Friday rush

There is a sense of urgency. Funny, on a Friday people like to slow down. We can't: put away thoughts of a slower pace. Today we rush.

Last night, Ed and I decided to keep the cheepers locked up for a while. This isn't a new normal by any means, but for now, while the hawk is probably still lurking, I thought (and after a while I convinced Ed on this) we should contain them. It's not as if they get much benefit from the great outdoors in the dead of winter. The timing seemed good, too, weather-wise. There's a winter storm warning in effect and following the expected snow, temperatures will go down to significantly below freezing. In those conditions, the cheepers usually stay in the barn anyway. (And when they move outside, they move slowly -- that's not a good gait for birds under the gaze of a lurking hawk.)

But keeping them locked up in the current coop is, for us, unacceptable. The structure is too small. No wiggle room. A harsh reality after total freedom. We looked on line at the available supplies at Farm and Fleet and found an acceptable coop "addition." We haven't the time to putz around with building something ourselves (um, himself). But with some additional wiring, Ed can add this protected space for them, so that they'll stay out of each others feathers.

Even though we have no time. He has a work techie meeting. I'm basically useless in the construction department. And I have my knee doc. And groceries to get for the week ahead. And Snowdrop to pick up after school. So we have no time. And a snowstorm is scheduled to hit at 2 p.m.

And so we move fast this morning. No breakfast for Ed. A rushed one for me.





He's off then, promising to stop by to pick up the addition materials before the storm hits.

I'm off to the doc's. I need a confirmation of the knee injury. I get a confirmation. A meniscus tear. Will it un-tear? No it will not, but hey! They promise to get me to the place I was before the injury. The doc and his team seemed so... athletic, that I am convinced their word is solid.

At the grocery store, there is a crowd of shoppers anticipating a big snow. Long lines, full carts.

At the farmette again, I unload the food, Ed unloads the coop materials. When I join him in the barn, he is discouraged: who knew that the addition was only three sided? Ed will have to attach whatever wiring he has to plug up the hole.
The thing is too flimsy. He tells me. It's hawk proof, but is it racoon proof? In guarding against one danger, have we created a new one?
When the weather settles, Ed'll improve it. For now, he staples chicken wire and clamps the extension onto the coop just as the snow begins to fall.

And it is when snow begins to fall that I pick up a tired little girl.
 





A handful of kids in her class are out. She may be fighting a bug. Still, the lure of pretend is strong. She wants to play "swimming pool." A swimsuit is de rigeur. We reach some kind of a clothing compromise. In her swimsuit now, she watches the snow fall outside...


 



But tiredness hovers. I suppose over the both of us.






Toward evening, I cave and turn on an Olivia video for her. She melts into the couch. We both exhale.



The coop extension is up. May it give the girls some peaceful times together.






The snow falls.





The farmette is very, very quiet.