Snowdrop, my one and only granddaughter, is six months old today. Incredible. Happy half year, Snowdrop!
And now we return to life at the farmette.
A hot day, humid day, but who cares?! There's a door to the porch now. In case you're inclined to step outside into the soup of summer.
As for travel? Here's Ed's take on it: give up the convenience of a roof over your head, embrace the wilderness, head out into the world with all you need to get by on your own, and you'll learn something. I have known this to be his way of being from the day I met him. But if once I was willing to "learn something" in this way, right by his side, I've gotten more squeamish about the hardness of some of those lessons.
Still, this summer I agreed to do a week of adventuring with him and so on Wednesday he and I are heading out on a wilderness adventure.
The funny thing is that even though backpacking, in the way that he likes to backpack, doesn't call for a b&b (or even campsite) reservation, it's not that we don't go through a lot of planning to get us out into that wilderness. You need food. Pills to purify water. You need waterproof this or that if you're canoeing. A tent without leaks is a great idea. Something to cook with, something to navigate with, maps, routes, ideas on what to do when things go wrong and there is no desk clerk or restaurant manager who'll listen to your grievance.
All this to say that I'm already wrapping my mind around the details of the forthcoming trip, even though it's supposed to be very spontaneous. Flight tickets -- that was the easy part. Car rental to get us to the edge of that wilderness -- done. A place to stay the first night (gloriously with a roof over the head, a shower, and WiFi) -- acquired.
The rest -- well, we're getting to it.
It is Sunday and so it is imperative that I give the farmhouse a big scrub.
After, as we sit on the porch, easily accessed through the beautiful door that I already love more than any other door anywhere on the planet...
... and we eat breakfast...
... and we talk about tough projects we have taken on in life. I ask Ed if there has been any construction job he would not take on and learn on his own (realizing that many of the tasks in putting in a patio door would be much easier the second time around, even as the acquired skill set is wasted, since we never again will be putting in patio doors). He thinks for a while and then says -- the trickiest thing was to install a furnace here. Having done that, everything else seems tame.
Me, I luxuriate in carrying everything back into the farmhouse through the door. You have no idea how wonderful it is to go in and out of your house this way! (Even if there still is so much detail that needs to be finished; building sturdy steps will be a priority!)
The rest of the day? It runs away from me. Phone calls to resolve my nephew's flight issues. Light gardening work. Pizza dough to roll out and freeze. Isn't that what everyone's Sunday is like?
Yes, but was there a garden walk? Of course! Here are the lovely heads of lavender...
... and here's a more general glance at the big flower field.
Snowdrop, are you really half a year old already?!
And now we return to life at the farmette.
A hot day, humid day, but who cares?! There's a door to the porch now. In case you're inclined to step outside into the soup of summer.
As for travel? Here's Ed's take on it: give up the convenience of a roof over your head, embrace the wilderness, head out into the world with all you need to get by on your own, and you'll learn something. I have known this to be his way of being from the day I met him. But if once I was willing to "learn something" in this way, right by his side, I've gotten more squeamish about the hardness of some of those lessons.
Still, this summer I agreed to do a week of adventuring with him and so on Wednesday he and I are heading out on a wilderness adventure.
The funny thing is that even though backpacking, in the way that he likes to backpack, doesn't call for a b&b (or even campsite) reservation, it's not that we don't go through a lot of planning to get us out into that wilderness. You need food. Pills to purify water. You need waterproof this or that if you're canoeing. A tent without leaks is a great idea. Something to cook with, something to navigate with, maps, routes, ideas on what to do when things go wrong and there is no desk clerk or restaurant manager who'll listen to your grievance.
All this to say that I'm already wrapping my mind around the details of the forthcoming trip, even though it's supposed to be very spontaneous. Flight tickets -- that was the easy part. Car rental to get us to the edge of that wilderness -- done. A place to stay the first night (gloriously with a roof over the head, a shower, and WiFi) -- acquired.
The rest -- well, we're getting to it.
It is Sunday and so it is imperative that I give the farmhouse a big scrub.
After, as we sit on the porch, easily accessed through the beautiful door that I already love more than any other door anywhere on the planet...
... and we eat breakfast...
... and we talk about tough projects we have taken on in life. I ask Ed if there has been any construction job he would not take on and learn on his own (realizing that many of the tasks in putting in a patio door would be much easier the second time around, even as the acquired skill set is wasted, since we never again will be putting in patio doors). He thinks for a while and then says -- the trickiest thing was to install a furnace here. Having done that, everything else seems tame.
Me, I luxuriate in carrying everything back into the farmhouse through the door. You have no idea how wonderful it is to go in and out of your house this way! (Even if there still is so much detail that needs to be finished; building sturdy steps will be a priority!)
The rest of the day? It runs away from me. Phone calls to resolve my nephew's flight issues. Light gardening work. Pizza dough to roll out and freeze. Isn't that what everyone's Sunday is like?
Yes, but was there a garden walk? Of course! Here are the lovely heads of lavender...
... and here's a more general glance at the big flower field.
Snowdrop, are you really half a year old already?!
