May Day

Photo taken in April 2008, our first spring on the farm here in Kentucky–nine years ago now!

May Day by Sara Teasdale

A delicate fabric of bird song 
Floats in the air, 
The smell of wet wild earth 
Is everywhere. 

Red small leaves of the maple 
Are clenched like a hand, 
Like girls at their first communion 
The pear trees stand. 

Oh I must pass nothing by 
Without loving it much, 
The raindrop try with my lips, 
The grass with my touch; 

For how can I be sure 
I shall see again 
The world on the first of May Shining after the rain?

Under the Lilacs

Today I was a wee bit wistful  because already the lilacs are fading, having bloomed early this year after a very warm winter, and a very warm spring. We brought some inside and I made certain to admire and sniff them whenever possible outdoors, too.

Later in the afternoon when the sun has gone behind the shed, some of the cats have been lying like lions in the part of the yard where we planted several lilacs about eight years ago. Slow growers, you know you have a prized specimen when it is large and full and high–likely even 100 years old or more. Our newer bushes have the fullest blooms they've had yet and are now almost as tall as I am (which isn't a huge stretch!). Sadly, an older lilac in front of the house on the bank that goes down to the road has died out completely. Not sure why as you don't really have to do much with lilacs to keep them happy. But I hate to see an old plant fade.

One nostalgic reminder of old cellar holes in New England is that you often come upon vast, towering lilac bushes in the woods near the edge of a field or by an old roadside. We had one such place near our New Hampshire farm. Sherwin Hill had been an old hill farm settlement about a half mile from our farm with several farmsteads that were abandoned at some point in the nineteenth century. The land is protected, the fields are still mowed, and the old road passes by the cellar holes belied by ancient lilacs and patches of day lilies. Behind our nineteenth-century barn at the farm there was a magnificent, huge white lilac (I haven't seen one since) which had been planted there easily a century or more ago (and it's one of those things I wish I had a photograph of–but that was well before digital when I didn't shoot everything I saw!). Here in Kentucky an old house site is often found by the amount of daffodils nearby. [Seems I've waxed on about lilacs before over at my old blog at InthePantry.blogspot.com.]

At the doublewide, which we're selling soon (we have an offer), there is an older bush that was probably put there by the Dicks. They had a dog-trot house on the same site as where the doublewide was placed. I picked some from there, which are more lush, for the last time. There are some peony clumps that I will leave but I do want to dig up some of the applemint around the birdhouse that I brought down from New Hampshire. It is the grandchild of my grandparents' mint patch at Gray Goose Farm–which must have been dug out at some point as I don't remember it. Ann Sawyer, a neighboring farm wife and a great friend of my family, along with her husband Peter, gave me a clump from which my grandfather had originally given to her. Another friend has some Gray Goose Farm rhubarb, which doesn't do so well here, but I think I've found the right spot for it so I may beg for a clump next time I'm back in New England.

Spring has become one of my favorite times of year here–not only with its length (an actual three months) but with all of the wild flowers that emerge in stages. Blood root comes first (around the time that the morel mushrooms poke through the forest floor), then violets by the road side where the grass is shorter, then miniature iris on rocky and sandy banks, and trillium and Jack-in-the-Pulpit, and so many others. By the end of April the pageant of spring wildflowers is fairly much through.

It is Good Friday today. Have a blessed Easter or Passover–or just enjoy your weekend–everyone!


You come back when you're ready!

Catherine

Spring Planting

A photograph from my latest article at RethinkRural
on "How to Plan and Plant the Southern Spring Garden."

I can't wait to get out in the garden this year. The boys have spring break during the first week of April and, in between rain drops, I plan to get the broccoli starts in, peas planted, some radishes and beets, and maybe some other "cole crops" if there is room in my four galvanized steel garden beds (which are repurposed water tanks for cattle).

I also need to start some annuals that you can't easily get around here: some heirloom tomatoes (mostly those can be found in nurseries here in Kentucky but not my favorite, "San Marzano"); lots of unusual zinnias; and a few other unusual heirlooms.

There is also an adjacent garden shed nearby which needs a massive clean out and complete reorganization. I'm hoping to corral at least one of the boys to help, even if I have to bribe or pay them–they are so busy these days with school and after school jobs at a nearby farm that we've hardly seen them! Every time we do, they seem to have grown another inch.

