family Monday

I remember last year's Memorial Day. So different from this year! There was a heaviness in the air -- one that would not even begin to lift for such a long time. So many people burdened with sadness and fear, so much anxiety!

Though Ed and I were in a pod with the young family here, we were still trying to figure out what was safe with the younger family in Chicago. I would see them several times during the pandemic, but only through July. Once Primrose returned to school (so that her parents could actually get their work done), we would put off further contact until the vaccinations would come. 

And they came. And thanks to their distribution, we were given this day, this Memorial Day 2021. The kids are still waiting for their shots, so we limit our meeting to the great outdoors, but the weather is splendid for it! And we have so much to celebrate, to be grateful for, to humbly enjoy. A year later, we're here and together. Wow.

And so we have this most beautiful day -- indescribably beautiful! With the arrival of Sandpiper (and there was so much drama for him as well in the early stages of pregnancy!), we really have every reason to exhale now. Together. On this most special day, with each other.

*     *     *

I am up very early. I'm charged with throwing something together for today's brunch at my daughter's deck and I want it to include a rhubarb cake. So I bake.

And feed the animals. Good morning, world!

Here's a little memory from the weekend: a rock painted by my younger daughter (the kids had been marking up rocks, some with greater detail than others). It has a home now here, by the porch...

... that same porch where Ed and I have breakfast today. Still a cool morning, but nothing that would keep us indoors.

And then I am off! One must drive carefully out here in the country: in the evenings you watch for deer. In the morning? A promenade by our local sandhills. And their bird friend.

First on the agenda: to coordinate a meetup between my mom and my younger girl's family. What with my mom's stroke, then the pandemic, it's been well over a year since they've had face to face contact.

I leave them outside and go on to my older girl's home to whip up some pancakes and breakfast meats and lots of fruits. And of course, the rhubarb cake.

Have you ever seen such a small watermelon??

*     *     *

And now comes that long meal, hours of being together with kids coming in and out of our stories, with one food out, another one finished, all the while admiring this newborn boy, while his cousin and siblings cavort around us. Photos of a holiday together. Like yours perhaps? Were you lucky too? Oh, I hope so...

(the meal)

(waiting for that watermelon)

(he likes his pancake with honey)

(treasured aunt and uncle)

(how about this way for a change?)

 

(Snowdrop, are you coming?)

(Sparrows joins...)

(the three go fishing. for rocks.)

(so good to have them all here!)

(meanwhile, Sandpiper rests...)

(deep breath in, exhale...)

(like a boat ride going forward. well, maybe more like a roller coaster!)

*     *     *

And eventually the young family packs into their car to drive back to Chicago and I pack up my pots and utensils and drive back to the farmette all the while thinking how good this day has been and how long it was before we could live lives together again rather than apart and most of all how grateful we are to those who have brought us this moment of peace, of health, of well being.

(at peace)

 

 

 Evening. Time to throw some seeds down.

With love.

Planting seeds and Sunday brunch

Do kids take after their parents? One young woman told me recently that she loves to do crafts probably because her mom was such a crafts person. A real pro at this stuff. So do kids pick up passions and inclinations from their moms or dads? Looking at my family you'd say -- oh definitely! After all, two daughters chose careers in the social sciences. Indeed, they both went to law school, just like you!

But it wasn't "just like me." If I had any influence on their choices it was subtle and marginal. Everyone around our dinner table knew that I came to law in a circuitous way and in the struggle to balance career with raising young kids, I skewed toward kids, feeling (rightly or wrongly) that I could not meet the demands of both with equal forcefulness. Only when the kids were grown did I fully plunge into my work. By that time I doubt that they were paying attention.

