The predator that went after Butter has not gone away. Ed leaves a cage out with bait and in the morning, the bait will be gone, but each time, the predator will have escaped.
That's bad news for the cheepers. When we let them out in the morning, they leave the barn area as quickly as possible. They know there is a dark cloud hanging over the place.
This morning, Scotch and Henny choose the saw in the garage as a place for laying eggs.
And yes, the order of things has shifted: Scotch no longer fights Henny at every turn. The three girls are bound together in this moment of uncertainty.
But if there is a dark cloud over the barn, there surely isn't one in the greater sky. We are granted a lovely, mostly sunny day.
Snowdrop! It's sunny but not that warm! Put on your jacket!
(Though on my walk with her after school, I notice that the ice on the lesser lake is completely gone. Last year, there was ice still in April. This year, the great thaw happened in February.)
Back at the farmette, I don't quite know how to explain to the little one the absence of Butter. She always notices each and every one of the cheepers. Do I casually mention that the white hen has gone to chicken heaven?
Of course, Snowdrop is easily distracted. One minute she is pensive, the next -- exuberant.
Inside the farmhouse again. Oh, it's the usual stuff! She coaxes Ed into play around her table, they drink tea.
But the usual stuff is a good thing. What's wrong with repeating a sequence of happy plays? And, too, at her age, every week she has a different spin on all that's around her. Ed asks -- are all kids so talkative at her age? I grin at that. No, not all, but she most certainly is a chatterbox!
Nap time, snack time, wake up time...
Ahah is awake?
I'm not sure. Maybe. Soon.
Ahah? Come sit here, in the kitchen!
Pushover.
The girl and I analyze the professions of a set of wooden characters. (They have job titles scribbled on their backs. She's fascinated.) That's a doctor. She checks you out when you're sick. That one? An astronaut. You know rockets! Him? He's a mayor. She looks puzzled. Ummm, he looks after cities.
It's cool that they can move quickly away from your imperfect explanations.
Evening. The girl is with her parents. Ed asks -- you want to go out tonight?
Date night!
Braserie V, where, as usual, we split an endive salad and devour platefuls of mussels and fries at the bar.
Good day, good night, me 'n you, you and me, her, him, good night!
That's bad news for the cheepers. When we let them out in the morning, they leave the barn area as quickly as possible. They know there is a dark cloud hanging over the place.
This morning, Scotch and Henny choose the saw in the garage as a place for laying eggs.
And yes, the order of things has shifted: Scotch no longer fights Henny at every turn. The three girls are bound together in this moment of uncertainty.
But if there is a dark cloud over the barn, there surely isn't one in the greater sky. We are granted a lovely, mostly sunny day.
Snowdrop! It's sunny but not that warm! Put on your jacket!
(Though on my walk with her after school, I notice that the ice on the lesser lake is completely gone. Last year, there was ice still in April. This year, the great thaw happened in February.)
Back at the farmette, I don't quite know how to explain to the little one the absence of Butter. She always notices each and every one of the cheepers. Do I casually mention that the white hen has gone to chicken heaven?
Of course, Snowdrop is easily distracted. One minute she is pensive, the next -- exuberant.
Inside the farmhouse again. Oh, it's the usual stuff! She coaxes Ed into play around her table, they drink tea.
But the usual stuff is a good thing. What's wrong with repeating a sequence of happy plays? And, too, at her age, every week she has a different spin on all that's around her. Ed asks -- are all kids so talkative at her age? I grin at that. No, not all, but she most certainly is a chatterbox!
Nap time, snack time, wake up time...
Ahah is awake?
I'm not sure. Maybe. Soon.
Ahah? Come sit here, in the kitchen!
Pushover.
The girl and I analyze the professions of a set of wooden characters. (They have job titles scribbled on their backs. She's fascinated.) That's a doctor. She checks you out when you're sick. That one? An astronaut. You know rockets! Him? He's a mayor. She looks puzzled. Ummm, he looks after cities.
It's cool that they can move quickly away from your imperfect explanations.
Evening. The girl is with her parents. Ed asks -- you want to go out tonight?
Date night!
Braserie V, where, as usual, we split an endive salad and devour platefuls of mussels and fries at the bar.
Good day, good night, me 'n you, you and me, her, him, good night!