Despite our warm winter and early spring–which has faltered a few times with numerous short cold spells–the garden still waits for me. This is our tenth spring in Kentucky and I look forward to it every year: it is prolonged, often warm but not too hot, a time when we can open windows and turn off the HVAC altogether until the real heat comes in mid-late May.

There is a succession of emergent wildflowers along the roadsides and fields. There are wild storms which bring literal excitement to the air (and I have had a lifelong storm obsession). In May we are rewarded with several weeks of local strawberries and my rhubarb is in full-on pie mode (the old timers didn't call it "pie plant" for nothing). Mid-May is also the end of the boys' school year here (which starts again in mid-August) so then it really starts to feel like summer.

[And there is always spring cleaning... It was supposed to take place in March, but as our oldest son is graduating from high school in mid-May and plans to have all of his friends here afterwards, and other family, it's time to get serious, folks!]

How will your garden grow?

You come back when you're ready!

Catherine

First Day of Spring!

It occurred to me recently, as the sun filtered into our living room about a half hour after rising and where it lingers for a while at window level, that the light here is the same in late March as it is in late September. Only it is a much warmer, more promising light. In the first weeks of fall the sun will also stretch its fingers across the living room and, about twelve hours later, it blinds us in our sitting room on the west side of our small cottage.

My amateur astronomer father would have been slightly distressed to know that it took me 54 years to understand that "Equinox" means "equal night" in Latin. [I even took one year of Latin in college...]. So of course it is!

While the daylight, and night time, is not exactly equal at this time of year (for some reason I can't explain here but it's something like 12 minutes off) it is, for all intents and purposes, the same 12 hour stretch for darkness and light–even with Daylight Savings starting in early March. Of course, the Solstices are the opposite: the greatest stretch of light on June 21st and the longest stretch of night on December 21st. These are symbolically special times in our astronomical calendar. A scattering of rock circles throughout Britain, such as Stonehenge and Avebury, were believed to have been constructed around them. [For a beautiful account of Stonehenge and its pagan and mystical associations, read Chapter 28 of Thomas Hardy's 1892 novel, Tess of the d'Urbervilles, here.]

On our farm in Kentucky where spring is truly spring (and not covered by a blanket of snow), the Spring Equinox awakens so much: there are new animals, red buds bursting, bulbs emerging, grass greening, wild flowers starting, and rhubarb and strawberries in May! The fields are usually dry enough to walk around without worrying about tamping down the hay (or ticks and chiggers to bite us).

Our Kentucky spring spans from March-May, for the most part and by Memorial Day, it starts to get hot and humid. It is a wonderful, hopeful time in our year. There are gardens to dream about and to start planting and a few months where we can actually have the heat and the air-conditioning off for much of the time. I wash all of our quilts, and small area rugs, and hang them on the line. Ideally I spring clean in March and early April, generally leading up to Easter, so I'd best hold true to that conviction.

I was so excited about gardening that the other day I stopped at a few trusted garden centers to see if they had any pansies in–the ones I visited were closed or only had flats of annuals starting. In another month, or less, there will be an abundant selection of plants through Mother's Day–and regular produce and flower auctions at Casey County Produce Auction!

What are your favorite spring rituals or things you look forward to?

You come back when you're ready!

Catherine

The Open Road and Home Again

The beautiful prairie of eastern Kansas where the only vertical punctuations
on the horizon of clouds and land are churches, grain silos and windmills.

I was recently in Colorado for a few weeks to see our daughter and then we drove back across the wide prairie so she could spend some time here at the farm between ski and summer seasons (and before starting a great new job). It's been such a good stretch of time together. While Addie ended the season with her job I was productive during the day in her cozy condo: I sent a children's book to a publisher (on spec), got an article assignment for Early Homes (from Active Interest Media which also publishes Old-House Journal and other magazines) and reviewed my manuscript for The 1950s American Kitchen for Shire Books in England which was submitted to my editor in April. [I also have a new book-related blog, The 1950s American Kitchen]

Yet despite my occasional love of the open road, there is something so comforting about being home on the farm with my husband and all three of our children and our many animals and pets. As a mother it is immensely reassuring to have your chicks all safely back in the nest for a bit. I feel centered and as if we are an impermeable unit tucked into the hills and haven of our farm. When the world seems like a challenging place, as it often is, the rhythms of our days here seem to be a small contribution to a larger wholeness or sanity. There are struggles, yes, but I have reached at midlife, at long last, a kind of Zen-like contentment with where we are and in what we are doing.

