The Sun and Me

I have been contemplating sunshine a lot these days. It has been gloriously sunny and unseasonably warm in Northeast Wisconsin recently, and I am scheduling my days around the twin imperatives of a) getting into the garden and b) avoiding the harsh mid-day rays. I find myself constantly slathered in SPF 50, donning sun hats and long sleeves (even in 80+ degrees), and running for shade. Early mornings and evenings are my prime time to be outside, and I now relish the sinking of the sun. All in all I feel rather vampire-ish, and although vampires are very cool these days, I am finding it all a bit awkward.

And, I realize that I have always had a complicated relationship to the sun. When I was a kid my parents would have to practically force me to go outside and play. There were no girls my age in my neighborhood, and I really didn't want to play with my brother and his friends because it always led to some kind of aggression or violence (e.g. the time my brother captured and then squished -- one by one -- a bucket of minnows; the time he handcuffed my arm to my best friend's leg and then threw away the key).

And, besides, I wanted to stay inside and read.

And then there was the fact that I just found bright sunshine to be overwhelming. I mean this literally -- the glare of bright, untempered sunshine always compels me to close my eyes and want to retreat. I get hot (and sunburn) very easily, and so I begin to feel suffocated by the sun pretty quickly. But, I also think of the sun, metaphorically, as an overwhelmingly cheerful optimism. As a very young child I associated bright sunshine with Jesus, and I associated Jesus with the church we attended until I was six or seven. This church was a angular, 1960s, post-Vatican II, "modern" church, and was located smack in the middle of a cornfield. The church was very sunny, and it was very hot in the parking lot when returning to the car after mass in, say, July. I always felt overwhelmed and out of place both inside and outside of that church, and those early memories -- linking sunshine and church -- continue to shape some of my feelings about organized religion.

There are all kinds of directions I could head with these associations. However, for this morning I am going to leave the blanks for you to fill in. It is important to say that my relationship to the outdoors has changes significantly over time. We have a lovely yard and garden, and I now wish I could be outside more than I can. For now I find myself looking ahead to a summer of books, shady gardening, and contemplating the divine.

small things

Buddy and I took an afternoon constitutional about the yard and woods. It really feels like the end of summer and beginning of fall. The woods are *finally* tolerable again after a summer of mosquito-infestation. And, lo and behold, our much-coveted mums are just beginning to bloom.

Lazy last days

Summer is almost over. Monday morning I have to be at school at 8am to greet eager first years arriving for their "Intro to College." I have spent a lot of the last week prepping for classes, but also doing a lot of last-ditch summer stuff. We went to the county fair, spent lots of time in the garden, and devoured yet another Maisie Dobbs novel (I cannot over-recommend this series).

So, in lieu of a real blog post, I am going to post some long-overdue pictures of the big project of the fall and winter: the master bedroom. Rhonda and I gutted this room down to the studs, and Rhonda, with much help from the Mellingers, drywalled the whole room. It is now a beautiful, calming, bat-free space with new walls (the accent color is "dill pickle"), floors and lighting. Keep in mind that this room was paneled with blue shag carpet. Needless to say, we are very proud of this space.

tidbits

I have no theme by which to organize my post. I do, however, have small things to show and tell. (perhaps there is a unifying theme you could come up with...)

First, we found some serious scat on the trail in our woods. Buddy was terrified and I was fascinated. As you can see, I pulled out my uber-dorky scat guide to assess (and measure) the findings. Based on the size and hairiness, my guess is coyote.

Next in the animal kingdom... we were really excited to see bumble bees in the garden this morning. I was even happier when I got a good photo.


Finally, one of the best garden-breakfasts to date was our scrambled eggs on corn tortillas with salsa fresca. yum!

garden bliss and other fallacies of "the good life"

I know that I have a tendency to write about all of the charmed loveliness of our new lives in the North Woods of Wisconsin as though everyone who is not us is living in a slightly less-perfect world than ours. It is, after all, a good story: two city girls move to the country, find the warm embrace of new friends and neighbors, work hard on their old house, and grow a big lush garden. All is well. Heaven on Earth. Green Acres. Rural Lesbian Utopia. yada yada yada.

While most of what I say is true -- I have inherited my grandmother's tendency to exaggerate for the benefit of a good story -- there are so many ways that we struggle. One of the big struggles is ongoing frustration and uncertainty about the garden. We worry a lot, and have a persistent sense that WE HAVE NO IDEA WHAT WE ARE DOING. Yesterday was exemplary in terms of Amy and Rhonda garden frustration; this is not just a deep sigh of frustration. This is this-sucks-so-much-I-would-rather-be-working -the-night-shift-at-Walmart kind of frustration.

Yesterday we did our usual morning walk-about only to find that both of the beds of chard (which we have carefully weeded, fertilized, re-seeded, etc) look like warm death; all of the plants are wilty, some have been de-rooted and are completely dead, and those that survive have been eaten by bugs. Mind you, this is one of the plants that "experts" say will grow anywhere, has no predators, survives over and under watering... so our chard disaster is even more frustrating. One of the most-coveted things we anticipate growing here are leafy greens. You cannot get chard, kale, greens (mustard, collards, etc) for at least 60 miles. We miss and crave these deep-green veggies, and hope to have a bountiful crop to sustain us over the winter.



One of two devastated chard boxes.






Added to this frustration and disappointment is the fact that it seems we haven't yet really gotten that much of anything else to eat out of this garden. There was lots of arrugula for a while, and now we have daily spinach. But the few zucchini, peas, and radishes have been small in quantity -- hardly enough to fulfill my vision of "putting up" loads and loads of veggies for the winter. It is an awful lot of work for not that much food, and, as of yesterday, I was ready to pack it all in.

Since then I have regained perspective, and apologized to the garden deities offended by my cursing. I know that there will be a time -- in about a month -- when we will have more tomatoes, beans, zucchini, cucumbers, and onions than we will be able to handle. However, in the meantime, this whole gardening thing feels deeply imperfect and highly questionable.

To see a more complete picture of the state of the garden, check out the photos uploaded today at my flikr site.

Strawberries

I went to Berryland on Sunday morning, before collecting R up from the airport, and picked 20lbs of strawberries. It was such a fun thing, and 20lbs of berries for 24 bucks is amazing. Even more amazing is the smell, taste, and sight of fresh-picked berries.


We now have three quart bags of frozen berries, five pints of berry jam (including one rhubarb, cinammon, strawberry), and a week's worth of homemade strawberry shortcake.



YUM!

the toad obsession continues

We lost a large branch to lightening last night. I went to check it out this morning and found this guy happily perched among the branches.

Insomnia

I guess being awake at 10:45 at night isn't *really* insomnia, but Rhonda conked out an hour ago, and I am left feeling wide awake while I should be sleeping. We have been working hard in preparation for Rhonda's departure: she heads to Lancaster tomorrow to help her dad build a shed. (For effect, and because I love exaggeration, I told a friend she was going home to build a barn. Lancaster, PA + barn raising invokes iconic images of Amish barn raising...) But really, its just a shed.

So, since she will be gone from the homestead for a week, we have been gardening, prepping our 3rd bedroom for painting, planning our radical lawn transformation (more on this in a future post), and generally working hard. I am theoretically exhausted, but sleep is elusive.

I'm sure I will be writing much more in the next week as Buddy and I sit and stare at each other in this big old farmhouse. In the meantime, I have some photos I have been meaning to post.





Buddy stares at me while I talk on the phone to Gaby.





Oyster mushrooms we are growing in our kitchen.







Inside the mushroom farm.

Tall grass against our garage.