Thursday

When I retired, I switched off my internal alarm clock: the need to be up before dawn, worrying about the day's classes disappeared. Heaven? Well, yes, but it is a heaven of a psychological kind. In reality, I wake up early, now as before. Decades of morning work anxiety aren't erased with the simple signing of a resignation letter. Still, these days, I luxuriate in a wakeful but dozy morning in bed. I'm rarely up before 7:30 and our breakfast most often is at 9 or even later.

But not today.

Ed has a machining trip planned for the day and he tells me in the predawn hours that he must be out within the hour. Our breakfast, therefore, is very very early.






I mention this because after, I find myself unexpectedly with a long and free morning. This seems rather incredible. Sure, I could plunge into the usual weeding, cleaning, cooking, accounting, washing, trimming etc., but I hesitate. What would it be like if I took my book out  -- the one I usually read just before switching off the light -- and read now? Or if I spent idle moments gazing at the garden, with those love struck eyes I have every time I look out at the thriving perennial fields?

It's too cold to sit outside and so I putz around a little, listening to music. I feel the pull of duty: I clean the chicken coop and do a load of laundry. I pluck weeds around this come-back kid, a striped blue violet:





And then I take my Kindle out, read through to the end of one book and into a new one.


And it strikes me that I should, at least once a week give myself the gift of a morning without chores or obligations. Without emails, without the clutter that tends to fill the small spaces of time most of us have every now and then. Yes, come warmer weather, I should give myself a porch morning with nothing but a pad for note taking (because what if an idea starts to form?) and my Kindle for reading, in the company of birdsong and the occasional cluck of one of the hens, who are never too far away...






In the afternoon, I am with Snowdrop.

The girl is blazing ahead toward greater independence. Ah, but to sit! To finally fit something, perfectly aligned, into a desired space (the mouth comes to mind)! To move! To explain to grandma what need drives a cry!

But things cannot be rushed and so we practice all that is feasible right now -- the sit, the flip, the stuffing of a few fingers into the mouth. Well, actually everything Snowdrop does today seems to end with a few fingers in the mouth.
















But this should not distract us from the obvious truth: she is, as always, an energetic, driven, happy child!











In the evening, Ed and I go to our local farmers market. It's nearly closing time, but there is still a lot of asparagus on vendors' tables. We buy bunches and bunches of it. I'm still not quite ready to believe that the growing season is fully upon us. A month ago, nothing poked through the ground and today, we have a million spears of asparagus. Amazing.

Wednesday

How odd that there would be such vast changes in the skies from one day to the next! That yesterday I spent no more than a half hour working outside and today, I'm putting in an entire morning.

It's a cool start to the day -- of course it is! The night before nearly wrecked our tomatoes. (Yes, "nearly." We were lucky -- at its coldest, the fields registered 36F degrees. Never have four degrees felt so toasty good!)

Cheepers first. They are so insistent in the morning: bread, do you have our daily bread?






Our breakfast then. In the sun room.






And the remaining hours of the morning? I throw kisses at the flower fields. Because this is what it is now -- what's left is the small touch: a few flowers to move, a couple of branches to clip, a handful of weeds to pull out. They're little pecks, tweaks, caresses. Against a brilliant sky. I offer you a bird's eye view from the glass roof, where I'm doing a spring sweep of the spring debris that collects there.






Too dizzy?  Okay, here I am, surveying things from the ground again.






Yep, looking up into the eyes of a... a man and his rooster.






I've promised you a show of perennials from now until the end of September. Here's today's combination: two perennials, two annuals, all in full bloom. Such a grand partnership!






Then comes the afternoon with Snowdrop. Oh, happy child, you could lift the spirits of the most stubborn grump!






Today she shows off her love of the upright.






There is energy in that girl! (And in that girl's hair!)






And because it is such a beautiful day and we have time for this -- my daughter and I decide to take Snowdrop to the zoo. It's a 40 minute walk each way and Snowdrop is thrilled to have a chance to sit back and exhale in the stroller.