But I wasn't thinking of careers as I stared at the meadow of grasses and wildflowers that I had seeded a couple of years back and that Ed and I were expanding today in the late afternoon. I was thinking about growing plants and loving gardens. I was thinking how I hadn't passed on either love to either child. You could argue -- oh, this kind of stuff sometimes skips generations. After all, neither of my parents cared for gardening or gardens, while my grandfather surely did. Perhaps he planted that seed in me? But the fact is, although Snowdrop shows some love of picking out the scents and colors of flowers, I can't yet say that she or any of my now four grandkids appear to be drawn to nature and gardens in the way that I was when I was younger (and older). 

 

 

As for my daughters? Forget it. I'm not sure they even notice what grows here when they pass through the farmette lands on occasion. I would travel far to visit a thoughtful garden (and I have traveled far for this). I'm fairly sure that I'm the only one in my family that would do that. 

Of course, a garden is just one world out of the many that we take on in our lives. You could say that both daughters are great cooks because they've watched me struggle with complicated recipes in the kitchen all their lives. So it's not as if they staged a mini rebellion against all maternal hobbies. Still, as I keep on working on the farmette flower fields, I do so with the realization that they truly are just for me, because honestly, aside from vaguely liking the entirety of the farmette, no one else cares about what grows here. (Ed cares, but he would be equally content if I skipped the flower project and just concentrated on growing, say, trees. Ed really likes trees.)

Sunday. We've made it through the last of the cold nights for the season. Ed once again had draped blankets over the tomatoes, supporting the heavy old covers with overturned buckets. But that's it: we're done with worrying about the cold. The forecast tells us that a warm up, as in a summer-type warm up is on the way.

(Morning walk)

(Breakfast -- warm enough for the porch!)

Much of the day is spent on a family brunch out on the deck of my daughter's house. I mentioned yesterday that various family members drove up from Chicago to see the now five day old Sandpiper. You know, this little guy:

 

Today's plan is to share the midday meal (and the hours after) together. Of course you're going to see photos of this. Well, mostly of the kids. They are the energy behind any gathering right now! Let's see, how about a favorite twenty? Is that too many? Okay, how about a dozen? We agree on just a dozen? Good!

(Kids are drawn to the golden cherries. I don't know why. Perhaps because they are always a surprise...)

(Dancing: Primrose goes at it alone, but not for long!)

(watching...)

(walk to park)

(the work of being a parent...)

(the joys of being a parent)

Much later, Ed and I do get back to work: we're changing the mowed paths somewhat to connect them to the new forest. In doing this, we also create a wider strip of meadowland in the new orchard. Here's where wildflowers really are coming back each year. Small bursts of delicate blooms that sway with the grasses that grow between plum, cherry, apple and pear trees. 

Tomorrow, on the last day of May, I'll sow bunches of flower seeds on this new strip of prepared land. And with that, after two months of some pretty intense outdoor work, our planting for the year will be done!

visit

There are many many reasons to want to visit a newborn in your family. Consider some of them: you so want to see what he is like -- the movements, gestures, you want to witness them. You want to touch that soft skin, comfort a restless moment. You want to support the family as well -- let them know how much you love them and are there for them in this new configuration. And you really want to have that commemorative photo -- not just of him, but of you and him. Of you and him and the sibs. Of you and him and the extended family. Because all those older photos are now missing someone. The framed picture of all your grandkids? It needs to be updated.

Photos figure big in these first visits. You just can't wait to have that record of him now being part of your life. Forever your grandson (or nephew or brother). Indeed, one of my daughters commented that with her family's first encounter with her newborn child, the photo taking took up most of the time of the visit. 

As you know, photos are big in my life on any day. They're part of my daily storytelling. I am almost never without a camera at my side. I take lots of pictures. The kids are used to it, the grandkids are used to it. Maybe they think I was born with a camera slung over my shoulder. There are benefits, there are costs, but gogs does pull out that little clicking machine an awful lot. When I first saw Sandpiper, I couldn't wait to hold him and take a picture of him. In that order, thank goodness!

So of course, Sandpiper's extended family, too, wants to see him. All the ones living in Chicago are coming up today for their own moment with the little guy. And for those first photos with him.

It is a brilliant day! A stunning May day of sunshine and profound spring colors. A little cool still, but nothing offputting. Splendid to the core!

