Sunday

Two families: one in Madison, one in Chicago. Sometimes I think they are out of one pod: two peas, growing side by side. Other times, they're more like different flowers in the same garden. Their needs vary -- one thrives on sunshine, the other makes do with dappled shade, so long as there's plenty of water. Me, I'm the proximate gardener, making it up as I go along. Not unlike in the farmette flower fields.

The point is -- you can't assume you have it figured out. You have to have good eyes, a willing heart, and strong hands. Put them all to use all the time and maybe you'll be lucky: buds will appear. Young families will blossom like there's no tomorrow, right before your eyes.


My day is split: morning with the Chicago family. Afternoon in transit. Evening with the Madison family. So different, yet so much in the same garden. Maybe even in one pod. Can't ever be sure.


Primrose is up early today. There is time for our usual mini breakfast. Lots of fruits. Grandma believes fiercely in fruits and veggies.






There is also time for play. For drawing, dancing, prancing.





















On my last day with the little girl I am always tempted to keep the camera at the ready: last chance to grab and hold onto that gaze, that expression, that lovely gesture. But of course, a camera is just a thin prop. Reality is always so much richer than a photo. And Primrose is a chatterbox. You couldn't tell just by looking at a picture, can you?

We eat brunch at the Lonesome Rose again. There is something deeply reassuring in ending a visit with foods from there. As if this all will continue -- we will go our separate ways but don't worry! We'll come back and have those tacos, burritos and bowls again at the Lonesome Rose.






And we will pull grandma's suitcase to the L and say good bye.






I will see them soon. Well, pretty soon. Next month. We live in different cities, different states even, but the distances aren't great. 145 miles (235 km). In America, that's almost "next door." (Even as I wish it were 1.45 miles.) When I ask my daughters how many of their friends with families live close to their own parents, I get the expected answer: almost none. (At the same time, when I pick up the kids at school, I often run into another grandparent or two, so I know I am not unique.)





It's a sunny day. While still in the car, Primrose and I talked about sunshine and its forceful presence, much like Snowdrop and I talk about that very same sun that streams so beautifully into our spaces on cold winter days.

Cold yet beautiful days. No matter how focused I am on these two families, I can't help but notice the sun's intense loveliness. There's still plenty of snow, especially in Madison, but the dazzling light makes it so obvious that the days of a frozen ground, of frozen lakes and frozen rootstock are numbered.






It's still light when the Madison family comes to the farmhouse for dinner. That surely is a gift!

And here's one of the many many moments where the peas are all in one pod: Primrose, down in Chicago, wants to talk to her cousins up here in Madison and so we have some facetime and it is wonderful.











Dinner is the reliable spaghetti with homemade sauce. Admittedly, for the kids, it's all about the pasta and parmesan. Still, I sneak in veggies on the side. Roasted beets. Corn. Baby tomatoes. Snowdrop loves them all. Sparrow? He's slowly coming on board. Slowly.






(After dinner: gaga, can you play with me now? Not tonight little one. But tomorrow. For sure.)






Flowers in a garden. All of them. Middle of February and I have this gorgeous array of flowers in a garden.

a day with Primrose

From wake up until nightfall, the day belongs to Primrose. Oh, sure, there are her parents. And Chicago, and a delicious brunch, and a lovely evening of books and movies while mom and dad do the town, but really, my focus is on the little girl. I visit her often, but not nearly often enough, and when I do, I typically come in one day and leave the next. But this weekend is different: it's nearly all hers and I get to watch her move through the hours at her Primrose pace and admire all that's abloom in her young sweet soul.

A few photos, fewer words here, on Ocean. Fleeting images from a day well spent.






Brunch at the beautiful Tied House.











It has been observed that I tend to play less active games with the grandkids. When Snowdrop wants to be chased in a game of tag, I typically demur. And Sparrow -- he's no couch potato, but nor is he the kind of toddler who torpedoes through your space at lightening speed.  But I have no problem with the occasional tumble and roll on the floor. Proof offered:






I feel I got my share of stretches today.






