We woke up to dense fog. The kind that makes you very glad you're not out on the road, or connecting to a flight. The kind where you hurry to the chicken coop at dawn (can you even tell that there is a dawn?) and then back to bed again.
And yet -- it is a deeply satisfying morning. The soil smells as if it's working magic on the new growth. And the birds! This is the rare time that I am glad Ed is slow to trim or cut back trees. All those branches fill with morning music. I breathe a deep sigh of contentment. (Have you noticed that if you breathe a deep sigh, your contentment quotient grows?)
Breakfast. To me, this meal is best when there is a visual high that accompanies it. Color, a view toward a garden (from the porch, come summertime), a favorite bowl, a tablecloth that brings back memories...
When I travel, this is no less important. If it doesn't look good, it doesn't stir up all your senses. Such a simple meal, so much pleasure derived from it!
It's Monday and Snowdrop spends much of her day here at the farmette. And talk about stirring up the senses! We start off our play with what is one of her favorite games: "smell this." Like any toddler, she loves the jars of spices in the pantry. I keep a dozen frequently used ones on the counter and I open them now one by one, smelling rather than tasting.
Does she get that her nose is getting a workout? I don't know. But the aromas are strong and she loves doing this, jar after jar.
And I love it too. You sometimes forget how aromatic cooking is and how it all works in tandem: smell, texture, taste, flavor. (Flavor in a food is essentially an exhale within your mouth that hits your olfactory receptors. There is much science on this now, telling us what we already intuit: if it doesn't smell good, it wont taste good. Some good and easy to read comments on this topic can be found here.)
And speaking of loving something -- I thought a little about how to get Snowdrop to fall in love with the red wagon. Would a comfy blanket, a pinwheel and a penguin do the trick?
She certainly relaxed, even as it is a bumpy ride to the barn.
The little one would have been even more excited if the chickens didn't run away from her (Scotch would not run away if she held out bread, but that's not an experience I'm aiming for right now).
We concentrate on learning the names of the four hens. Will she remember that the golden brown yakker is Scotch and the big black curious girl (as in -- what's that in the wagon?) is Java?
We'll see.
Snowdrop navigates the path back to the farmhouse well...
... but after a while, she is content to return to her wagon. Perhaps not yet in love with it, but surely the warm feelings are burgeoning, no?
Back at the farmhouse we read. A lot of books. Binge reading. No photos of this, but I do owe you one of a Snowdrop grin.
The little girl wont be visiting the farmhouse (or grandpa Ed) until Easter and so I let myself take a few photos of Snowdrop and the big guy.
(the barefooted duo, sharing cheese)
(her world turned upside down)
(left to their own devices, he provokes her best facial expressions!)And yet -- it is a deeply satisfying morning. The soil smells as if it's working magic on the new growth. And the birds! This is the rare time that I am glad Ed is slow to trim or cut back trees. All those branches fill with morning music. I breathe a deep sigh of contentment. (Have you noticed that if you breathe a deep sigh, your contentment quotient grows?)
Breakfast. To me, this meal is best when there is a visual high that accompanies it. Color, a view toward a garden (from the porch, come summertime), a favorite bowl, a tablecloth that brings back memories...
When I travel, this is no less important. If it doesn't look good, it doesn't stir up all your senses. Such a simple meal, so much pleasure derived from it!
It's Monday and Snowdrop spends much of her day here at the farmette. And talk about stirring up the senses! We start off our play with what is one of her favorite games: "smell this." Like any toddler, she loves the jars of spices in the pantry. I keep a dozen frequently used ones on the counter and I open them now one by one, smelling rather than tasting.
Does she get that her nose is getting a workout? I don't know. But the aromas are strong and she loves doing this, jar after jar.
And I love it too. You sometimes forget how aromatic cooking is and how it all works in tandem: smell, texture, taste, flavor. (Flavor in a food is essentially an exhale within your mouth that hits your olfactory receptors. There is much science on this now, telling us what we already intuit: if it doesn't smell good, it wont taste good. Some good and easy to read comments on this topic can be found here.)
And speaking of loving something -- I thought a little about how to get Snowdrop to fall in love with the red wagon. Would a comfy blanket, a pinwheel and a penguin do the trick?
She certainly relaxed, even as it is a bumpy ride to the barn.
The little one would have been even more excited if the chickens didn't run away from her (Scotch would not run away if she held out bread, but that's not an experience I'm aiming for right now).
We concentrate on learning the names of the four hens. Will she remember that the golden brown yakker is Scotch and the big black curious girl (as in -- what's that in the wagon?) is Java?
We'll see.
Snowdrop navigates the path back to the farmhouse well...
... but after a while, she is content to return to her wagon. Perhaps not yet in love with it, but surely the warm feelings are burgeoning, no?
Back at the farmhouse we read. A lot of books. Binge reading. No photos of this, but I do owe you one of a Snowdrop grin.
The little girl wont be visiting the farmhouse (or grandpa Ed) until Easter and so I let myself take a few photos of Snowdrop and the big guy.
(the barefooted duo, sharing cheese)
(her world turned upside down)
(and she makes him smile, and he makes her smile)
In the evening, Ed and I work outside: he moves loads of dirt from the driveway to my new flowerbed, I dig the wet, fragrant earth to find worms for the cheepers.
Just a farmette Monday. Nothing more, nothing less.
