Monday

If I were to draw out a theme from this day, I'd say I have been surrounded by a bunch of not so happy campers.

It snowed last night and indeed, it's still snowing. Not quite the blizzard others may be experiencing, but we will have a good half a foot of snow by the time it moves on. Yes, there will surely be a quick melt by the weekend. But hey, there is the "here and now!" No one is interested in more snow in the middle of March.

Most assuredly, this is bad news for the cheepers. They each, in their own time, made the trek from the barn to the garage. Who knows why. In the dead of winter, they rarely come out of the barn, but I suppose their chicken memories had them thinking about all the worms and sprouts they'd been foraging for the past several weeks. Maybe they thought if they could just handle the journey to the garage, all this cold white stuff would go away and the beautiful, rich, moist ground would swell with tasty treats for them again. So they took a deep breath and began their terrible march.






And then they huddled in the garage for the rest of the day. No magic wand took the snow away. Their dinosaur feet were cold. Incapable of managing the sudden coming of winter.

(Here are our sweet chickens, down to three, bonded by a deep desire to survive and feel part of a flock. A family of sorts. A band of sisters!)






At breakfast, Ed tells me that he really truly has to do his taxes. He's been saying this for days, but we are two days shy of his deadline, so I think he really truly must mean it.






Snowdrop, too, is less than excited by what the snowstorm has dumped on us. When I pick her up at school, she is bundled up in all her snow regalia. She is excited. She wants action!

But when I tell her that it is truly impossible, impracticable, and inadvisable to be pushing forth in a stroller in search of adventure, her sweet happy face crumbles.  Big fat tears spill onto her cold cheeks.
It's just too cold and snowy, little girl.
But I want an a'venture! With the stroller!

I would give her the world of course, but today I have to give her this unwelcome news: you cannot always get that what your heart craves.

At the farmhouse, she finds solace and happiness in going straight to her comfy play of putting the gaga character into the wheelchair and having ahah push the infirm gaga this way and that way.






Snowdrop finds happiness easily. The croissant snack thrills her, the tea set -- well, you know that it has as much healing power as a round of yoga for the sweet girl...






(Pretend sipping, pretend eating...)






Add to it a ball game with ahah (it's all apples and oranges!)...






...A few books,  and then her utterly joyous dancing (the "fish jig" is in constant competition with Abba's "dancing queen") and the day is made perfect again, the snow outside notwithstanding.






Nap is done. She asks for music. I'm about to turn on her favorites, but she shakes her head (she's good at adding emphasis to her words). No, I want zy'phone.

Okay, Snowdrop.






Dusk. I tell Ed that it would be a wonderful service to the cheepers if he could just shovel a way home for them. (I'd do it myself, but Snowdrop is still with us.) To keep their dinosaur paws from freezing over.
All the way to the barn? -- he asks.
It will take you five minutes. And it will make them so happy.

It does: five minutes. So happy.






It's a reminder for us, no? There are so many things that we can do for another living creature that would take so little time and would mean so much.

Late into the night we watch youtube clips on raising chicks. We're still considering guinea hens. Perhaps making the cheepers happy has gone to our heads.