whirligig of time

Changes. They come in all shapes and with different degrees of revorberation.

This morning, I tiptoe around the farmhouse (to not disturb Snowdrop, who spends her mornings alternating between sleeping and trying to crawl, right in her crib) and prepare an early breakfast. Suddenly, unexpectedly Ed must crawl out of his beloved sheep shed and spend considerable amounts of time in an office.

We eat on the porch despite the sticky air that comes with mid July. This early, it's pleasantly warm rather than beastly hot.






Then Ed digs out his cat carrying case and after a very protracted petting session...





... he places Oreo inside. Someone at work, a woman who has 21 hens, is willing to take the rooster. Perhaps chasing so many girls will take his attention off of people. I'm not questioning the whys and wheretofores of the transfer. I am just thrilled to see him go (and somewhat scared that she'll change her mind and he'll come right back. But let's not worry in advance!)

I walk freely past my flower beds and even volunteer to clean out the coop. No pogo stick rooster will attack my ankles now. I am safe.


Eventually Snowdrop is ready to be up. As usual, her morning greeting is sublime: all smiles and dimples and chortles and coos. (Note the sheep on the P.J.'s! Yes, of course, from that country.)







She has a delightful and very splashy bath and then a warm and fuzzy feeding time.

After, I ask her to help me with the changing of linens in the bedroom upstairs. The room must always stand ready for the next visitor, whomever he or she may be.






(oops! a tumble! but a fun one!)






We go out to feed bread to the cheepers. So easy now! No lurking threat, just happy hens.






But our playtime is short. I hand her over to her dad early in the day. I have a remembrance lunch to go to at Tormach. Our days ahead will necessarily include a lot of Tormach, sometimes silently -- it's not always Ocean material after all, but insofar as Ed is drawn into the fray now, in many ways so am I.

[Thank you to all those who passed on kind messages to Ed. I deeply appreciate every one of them. There are many people affected by this tragedy, but the fact is, Ed is the one who now bears the heavy burden of putting together the bits and pieces that will move the company forward. That may get lost in the general discussion, but it's not lost on me. Of course, I know him. He'll do it carefully, wisely and with infinite attention to every detail. But it will be a drain. He lost much of his own freedom when his friend went down in the boating accident two days ago.]


And then I am with Snowdrop again. her mom is out of town and so I have a chance to be even more helpful. Oh, but how joyous it is to step into Snowdrop's world!






Storms are passing through Madison right now, but they don't linger. In the late afternoon I see that the skies are a steamy blue again. Snowdrop and I set out for a walk around the little lake.






All is still, all is calm. I smile at the recollection of paddling through similarly peaceful waters.






No, not forgotten. The peace -- still there, waiting for the right day again when it can take hold.

In the meantime, the flowers bloom, the raspberries ripen, the farmette life continues.