sweet and salty Sunday

The sunshine this morning wipes clean the slate of worries and grumbles that are so easy to stumble into when you read the headlines, or, more locally -- when you walk your dog on a sidewalk covered with salt.

Let's stay local for now: why do we dump so much of these nuggets on walkways that are already clear of snow and ice? Anticipating a future weather event that may or may not turn slippery? Because the contract requires snow removal people to do this, whether it's needed or not? I just don't get it.

At the farmette, I grumbled that we didn't clear the pathways enough. That ice patches remained until spring, rendering the entire place slippery -- a hazard for older people, delivery services and my fast-moving grandkids. I purchased environmentally "friendly" pellets and sprinkled them by the back door maybe twice during the winter, when things got so bad that I was afraid anyone would crack their head stepping outside. But otherwise, we stuck with shoveling and scraping. 

I can understand why an apartment building or corporate offices would feel an obligation to do better. But this excessive salting is just plain nuts. No matter how much I wipe my shoes, I bring in salt every single time I walk Henry. What must he feel on his paws walking on this stuff? 

And yet, what we both do also feel is that sunshine. Not initially -- Henry's up before the sun is even contemplating making an appearance. 

Yes, it's cold outside. But dry and brisk and therefore pleasant for someone (me!) who does not mind a winter frost.

And when the sun comes out, it's all brilliant and very satisfying. For us, for the finches (and sparrows and chickadees, but mainly finches) that come to eat seeds on my balcony.

Henry watches. I eat breakfast. All is good once again.

Without question Henry needs a good saunter today. Without it, by noon he starts getting frisky. Too frisky. Prairie Morraine it shall be!

Ed meets us there for our walk. It's nice to have his company, even if Ed and I tend to be quiet walkers. I can't really explain it -- it just feels good to have him by my side as we walk and watch my sprinting pup.

 

An hour of dog chasing and prairie sniffing (which results once again in him bringing us a dead mouse -- my gloves are in for a good washing), I return to the Edge and do a really edgy thing for me: I leave Henry at home for all of thirty minutes, for a quick run to the nearby grocery store. I need to bake a cake. I have to have whole milk for it.

He is obviously tired. I leave him with some extra food. I put on Chopin. I exit and close the door. And turn on my security camera.

Initially, he wont leave the door. Indeed, he jumps up (thank goodness for the door protector) and tries hard to get it open. I turn off the camera. There are some things that I prefer not seeing. 

I'm nervous and hurried enough that I pick up the wrong milk! Never mind, I'm not going back! I check the security camera again. Ha! My pooch is resting on the couch. 

 (coming to greet me as I enter)

 

 

A really important lesson for him -- I will come back. Really I will. 

I have competing interests tonight -- a great book that I am reading and a great (in my view) series that I am watching (Light a Penny Candle by Maeve Binchy, and Bad Sisters season 2 on Apple TV, free because of my phone). What's a person to do... 

Back and forth between the two. 

When I first moved to the Edge, I didn't exactly rave about the view. Corporate buildings in the distance. An empty field, a parking lot. Over time, I've come to appreciate that I do not look into anyone's windows, nor do they look into mine. And then, too, I get plenty of sky. A southern exposure gives you a glimpse of a sunrise to the left, and then at sunset, you might see the colors of a winter sunset to your right. 

The farmette of course offered nature. A seasonally changing crab apple. My flower fields. But with all the tall trees, we could never catch that setting sun. I would not say that this is better (view wise) than the farmette. But I do recognize its own brand of loveliness. Now, if they would only use less salt on the cleared sidewalks...

with so much love...