Thursday, May 18, 2017

what you can expect from a chicken

Strong winds, occasional thunder and then, magically, the night storms move on, leaving us alone again.

But we wake up to a somewhat cooler morning. May weather. Still good enough to eat breakfast outside.



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But I know it can go either way: the clouds may bring rain, or they may choose to keep it all inside.

The garden gets only a glance from me today. An appreciative glance, because the iris flowers are now really at the center stage. And I have a lot of iris clumps scattered throughout. Today's star pupil:


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The rest of the morning is spent on helping friends haul stuff out of their home in anticipation of a move. It strikes me that I have no plans at all to move and that I could well never move again. In the best case scenario, Ed and I will hobble through the courtyard years from now, admiring our overgrown garden (because who will take care of it if I can't readily crawl around in the mud?) and speak of the good old days when we could still chop down tree limbs and haul timber.



I pick up Snowdrop, who is quite ready for an adventure, even as I hesitate on where to go.



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We settle on the park by the lesser lake where she swings so long and hard that I wonder if I can get tennis elbow by pushing her eternally "way up high, in the sky..."

After, she eats her croissant on the life guard perch...



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And she talks about the blue sky.
Yes, I answer rather mindlessly, as you sometimes do when a toddler is testing a bunch of new ideas all at once. It's blue when there are no clouds.
But gaga, there are clouds in the sky.
Sigh, why are toddlers nearly always right?


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At the farmette, I want to bypass the sandbox. We lingered too long at the playground and I'm hoping she'll nap before her usual late retreat to bed.

I am in luck, even if it comes with a Snowdrop life's lesson.

Java hovers as the little girl gets out of the car. Is there a treat? Is there anything in it for me? -- she seems to be asking.
But when she sees that Snowdrop is empty handed, she retreats. Snowdrop is disappointed.

Of course, I know how to get the cheepers close. Come with bread and they're all over you.
Would you like to give them some stale bread?
Can I have some too?
Sure. A piece for you, a piece for them. Watch -- they'll come running.

And they do come running to her. And at first, she is delighted!


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She is still laughing when Scotch leaps up and takes a peck of her piece of bread. And still half smiling when Scotch does this again. But she is less amused when Scotch does one of her famous grabs, jumping up and taking the whole piece of bread right out of Snowdrop's clutch.

Oh Snowdrop, she's just a chicken! She thought you were giving it to her. She doesn't know it was yours!

In Snowdrop's world, animals (at least the ones in her books) have feelings and intuition and friend obligations. The little girl is finding out that a real chicken is, well, a chicken.

Let's go inside... she says, shoulders hunched.


In the farmhouse, she wants to play with Ed, but he is unfortunately preoccupied with a work phone call.


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But he doesn't say no...


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Finally, a much needed quiet time. Book time. (New and dumb...)


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(Old and favorite...)


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Evening. The girl goes home, Ed and I just make it to our local farmers market. We exchange a dozen farmette eggs for a bag of cheese curds, then move around the vendor stalls to see what's growing right now.

A May evening. Easy to admire. Easy to love.

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