Two families: one in Madison, one in Chicago. Sometimes I think they are out of one pod: two peas, growing side by side. Other times, they're more like different flowers in the same garden. Their needs vary -- one thrives on sunshine, the other makes do with dappled shade, so long as there's plenty of water. Me, I'm the proximate gardener, making it up as I go along. Not unlike in the farmette flower fields.
The point is -- you can't assume you have it figured out. You have to have good eyes, a willing heart, and strong hands. Put them all to use all the time and maybe you'll be lucky: buds will appear. Young families will blossom like there's no tomorrow, right before your eyes.
My day is split: morning with the Chicago family. Afternoon in transit. Evening with the Madison family. So different, yet so much in the same garden. Maybe even in one pod. Can't ever be sure.
Primrose is up early today. There is time for our usual mini breakfast. Lots of fruits. Grandma believes fiercely in fruits and veggies.
There is also time for play. For drawing, dancing, prancing.
On my last day with the little girl I am always tempted to keep the camera at the ready: last chance to grab and hold onto that gaze, that expression, that lovely gesture. But of course, a camera is just a thin prop. Reality is always so much richer than a photo. And Primrose is a chatterbox. You couldn't tell just by looking at a picture, can you?
We eat brunch at the Lonesome Rose again. There is something deeply reassuring in ending a visit with foods from there. As if this all will continue -- we will go our separate ways but don't worry! We'll come back and have those tacos, burritos and bowls again at the Lonesome Rose.
And we will pull grandma's suitcase to the L and say good bye.
I will see them soon. Well, pretty soon. Next month. We live in different cities, different states even, but the distances aren't great. 145 miles (235 km). In America, that's almost "next door." (Even as I wish it were 1.45 miles.) When I ask my daughters how many of their friends with families live close to their own parents, I get the expected answer: almost none. (At the same time, when I pick up the kids at school, I often run into another grandparent or two, so I know I am not unique.)
It's a sunny day. While still in the car, Primrose and I talked about sunshine and its forceful presence, much like Snowdrop and I talk about that very same sun that streams so beautifully into our spaces on cold winter days.
Cold yet beautiful days. No matter how focused I am on these two families, I can't help but notice the sun's intense loveliness. There's still plenty of snow, especially in Madison, but the dazzling light makes it so obvious that the days of a frozen ground, of frozen lakes and frozen rootstock are numbered.
It's still light when the Madison family comes to the farmhouse for dinner. That surely is a gift!
And here's one of the many many moments where the peas are all in one pod: Primrose, down in Chicago, wants to talk to her cousins up here in Madison and so we have some facetime and it is wonderful.
Dinner is the reliable spaghetti with homemade sauce. Admittedly, for the kids, it's all about the pasta and parmesan. Still, I sneak in veggies on the side. Roasted beets. Corn. Baby tomatoes. Snowdrop loves them all. Sparrow? He's slowly coming on board. Slowly.
(After dinner: gaga, can you play with me now? Not tonight little one. But tomorrow. For sure.)
Flowers in a garden. All of them. Middle of February and I have this gorgeous array of flowers in a garden.
The point is -- you can't assume you have it figured out. You have to have good eyes, a willing heart, and strong hands. Put them all to use all the time and maybe you'll be lucky: buds will appear. Young families will blossom like there's no tomorrow, right before your eyes.
My day is split: morning with the Chicago family. Afternoon in transit. Evening with the Madison family. So different, yet so much in the same garden. Maybe even in one pod. Can't ever be sure.
Primrose is up early today. There is time for our usual mini breakfast. Lots of fruits. Grandma believes fiercely in fruits and veggies.
There is also time for play. For drawing, dancing, prancing.
On my last day with the little girl I am always tempted to keep the camera at the ready: last chance to grab and hold onto that gaze, that expression, that lovely gesture. But of course, a camera is just a thin prop. Reality is always so much richer than a photo. And Primrose is a chatterbox. You couldn't tell just by looking at a picture, can you?
We eat brunch at the Lonesome Rose again. There is something deeply reassuring in ending a visit with foods from there. As if this all will continue -- we will go our separate ways but don't worry! We'll come back and have those tacos, burritos and bowls again at the Lonesome Rose.
And we will pull grandma's suitcase to the L and say good bye.
I will see them soon. Well, pretty soon. Next month. We live in different cities, different states even, but the distances aren't great. 145 miles (235 km). In America, that's almost "next door." (Even as I wish it were 1.45 miles.) When I ask my daughters how many of their friends with families live close to their own parents, I get the expected answer: almost none. (At the same time, when I pick up the kids at school, I often run into another grandparent or two, so I know I am not unique.)
It's a sunny day. While still in the car, Primrose and I talked about sunshine and its forceful presence, much like Snowdrop and I talk about that very same sun that streams so beautifully into our spaces on cold winter days.
Cold yet beautiful days. No matter how focused I am on these two families, I can't help but notice the sun's intense loveliness. There's still plenty of snow, especially in Madison, but the dazzling light makes it so obvious that the days of a frozen ground, of frozen lakes and frozen rootstock are numbered.
It's still light when the Madison family comes to the farmhouse for dinner. That surely is a gift!
And here's one of the many many moments where the peas are all in one pod: Primrose, down in Chicago, wants to talk to her cousins up here in Madison and so we have some facetime and it is wonderful.
Dinner is the reliable spaghetti with homemade sauce. Admittedly, for the kids, it's all about the pasta and parmesan. Still, I sneak in veggies on the side. Roasted beets. Corn. Baby tomatoes. Snowdrop loves them all. Sparrow? He's slowly coming on board. Slowly.
(After dinner: gaga, can you play with me now? Not tonight little one. But tomorrow. For sure.)
Flowers in a garden. All of them. Middle of February and I have this gorgeous array of flowers in a garden.
