Tuesday

Our chickens have always been brave. It's funny that you'll say someone's a chicken when you want to impute cowardice: given the chance, the cheepers show terrific fearlessness. At the same time, they seem to know their limits. They'll take their nap nestled under the cover of a bush. They fly up barn walls in the evening, waiting for Ed to bring them down and lock them in a coop. And they'll never, ever venture out onto the road.

I always smile when I see them working the front yard. Someone driving by must wonder -- why doesn't that chicken cross the road?? They all come pretty darn close to the edge of it, but they have never shown any inclination to set a claw on the pavement.






At breakfast time, Ed and I talk about voting in our local elections. It's hard to figure out who stands for what in these small town races. We tried hard to research positions and platforms and came up with little more than platitudes and sound bites. It's tough to be an informed citizen!






In the afternoon, I bring Snowdrop back to the farmette. She is showing me her squishy ball. She wants to bring it to share and tell in school. The rules are that you shouldn't bring toys, but rather, things that are made or created. She explains to me -- you can make anything out this squishy ball, so it's not really a toy. For example, you can make a door bell! Ding dong! See?






Typically, when we come in, she insists on a book, then she launches some pretend game. Ed is usually on the couch working on his computer. Today, she gets curious about what he's up to.






It turns out he's taking a break and watching some clips of interviews of Pearl Harbor survivors. I tell him this is extremely inappropriate to share with a 4 year old, but Snowdrop is fascinated, so I let her linger for just a minute.
What just happened? -- she asks, when there's footage of a war ship suddenly coming under attack.
I glare at Ed. How are you going to explain this one, pal?
He thinks for a bit. People do fight. This is no news to her -- she comes home with endless stories of playground disputes. Still, she asks -- why?
Oh, many reasons. Some people want to take charge, some people are just bad. Really mean.
I quickly add -- but most people, they're good.
Yes, he agrees, most are good.
Cardinal rule: never give a kid more information than what she asks for.

I pick up a book with far less problematic subject matter -- about French Toast and Lady Pancake. Ever hear of it? It's pretty funny!






The sun comes out in the late afternoon. Warm, gold, reassuring.