if it's Tuesday...

Well, this is the last of the "...if it's Tuesday" banners, as the schedule changes somewhat next week and Snowdrop switches to a Monday at the farmhouse. And even today is somewhat convoluted and strange, as we are cycling through some heavy storms and heavy schedules and all in all, it's one of those days where you're glad you have a roof over your head (the rains!) and sleep under your belt.

I am up ridiculously early for the cheepers and I rush to give them a few minutes of stretching and scratching before the rains return.









(sharing water)






(the lily that thinks it's still summer)



Of course, our girls are insanely lucky, as they have a whole huge barn to escape to at a time of storms -- rain, snow, and whatever else falls out of the sky -- but still, I'm of the European old school where you believe fresh air is as important to one's well being as anything else this planet has to offer (and that includes a chicken's well being) and so I'm glad they have at least a few minutes to cavort among the wet shrubs and grasses.


I'm about to settle in to a leisurely breakfast preparation (a routine that I quite adore), when we get the call that one of our wood chip sources -- a local tree service -- has a truckload of chips to deliver. We hadn't heard from any of the tree crunchers in months and we assumed it would be spring before we would return to yard work of this kind and yet, here we are, with a ditch and driveway filled with chips.

And so right after breakfast (which is on the early side because I do need to be at Snowdrop's home before 9)...






...Ed starts to load the cart with the chips...






... and that gets us exactly nowhere because the rains then come down and I mean really come down and so we abandon all pretense of outdoor work and hide inside.


And now it's 9 and I am at Snowdrop's home and the girl is waking and we begin our day together.

There are many, many themes to pick out from any day with her. A few ideas: "the daily rituals" -- which would include that early bath, which I give her even before she eats breakfast...






"The favorite games" --  a solid chunk of time on the jumparoo guarantees some giggly moments...



(a third tooth coming in on the bottom, of all things! the girl likes to do things her own way.)



... It would have to include a lot of crawling toward her favorite toys. Here, she is greeting her friend, the sloth.






Or how about this theme: "new challenges!" In this next photo, she is standing at her favorite post in her room -- by the rocking chair with the koala cover on it. She is not solid on her feet yet and still she loves this swaying, unsteady place and, to make things harder on herself, she loves to stand on tippy-toe!






But honestly, the theme that keeps pushing its way to the forefront for me is the very many ways in which Snowdrop expresses joy. Her smiles and giggles vary, of course and they're all beautiful.






And that's just our morning. Because on this day, if it's Tuesday,  we must spend some time at the farmhouse.

The rains have receded for a little while...






...and so I go over with Snowdrop to meet the new hens. Ed is delighted that the young girls do not, for the most part, shy away from being petted!






The egg isn't hers, it's Butter's, but still, this is a photo of a man who loves his friendly cheepers.


Snowdrop is equally photogenic at the farmhouse, but I'm concentrating on play over picture taking and so you get just this one, which tracks its own theme:






Late in the afternoon, I swing back to Snowdrop's home, where stroller walks are easier, especially when there's still the possibility of rain (there are many places to run and hide in the city). We head out.






She's different today. Perhaps because it's just me and she doesn't hear the voices she is so used to hearing from behind the stroller. She keeps straining her head to see if I am still there and then she smiles her radiant smile when she is reassured. We do this maybe two, three dozen times.






Back at her house, she is still chipper, still happy, though a tad more serious.






And then, I hear the garage door open and I know the parents are coming home and I tell her this and she is coy: she crawls to the sound of her mommy's voice, not sure, not sure... and then she sees her mommy and all's right with the world again.





And it is for me all right as well, because if there is one goal that I have in my hours with Snowdrop, it's not that she should learn X or Y, or that she should eat all her fruits and veggies (though the latter is surely important), but that she will remember the important things in life. She is a smart girl: she gets it. In that image, she lets me know that she gets it.


At the farmette, the rains have receded. It's late, but nonetheless, I plant 60 bulbs that we purchased last Saturday. I think about spring each time I push a bulb six inched into the earth -- wow, spring. A long time away.

And maybe that's a good thing.

Labor Day

It rained at night -- oh, did it rain! The kind of rain that makes you hope that there are no cracks in the roof and that you remembered to bring in every tool, bike and glove from the court yard (there aren't and we did).

We needed the rain and we're better for it now and by morning, though the clouds still hover and chances of storms linger, it nonetheless feels fresh outside and the earth has shaken off its dusty pallor. No watering of pots today, no needed! Time in your pocket right there.

As I walk out to open the coop, I wonder how the hens regard the rain. Ed had strengthened the roof on the hut so that there aren't leaks (there were big one last year), but you have to wonder if the pounding of a storm makes them uneasy.

