Thursday

As I studied the weather map for the day, I almost regretted having wished for rain. I'll take that slow British drizzle. Storms? I'm not a fan.

It seemed a bit drab outside this morning and my walk through the yard was on the quick side. What's blooming? Let's go deeper into one of the flower beds: this Globe flower (Trollius) is just starting, which is perhaps a tad late for it. It's a moisture loving plant but it's happy in this partly shady area, chipped heavily to keep the soil from drying out.






Oh, and on this rather somber day, why not bring out the color of the coral bells? This is the plant that you love for the leaves as much as for the dainty flower stalks. (There are three here, lining the walkway, each with a different leaf color.)






Okay, straight to breakfast. Ed rouses himself from a day of rest. It's cloudy and about to rain, but warm enough to sit on the porch.






And then the rain does come, just as I drive up to Snowdrop's home.

She's as always, full of vim and vigor and she indicates in her usual way that going outside would be her idea of a good time. But it's a no go. The rain may be helping the plants at the farmette, but it's not making a little girl happy about having to stay indoors.

Never mind. She invents games that test her constantly shooting up height..

(Playing on the table...





... while the cat watches.)






... and she uses not a small amount of energy playing ball, which, in her version of it, requires quite a bit of running.






But when the rain stops and the storms seem to have skirted again the greater Madison area, I acquiesce and we venture out. To the closer coffee shop, where she surveys the clientele...






... then the art...






... then contemplates life.






She insists on walking home by herself and aside from street crossings, I let her. She has earned this little bit of freedom.







I go home then and catch up on computer work and paper work and singularly uninteresting tasks, pausing only to give the cheepers their bread treat...






... and then to go to the local market with Ed, where we talk to a farmer (who actually knows something about growing things) about growing buckwheat...






... and buy these beautiful berries from another farmer...






And then it's evening and I see Snowdrop once more, this time at the farmette.

Everything I'll write about  now, you'll have heard and seen before: Snowdrop and cheepers, willow branches, running freely through a field, making pizza at the farmhouse -- none of it is new. And yet, when you navigate the evening with a Snowdrop (or any little one), suddenly it's not the same. It's completely different. The sounds are unique to this season, to this day (she looks in awe at the hawks, listens to the multitude of birds, watches the bunny cavort before her). Tomorrow, she will be that much older and her reactions will be fresh and lovely to observe. Think how mundane our daily tasks are (cleaning a house, going to a grocery store, pulling a weed from a yard) and how un-mundane a simple evening walk is to a very young child.

(With the cheepers...)






(Watching the bunny rabbit...)






(Swaying the willow branches...)


 



(Running through a grassy field...)






(Helping make the pizza...)






(Waiting for it to bake and climbing on grandpa Ed to help pass the time...)






(Fresh and honest...)






I never heard a single rumble of thunder today. And the rain was modest. Maybe I should hope for just a tad more rain? If not, bringing out the hose this weekend isn't such a bad way to while away an hour here and there.