 

(morning path)

(Getting ready for breakfast, still inside for the warmth of it. The flowers today include a bunch of clipped wild indigo. I love this flower so much and it is now in full bloom all over the farmette flower beds.)

Today is the day Ed drives out with me so that he can meet Sandpiper. (He waited until things settled a bit for the young family.) Now, Ed has zero experience with babies and so it is always very funny to see this tall big guy handle the short wee one. I get the other two kids in on the action.

I am happy to see that at this point, there are no big hiccups. Everything is moving along well. And everyone is excited and ready for the descent of the family.

But first, before their arrival, Ed and I return to our farmette planting projects. The trees are in -- all 67 of them, but of course, the gardens do not stand still. There's stuff to be done! Ed and I work on chipping a new bed with the hope of controlling the weeds a little, though I know that I'll never get a grip on them until the plants mature and crowd out most of the junk that spreads like rapid fire. For now, I do as much pulling as I can (my fingers show great evidence of the constancy of the effort) and then we chip.

Okay, it's time to go back to the young family's home. Cars of family members arrive. Aunt, uncle, cousin. Other grandparents. Here are just some of those photos I talked about:

(my daughter, her nephew)

(Because the kids are not immunized and some adults are at risk even when immunized, we stay outside. Mostly with masks.)

 

 

Of course, it's all very spirited! And there's plenty of great pizza and fresh Wisconsin asparagus and veggies and fruits and beers and who know what else.

This is what you wait for in those darker moments -- a time when we can all exhale, together, and admire the new guy, and play and eat and play some more

(I love FaceTime, but this is so much better!)

 The next two days will have plenty of visiting moments. Small conversations, exchanged stories stuck in when one child or the another is not catching our attention.

(daughters, sisters, moms)

Evening. Look up, admire the almost full moon, take a moment to feel the joy of being alive, of belonging, of having that picture of yourself with a loved one, or with two, or three.

(and now there are four!)

With love...

couches have their place in life

Where would we be without miserably cold and wet weather? Would bills get paid? Would coffee get reordered? Checkbooks get balanced? Would discussions take place about what may have happened if this or that? Would we make sure all emails were answered? Would we get creative about breakfast -- hey, how about eating it in the play room for a change?

It is the worst of bad weather May days and I am not terribly sorry. Sure, there are the weeds, the chipping needs. And Ed is itching to take down a huge tree that is threatening to crash down on the barn. But I need an excuse to stay indoors and the cold and wet walk to the barn this morning...

... convinces me that this day has given me just such an excuse.

Eventually I head out to visit Sandpiper. He's still a sleepy little guy. On the one hand, that's good: it makes for an easier transition from a family of four to a family of five. No one is complaining about the noise and interruptions that a baby usually brings into a household. 

On the other hand, we can't merely strive to make our lives easier, smoother. 

 

 

Raising a child isn't (only!) about keeping things quiet, but rather it's about confronting challenges together, as a family. So, we do a little more shaking and bouncing to get the guy to wake up a little. Here's a squinty tentative stare:

I pick up Snowdrop from school then and again we head straight home to her youngest sib. 

 

 

She has already told Sparrow -- you know that Sandpiper is eventually going to follow you and want to do everything you do and insist on playing with you and your toys all the time? She speaks from experience. Sparrow can't imagine that just yet. He listens and looks at Sandpiper and weighs his future. He has to wonder -- could his sister be right? Could this small baby rise to the level of being a real pest? Nah...

I come home once again with a smile of appreciation about how beautiful life is always, but especially right now, where so much of the anxiety of this past year has receded for me and the good feelings just keep on flowing.

I must pay my dues though. It can't just be a couch day. By evening, the rain has stopped and I try to talk myself into that familiar northern European platitude about how there's no such thing as bad weather, just bad dressing for it. On goes an extra jacket. I weed the most horribly weedy new flower bed, then go in to cook up a big pot of veggie soup.