They seem none the worse this morning -- all eager to be out as they wait for that morning treat of a handful of grain. We splurged and paid 50 cents more for the organic bag and if ever there was a product that appealed to everyone's fancy -- this one is it! Even the chipmunks can't stay away as I scatter the grains. Boldly, they come out and join the pack of hens.






The fields around us are wet -- everything is wet, dripping wet, but the air is warm still and I expect by mid morning, we'll be dry again.






Breakfast... Lovely, warm, summer-like breakfast.






And then we motivate ourselves (it takes some doing!) to go out to the veggie patch to weed the grape vines and tie the branches to the wires. But fifteen minutes into the project, we give up. The sun is out again -- that hot summer sun that tells us we need another storm to make a dent in the heat we've been having. We weed, yes, we do that much, but then we retreat to the farmhouse. It's Labor Day, no? A day of less work and more contemplation about the value of work and the balance one must strive to reach between the demand of work and the lust for nonwork.


In the afternoon, I spend a brief while with Snowdrop. Her hair tussled, her face inquiring -- she is, to me, a bag of wonders!






Is she really still just a baby?






The three of us (mom, Snowdrop, me) take a walk again and the little one tries to hold in her grin, but today, she she just can't help herself!






The girl is in such a good mood!



(on a self-timer)




(proudly standing while I hover; also on a self-timer)



And then, in the evening, the young family comes to the farmhouse for Labor Day supper, out on the porch of course. Every now and then, a wisp of sun pokes through...






...but even in the cloudy moments, it is a beautiful evening! I cook inside, but now that there is a door! and there are steps! -- the dinner itself is easy to bring out at the last minute.

How beautiful it is to sit back in the protected shelter and linger over a last bit of food, throwing a glance at the little one who has her own play space right next to us.






My daughter comments that the goldenrod is just beautiful...






It is, but in fact, everything about the evening is beautiful!





Every last bit of it.

I know summer doesn't end for another couple of weeks, but it ends for me now, with this last beautiful hurrah, on the porch, tonight. After this weekend, we move into Fall.

Sunday

I would give our farmhouse cleaning work today an A for effort and a B+ for execution. By the time noon rolled around, I'd been up for five hours and the thrill of cleaning and tidying was definitely waning. Still, there is never a shortage of work around here -- only a shortage of will and of time.

I began my day as always, around the coop area. I did a thorough job of cleaning the little hut and changing the wood shavings inside, pausing to watch the hens dance around each other, still cautiously, but not belligerently.

[By the way, I never did explain that they are Oprie and Apple to commemorate the day they came to live with us -- a day where I was also bringing home cakes for Snowdrop's baptismal weekend. You'll recall, perhaps, that one cake was the traditional French Opera cake and the other -- a Tarte Tatin, which is nothing more than an apple upside down cake, caramelized in a pan rather than just baked in the oven. So, Oprie and Apple.]






In these early hours, I profit from Ed being still in bed, in that early morning haze of tranquility and unawareness and I chop down a tree that was a relic from days when there weren't any flower fields spinning off the courtyard. The tree -- a ghastly thing with prickly spurs nearly two inches long still has roots that will force new growth, but for now, I don't have to look at it. Yay.






Neither of us are motivated to do a thorough Sunday housecleaning. Ed has a list of small repairs to attend to and I just did a fine cleaning job last week, but then one thing leads to another and before long, we are pulling out the refrigerator and vacuuming the cobwebs in the basement and honestly, it feels like I am getting the place ready for some secret inspection. (You could well ask -- who cares if there are cobwebs in the basement?)

It's a hot day -- almost too hot to eat a late breakfast on the porch...






But I am very much aware of the fact that it's the last of the hot days this year and so the outdoors beckons, because honestly, I prefer feeling a touch warm to being chilled by a blast of cold morning air.

The garden is still holding its own. Our expectations aren't high and so it continues to pleasantly surprise us.



the last roses are always the most beautiful





looking toward the porch, from the west



And so we work hard and sweat a bit but our list of must-dos grows smaller, in anticipation perhaps of the inevitable new breaks and malfunctions that always come along.






In the afternoon, I play for a while with Snowdrop. She is now officially eight months and one day old -- something that is so obvious if you're with her, even as you can't believe that she has accumulated this much wisdom already in her young life.



(her lovely greeting face)






(I'm into working through books today, grandma!)


We go for a walk -- the three of us: Snowdrop, her mom, her grandma. She is so used to this routine that she seems quite content, despite the incredible heat.