You are lucky: I am going to post five and only five photos from the zoo trip. If you think about it, a first zoo visit is a game changer, no? You show the baby book after book with pictures of animals. You give her stuffies that are called lion, or tiger, or bear. What does it all mean?? Ah, there are animals out there! Here, want to see? Enter -- the zoo trip.



giraffe!





tiger!





an animal whose name wasn't in my vocabulary when I was a kid and still isn't today!





flamingo!





and finally -- goats!


Snowdrop is surprised, puzzled, dare I say it -- amazed.

On the way home, she naps. Maybe when she wakes up, she'll think it was all a strange dream. All the more reason to go back soon, to reinforce that reality: we are but one part of that wonderful kingdom -- of giraffes, of monkeys and goats, and of flowers too!

Tuesday

You get used to sudden dips in spring temperatures here, in the upper Midwest. Talk of May snows up north, late frost advisories -- all that is as common here as rains are in the UK, storms in Kansas and dry spells in California. Still, I am not pleased with the weather bulletin that comes to my mailbox, reminding me that tonight, vulnerable plants may be in trouble, especially since I assured Ed that we could not possibly get a frost warning after the warm, even hot days we've been having thus far.

If we have a failed tomato crop, it will be my fault.

Needless to say, it is a chilly day. I tell myself that it is all relative and mid fifties should inspire no complaints. But it feels cool and any ambitious work outside has to be done in a zipped up fleece.

In the alternative, one can postpone ambitious work outside.

It strikes me that I've been dawdling with my days. I have writing and editing that await my attention and I've not given them a thought, using my granddaughter and garden work as my go-to excuses. (In reality, even lumped together, they do not fill my waking hours.) When I was still teaching, I used to say that my brain was too stuck in legal texts to allow for concentrated writing in the off hours. That cannot be my excuse now, unless I think that practicing vowels with Snowdrop and protecting myself from Oreo, the rooster, requires a cerebral workout. If it does, it's easy to shut it off when I am not around them.

The greater truth is that I am stuck with my Great Writing Project -- I haven't sent it out (beyond the first stab at contacting a dozen agents back last fall) and I am wondering if this is because I've recently thought of a way I can make it even better -- that dangerous game that writers play of improving their work over and over and over again, because once you let it go, it's gone and any thoughts that you should have maybe worked harder on it must be shelved.

That's just an update for you and a reminder to myself to move forward. And I will. Truly I will.

But not today.

This morning, I cut a few lilac branches for the kitchen jar -- the bush is in its fullest regalia!






...then have a rather rushed breakfast with Ed.






Immediately after, I have a meeting with a long time Ocean reader whom I do not know, but who is in town and who suggested a coffee. Thinking myself to be rather a recluse in recent months (perhaps years?), I push myself out of the house and set out for Paul's -- that old favorite place up the road where Ed and I used to hang out every single day when I first moved to his farmette.





The meeting is, for me, a turning point. I have quite a bit in common with this reader (if I may be presumptuous to suggest this, as she is an accomplished woman, with many impressive successes behind her and even more just ahead) and we could have spent a very long time talking about projects and goals, but she is in town only fleetingly and, like me, her number of free hours is limited.

I walk away inspired to set some projects in motion. I should get out more, I tell myself. Right up there with "I must write more."


And then I have a meeting with a construction guy. You may remember -- it's about the possible installation of a door between the kitchen and the porch. I had said to Ed -- if you will absolutely refuse to approve the installation, please tell me, so that I can cancel and not waist the guy's time. He didn't pounce at the  chance to say NO. I took it to be a good sign.

To listen to Ed banter with construction contractors about building, rebuilding and remodeling is painful. Most any job is one that Ed could do himself, but time, access to materials and lack of motivation usually stand in the way and so some jobs we have handed over to others. But Ed cannot just hand over something to an outsider. He becomes involved in the details. I don't know if his participation in the minutia of a project are welcome. Maybe they are. More likely, the contractor just wants to do it his way and move on.

