Sunday - 324th

Two words -- that is all you need to get an idea of how this day looked here, on the farmette, in south central Wisconsin: it snowed.

When you pile on another half a foot, or maybe it's a whole foot of snow onto an already present layer, you get a remarkably similar landscape:

It's not unlike looking out on the ocean: ten feet deep? One thousand feet deep? It all looks the same from where you are. So you have to take my word for it -- the snow came down and it is deep and heavy.

(Dance, inspecting my shoveling)

And yes, beautiful. Because, as you may recall, Ed and I do love snow.

I'm out early, shoveling the path to the farmhouse and, too, digging out my car. (Ed joins later with the snowblower to blow out the driveway and the path to the barn.) And then we huddle inside, because that's what you do when it snows. And snows. You stay in, eat a solid breakfast...

... and then you bake. Baking aromas and snow outside go well together. [The young family requested brownies for Sunday dessert. Nothing could be easier than brownies. The trick is to find a recipe you love. We'll see if this one, from Alton Brown, based on cocoa rather than chocolate, and with plenty of brown sugar and almost no flour delivers. P.S. -- there is no good way to photograph brownies in a pan. In the same way that a deep layer of snow just looks white, these guys just look uniformly brown.]

(Wait, maybe it's better to cut them up for the photo...)

In the afternoon, we have our breakout moment: we ski. It's still lightly snowing, but we go out anyway, because, well, there's all that snow and there have been years when there hasn't been much at all, and so we are grateful.

Toward evening, I take the brownies and the main dinner items and some fruits and some carrots from our CSA to the home of the young family. Masked bandits on the loose!

At least until it's time to close the door and say good bye...

It's still snowing as I drive home. Go slow, listen to some folk music, stay grateful. 

And I am. We both are.

Saturday - 323rd

You know how the air feels just before a snowstorm: a little prickly, eerily still. Well that's our morning for you! The snow wont start until late afternoon, but it feels like it may want to deceive us and get here earlier. We're not the boss here, we merely watch and wait.

Winter colors are very much driven by the snow on the ground and the sun in the sky. If both are present, you get a range of beautiful tones that change as the day progresses. Shadows are a deep blue, the snow is lustrous, the yellow of the farmhouse and the red of the sheep shed stand out. But on a pre-storm day, the snow blends into the murky background of somber tones.

The animals all stay in their favorite protected shelters. For Dance, this seems to be our farmhouse. Just a visit! (But it's not a short visit.)

A friend who lives in California, described for me what's blooming there now. I think about what is blooming here now. It's all on a sunny window sill, or on the kitchen table, or in my head.

I spend many hours searching for books for the grandkids. It's a tricky project because I'm not there, eyeballing their bookshelves. And sending emails "do you have this, do you have that" kind of takes away any element of surprise. You want to give them a pick-me-up on a dark winter's day, not a promise of something someday in the future. Still, I search.

It's a day of quiet. We push ourselves out to ski, but it's an effort. (No regrets, once we're out!)

On the weekend, we search out parking lots with fewest cars and pick up the trails there. Today, that put us in the 9-Springs wetlands. Not necessarily our favorite place, but we do avoid people!

(Sometimes it's hard to believe that a successful day is measured by how good we were at avoiding all people!)

The skies turn even grayer and the snow begins to fall. And it will continue to fall tonight, and tomorrow. Ah, January in Wisconsin! Embrace winter. Learn to love a cold nose and a warm supper!

And popcorn, with Netflix.

Friday - 322nd

I am sure you have guessed that Ed and I are 100% behind the right to not infect others and to ourselves be not infected.  We are masked bandits! Whenever a person appears to be coming within spittin distance of where we walk or ski, we make sure our masks are on tight. Were we to go inside again (say for a second shot at the pharmacy), we'd probably up the ante and wear either several masks or a really good mask, like one of the Korean ones you can still get on the internet (saving American made for health care workers) with at least some assurance that it isn't a porous nothing. 

