May quiet and thunder

When I was a kid -- say in the age range of Sparrow (almost 7) or Primrose (7) or Snowdrop (10), my school days (and therefore the month of May) were in New York City and I cared not at all about the weather. If a day was beautiful, I didn't notice it. If it rained -- I suppose I got wet coming home from school. Summers of course were different. I was either away at camp or at my grandparents' home in rural Poland and the weather set each day's agenda. But I never knew what was coming! No TV meant no tracking of a forecast. My grandma would get the Polish newspaper and I suppose there was some rough prediction of what would take place in the week ahead, but I wouldn't have looked at it, or asked her to tell me the forecast. The way we judged weather was to look outside at the sky. 

I ask myself -- when did I become so tuned to (my daughters would say obsessed with) meteorological forecasts? Was it a maternal instinct that had me pay attention so I could protect my kids from adverse conditions? Was it gardening, because May frost, May drought, May storms -- these are important to take note of in your planting schedule? Or was it my frequent travels (because I had to pack accordingly)? Maybe all of it. Fact is, I track weather more than I track the stock market. (One influences my day's activities, the other -- my retirement.) I check on what's coming each day, each week, and even the week after. And I take seriously predictions of storms. And because my daughters are more relaxed about the whole thing, I make sure to send texts and reminders if I think a strong system is about to descend on us.

Oftentimes, the threatening whether does no materialize. It goes somewhere else, or disappears inexplicably from the forecast. One minute I see a 95% chance of storms with possible tornadoes, and the next, we're down to 71% and there's no mention of tornadoes. This is of course good news, but it does mean that over time, I lose credibility with all my warnings and precautionary suggestions. I remember a few weeks back texting my daughter, warning her that she should ready for an evening in the basement, with maybe the kids' favorite stuffies for comfort and passports placed downstairs for safekeeping (because these days citizenship seems to be an all important marker of friend or foe in our country). Not only did the storms never come, but in fact we got not a drop of rain. Which is fine, though I'm sure my girl rolled her eyes at this morning's message from me, because experience has shown her that... I... can... be... very... wrong.

And still, I continue to watch, monitor, and spread the word when I think storms are brewing.

*     *     * 

I get up early. Ed is going off to work more on the machining project and I want to have breakfast with him, so it's early or not at all.

(Morning walk: it's still about lilacs, though I see one of the clematis vines starting to bloom; white flowers, big, bold and beautiful)

(breakfast on the porch)

And then I study the weather maps. With strong storms predicted for the end of the school day, I send a message that I can't be the one doing the pickup of the two older kids. I don't want them to count on me and then have me not show up because we have a tornado warning. (The parents live close to the school, I do not.)

This leaves me with a very quiet day. Cats are sleeping, Ed's away. I listen to the wind. It's strong! And yes, it is hot, but the breezes are significant enough to move air around so I don't feel the mugginess that was with us yesterday. 

I work the flower fields. Weeds have been awful this year. Who knows why -- the soil is dry, you'd think they'd slow down, but no!

But it's not all garden work: I take out my bike and do our regular old 40 minute loop. I cant let that kind of activity slide! Gardening is hard work and as a result, I pass on stuff that normally fills our days -- walks, rides, leg movement! Today, I'm back in the saddle.

And then I come inside and wait for the storms to come barreling down on us. And when they don't come at 3 and Ed returns from his machining project, I bravely go with him to our local market. I need good asparagus! (There is no good asparagus. But we do take some rhubarb over to the bakers. We have a lot of rhubarb.)

On the drive home I think -- last week we saw a sandhill crane family crossing the road here.

Wait, who is that? Same family??

What are the chances...

Of course, it turns out no bravery was required for the market trip. The storm that came our way once we returned home was short-lived and inconsequential. The flower fields are still thirsty, but on the upside, there is no damage in Madison from the high winds, the hail was (only) pea sized, and no tornadoes touched down here. We surely ducked that one! I am really, really grateful. 

 

 

with love...

May heat wave

A second (or is it third?) day of steamy weather, and it will intensify tomorrow. We're told to expect highs of 88F (31C). In Mid May. Before dropping down to 40F (4C!) by Sunday morning. If that isn't a bounce around the extremes, I don't know what is.