And now we await the bid. I'm sure it will make my eyes bulge -- putting a door  into a century old house is a big deal! I can but hope that it will come to pass.


Ah, now the day brightens considerably (in a cold, windy fashion and still without a hint of sunshine!). It's Tuesday and therefore Snowdrop is a visitor to the farmhouse.

You know what photos I'll post: her sitting, kicking, and today -- flipping again. Her reading with me. Her messin' with Ed. Upright, lying down, bouncing. Her smile, her coos, her bright face, her spark. Yes, I'll try for that as well! Here's the run. I'll end the post with her most trusting smile. It stays with you when you see it, really it does.



look, Snowdrop! the book is about the penguin you're holding!




it's all about owls today





a stretch and a smile





so much more to see from an upright position!





"monkey and me"

Monday

Wet morning. I'm glad. Seeds planted, seedlings mostly in place as well -- we need the water. But, with showers come the gray skies, the cooler temperatures. And a breakfast in the kitchen. Lilacs inside, lilacs outside. That is the truest sign of mid May.






After, I throw some old bread for the cheepers (oops, Butter is back in the roost... must save her some for later)...


 


...and give a quick glance over the yard. The plants by the path to the house are at their richest now, measured by the vast array of greens, still spring-like and delicate, but also so very lush. Here's one of Ed's mom's bronze statues, blending in so well by the Solomon's Seal.






Along the same path, I've moved out the monarda (too tall, uncontrolled, and mosquito friendly for planting close to the door) and moved in the heuchera (coral bells).






And still, my gaze today returns to the crab apples, now in their final days of splendid white petals, as abundant on the path as on the branches!






But I don't linger. (Backing out along the gravel driveway, I give a nod to the tulips -- these lightly tinted pink and white ones are real treasures.)






It's an unusual day for me because I need to be at Snowdrop's home all day long, from her wake up moment (which, admittedly, happens rather on the late side)...





... until late afternoon.

Her routines are lovely and simple: I bathe her, dress her and sit her up for just a moment as I get her food ready.






She then gets her quiet (digestive!) time, on her back, with a toy (big bear Ed this time)...






And finally, there are the challenges: tummy time, books to read, stand-up play stations to master. And maybe because it's Monday, or more likely because she is that much older, her efforts are that much greater. The pushups are grand...






She is fully engaged in book reading (photo taken on a timer, so you never know what will come of it!)...






And she gives a good effort at keeping upright, even as her toes barely touch the floor in her play station.






As always, I wear her out. I type this as she catches a few precious moments napping, before we start our play again -- variations on familiar themes and yet so new, so fresh because she always approaches them with a twist and a turn. In other words, Snowdrop (says a happy grandma!) is never, ever boring.






Lunchtime. I put on her bib and as I do this, we practice vowels.






You think I'm joking, right? No, really -- she loves imitation! Here we are, working on our oooo's!






In the afternoon, the skies clear. It's like a gift -- a couple of hours of brilliant sunshine before we return to clouds. Snowdrop, you and I are going out for a walk! Past the big lake (where you can see the wind rippling the deeply blue waters)...






And then into the quiet, residential neighborhoods which, I think, are so perfect for stroller walks.

This is my day then. Maybe I haven't convinced you of its perfect contours, its lovely details. Believe me, they were there -- all perfect, detailed and contoured!

Sunday, Mother's Day

Sometimes, when we're tired, too tired to search out the good movie or youtube video, Ed and I turn on the default Public TV station and watch a nature documentary that inevitably will be airing in the early evening hours. This is how I have seen detailed accounts (always beautifully filmed) of wildlife habitats and especially how they reproduce and how the mother penguin, hawk or wolf cares for her offspring. Almost always, it's a grueling, perilous job -- the feeding, the fending off predators, the teaching of independence. You have to wonder -- what would mama lion, sheep, gull do with her time if she wasn't engaged in the laborious task of caring for her young ones? Soar, gallop, graze? Help others? Take on leadership positions? Does she, like we humans, have choices?