Right now, our masks are mostly the home-sewn type. Oh, we have two or three superbly made ones, but mostly, the stack dates back to the days when I could only find cloth masks on Etsy. So they vary in just about everything but especially in design and materials used. Ed has taken to wearing one that has pictures of sushi all over it. I think it's not an especially good one, but  it is wide and honestly, this is just for outdoor distanced passing so I let it go. For now.

Careful as we are for ourselves and protective as we feel toward the community, we do think that mask wearing should not be extended to animals. 

Try telling Dance that.

Maybe it's the sushi pictures, maybe it's that she likes my laundry detergent (I wash these guys daily), but this cat just loves Ed's mask. Considers it now hers.

Dance is spending quite a bit of time indoors with us, though she is and will remain an outdoor cat. No litter box, no overnighting here. Just visits. It is a happy for me compromise. Dance's personality is such that she demands just a little affection. Not a lot, not on your lap, not with claws. Just spread out on the couch next to me, smiling broadly if I give her a gentle cheek rub. Nothing more. (Well, except when I get up to fix something for myself in the kitchen. She always follows. No dummy, she has long figured out that this is from where all good smells originate.)

The day is cold and we don't have the sunshine to throw us some toasty brilliance and so much of the day is spent indoors.

I am exceptionally anxious to hear about Snowdrop's first day in school (which starts today). Her week will have only two full days of inclass instruction, but when you've had none of it for ten months, two days with other kids feels mighty fine. I hope, of course, that they all stay safe. The class list seems awfully big to me and social distancing wont be easy. Twelve boys, six girls. I wish I had a camera into the room! 

I'm told Sparrow sobbed the whole car ride to her school and back. At home, he curled up on the floor and muttered "I miss Snowdrop" for the better part of the day. I'm sure he remembers nothing of his own school. He is two and a half. Give a few more months and you can say that he will have spent half his life in isolation. The crucial half. Because the opening of school has been such an iffy proposition (and remains iffy going forward), the sitter is still in place and so sending the little guy to preschool makes no sense unless you're the type who enjoys throwing money at every source that appears before you.

In the afternoon, Ed and I go skiing. The snow cover is significant by now and I read that this weekend it's going to get even more significant. We love it all. White stuff, piled high -- fantastic! 

Out on the lake again...

Back on land...

I get an update from my daughter about Snowdrop's first day back in school. Teacher was serious (was it the mask?), kids were all well behaved, you're not allowed to talk when masks are off for lunch and the playground is awesome! Best part? Recess!

Spoken like a normal child. Phew! She survived the lockdown. And Sparrow? Overjoyed tonight at having his sister back home again.

Thursday - 321st

Have you thought much about spring yet? No? Me neither. No movement on the garden plans, no thoughts on ever doing anything normal. There are, in my mind, too many question marks still (I'm sure you know them all) to think much about anything except today and the next day. Maybe at a stretch -- the day after that.

Ed, on the other hand, is, for once, more forward looking. Spring ideas are hatching, as if this were 2019 instead of 2021, which so far looks pretty much like 2020, except for what's going on in D.C. But otherwise, we isolate, we wear masks and frown at those who do not, we walk or ski, we wash groceries. Or at least I do. Because "small chance" may not be so small in the weeks ahead so we may as well continue to be vigilant. So I listen to Ed and his ideas for what's next and I marvel how two people can be so close and yet so different. Because we are different, but I guess you already know that.

Morning walk -- as predicted, even colder!

 

 

Morning breakfast -- groceries came yesterday with three delicate stalks of delphinium. Exquisite. Perhaps a little out of place in January, but these days, you have to break out of old ideas to keep yourself sane.

I do try to return to my writing, but I am at a point where I am fed up with my inability to ever finish the damn thing. Everything always needs an improvement. And the longer I dally and fuss with it, the more I evolve (or maybe regress, who knows) in my writing and thus the more I become dissatisfied with what's there. I'm sure this is true for most anyone who takes fifty years to complete a writing project, but still, if I had a mirror before me, I'd look at myself right now and say -- you need to be done with this already, or else.