(a walk? we're going for a walk?! Yay.)


After, a few more minutes of play...






...and I'm off, on Rosie, scooting home. This is the best time to ride a motorbike -- when the hot air feels buoyant and strong against your frame as you speed along the rural road. I remember when I used to come visit, before moving here. I thought then how beautiful the landscape is! I still think that as I turn in toward our dirt driveway.







The evening light on an early September evening is stunning.






Simply stunning.

a date day

What do you do if you're Ed and you're pressed to demonstrate the wonderfulness of life together, here at the farmette? If you know that your sweetie would like you to live up to the idea that every day is a birthday? And she's sort of hinting the she would like you to think of some delightful things to accomplish together on this day?

Well, you sleep in, first of all. Let this day begin a little later. Build up your energies for the challenges ahead.

Me, I let out the cheepers, do some cleaning, weeding, the usual early stuff.

I notice, by the way, that Oprie and Apple are getting bolder each day. Not so much with the first jump out of the coop...






But in choosing now to eat the morning snack with the big girls. Butter occasionally will issue a gratuitous peck to say who's boss, but it's not especially vicious or strong. A little reminder. Nothing more.






(And the flowers continue to announce the coming of fall.)






(The farmhouse border is mostly composed of annuals now.)






Finally, later in the morning, your sweetie tells you breakfast is nearly ready...






... and you sit together on the porch...





... and you suggest things to her.
You want to go kayaking?
That's more like something you would want. (I love kayaking, but it's such a production to get the boats and the bikes and the truck loaded, unloaded, reloaded. I don't want a production.)
How about biking?
Remember? My bike needs a repair.
I could fix your bike today.
Fun! (Note sarcasm.)

We pause and continue looking out at the yard. It's such a beautiful morning! After a while:
I do need to go to the market to look for dill. 
I'll go with you!

We have ourselves an outing.

This is the perfect time to buy some ingredients that would demonstrate my true origins.











(We also buy garlic from this favorite farmer to the right and favorite farmer's helper to the left.)






And because, you know, it's a day that demonstrates that every day is my birthday and isn't it terrific to be spending all these years together? -- those kinds of emotions, then it's appropriate to reach into your wallet for the needed $7 to purchase your sweetie a bouquet -- the most beautiful one at the market today of course. From this vendor:






It's a moment deserving of a selfie!







At the farmhouse I get my ingredients in order.






Fact is, when I was last in Warsaw, my sister fed me some real honest to goodness surowka (sometimes called surowka po Zydowsku, meaning raw salad in the Jewish style) It's a mix of raw cabbage, carrot, and cumin seed (you can also add apple if you want), all lightly brined with salt. (Childhood memories of the finest kind!)






And, too, I finally get down to making pickles. Like my grandma used to make and like my sister now makes: cucumbers, dill, garlic, in salt water. (She tells me I could add currant leaves for flavor, but none were to be had.)






The day is young.

You want to fix the grape vines? 
Sounds like work ... Any other ideas?
Well, let me fix your moped and attach that sea grass basket you picked up yesterday...

He does a terrific job, using scraps as always to get it just right. Isie boy participates.






I'm deeply satisfied.
It's a perfect photo! 
You mean I look okay?
Well that too, but it has Isie and the two hens in it!






The afternoon moves forward, but we still have some time.
We could go to Farm and Fleet and pick up some stuff for the chickens...
And daffodil bulbs! -- I throw in.
... and after, stop by at the chocolate store for a box of those lovely dark chocolates you like.
And while we're in that area, maybe stop in at the Chicken Store? This is the place in the village of Paoli that sells all things chicken. I'm hunting for a chicken for my moped.



We do all the above, driving along rural roads, listening to our favorite talk shows on NPR.





At the Chicken Store, we talk with the owner about the changes in our chicken keeping and we get some insights as to what to expect from our new Brahma girls. And Ed picks up for me a chicken for Rosie.

We continue onto Farm and Fleet. This is the store that, a long time ago, gave me some insights into the guy whose chosen lifestyle was so different from my own. It's a place that combines machine parts, farm animal paraphernalia, gardening implements and, for good measure -- cheap socks for an Ed who likes a plain, sturdy cheap sock. The clerk always asks us if we have a farm tax exemption and I smile at the idea that we, the clumsy non-farmers that we are, should be at least theoretically regarded as people who work the land.

Chocolates at Candinas (well, a somewhat smaller box -- but not that small!)...





...and take-out Thai food from our favorite local place.


At home, Ed attaches my chicken little...






Such a good birthday! Even though it really isn't that at all -- just a day where we reconnect over things we do so well together.