We have this routine: on Saturday mornings, I go to the downtown farmers market, Snowdrop goes to a class, and eventually Sparrow is off to play ball games. This means that Snowdrop, her mom and Sandpiper have a window of free time late in the morning where they can meet up with me for a second breakfast. We've been doing this outside of course. No one feels comfortable going indoors to eat, least of all us, with two unvaccinated kids.
Since the morning began with a 32.5F temperature reading (so all my outdoor annuals almost collapsed, hanging in there by the thread of half a degree), I thought perhaps that a better game plan would be to bring the croissants to Snowdrop's home and eat our second breakfast there. It's cold outside and nice and warm inside. But the girl protested. She loves winter, she tells me. She is never cold, she proclaims. She'll bundle up.
Okay then. I get up, feed the animals...
...go to the market (very few farmers are still out selling stuff)
... then drive over to the coffee shop where we have been meeting up on the weekends. And I wait and no one shows up.
I'm in the sun, but it's windy and that coffee is getting mighty cold and I'm thinking maybe I should text...
And I find out that we have had a total miscommunication and they are waiting inside in their home for me.
Such a relief! Eating breakfast in temps that hover in the 30sF (so, low single digits C) may be charming in theory, but honestly, I think we're done with outdoor meals for the year. Now if there had been heat lamps...
At their house, I shed my scarf, jacket, and gloves. Warm air never felt so good!
(older brother returns from his games)
I come home right around noon. This is when Ed and I sit down to our own "breakfast."
In the afternoon, I work outside in the farmette fields. More bulbs to plant and the Great Mowing Job to accomplish: all the tall grasses we've let grow all summer long? They have to be cut back so that new stuff can easily sprout come spring and more flower seeds can be tossed into the mix.
I am not a fan of mowing. Neither is Ed. But the guy is busy fixing barn roofs and painting house trim. So I run the tractor mower and as usual, I shake up my insides and make my head and ears buzz and after about an hour I get off and say -- never again, which is something we say to make ourselves feel good, not because we mean it.
Dinner? Leftovers. I'm spent!
