Monday essentials

I was not at all convinced that the day would be warm. At dawn, the air felt cool and the sun looked like it was making a rather tentative appearance.





I do a quick walk through the garden, noting all the signs of hope and the rare disappointment. A dried up heuchera catches my eye. I blame the chipmunks -- we have multiple families living here and I like them somewhat less than the family of groundhogs (who concentrate on devouring things closer to their woodpile home), or even the family of wild turkeys (whose little ones are, at this point, too cute for words). And I also see that the white phlox, along with the yellow achillea are starting to bloom. These plants were among the stalwarts during my daughter's wedding here two years ago.






Ed and I eat breakfast on the porch, but it is a cool and quick meal. Both he and I have checklists of things to do and, too, I am expecting the arrival of Snowdrop.






She comes ready for farmette adventures.





I'll just note a few of them. You don't want a Snowdrop overload, even though it is Monday and time at the farmette always invites more camera time, because, well, I love Snowdrop, but I also love the farmette and the two combine well together!

First adventure: feeding the chickens. You'd think this would be ho hum by now. But there is this twist. Snowdrop wants what they're having. Perhaps she's feeling like a little cheeper herself. Her size, after all, is closer to theirs than to big grandma's.






And here's a digression: sometimes, a very young child suddenly, for a fleeting second, looks not so very young. Did you ever have that experience? You look at her (or him) and you think -- oh! This is how she will look when she is older! The next photo has a bit of that older Snowdrop in it:






Okay, the cheepers are well fed. Snowdrop lets me know that she is still hungry. We go inside and have a mega lunch. Of course, it includes fruit. She likes to use a spoon...






But when she asks for more, I just hand her a whole container of blueberries and she's happy to dig right in.






Okay, Snowdrop -- can I interest you in some indoor play?

She considers it. Honestly she does. A quick read of a book. An attempt to empty out her toy airplane. That's it.






It's going to be an outside kind of day. And it is getting warmer!

Do you want to ride in the wagon?
I get the most perfectly articulated yes. With many exclamation points added. Off we go to examine the tomato plants.






And at our vineyard/buckwheat plot, she gets out and explores. Oh, this is just such a happy time for her!





Picking clover, running this way and that -- the girl is free and in control of her own fate.

I show her the very first of our cherries. Our young orchard isn't yet a heavy producer, but it all starts with small handfuls, no?






Another good ride, this time on the shoulders of the giant...






And then she does what she loves so much -- she pushes the wagon (in much the same way as she learned to love pushing her stroller in a Paris park).






It's getting close to her nap time, but the air is so warm now. I can't resist asking her the question that I know full well will elicit another grand yes:  do you want me to bring out the swimming pool?

Ed suggested that I use water in the warmed by the sun hose. It's just perfect for her. True, she doesn't have a swim suit, but that's hardly essential. We improvise (I keep a spare strawberry tshirt here, just in case).






She does spend some time in the pool (the hens look on with a hint of envy I think).






But she loves best pouring water in and out and in every which way.






Oh, summer!





It is summer, no? No?


Snowdrop wakes up from a late nap (with goat and penguin)...






... I drive her home, I stop for an outdoor coffee with my good good friend who is in town, I pause at an outdoor market to pick up freshly picked broccoli, and as I pull into the farmette drive, I notice that these beauties are going strong, right in the road-front flower bed.





Perhaps it isn't yet full blown summer, but it surely is the most beautiful beginning to a bountiful season.


Ed and I go out one last time long after supper. It's nearly dark, but not quite. I pick rhubarb for tomorrow's dinner, Ed locks up the coop. It's warm, but not too warm. Not too buggy yet. The perfect evening for a humble appreciation of all that the farmette brings to our lives.