The worse the weather is -- the colder, the meaner, the more bitter the temperatures -- the more you love the days when the bad spell moves on. Take it from the cheepers: they're deliriously happy that the morning starts with temperatures just below freezing.
They leave the barn. They rejoice!
There are patches of blue in the sky. The day seems so very promising!
Breakfast. Late, but bathed in sunshine.
And after many errands, I head toward Snowdrop's school. I drive by the lesser lake. A frozen body of water and humane temperatures brings out the fisher people.
My daughter had texted me that Snowdrop was looking forward to having ahah pick her up again. He's good at it! -- Snowdrop had proclaimed emphatically.
I'm not sure there are great skills needed for the act of "walk child from school to car," but I am convinced that in general, Snowdrop gives Ed a world of new insights and experiences. And vice versa. Who benefits more? Oh, they both do! It's so obvious.
I tell Ed about Snowdrop's earnest comment. And that is how today once more we are at the school together and Snowdrop is just tickled at the sight of the two of us. In her world, two is always better than one.
I have a plan: we should, of course, head over to the playground by the lesser lake! It's been weeks and weeks since I've dared go there, given the winds, cold air and Arctic blasts. But today, we are just a breath above freezing. We're off!
Ed has inordinate patience in pushing Snowdrop on the swing. They go at it for a long, long time.
And the slides! And the climbing structures!
And the life guard chair!
I climb up to join them. It strikes me that Snowdrop is three years old, she spends nearly every weekday at the farmhouse where she plays with me, but also so often with Ed and yet there does not exist a photo, taken by anyone of just the three of us. So I tell Ed to do a selfie. And he does. The one photo out there where the three of us are doing what we do every day: engage each other in the world of the ridiculous and the sublime.
After a very long playground romp, Ed returns to his farmette duties and Snowdrop and I head out onto the lesser lake, thickly covered with ice and a remaining light layer of snow.
She is delighted.
This is what joy looks like.
She so wants to build a snowman. We try. I am hoping that this is not the only snowman we will create this winter!
With the snowman comes a Snowdrop story...
It's hard to reel her in, but I do, with a shameless food bribe.
At the farmhouse she moves seamlessly to her character play...
The day is full, so full... What stands out? Perhaps the hours of play, by the lake, then on the lake. Look around you! It's such a gorgeous landscape. Winter beautiful. With just a touch of spring.
They leave the barn. They rejoice!
There are patches of blue in the sky. The day seems so very promising!
Breakfast. Late, but bathed in sunshine.
And after many errands, I head toward Snowdrop's school. I drive by the lesser lake. A frozen body of water and humane temperatures brings out the fisher people.
My daughter had texted me that Snowdrop was looking forward to having ahah pick her up again. He's good at it! -- Snowdrop had proclaimed emphatically.
I'm not sure there are great skills needed for the act of "walk child from school to car," but I am convinced that in general, Snowdrop gives Ed a world of new insights and experiences. And vice versa. Who benefits more? Oh, they both do! It's so obvious.
I tell Ed about Snowdrop's earnest comment. And that is how today once more we are at the school together and Snowdrop is just tickled at the sight of the two of us. In her world, two is always better than one.
I have a plan: we should, of course, head over to the playground by the lesser lake! It's been weeks and weeks since I've dared go there, given the winds, cold air and Arctic blasts. But today, we are just a breath above freezing. We're off!
Ed has inordinate patience in pushing Snowdrop on the swing. They go at it for a long, long time.
And the slides! And the climbing structures!
And the life guard chair!
I climb up to join them. It strikes me that Snowdrop is three years old, she spends nearly every weekday at the farmhouse where she plays with me, but also so often with Ed and yet there does not exist a photo, taken by anyone of just the three of us. So I tell Ed to do a selfie. And he does. The one photo out there where the three of us are doing what we do every day: engage each other in the world of the ridiculous and the sublime.
After a very long playground romp, Ed returns to his farmette duties and Snowdrop and I head out onto the lesser lake, thickly covered with ice and a remaining light layer of snow.
She is delighted.
This is what joy looks like.
She so wants to build a snowman. We try. I am hoping that this is not the only snowman we will create this winter!
With the snowman comes a Snowdrop story...
It's hard to reel her in, but I do, with a shameless food bribe.
At the farmhouse she moves seamlessly to her character play...
The day is full, so full... What stands out? Perhaps the hours of play, by the lake, then on the lake. Look around you! It's such a gorgeous landscape. Winter beautiful. With just a touch of spring.
