I didn't plan this day well. They said storms would pass through. Okay, that places limits on our options. But I look outside and I see a hazy sunshine. It feels warm.
(The baby threesome, hoping I'd come out already!)
(Stop Sign, hinting that he'd like a can of cat food. Salmon pate is fine. So is turkey and giblets. Just put it out already.)
(no matter how much support you're going to give peonies, come a heavy rain and they will droop. It is in their nature.)
(The beauty of the garden is still in the mix of annuals and perennials.)
Breakfast, on the porch. We linger for a long, long time. Without the noise of the grading machinery, it feels so blissful to be outside!
We talk about mosquitoes. They have definitely subsided. They aren't completely gone, but nor do they pester you much. You could work in the garden for several hours and maybe chase away a couple. The big question is the unanswerable one for us: is it that Ed's mosquito fans are working? Are we depleting the female population?
(Peach, our old hen, always wants what someone else is having. Thank goodness Stop Sign is used to her pesky ways.)
I'm still uncertain if Snowdrop will be with us this weekend and so I keep my activities low key. Within the orbit of the farmette. But I do in fact hop on Rosie for run to the farmers market. Snowdrop likes cheese curds. I'll get her some cheese curds. (And while there, could you resist the pea shoots? The baby bok choy? The last of the asparagus? The blooms, the freshness of everything? I could not.)
(You could say no to this girl selling bunches of flowers? Really? You're made of tougher stuff than I am.)
Rosie's basket is pretty full by the time I moped my way home.
Ed had commented earlier -- so your gardening is basically done for this year? It's an understandable question. I've written about this before: the bulk of the work is behind me. Nonetheless, we spend several hours cutting, trimming, moving, weeding. It can't be "done" if we're still working hard at keeping things in order!
In the late afternoon I check in once more with my older girl. She's been having some contractions, but feels she hasn't the classic regularity that signals labor. Her due date isn't until June 14. Still, everyone says she'll be early.
By around five, I ask if I should go ahead and fix dinner for Ed and myself, or should we wait in case Snowdrop comes over.
Go ahead and eat. We're all going to have pizza at home.
I start in on a huge pot of lentil soup. It's perfect for the days when you don't know how much time you'll have for cooking later in the week.
Halfway into this, I get another text: hold off on your dinner. We may drop her off after all. And then: we aren't waiting another minute! We're on our way!
All this was too much for Snowdrop. Her mommy is clearly not well. There is a rush to get the girl to the farm and mommy to the hospital. I get a sobbing child who would very much like to make sense of what just happened.
It's not tough to deal with the little one at times like this. She is very aware of her feelings and she is great at asking the questions that churn inside her head. We talk about why her mommy was in pain and why she was in a hurry. Snowdrop settles into gentle sobs. She asks if she can sleep in the big bed tonight.
Which big bed? The one in your room?
No, the one in your room. With you. Then she remembers that Ed sleeps there too. Ahah likes to sleep on the couch sometimes, doesn't he?
I have to smile at that. We'll cross that bridge later. Right now, she is cheered and ready to play.
The three of us eat pizza on the porch...
... followed by frozen yogurt, with chocolate sprinkles. She takes seriously the task of getting those sprinkles out!
As I clean up, she asks Ed to play Swan Lake for her. We dance until I can dance no more...
It hasn't even been two hours since her parents were here dropping Snowdrop off, when the message comes: Sparrow (as he will be known here, on Ocean) was born just before 8 p.m., five days ahead of schedule, but still coming in at 9lbs 6oz!
He is one handsome boy!
The parents ask me if I want to bring Snowdrop over to the hospital. It's past her bedtime, but how many times does one add a sibling to one's everyday? We're on our way!
I leave you with two pictures from our brief visit. One of the family...
And then one of the two little ones, with their mom.
Snowdrop is both dazzled and overwhelmed. Tired and bouncy. Happy, playful and full of stories spinning in her head. Even after we return to the farmhouse, it is a long long while before she is finally settled in bed.
As for Sparrow -- what can I say: he is completely different from Snowdrop, from Primrose. He is his own boy, What that means and how he'll grow -- well, that's surely a bit of a mystery now. But, oh, how happy we all are to be his family -- his parents, sister, grandparents, aunts, uncles and one special little cousin, all there to give him the snuggles and help that he'll need, at least initially, as he navigates the path ahead of him.