For now, so long as there are no destructive storms, I take it in stride. There are benefits to a warm day. A misty, pleasant walk in the morning...

(Purple Allium stalks are starting to bloom)

Followed by a drive downtown -- all lost to a thick fog... 

...To meet up with my friend Barbara at Madison Sourdough. We eat outside. It's such a treat to take your meals outdoors, even on a busy street (and of course, to spend time with friends you've known most of your life).

And then it's back to the flower fields. The two W's: to weed, to water. It's hard to accept that I need to water in May. That we have had more dry days than we'd like this season. Last season as well. The new plants cannot survive a drought and so I uncoil the hose once more. Unlike Ed, who hurries back inside once he has stepped out and felt the heat, I am not yet tired of days that are this warm and I am not tired of hosing down the newbies. And still, I do hope this isn't a pattern for the growing season. The established plants have deep roots that know how to search out moisture, but in time, they, too will need help and that's a big job for one person with 11 growing fields (to say nothing of the meadows).

 

 

Eventually I throw down the spade and hose and go out to get the two big kids. They had outdoor races today -- normally a great set of fun activities for kids and parents alike, but in this heat -- they were sweltering. Lucky them -- they go to an air conditioned school. And here's perfect timing: Wednesdays are ice cream days!

(working through the frustration of not having all his running laps counted)

 

 

 

 

In the evening Ed bikes, I do some spot work outside -- not because I feel the need to do it, but evenings are in fact beautiful now: the heat recedes, the colors are sublime.

A month ago, there was so little color still. The flower fields were barely sprouting. And now? An avalanche of plant life out there. And flowers. Fresh and magnificent. To admire and to love.

 

May pause

It's not all garden work this month! (Although it is true that not a day passes where I don't reach down and pull out a few weeds.) Sometimes it's good just to take a prolonged break -- say on the porch, over breakfast, listening to the birds. Sparrows, Blue Jays, Catbirds, Robins, Goldfinch, Starling, Thrush, Orioles, Warblers and birds with the unfortunate name of Killdeer (so named for their piercing cry). They are all out, claiming their airspace this morning.

Ed is on a long morning call again and so I eat alone, listening, reading. And looking! I'd done my morning walk to the barn, took in the lilacs and the fields around the courtyard and along the path.

(I planted a stem from the big lilac by the Writer's Shed... and it grew!)

(The big one by the house is having its best year since I've moved here; one more closeup!)

 

 

(And one more look at the daffodils: triplets in yellow...)

 

 

 (Triplets in white.)

 

 

The porch has a splendid view to all but the roadside bed. Here I could stay, for a long time. 

But I do return outside -- the real outside. I have a couple of edging pinks to put in and I do some spot watering of new plants. This kind of watering that I like, quite a bit. I stand with the hose and hum to myself and my mind clears. Because I am so still, twice today I had a humming bird (one with a beautiful red neck) come over to the plant I was watering, to taste the liquid that had fallen on the leaves. Each time, the bird came to within a foot of me. I could hear his wings -- like a wind up toy going at full speed. I had my phone in my pocket, but I know these birds -- the minute you move unpredictably, they take off. It's not the time to take a photo. Instead, I look at it with great admiration, feeling a little like a birder who has scored a big one.

 

In the afternoon, the kids are here. The day warms up substantially: from just warm to steamy warm. Might there be rain?

No such luck. We speculate if it will be a dry or wet summer. It seems it's either one or the other. I'm not sure which, from a gardener's perspective, does the least damage to a flower field. Maybe we'll get lucky and get a nice balance! Sunshine and light rain. One can hope.

with love...

May summer

First word that comes to mind for this day: it's hot. A high of 84F (29C) is so not May weather and yet, here we are.

The petals from the fruit trees are mostly off now and those that remain are getting to be covered over by the robust leaf growth. The tulips are on their home stretch, the daffodils? Only the late triplets remain. This is what the last third of spring looks like. 

(I start with a look outside from the farmhouse kitchen window...)

(just a few remain...)

(fewer flowers, stronger leaves...)

(the incredible lilac, helped tremendously by a vigorous trim...)