No mirror, therefore no admonition. 

In the afternoon, Ed and I go skiing. I almost do not want to (inside, looking out feels cold!) but in the end, we go and as always, it's beautiful.

The evening gem: FaceTiming with Primrose!

The evening un-gem: two Netflix movies -- one bad enough to ditch early on, the other just good enough to keep on watching, but with deep regrets throughout.

And tomorrow -- what's in store for tomorrow? Well, for one thing, Snowdrop is returning to school. First time since last March. She is... excited!

Wednesday - 320th

It's colder than cold and tonight it will be even colder than this cold. Not quite a polar vortex, but it definitely feels like we're in for a period of typical Wisconsin winter days. But is that a bad thing? For people who like deep winter over dreary drippy November, or the excessive heat in late August, a little bit of cold feels mighty fine, especially when accompanied by sunshine. And we do wake up to brilliant sunshine.

 

Our days have a rhythm to them and it is both gentle and sweet. We wait, of course, to rejoin the world some day, but right now there's not much of a world to rejoin, so waiting feels almost communal. Who right now isn't waiting for a better world out there? (Actually, I'm not sure Ed is waiting. Zoom was invented with him in mind.)

In the summer, I love the feel of the sun on my face, but I also love the winter cold on my cheeks. The bite of the wind? So long as the rest of me is warm, I think it's so exhilarating to be slapped around by a winter wind. It's like a spa treatment, no? You emerge feeling strong and powerful! And very pink in the face.

I heard from my kids, but not my grandkids today. But Ed got a call. From Snowdrop. She wanted to discuss climate change with him. I think they are on the same page about it.

Dance visits. She is learning to write.

 

 

Ed and I go skiing and it is nothing short of fabulous. The snow, the sun, the shadows it casts in the forest -- that's real beauty for you.

We ski out onto Lake Waubesa. I will never feel 100% safe out on a frozen lake, but honestly -- if not today, then when? It's so cold outside! Of course it's frozen!

A shadow selfie, on the lake.

The full moon comes up tomorrow, but I swear, the face of today's moon is good enough!

We end with a frittata. A supper that I so much associate with winter. Except when it's summer. 

 

 

I hope the moon's bright face shines down on you tonight, tomorrow, and many days thereafter.

With love.

Tuesday - 319th

Well, we got a great big dollop of snow again! Beautiful stuff -- downy and light, drifting just a little, creating a fresh new look to our now familiar winter farmette landscape.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everyone stays inside. Chickens never leave the coop, the cats stay in the sheep shed (all but Dance who sometimes acts like she is a dog, staying near me, watching where I go), Ed stays in bed.

("are we going to the shed for breakfast soon?")

("it would be good if you cleared the path of snow.")

("it's too deep for comfort...")

("Phew! Almost there! I see the other cats have blazed the trail for me...")

Ed and I had compared post vaccine symptoms and came to the unremarkable conclusion that they were exactly the same (sore arm), but I think he seized on this excuse of the theoretical possibility of lethargy to rest up a little. Still, he does lumber down for breakfast!

We talk about the snow. About how pretty it is. (It's snowing once again...)

 

 

 

And I recount this story from today: I had texted my daughter, asking how Snowdrop was liking her new teacher and classmates. She is starting new everything next week -- a first entrance into her new school building, with a new teacher and mostly new classmates, though some are being transferred, along with her, from her Zoom class. Today they were all going to have a Zoom meeting: new kids, new teacher, Snowdrop.

My daughter responded -- school was cancelled. (We're talking about the Zoom online meetup today.)

Why? -  I asked, surprised.

They're taking a snow day.

So in case you are wondering if snow days are a thing of the past, now that we have online instruction so niftily in place, the answer is no, they are not.

Ed and I, of course, go nowhere and see no one. And on a day like this, who could mind a cozy snuggle on the couch with whatever it is that you want to do -- torture yourself with politics, learn a new language, write a book perhaps. Just some possibilities...

