to an ice cream shop. It's close to 8 and yet the light is still with us.

17. Final moments together. Over ice cream.

I have to say, despite the cool weather, despite anything and everything, because of all that these people bring to my life, it was an incredibly wonderful day. Every single minute of it!

With so much love!