(morning walk...)

(the triplets -- three blooms to a stalk -- are a late daffodil...)

 

I eat breakfast on the porch. Ed is already lost to his work and so I'm there with my book, which is actually okay because I'm on the last chapters of a Tana French novel and I'm completely lost in it, loving her characters, her Irish smarts, her ripe with detail sentences.

And speaking of stories, have you ever experienced something that has absolutely no logical explanation? This weekend we had just such an other-worldly event! Here's what happened: on Saturday, the tree removal service was hauling away fallen limbs from our maple and in picking them up with a bobcat, they dug in too hard and ripped a coaxial cable in half. Instantly, we lost internet service. Ed called our provider -- they said they'd be out the next day. In the meantime, he spliced the broken cable with a temporary fix and our Internet was restored.  On Sunday, the guy came over and began work on putting in a new cable. Ed asked -- why aren't you merely repairing this one? The guy answered -- because I tested it. It's dead.

There followed a prolonged discussion and much further testing of everything. We had internet service. The cable was taken out. It lead to nowhere. The guy shrugged his shoulders and left.

What just happened???

It's obvious that there must be another cable running, one that was not broken. And yet, until Ed fixed this  (turns out) useless one, our reliable-never-fails Internet had come down. A sympathetic outage?? Restored when Ed spliced a useless cable??

Don't you just love the mysteries of life?

After finishing my book, I go out to do what is a very boring chore: I feed the tubs and pots outside with spiked water. Fertilizing tubs really is very helpful if you want your annuals to bloom all summer long. But I have nearly 30 tubs and pots and each one requires nearly a full watering can of water, and filling-mixing-carrying-watering takes a ridiculous amount of time. But it's done!

Did I mention that it is hot out there? I am reminded of why I like to live in the upper Midwest: We don't have year-round heat and that's a good thing! 

And the lilac scent is profound (I'd say it's at its peak today) and the birds are at their loudest.

I go to my daughter's place to deliver the (um, remaining chunk of) cake. I'd bought it at Madison Sourdough for Mother's Day: buckwheat with lemon simple syrup, rhubarb jam and covered with a layer of whipped cream. Both Ed and I loved it, but it's too much cake for us. Besides, it was meant to be shared.

The kids aren't in school today (another teacher in-service day) and so I am free of childcare. It means I have time to grocery shop and then return to my flower fields -- trimming bushes, taking out saplings. 

Yes, it was a shorts and tshirt day. Summer in May, only without the mosquitoes. And a full Flower Moon tonight. Take a look if you can. And celebrate the season of blooms.

with love...

May celebrations

If you are a mother and you like celebrating that fact on this day, then have a wonderful and happy Mother's Day! I am learning, however, that this is a big "if." I am surprised how many women do not want their motherhood honored and would rather steer clear of this holiday. Yes, I know that there are plenty who have an uncomfortable relationship with their own mothers (oh, I surely understand how difficult that can be!), and I know there are those who don't want to be mothers, or wish they could be moms but the stars are not aligned for them and they suffer when reminded of this on a yearly basis, and of course there are those who lost mothers and they miss that relationship profoundly and this whole celebrating thing now makes them sad. I get all that. But there is also a sizable group out there that simply does not like celebrating what they like to call a Hallmark holiday. Who see themselves as somehow beyond the triviality of handing out cards and flowers, or receiving gifts on this day. I read an article by one such mom yesterday in the NYTimes and the comments that followed. People have opinions on this! Mostly scoffing at Mother's Day celebrations.

Chacun a son gout. 

Myself, I like this holiday. And I like that it comes right after my birthday, so that this whole month feels rather joyous. And well it should be -- it's so pretty out there now! 

(morning walk)

But my feelings about this day demand little from the outside world, including from my daughters. Yes, there are small gifts, and I like that because gift giving is not an Ed thing so this becomes the rare moment where I do get to open a nicely wrapped package -- a pleasure in its own right. Otherwise, the joy I feel on this day is sort of personal: I am a mom, I'm proud of my daughters. I am happy to watch them thrive and have fulfilling lives. And today I carry that joy openly, on my sleeve so to speak. That's it.

