It isn't an easy morning. Both Ed and I have many demands placed on us and typically we wiggle around these and find room for coming together on a project or an adventure, but today we just can't seem to accommodate everything and everyone and still come out whole. This is far more noticeable for me than it is for him, as he is rather relaxed about life and I am, well, less so. In the end we join forces over breakfast and then over dinner, which includes a viewing of the Vietnam saga on PBS. I wish the day had thrown us something a bit more intimate and uplifting but oh well.
This is why I title the post the way I do: nearly all the smiles and effervescence came from 180 minutes of the outdoor play I had with the little one today. Most definitely, these were the golden moments.
Speaking of golden, let me post a photo of the Fall garden. It may look green to you, but the intensities of that green are definitely changing.
And here's our lovely breakfast. You'll notice it's in the sun room. So cold out there on the porch! Why suffer?
And now let's bypass the morning, where Ed is completely lost to his work and I try to finish up outdoor and indoor chores and let me go straight to the delight, the charm, the utter loveliness of 180 minutes of Snowdrop.
You'll say -- well, isn't she always just the bees' knees for you? Yes she is. But today is different: we spend all our time playing outside and it is one joyous run of stories and games and brilliant sunshine and lovely breezes.
We begin in her school playground. Sunglasses on. Yeah!
And eventually we stroll over to the park by the lesser lake. Oh, there's a huge amount of time spent on the swings of course and I hear many a school tale in those precious minutes, but the great fun for her (and therefore for me) comes after, when she surveys the landscape from the lifeguard's chair...
... sheds her shades...
... and takes on the world. Or more specifically, the beach.
All summer long she had snubbed it. With good reason! She preferred the community pool. It was cooler for one thing. On a hot July or August day, this beach is not pleasant, especially when you view with suspicion all the stuff floating in the lake just before you. Smelly stuff.
But today! Oh, today is a weather miracle. Perfection! And so the beach beckons.
She spends minutes, nay, hours digging spinning tales, creating fantasies.
Sometimes I am included, sometimes she is in her own world. But all afternoon long, it is a joyous world.
We finish off with additional tales and games in the car and I haven't the desire to take her back to the farmhouse because she is having far too thrilling a time making something of her space here -- beach, car, park -- all in the neighborhood of her school. Why interrupt this magic play?
After Snowdrop is with her parents once more, I return to the farmette and survey the garden. It's so dry that I feel compelled to throw at least a little water on some of the youngest flowers. It's rewarding to do this now because when you least expect it, when you think all is over and done with, you get these brilliant late season surprises.
And now I am back at the farmhouse, with one last nod to the setting sun and the flowers that frame and enchant the porch for us.
In October I'll attend to the planting of bulbs. But the perennial gardens otherwise close down for me at the end of this month. Have a good winter's rest! Come back strong and healthy next year!
This is why I title the post the way I do: nearly all the smiles and effervescence came from 180 minutes of the outdoor play I had with the little one today. Most definitely, these were the golden moments.
Speaking of golden, let me post a photo of the Fall garden. It may look green to you, but the intensities of that green are definitely changing.
And here's our lovely breakfast. You'll notice it's in the sun room. So cold out there on the porch! Why suffer?
And now let's bypass the morning, where Ed is completely lost to his work and I try to finish up outdoor and indoor chores and let me go straight to the delight, the charm, the utter loveliness of 180 minutes of Snowdrop.
You'll say -- well, isn't she always just the bees' knees for you? Yes she is. But today is different: we spend all our time playing outside and it is one joyous run of stories and games and brilliant sunshine and lovely breezes.
We begin in her school playground. Sunglasses on. Yeah!
And eventually we stroll over to the park by the lesser lake. Oh, there's a huge amount of time spent on the swings of course and I hear many a school tale in those precious minutes, but the great fun for her (and therefore for me) comes after, when she surveys the landscape from the lifeguard's chair...
... sheds her shades...
... and takes on the world. Or more specifically, the beach.
All summer long she had snubbed it. With good reason! She preferred the community pool. It was cooler for one thing. On a hot July or August day, this beach is not pleasant, especially when you view with suspicion all the stuff floating in the lake just before you. Smelly stuff.
But today! Oh, today is a weather miracle. Perfection! And so the beach beckons.
She spends minutes, nay, hours digging spinning tales, creating fantasies.
Sometimes I am included, sometimes she is in her own world. But all afternoon long, it is a joyous world.
We finish off with additional tales and games in the car and I haven't the desire to take her back to the farmhouse because she is having far too thrilling a time making something of her space here -- beach, car, park -- all in the neighborhood of her school. Why interrupt this magic play?
After Snowdrop is with her parents once more, I return to the farmette and survey the garden. It's so dry that I feel compelled to throw at least a little water on some of the youngest flowers. It's rewarding to do this now because when you least expect it, when you think all is over and done with, you get these brilliant late season surprises.
And now I am back at the farmhouse, with one last nod to the setting sun and the flowers that frame and enchant the porch for us.
In October I'll attend to the planting of bulbs. But the perennial gardens otherwise close down for me at the end of this month. Have a good winter's rest! Come back strong and healthy next year!
