Tea Party

There really has not been anything to report for the last few weeks.  There have been exactly three days in the last month that were sunny enough for our solar panels to collect sunshine -- and for us to farm without getting wet, muddy, and cold. We have been working and pushing on, but we are entirely ready for another day of sunshine.  The plants we planted a month ago, during that unseasonably warm and dry spell, have not really grown much. They are dark green and luscious, but small. 

All week long, the weather forecast said it would be nice on Sunday. We had a collection of workers who have been unable to work much on their regular days, so Carrie declared a special work day for those who have been frustrated by rain.  At 9:30 yesterday morning it was raining, of course. Five young women arrived, upbeat and warmly dressed, and they gamely went out to the field.  Carrie and I stayed ahead of them, searching for tasks that they could do without leaving their footprints in the mud for all eternity.  We kept them going for about four hours.  When they were wet all the way through, they went home. 

We would have had a free afternoon after that, but there was a longstanding plan for Katherine (the new mom whose "blessingway"/baby shower we attended in January) to deliver her herb and culture packages for the CSA.  As you might not remember, she lives over three hours away, so a delivery is not a minor matter.  As you have not heard yet, she did have a healthy baby in February. Her life has been completely taken over by taking care of Nathaniel, of course, but she still keeps her small herb farm going, in 30 minute bouts of work when the baby sleeps.

 There was a flurry of text messages between Carrie and Becky and me, trying to figure out where we might be able to get together to see Katherine, whenever she finally got here. So we had an impromptu tea party at my house, as the baby needed a place to nurse and everyone needed to be in a dry place for a bit. Katherine had lunch while I held her gigantic "little guy" (as she calls him). He is three months old and weighs about 17 pounds.  Quite the solid package, with the face of a toddler and a wide, gorgeous smile. Carrie came over without Zoey, as it is the weekend and there are finally other Zoey-holders around.  Becky came with Theo, 11 weeks old and also chunky and cuddly.  And my mother came to admire these babies and new moms.

(Just as an aside -- we have been having conversations about what life was like before cell phones, never mind smart phones.  We used to be able to pick people up at the airport without needing a phone.  We used to be able to go shopping without a life line.  But it would have been hard to arrange a tea party for three month olds with only an hour's notice, unless everyone lived right on the same block.)

There was nothing momentous about this tea party except that it happened.  We sat around my messy dining table (never even bothered to clear off the newspapers, how funny, now that I think about that) and had tea and nuts and raisins and talked about life with babies.  A few years ago, none of these women knew they would be mothers now. They are all of "advanced maternal age." 

They all wanted to have children.  And now, one way or another, they have managed it.  The babies are all healthy and wonderful, the mothers are all experiencing this just like all other new moms, and they are all trying to squeeze a lot into every day.  Like almost all new moms, they need more support. 

Carrie probably has the most support of all the three of them, living on the farm amongst a wider population, but she is still the primary caretaker and mother. It is an eye-opener for all of them, finding out how much it takes to keep a baby alive and well while you are also trying to work or care for an older child.  Some things have really not changed. Mothers have the biggest job if they are nursing their babies.

For an hour or so, we forgot about that stupid rain.  Babies are wonderfully distracting.  Too bad I forgot to take a picture -- too busy holding warm, snuggly little boys.

Piano recital

When the main piano player in the house was preparing to leave for college, I decided that I should start taking lessons so the piano wouldn't just sit there taking up space. Alissa's teacher seemed extraordinary to me, based on the many recitals I had attended.  Her students all played musically, if not perfectly.  I always appreciated their level of preparation, from the tiniest pianist to the high school senior.  So I took the plunge and started taking lessons in the winters.  It has been about ten years by now but I always take a big break in the summer plus at least a month off for travel in the winter.  My friend Nell inspired me to do this -- she was already taking lessons from this excellent teacher.

From the very beginning, I had two goals. The first was to really learn to read music and the second was to learn to sight read something I did not know already and to make it sound like a song. Of course many other goals have developed along the way.  Because I am an adult student, I feel perfectly comfortable asking questions or saying that I don't understand. It is so much more fun to have a teacher when you're old and I am learning technique and music theory that I knew nothing about.

However, it was never one of my goals to perform in front of people.  Years ago I took lessons when the kids were taking piano from another teacher and I had to perform in the same recitals as the children.  It was always hard.  This new teacher eventually decided that she wanted her adult students to share their progress with each other, so she developed an annual "musicale."  We all prepare a piece or two and we get together on a Saturday afternoon in May and play for each other.  There is a wide range of experience, but we are all nervous and outside of our comfort zone (as our teacher says).

Over the years I have come to expect that I will be extremely nervous and I will not play my best in front of others.  When Nell and I perform our duets I am a lot less nervous. It is fun to play with her, much more fun than playing by myself.  This winter we prepared two simple pieces, and we worked on them for much longer than we wanted to, and we practiced more than we usually do.  We also worked for a very long time on our solo pieces, playing them for anyone who would listen (my mother must have heard my piece 20 times).

So this morning I had to go to market for the whole day -- very rare -- and I woke up an hour earlier than I intended.  I was up at 4:15 by mistake, went to market at 6 and finished my workday at 2:30.  I was more sleepy than hungry, so I came home and got in bed for most of my free hour.  Then I got up, got dressed, picked up my mother (the most loyal audience member ever) and went to Nell's for one last practice session and then on to the house of a fellow piano student who likes hosting these musicales.

