Seeing before me a forecast of a wet day, I pass on this information to Ed who is visibly disappointed. He has distant meetings and on these cooler spring days, he likes nothing more than to ride his old Honda motorbike. Cars bore him. Motorcycles? That's another story.
I'm up early. I tell the chickens to hurry out and catch the worms because later in the day, when the rains come down, they'll be housebound.
And so I am surprised when after breakfast in the sun room (a hoax: there's no sun!)...
... I return from grocery shopping, to see that there is indeed a dapple of sunshine at the farmette. Everything looks grand in April sunshine.
Everything.
Of course, it is April Fool's. I'm Polish. April Fool's was big in my Polish childhood days. People doused each other with water and said all sorts of foolish things, ending it with a shout of Prima Aprilis! -- and of course, some would laugh, some would roll their eyes and some would merely feel wet from a splash of water that was de rigeur, especially among the younger set.
And so I am taking all this showers/rain/sunshine nonsense in stride, as if the weather gods are having their own first of April merriment, while I'm just there for the ride.
And sure enough, a few minutes later, it rains. You don't believe me? True, on April Fool's one must come equipped with evidence. Here you are, evidence:
By then, I am with Snowdrop.Oh, she's fine about playing indoors.
Still, the outdoor world tempts her. (Such a grandma's girl!)
What the heck. They say the rains will take a pause in the late afternoon. Let's go, Snowdrop!
We walk all the way to the preferred coffee shop, though I have some trepidation -- the winds are gusting, the clouds are tough to ignore.
No matter! We're bold! (Let me wrap a blanket around your legs, little one. We must stay warm!)
At the cafe, the air feels so pungent and warm. We turn our back on the finicky April weather and indulge in some superb people watching.
Home again. She's happy, yes, there's that spark that always comes after a walk...
... but I can't let her play long. She will be spending the evening at the farmhouse. We have things to do, chickens to feed!
Can I pick one up, grandma?
You can try...
The winds gust. I show her a field of blooming Siberian Scilla -- a first lesson in learning that most things that bloom at the farmette are, in fact, not safe for consumption. But, oh, to admire them from afar! The gift of spring is to admire the delicacy of those first blooms. And we do. Ever so carefully, we do.
The skies clear by nightfall. Temperatures fall. Ed suggests that Snowdrop and I join him on chasing the cheepers into the coop for the night. We follow him to the coop, but in fact, the hens know when to huddle in for the night. They're already inside. Snowdrop gets to wave a cheery goodnight as we lock their door.
The first day of April. Who would not love this month!
I'm up early. I tell the chickens to hurry out and catch the worms because later in the day, when the rains come down, they'll be housebound.
And so I am surprised when after breakfast in the sun room (a hoax: there's no sun!)...
... I return from grocery shopping, to see that there is indeed a dapple of sunshine at the farmette. Everything looks grand in April sunshine.
Everything.
Of course, it is April Fool's. I'm Polish. April Fool's was big in my Polish childhood days. People doused each other with water and said all sorts of foolish things, ending it with a shout of Prima Aprilis! -- and of course, some would laugh, some would roll their eyes and some would merely feel wet from a splash of water that was de rigeur, especially among the younger set.
And so I am taking all this showers/rain/sunshine nonsense in stride, as if the weather gods are having their own first of April merriment, while I'm just there for the ride.
And sure enough, a few minutes later, it rains. You don't believe me? True, on April Fool's one must come equipped with evidence. Here you are, evidence:
By then, I am with Snowdrop.Oh, she's fine about playing indoors.
Still, the outdoor world tempts her. (Such a grandma's girl!)
What the heck. They say the rains will take a pause in the late afternoon. Let's go, Snowdrop!
We walk all the way to the preferred coffee shop, though I have some trepidation -- the winds are gusting, the clouds are tough to ignore.
No matter! We're bold! (Let me wrap a blanket around your legs, little one. We must stay warm!)
At the cafe, the air feels so pungent and warm. We turn our back on the finicky April weather and indulge in some superb people watching.
Home again. She's happy, yes, there's that spark that always comes after a walk...
... but I can't let her play long. She will be spending the evening at the farmhouse. We have things to do, chickens to feed!
Can I pick one up, grandma?
You can try...
The winds gust. I show her a field of blooming Siberian Scilla -- a first lesson in learning that most things that bloom at the farmette are, in fact, not safe for consumption. But, oh, to admire them from afar! The gift of spring is to admire the delicacy of those first blooms. And we do. Ever so carefully, we do.
The skies clear by nightfall. Temperatures fall. Ed suggests that Snowdrop and I join him on chasing the cheepers into the coop for the night. We follow him to the coop, but in fact, the hens know when to huddle in for the night. They're already inside. Snowdrop gets to wave a cheery goodnight as we lock their door.
The first day of April. Who would not love this month!