(The baby threesome, hoping I'd come out already!)
(Stop Sign, hinting that he'd like a can of cat food. Salmon pate is fine. So is turkey and giblets. Just put it out already.)
(no matter how much support you're going to give peonies, come a heavy rain and they will droop. It is in their nature.)
(The beauty of the garden is still in the mix of annuals and perennials.)
Breakfast, on the porch. We linger for a long, long time. Without the noise of the grading machinery, it feels so blissful to be outside!
We talk about mosquitoes. They have definitely subsided. They aren't completely gone, but nor do they pester you much. You could work in the garden for several hours and maybe chase away a couple. The big question is the unanswerable one for us: is it that Ed's mosquito fans are working? Are we depleting the female population?
(Peach, our old hen, always wants what someone else is having. Thank goodness Stop Sign is used to her pesky ways.)
I'm still uncertain if Snowdrop will be with us this weekend and so I keep my activities low key. Within the orbit of the farmette. But I do in fact hop on Rosie for run to the farmers market. Snowdrop likes cheese curds. I'll get her some cheese curds. (And while there, could you resist the pea shoots? The baby bok choy? The last of the asparagus? The blooms, the freshness of everything? I could not.)
(You could say no to this girl selling bunches of flowers? Really? You're made of tougher stuff than I am.)
Rosie's basket is pretty full by the time I moped my way home.
Ed had commented earlier -- so your gardening is basically done for this year? It's an understandable question. I've written about this before: the bulk of the work is behind me. Nonetheless, we spend several hours cutting, trimming, moving, weeding. It can't be "done" if we're still working hard at keeping things in order!
In the late afternoon I check in once more with my older girl. She's been having some contractions, but feels she hasn't the classic regularity that signals labor. Her due date isn't until June 14. Still, everyone says she'll be early.
By around five, I ask if I should go ahead and fix dinner for Ed and myself, or should we wait in case Snowdrop comes over.
Go ahead and eat. We're all going to have pizza at home.
I start in on a huge pot of lentil soup. It's perfect for the days when you don't know how much time you'll have for cooking later in the week.
Halfway into this, I get another text: hold off on your dinner. We may drop her off after all. And then: we aren't waiting another minute! We're on our way!
All this was too much for Snowdrop. Her mommy is clearly not well. There is a rush to get the girl to the farm and mommy to the hospital. I get a sobbing child who would very much like to make sense of what just happened.
It's not tough to deal with the little one at times like this. She is very aware of her feelings and she is great at asking the questions that churn inside her head. We talk about why her mommy was in pain and why she was in a hurry. Snowdrop settles into gentle sobs. She asks if she can sleep in the big bed tonight.
Which big bed? The one in your room?
No, the one in your room. With you. Then she remembers that Ed sleeps there too. Ahah likes to sleep on the couch sometimes, doesn't he?
I have to smile at that. We'll cross that bridge later. Right now, she is cheered and ready to play.
The three of us eat pizza on the porch...
... followed by frozen yogurt, with chocolate sprinkles. She takes seriously the task of getting those sprinkles out!
As I clean up, she asks Ed to play Swan Lake for her. We dance until I can dance no more...
It hasn't even been two hours since her parents were here dropping Snowdrop off, when the message comes: Sparrow (as he will be known here, on Ocean) was born just before 8 p.m., five days ahead of schedule, but still coming in at 9lbs 6oz!
He is one handsome boy!
The parents ask me if I want to bring Snowdrop over to the hospital. It's past her bedtime, but how many times does one add a sibling to one's everyday? We're on our way!
I leave you with two pictures from our brief visit. One of the family...
And then one of the two little ones, with their mom.
Snowdrop is both dazzled and overwhelmed. Tired and bouncy. Happy, playful and full of stories spinning in her head. Even after we return to the farmhouse, it is a long long while before she is finally settled in bed.
As for Sparrow -- what can I say: he is completely different from Snowdrop, from Primrose. He is his own boy, What that means and how he'll grow -- well, that's surely a bit of a mystery now. But, oh, how happy we all are to be his family -- his parents, sister, grandparents, aunts, uncles and one special little cousin, all there to give him the snuggles and help that he'll need, at least initially, as he navigates the path ahead of him.
