And still the temperatures fall. We never went above 0F today (that would be -18C, during the warmest hour of the day). The cheepers hid in the roost most of the time. Smart cheepers.
Me, I could not hide.
After a most cheerful breakfast...
I went shopping. Groceries, yes, the weekly food acquisition, but, too, I have decided to provide space in the farmhouse for Snowdrop and any future Snowdrops or Rosebuds or Cornflowers that pass this way and so with great pleasure I swiped my card at Target, and reveled in the imaginative crib sheets, towels and what nots now available for the wee ones (or their caregivers, since most likely a baby doesn't care what's underneath her bottom, even as the person changing the crib sheet again and again surely does).
Even though it was bittier cold, we were saved greatly by the sun. Leaving in the morning, I watched it cast a radiance over the farmette that surely deserves a pause, despite the fierce bite in the air.
And coming back after the shopping, toward evening, I really feel that the day has delivered not a modest amount of beauty.
And still, my day is not over. In the late evening, I go to help with the relocation of Snowdrop and her parents. Finally, they can be home. Her home, their home. Their kitties' home. Their family home.
Wait! Not so fast! A dead car battery. Snowdrop calmly waits, in her hospital knitted cap.
Alright. Car issues resolved, the young family goes home. I'm there with food and moral support.
Little Snowdrop is just fine. Except ...when she isn't just fine.
To a grandma, even the fiercest wail is nothing more than a lovely vocal articulation. But then, grandmas, I'm learning, always see their littlest ones like this:
Angelic, beautiful, filled with love, displaying nothing but goodness.
And I'm no different. Snowdrop is all that.
Me, I could not hide.
After a most cheerful breakfast...
I went shopping. Groceries, yes, the weekly food acquisition, but, too, I have decided to provide space in the farmhouse for Snowdrop and any future Snowdrops or Rosebuds or Cornflowers that pass this way and so with great pleasure I swiped my card at Target, and reveled in the imaginative crib sheets, towels and what nots now available for the wee ones (or their caregivers, since most likely a baby doesn't care what's underneath her bottom, even as the person changing the crib sheet again and again surely does).
Even though it was bittier cold, we were saved greatly by the sun. Leaving in the morning, I watched it cast a radiance over the farmette that surely deserves a pause, despite the fierce bite in the air.
And coming back after the shopping, toward evening, I really feel that the day has delivered not a modest amount of beauty.
And still, my day is not over. In the late evening, I go to help with the relocation of Snowdrop and her parents. Finally, they can be home. Her home, their home. Their kitties' home. Their family home.
Wait! Not so fast! A dead car battery. Snowdrop calmly waits, in her hospital knitted cap.
Alright. Car issues resolved, the young family goes home. I'm there with food and moral support.
Little Snowdrop is just fine. Except ...when she isn't just fine.
To a grandma, even the fiercest wail is nothing more than a lovely vocal articulation. But then, grandmas, I'm learning, always see their littlest ones like this:
Angelic, beautiful, filled with love, displaying nothing but goodness.
And I'm no different. Snowdrop is all that.