I'd never spent so much time in the high mountains before: 9,600' altitude took
some adjustment but I was fine after four days. Didn't sleep much, however.
This is the Continental Divide at over 13,000 feet just south of Breckenridge.

It snowed on Mother's Day: over a foot from Zephyr in the Colorado Rockies!
Addie and I made carrot soup and Mexican food and caught up on Bravo television shows.

Silly Mother's Day "selfies."

A view of our farm looking east from the top of the Pennywinkle Field
(named years ago by the former owner for the snail-like shells found in the nearby creek).

Eli getting ready to ted the hay fields. He designed the work shirt that he is wearing.

The Pennywinkle Field with Eli tedding.

Henry finishes the mowing of the first hay on the farm (more down the road to do yet!).

Temple with a new baby lamb and Alice, our rescue deer (she was one of triplet fauns
that her mother abandoned last summer in a hay field after leaving with the other two).
[NOTE: this is before Temple was shorn for the summer!]

"Sheep and lambs may safely graze..." [for now]. Eli bought ten pregnant hair sheep (no wool to shear) and most have had their lambs. Trying not to get too attached as the babies will be in our freezer this winter. [We love lamb meat.]

Henry with the brand-new baler: we decided to do our own baling rather than hire it out.

Edgar surveys his domain (and his new harem of yearling heifers).

My husband Temple and Edgar, our beloved bull, who he found and rescued from the mud on their shared December birthday in 2011. The view is looking southeast towards the farm and above one of our many natural springs.

Loading hay to be wrapped.

Henry counts bales.

The great county wrapper guy cometh! The view of our farm is from part-way up our knob field and looking southeast.

The boys and my husband are done with first haying––and before the next stretch of rain––and that's always a good feeling. I'm catching up on the gardening in this coolish May weather after being away for several weeks during prime garden time (and our very late spring pushed everything back a bit). School has been out for the summer for over a week. Sports are done.

Storms can rage or equipment can break down, someone you love can be hurt or in need, you might not get a job "off farm," when needed, but always there are things for which to be so grateful. There are the green rolling hills, the proximity of good neighbors and friends (but not too close by: we can't see another house from our farm but we know there are neighbors just over the hill and down the lane), the breezes coming over the knob, the chortle of bird song all day, and the long stretch of summer ahead. It is like heaven on Earth and we are so blessed to be here. No matter what is happening in our lives, I seem to always be a "glass half full" kind of person. There is always another way to look at any circumstance or even sorrow. And while I was in Colorado when I thought of home, I thought of Kentucky. It has taken six years to say that but it is true. Now each day feels like a gift, every moment a song.

We are almost all back in the cottage––with recently repaired plumbing after our January 6th pipe burst (where we fortunately had the doublewide to return for a few months)––and DSL is now fully operational! No longer do I have to trek to the nearest town to blog or email (not that I did a lot of blogging in the past eighteen months but I have missed it). I've learned how to manage without ready access to the Internet here and need to continue to pretend that it isn't here for much of the day when I really should be doing other things around the house and farm. But it is handy for being in quick touch with friends, family, and my editors.

We are home. As I wrote under my blog heading, above, Wendell Berry said it best:

"It may be that when we no longer know which way to go that we have come to our real journey...And we pray, not for new earth or heaven, but to be quiet in heart, and in eye clear. What we need is here."

If you are still out there, dear reader, in blog land, you come back when you're ready!

Catherine

What We Did On Our Summer Vacation

We watched a lot of sunsets.

My mother––Bamma––came to visit us!

We watched as a broody hen raised her seven assorted chicks. 

We broke bread with visiting friends and family.

We tended cows and calves.

We visited our cows on the knob.

We visited dear friends back in New Hampshire.

We visited Bamma (and Lewis)

in New Hampshire.

We posed for lots of photographs (and yours truly took them).

We saw our favorite mountain––Henry and I visited New Hampshire
on our first solo trip together and his first time there in four years.

We went swimming in a clear New Hampshire lake.

We drove by our old New Hampshire house and were a wee bit sad.

We played in the creek with our visiting cousins.

We had homemade lobster rolls
with dear friends...
and pie. For breakfast, too.

We stayed in the best guest room on the planet.

We went to a great restaurant with The Bills.

We road horses with our cousins.

We moved our daughter to Kentucky for a bit.

We sat on our porches and sipped sangria.

We visited "secret" gardens [English Garden at Stan Hywet Hall & Gardens]

We ate at Swenson's in Akron, Ohio.

We always come home again.

You come back when you're ready!

Catherine