Oh, and in furtherance of a celebratory mood, I will plant a couple of flowers. What? You're telling me I would do that anyway? True, but today I do it feeling mother-happiness!

Breakfast first though. With more lilies of the valley.

And Ed. 

I work for a short while on those flowers, but I have to quit before noon, because today Snowdrop has her second and final performance with the Young Shakespeare Players and I promised I would attend. Seventeen (!) notable scenes from his plays, with the theme of villains and fools.

(Sparrow and mom are there as well; look who got new glasses this week!)

 

 

(she just finished playing Horatio from Hamlet)

(someone took my camera for this...)

 

 

And because the performance lasts a solid three hours, we nix Sunday dinner at the farmhouse. I miss having them here, but honestly, it would have been a rush to get things ready and then to tidy up and you know my latest take on rushing: avoid it at all costs!

Instead, I (mostly) finish up the front roadside bed. Spreading wood chips and then watering the whole thing. Last year I did (mostly) nothing here. There was a drought, the soil deteriorated, the weeds grew. This year, I rolled up my sleeves and got to it. Well, no sleeves today -- it was a very warm, sunny, beautiful day. 

(weeded, supplemented, composted, chipped and watered)

 

 

Dinner is very very late.

 (May evening at the farmette...)

 

Happy Mother's Day to my daughters, happy, happy May celebrations to you, however you want to think about them!

with so much love... 

May stump

A sad day for Ed: an enormous maple out front, the tallest one of them all, has to come down today and in a way it's my fault. Looking out the window one day I noticed a crack in the trunk. Was it rotting? It seems so healthy. Many inspections later, the decision was made: it has to come down. (In the alternative, it might splinter and fall on its own, hitting either the house or the power lines and the road.)

It pains Ed to witness this. He's not one to mope around when bad news strikes, but I do hear periodic expressions of grief throughout the day.

And what an otherwise beautiful  day it is! Sunny, with the blossoming trees and bushes and a landscape that is practically singing with joyous growth.

(a burst of fragrance)

(our enormous crab apple in full bloom)

(our row of blossoming trees lining the path to the barn)

(the writer's shed, or a Monet painting?)

The tree guys arrive early (Ed went with the cheapest bid and it still will cost him a couple of thousand to bring that tree down). I do a quick dash to Madison Sourdough for baked morning treats (and a secret cake for tomorrow) and then we sit down to breakfast, finally on the porch! 

I would say it's about as heavenly as you could possibly imagine, except for the noise of the sawing and hauling and chipping out front.

(peaking out through the window: they're half done with it)

 

(we get a lot of good maple wood chips thrown on our pile!)

 

By late afternoon, they're done with the maple and, too, they took off the dead branches from the willow that overhangs our parked cars). 

Ed is depressed.

It does look bare out front, not helped by the fact that they butchered the grass with their heavy equipment. I go out to Kopke's and pick up a flower basket for the stump. Ed's idea, though it does not cheer him up.

 

 

And I return to work on the roadside bed. A few plants to put in and more compost to pile on. And of course, more weeds to dig out because naturally, I missed a good many in my mad work yesterday. 

(The roadside bed is very long and impossible to photograph well, but here's a good chunk of it, to give you an idea of where I've been toiling these past two days.)

 

Are you tired yet of my gardening reports? I can understand that. People who have no desire to spend a chunk of their lifetime digging in the dirt could well roll their eyes at the detail included in a gardener's narrative. You will have noticed though that Ocean moves along at its own pace. In winter, repeat photos of a barren landscape could be written off as tediously dull. In the summer, reading about lilies clipped in the morning surely interests almost no one. But I hope it makes you smile just a little to know that this 72 year old person living in central Wisconsin gets really wrapped up in such inconsequential (in the scheme of things) events and milestones. And I especially hope that you are able to fill your days with equally inconsequential details that bring you contentment. Kids bounce around from one playful act to the next never pausing to consider if there is grandness in their day. We seem to aim for more, but in doing so, may we never forget about the pleasure of snipping off a spent lily, or walking to the barn on a misty cold morning. Days are so full of those uniquely beautiful vignettes. Well, beautiful for me.

 

(evening at the farmette)

 

with love...