When Snowdrop first started coming to the farmhouse, Ed, who himself has no children, remarked again and again how intensive this task of caring for an infant is. Time consuming, yes that, but also relentless. You aren't given many pauses -- not until they've flown the coop and sometimes, not even then.

So along comes Mother's Day and you think to yourself -- la dee da, another Hallmark holiday. Every day should be mother's day! But in fact, every day doesn't allow us to celebrate motherhood (or anything else for that matter). Every day is that relentless train ride into the unknown, where you make a thousand decisions as a mother -- what to say to your child (young or adult), how to react, what to provide, when to step back and do nothing -- no, a million decisions, while the world watches and occasionally feels called upon to comment on your choices.

On the upside, there is more than a trickle of rewards. Not monetary ones, no, most certainly not that: the U.S. Department of Agriculture estimates that for a child born this year, the average cost of raising a child until age 18 for a middle class family will be a quarter million dollars. Note, please, that this does not include college. The way things are going, you can add another quarter million for that expense. Your bank account depleted, your time given over to everything from diaper change to wiping a feverish forehead, what rewards are still on the table? Oh, the intangible ones. The joy of launching a new life. The pleasure of your child's (or grandchild's!) company. The snuggle, the giggle, the first song sung together. And finally, if you're lucky, the immense satisfaction of watching your daughters take on adulthood with their own agendas and excitement.

None of this is new or unique to my life, my daughter's life (my daughter -- a new and most wonderful mom herself!), or even to the human condition. Mother seals, and swallows, and goats do it. But today is the designated Mother's Day and so I feel driven to take note of all that mothers do for their kids again and again and again. Our children may not define our lives, but they surely have structured them. At the end of the day, if you're at all a writer, you want to write about it.

And I have more time to write this morning, because it feels too cool (at least initially) to go outside and work in the yard. (We'll get to the sixties, but not until the afternoon.) I take a peek as to what's what...






...and then settle in for a quiet breakfast with Ed, in the sun room.






I do put in a few of the remaining perennials, because, with the exception of the few years I spent in an apartment and a condo,  I cannot remember a Mother's Day when planting something wasn't in the picture (when my kids were small, the gift I always asked for was an outing to a greenhouse -- usually the Flower Factory -- with the whole family, where they would wait patiently for me as I picked out a few favorites and then that same day put them into the ground. I want time to plant -- would be my repeated request.)





But as compared to my other yard work days, I'd say that today is a pretty lazy one!


In the late afternoon, I go with my daughter and her Snowdrop to the Arboretum. This, too, is a repetition of something I would do with my own young ones. Lilacs and flowering fruit trees are almost always in full bloom on Mother's Day, and I would go from one tree to the next, taking in that familiar scent that reminds you of everything good and sweet in life.











Snowdrop then comes with her mom to the farmhouse and she watches me cook a Sunday supper -- a celebratory one, I suppose, as there are two mothers here tonight (Snowdrop's dad and Ed join us for the meal, but they take a back seat to the theme of the day which is, of course, motherhood).






I make raspberry verrines again and I think to myself how enjoyable it will be to someday make these with Snowdrop. Tonight, she begins her earnest hours as grandma's sous chef (probably someday I'll be her sous chef).











And so it is a special day (to be made complete when my younger girl comes back to Madison at the end of the month to take part in another Mother's Day celebration, because my girls are exceptionally good about not letting celebratory occasions slide by without due attention). With Snowdrop in the picture, it is, indeed an extraordinary day.



love you, mommy! you're okay too, grandma!


But I'll end with this: if you never had a child or grandchild, I'd still think this day to be a most special one for you, for anyone (and not only because we all have our own moms to consider). We can all step back and give a thought to the wondrous way all life continues forward, with mothers feeding baby calves, and teaching goslings to fly, and quietly reading a story to a sleepy little one. It's the greatest show on earth and today, we recognize it.