It came out of nowhere. One minute I was moving through the morning rituals, the same ones that have been with me all summer long and then Primrose, during a breakfast FaceTime with me...
... mentioned the nicknames she used for her best stuffy. I told her one nickname I used for her mom some years back. And this is when the song came back to me -- the one that had originally pushed me to use the nickname in the first place. A wave of emotion washed over me so suddenly, that I had to sit down on the couch to recover.
Mind you, beautiful emotion, bringing to mind days with my girls when they were little, and now, alongside that, time spent with my two little granddaughters and one grandson, each and every one wrapped in such authentic innocence, such youthful wisdom too. Images came to mind of farmette meadow strolls, wild daisies and green eggs, clover hunts, cherry harvests and the utter glee of a grandchild when, imagine that, she manages to touch one of the more skittish hens. It's what you'd think of as a groundswell of positive emotion.
Here's the song (by Kenny Loggins), with a bit of the text from the book, Winnie the Pooh:
Childhood years are busy years for parents. But a grandparent, if she is lucky, can take it more slowly. I may not have noticed the way my daughters talked to their stuffies or how they slurped their spaghetti or let ice cream dribble down their chins when they were little. I was too busy finding a damp washcloth to wipe down the mess. Now, of course, I look at it all very differently. Corn on the cob has an entirely new place in my heart these years. All three grandkids love it and I can't imagine not steaming some ears for them for a summer supper at the farmette.
* * *
The morning was otherwise gloriously calm. Let's go back to the early walk through the garden...
... with a pause for that wonderful Primrose moment...
And finally, a pause for breakfast on the porch with you know who...
* * *
The kids came...
... the chickens were there to greet them. The moon was out, Sparrow took note.
Both chickens and kids wanted to go to the barn. Eggs were found, corn, in copious amounts was dispersed. (Never give a child free reign to reach into the corn bin. They will always scoop out heaping cupfuls. It's a mixture of sweet generosity and playful mischievousness.)
On the way back, we pick a few peaches.
The courtyard tomatoes need water and Snowdrop is happy to turn the hose on them. Sparrow knows to hide when his sister takes control of the hose.
One more photo in the garden. Snowdrop is asking -- can this plant be called "a child's plant?"
At the farmhouse, the little girl draws again. It's a super pig picture, but she is reluctant to make a book out of it. The story unfolds for her as she draws and once she is done with it, she is done.
(I bring out a lemon to show her how imperfectly interesting a fruit shape can be. She had drawn a lemon and scowled at its elongated shape.)
In the meantime, Sparrow again adds just a few brush strokes to his evolving canvas.
* * *
You wonder when you should expose kids to certain realities. I mean, mostly, stuff just sort of comes up. But sometimes it doesn't. Snowdrop, the oldest of the grandkids, knows at least a little about many tough subjects. Racism. Bullying. Guns. Jail. She used to hound me endlessly for explanations of how jails work and who gets locked up for what reason and at what age. Today, I found out that she doesn't know something that some kids are forced to learn way too early: medical operations.
We are driving home and she once again brings up the subject of childbirth. I don't know why. She likes talking about it. Today, though, I clarified that not all kids are born well, you know, through the birth canal.
How else are they born?
With the help of an operation, where the stomach is cut open by a doctor and the baby is taken out.
Your stomach is cut open??
Oh, but afterwards, the doctor sews it up. Like in Madeline. (I search for the familiar...)
Sews it up with what??
A needle and...
A needle?? Ewwwww! I don't want my baby born that way!
Okay, operations explained. Check.
* * *
In the afternoon I talk to my two friends who live way down south...
We always have a lot to review, no matter how often we get together on Zoom. This time is no different.
* * *
Evening. Ed bikes, I cook up a frittata. With garlic, many mushrooms, broccoli, corn.
And tomorrow? What's in store for tomorrow?
You'd be surprised there's so much to be done,
Count all the bees in the hive,
Chase all the clouds from the sky...
... mentioned the nicknames she used for her best stuffy. I told her one nickname I used for her mom some years back. And this is when the song came back to me -- the one that had originally pushed me to use the nickname in the first place. A wave of emotion washed over me so suddenly, that I had to sit down on the couch to recover.
Mind you, beautiful emotion, bringing to mind days with my girls when they were little, and now, alongside that, time spent with my two little granddaughters and one grandson, each and every one wrapped in such authentic innocence, such youthful wisdom too. Images came to mind of farmette meadow strolls, wild daisies and green eggs, clover hunts, cherry harvests and the utter glee of a grandchild when, imagine that, she manages to touch one of the more skittish hens. It's what you'd think of as a groundswell of positive emotion.
Here's the song (by Kenny Loggins), with a bit of the text from the book, Winnie the Pooh:
Childhood years are busy years for parents. But a grandparent, if she is lucky, can take it more slowly. I may not have noticed the way my daughters talked to their stuffies or how they slurped their spaghetti or let ice cream dribble down their chins when they were little. I was too busy finding a damp washcloth to wipe down the mess. Now, of course, I look at it all very differently. Corn on the cob has an entirely new place in my heart these years. All three grandkids love it and I can't imagine not steaming some ears for them for a summer supper at the farmette.
* * *
The morning was otherwise gloriously calm. Let's go back to the early walk through the garden...
... with a pause for that wonderful Primrose moment...
And finally, a pause for breakfast on the porch with you know who...
* * *
The kids came...
... the chickens were there to greet them. The moon was out, Sparrow took note.
Both chickens and kids wanted to go to the barn. Eggs were found, corn, in copious amounts was dispersed. (Never give a child free reign to reach into the corn bin. They will always scoop out heaping cupfuls. It's a mixture of sweet generosity and playful mischievousness.)
On the way back, we pick a few peaches.
The courtyard tomatoes need water and Snowdrop is happy to turn the hose on them. Sparrow knows to hide when his sister takes control of the hose.
One more photo in the garden. Snowdrop is asking -- can this plant be called "a child's plant?"
At the farmhouse, the little girl draws again. It's a super pig picture, but she is reluctant to make a book out of it. The story unfolds for her as she draws and once she is done with it, she is done.
(I bring out a lemon to show her how imperfectly interesting a fruit shape can be. She had drawn a lemon and scowled at its elongated shape.)
In the meantime, Sparrow again adds just a few brush strokes to his evolving canvas.
* * *
You wonder when you should expose kids to certain realities. I mean, mostly, stuff just sort of comes up. But sometimes it doesn't. Snowdrop, the oldest of the grandkids, knows at least a little about many tough subjects. Racism. Bullying. Guns. Jail. She used to hound me endlessly for explanations of how jails work and who gets locked up for what reason and at what age. Today, I found out that she doesn't know something that some kids are forced to learn way too early: medical operations.
We are driving home and she once again brings up the subject of childbirth. I don't know why. She likes talking about it. Today, though, I clarified that not all kids are born well, you know, through the birth canal.
How else are they born?
With the help of an operation, where the stomach is cut open by a doctor and the baby is taken out.
Your stomach is cut open??
Oh, but afterwards, the doctor sews it up. Like in Madeline. (I search for the familiar...)
Sews it up with what??
A needle and...
A needle?? Ewwwww! I don't want my baby born that way!
Okay, operations explained. Check.
* * *
In the afternoon I talk to my two friends who live way down south...
We always have a lot to review, no matter how often we get together on Zoom. This time is no different.
* * *
Evening. Ed bikes, I cook up a frittata. With garlic, many mushrooms, broccoli, corn.
And tomorrow? What's in store for tomorrow?
You'd be surprised there's so much to be done,
Count all the bees in the hive,
Chase all the clouds from the sky...