Toward evening the snow tapers off and indeed, we even see a few breaks in the clouds. Time to head out with skis!

And it is gorgeous out there in our county park. It's windy as anything and perhaps for this reason, we see no one on the trails, just the grooming truck that magically transforms the path into skiable terrain.

We felt rich, really rich. A quiet, almost secluded ski path, groomed for us as we moved along. A biting wind turning our cheeks brightly red. Even swans! As if we were on an estate, with tended grounds and swans on lakes and maybe a peacock... Well, no peacock, but yes to swans! (They are either the trumperter or the tundra swan. Both pass through Madison each year.)

Beautiful skiing moment on a winter wonderland kind of a day. We've been getting a lot of them this winter. And that's such a gift in this super challenging season.

Monday - 318th

It's a memorable day. Not because of the weather -- it's cold and gray, though every once in a while, you can see the telltale signs of a streak of sunlight. So nothing special there.

(Every time the cheepers leave the barn to walk to the garage, the two older girls, Peach and Java, get stuck in the snow and I have to carry them to their end point. And then back again.)

 

 

And not because of my thunderous race through cooking and baking tasks, even before breakfast. 

And certainly not because of breakfast itself. Is there a day when we don't sit down to something akin to this? There is not.

(Dance comes in for a visit, but chooses a bit of sun on the playroom windowsill over a boring meal with us.)

There are two events that do make this day special. First of all, Ed finally agrees to subscribe to Netflix. (Meaning he doesn't protest with horror when I subscribe to Netflix.)  For years he has struggled to convince me that there is enough free stuff out there and that we don't need Netflix, nor any other paid streaming option. At the beginning of the pandemic, I told him we should dish out the $9 per month already, but he was adamant that we could stay pure and free of such paid indulgences. Ed is the only person I know who does not enjoy spending money in any shape or form. Indeed, some years back, he took a break from work and moved to a shack that he put up in the woods of Tennessee, spending I'm sure less than $1000 for the many months he lived there. Materials for shack included. The Thoreau in him limited his forays to occasional trips to a public library. His big splurge? A malted at the counter of a five and dime in a nearby town. Otherwise he... well, enjoyed the forest.

But our evening viewing options now are running awfully thin. I can't tell you how many movies we click on, then click off five minutes into the show.  And so finally, today, he caved and we signed up, or rather I signed up for a Netflix account. Hey! The first month you get a free upgrade!

Before settling into our nighttime ritual of movie viewing, I had a sprinkling of other highlights. My weekly Zoom meetup with Snowdrop!

And cooking "Sunday" dinner for the young family, and baking a cake that the little girl requested. She told me it should be chocolate with chocolate icing and strawberry dots all over and strawberry lettering announcing the year 2021. Oh, and a heart around that number. It must have a heart. I puree some strawberries, get out the cocoa and get to work.

(Later, I ask her -- is this what you had in mind? She hesitates, gives a radiant smile and says -- close enough.)

(Delivering dinner, including cake...)

I mentioned two super memorable moments for this day. So there was the Netflix and then, too, there was the COVID vaccination. 

Wisconsin rolled out its vaccine for those 65 and up today and luck, plus a lot of legwork (is it still legwork if you use your computer?) to search out and sign up for possible vaccination appointments, lead to an invitation for appointments for the both of us for today. 

It wasn't with any great fanfare, not like those who received a shot at the Salisbury Cathedral in England, where the organist played joyous music as people came in for their shots, but it was grand anyway. Small pharmacy, a little chaotic, a lot too crowded for our neurotically isolationist preferences, but a huge moment nonetheless. 

I write this with a great deal of gratitude to those who lead us to this first step toward pandemic relief, but, too, I am well aware of the fact that there are many many people who want this vaccine and only a few who manage to land it at this stage. So I have not a small amount of humility as well: Ed and I were lucky. I wish all could be lucky along with us.

And now for our first Netflix moment, with popcorn and a celebratory glass of wine. And wee bit of a sulking Ed. He does not like to surrender to a commercial giant.