As I was sitting with the other students, I realized that I am a member of yet another group. This group is gaining an identity over time.  We see each other once a year, we applaud each other's progress, and we eat and chat.  There are eight of us.  Some of us play pieces that take 90 seconds and some play pieces that are pages long.  It is really fun to listen to everyone once a year.  As the host said today, "these are getting less like recitals and more like concerts."

Nell and I, as the most junior duet players, started off the program.  And we nailed it.  It was great fun.  After that, everyone seemed to play more beautifully than ever before.  Sometimes we all get flustered and mess up.  Today we all were ready.  Even I played my piece (from memory) without getting lost or hitting wrong notes. I felt triumphant.

The two ladies who are the most experienced and proficient (they can really play) ended the program with a rousing set of duets called "Spanish Dances." They explained that a 17 year old Jewish immigrant in Germany named Moskowski suddenly found that he was totally broke and needed to make some money quickly, so he composed a series of pieces inspired by an image of a Spanish dancer.  They were very popular and he made good money. And the ladies said to listen and see if we thought that young man had ever been to Spain. Nope.  Nell and Don heard snatches of themes from "Fiddler on the Roof" in one of the dances.  Someone else said the dancers must have been wearing leiderhosen.

We all learn a lot by having to be ready to perform, and we are all very glad to be able to stop playing the same piece over and over (and spouses agreed).  It is great to be learning something all the time and to have good company now and then.

Next year Nell and I want to try to play something slightly more difficult.  We do feel like early elementary students.  We are resigned to our slow progress, now that our brains have become crackly and old, but we still want to try to raise the bar a tiny bit. It is always good to have a goal.

Floating Away

After that incredible stretch of warm, sunny, dry weather we are now on Day Eleven of an interminable period of rain.  29 more days until we need an ark, but we have almost run out of rainy day projects so maybe we should start drawing up some plans.

A few weeks ago, when we were farming so happily, Alissa said that she didn't have any time in her schedule to come and visit, so maybe I should come and see her.  At the time, it seemed like a slightly crazy idea. Now it seems like the perfect answer to this monsoon season.  Even though tomorrow is the first day that we will be at all the markets (we are adding the last two, we have already been peddling spinach at Leesburg and Takoma Park and Arlington for a few weeks), I am sitting at the airport, poised to escape.

The market trucks are parked and loaded with everything but the vegetables.  We searched around and found all the tables and boards and tarps (right where we left them, so neatly, in November), we cleaned out the truck beds, and we picked and washed dozens of crates of spinach.  Ready or not, the season is underway.

In the last two weeks, we have had only one afternoon of sunshine, and it was a bit unexpected. We thought it was supposed to be not-rainy but we didn't know it would be steamy and warm.  I walked out of my piano lesson and suddenly felt like we should be taking advantage of this summer moment. It was like a sauna, with all the moisture coming off the ground.  There was one particular project that was waiting for the stars to line up -- Jon had finished preparing all the hoops for the new tomato tunnel, Ellen had got the plastic laid inside for planting, we just needed  a time when there were enough people, no wind, and no rain.  We had tentatively said we would try to get this done during a predicted window of calm on Wednesday, and it was Monday afternoon.

When I got home, I told Jon I wanted to see if we could get this 300' piece of plastic up.  The weather forecast said we had about 5 hours before another big storm at 5:30. He couldn't come out to Loudoun until 4:30 at the earliest as he had an appointment.  Undeterred (I had the bit in my mouth by now), I asked what we needed to do before he got there and he explained it to me.  I sent Ellen a text and said I wanted to see if we could get this done.  She was dubious.  I asked David G. what he thought, and he texted back: "Unorthodox. I'd help though." I asked Zach, who puts up tunnels all the time, what he thought and he told me unequivocally not to do it.  Too much risk, too much wind coming.

Ok, I thought, let's do it. Carrie is always up for anything, so she bundled Zoey into the car and we headed out to Loudoun just before the traffic got all snarly.  The traffic window around here is tiny.  If you don't head to Loudoun by 3 pm at the latest, you are in for a long trip.

It was still hot and sunny (and super sweaty).  Ellen sent us James and Phillip to do whatever we needed, so we got the big roll of plastic rolled out (it weighs hundreds of pounds, I am pretty sure.  It took three of us to barely lift it onto the truck) and we put some finishing touches on the tunnel. Then more people came to help and we wrangled that big wet (just from condensation from lying on the ground for a few minutes) sheet of plastic over the tops of the hoops, pulling and lifting until there was a giant white caterpillar in the middle of the field.  By this time I was completely soaked with sweat and condensation and I said to Carrie, "give me that baby." She said she was wondering why she still had the baby and I was hauling plastic. So I took Zoey who is a treat no matter what and we watched the people doing the work while we rode around on the golf cart. Jon arrived to finish the job, tightening down the ends, and the rest of us went home.  In all, it took us an hour to get it covered, and Jon worked alone (his preference) for a while to get everything just right.

When Carrrie and I got back to Vienna, the skies were dark and the wind was rough. Hail stones started sailing sideways, crashing into cars and trees, big ice chunks landing on the ground.  I wondered whether the tunnel was still there.  Jon didn't get home until much later but he said the tunnel was fine, he just had a hard time seeing the road while he was driving back.

Yesterday we got the tomatoes planted in that tunnel, where it is dry and cozy inside.  We haven't been able to get much done in the fields lately but at least we finished that one big project.  Farming, like most other things in life, is all about taking advantage of opportunities.  Always being ready to jump.  

Part of being ready to jump is having all your resources at the ready, and this time we pulled it off.  Sometimes things go right, and the storm arrives later than predicted.