It rained last night. I had kept the windows wide open, optimistically, without thought to rain. I had to scurry and make amends at odd hours of the night.
At dawn, or thereabouts, I go out to open the coop. It's raining, the air feels sultry, my flowers are leaning heavily toward the ground.
But by breakfast time, the storms have passed and at least some of the flowers of late summer perk up again.
Breakfast is on the porch. Ed and I discuss what kind of learning is beneficial to save the human race.
The bugs are still menacing our farmette land, but they have receded enough to allow me to occasionally venture forth into the thick of green growth. For example, after breakfast I clean up the front bed enough to let the remaining lilies (and yes, there are remaining lilies!) shine.
And then Snowdrop comes over for a day at the farmhouse.
I feel torn about letting her play outside. Initially, I let her run out and have her fill of outdoor freedom. But as she runs towards the denser areas where raspberry canes fill all available spaces, I see that she's heading for trouble.
The mosquitoes will get her for sure. I redirect her toward the indoors.
Ah-ah comes over. She's delighted with his antics.
Knowing that we may be stuck indoors all day, I've prepared a cooking station. Snowdrop, we're going to bake!
I'm not ambitious. Cookies would be nice. I've just come back from the UK -- my yearnings stray toward ginger. What? No molasses in the cupboards? Ed: I'll get you some molasses.
He comes back. Snowdrop and I set to work.
What do I stir, gaga?
Well, the whisk works better with the dry ingredients.
(Okay I'll do both!)
In the past year, I've let Snowdrop smell various spices. She's become quite good at taking a whiff (rather than wanting to taste). Today, she watches as those fragrant particles are shaken into the cookie batter.
Time to roll the ginger balls in sugar!
Okay, we're done. A few minutes later the cookies are ready -- to be tasted at the end of lunch.
Meanwhile, the girl plays.
Runs.
Flips through books, chortles, dances, snuggles -- oh, it's nice to know she hasn't totally changed!
Lunchtime. It's easy today: leftovers from supper! Then her favorite -- fruit!
And finally I remind her about the cookie. Served with milk.
Happy girl, happy gaga.
In the late afternoon, just before her parents arrive to claim her, Snowdrop eats her afternoon snack which includes -- watermelon!
And then her parents arrive and I hand over a happy, well rested and well fed girl.
The sun recedes. In its last minutes, it always throws a beam of light just at the middle garden. I catch it today.
And it reminds me of the fact that if you are lucky to be there at the right time, every single day of the year offers a magic moment of light, color and texture out on the farmette lands.
Someday, maybe Snowdrop and I will make a habit of looking for it, reveling in its fleeting beauty.
At dawn, or thereabouts, I go out to open the coop. It's raining, the air feels sultry, my flowers are leaning heavily toward the ground.
But by breakfast time, the storms have passed and at least some of the flowers of late summer perk up again.
Breakfast is on the porch. Ed and I discuss what kind of learning is beneficial to save the human race.
The bugs are still menacing our farmette land, but they have receded enough to allow me to occasionally venture forth into the thick of green growth. For example, after breakfast I clean up the front bed enough to let the remaining lilies (and yes, there are remaining lilies!) shine.
And then Snowdrop comes over for a day at the farmhouse.
I feel torn about letting her play outside. Initially, I let her run out and have her fill of outdoor freedom. But as she runs towards the denser areas where raspberry canes fill all available spaces, I see that she's heading for trouble.
The mosquitoes will get her for sure. I redirect her toward the indoors.
Ah-ah comes over. She's delighted with his antics.
Knowing that we may be stuck indoors all day, I've prepared a cooking station. Snowdrop, we're going to bake!
I'm not ambitious. Cookies would be nice. I've just come back from the UK -- my yearnings stray toward ginger. What? No molasses in the cupboards? Ed: I'll get you some molasses.
He comes back. Snowdrop and I set to work.
What do I stir, gaga?
Well, the whisk works better with the dry ingredients.
(Okay I'll do both!)
In the past year, I've let Snowdrop smell various spices. She's become quite good at taking a whiff (rather than wanting to taste). Today, she watches as those fragrant particles are shaken into the cookie batter.
Time to roll the ginger balls in sugar!
Okay, we're done. A few minutes later the cookies are ready -- to be tasted at the end of lunch.
Meanwhile, the girl plays.
Runs.
Flips through books, chortles, dances, snuggles -- oh, it's nice to know she hasn't totally changed!
Lunchtime. It's easy today: leftovers from supper! Then her favorite -- fruit!
And finally I remind her about the cookie. Served with milk.
Happy girl, happy gaga.
In the late afternoon, just before her parents arrive to claim her, Snowdrop eats her afternoon snack which includes -- watermelon!
And then her parents arrive and I hand over a happy, well rested and well fed girl.
The sun recedes. In its last minutes, it always throws a beam of light just at the middle garden. I catch it today.
And it reminds me of the fact that if you are lucky to be there at the right time, every single day of the year offers a magic moment of light, color and texture out on the farmette lands.
Someday, maybe Snowdrop and I will make a habit of looking for it, reveling in its fleeting beauty.