It's a very windy, cold day. On our walk to the Tied House, Primrose seemed completely unfazed by this. With one parent from Minnesota and the other from Wisconsin, the girl has real cold weather grit running through her. But when the young family heads out for a walk to the grocery store in the late afternoon, I choose to stay home. It's the kind of day when a cup of hot blueberry hibiscus tea is especially delicious.

(play time, first with just Primrose!)






(then parents join in; play-doh sculpture is serious business!)






(quiet time)






And what about late evening pleasures? First, an irreverent little act on the part of grandma: parents gone? Let's raid the fridge! Jenny's ice cream! Mmmmm!





Once Primrose is asleep, I switch to a glass of wine, a piece of February chocolate (heart shaped!) and I search for a movie on the young family's Netflix account. A sweetly dozy combination! Perfectly wonderful.

silly Valentines

Are you one of those who scoffs at the significance of this day? You're above it, right? You don't need capitalism's helping hand in the matters of love. Love is private, personal and not tied to a calendar date. Valentine's Day is pure nonsense, demanding silly cards, silly pink colors, silly gifts (more stuff!) -- the whole thing is just plain dumb.

I've heard the arguments. I reject them all.

Let me turn serious for a minute: this morning, I read an article in the NYTimes about how people in China (the country that had sucked up so many of our commercial habits) are struggling to celebrate Valentine's Day. With the coronavirus raging, causing untold misery among the sick and even among the not sick, people are finding unique ways to still celebrate their loved ones. Vegetables are scarce, so giving a bouquet of broccoli brings joy. With messages of love. Restaurants are closed and families worry, too, about the economic consequences of the epidemic. Still, there is a desire to make this day special. People phone in pizza deliveries -- an ounce of joy in somber moments.

The point is most of us on this side of the ocean live at a time and in a place where silly Valentine expressions of love are easy to deliver. So very easy. Write a message, buy a flower, spend a moment with someone you love. Walk outside, breathe in the fresh air freely, frequent a favorite coffee shop, think about the importance of love in your life.

But why on this day? Why February 14th? Well why not?! Here, in south central Wisconsin, it's bitter cold outside. (You read the numbers I posted yesterday.) Coldest day of the season thus far. You want to dwell on that, or do you want, instead, to dwell on how good it is to have had (and most likely continue to have) love in your everyday?

How sweet it would be if we could all take the time to celebrate the driving force of our lives. Every day, yes of course, but especially and intensely on one day, when we all acknowledge it collectively: love matters. We do too little to honor it year round. Today, it would not harm us to acknowledge that most everything that we do in life is in some way driven by feelings of love.


This is what a cold Valentine's Day looks like at the farmette.






Ed doesn't need a great prod these days to make something of Valentine's Day. Since I am traveling to Chicago later in the day, we concentrate on our morning together.






Off to Finca Coffee Shop!





It's so sunny and beautiful that the Arctic air loses much of its harshness.  And indoors -- it's all pleasure. We live in times of working furnaces and digital thermostats. One click and the room is a perfectly comfortable temperature. Such incredible luxury!

Being who we are, gifts are not going to be part of this day, but a box of chocolates stashed away for daily sharing is perfectly wonderful and so we drive over to our favorite chocolate shop and pick up a box of deliciousness.

And tradition has it that Ed picks a card and scribbles a message, because he is a good guy and he knows I like gestures.






Love. For Ed, for family. For friends. For the good souls on this planet who continue to do well by each other against all odds. I honor that love today.

(the second dozen, in my tabletop of family photos. and love.)






And in the afternoon, I am on the bus to Chicago to spend the weekend with my daughter and her family.

I come just in time to see everyone converge -- from school, from work.

(Unpacking Valentine's Day treasures from school.)





I've offered to cook a family dinner. When I assured everyone that a yummy and healthy meal would be on the table in twenty minutes from start to finish, there were skeptics. But in fact, it's easy: ask your fishmonger to take the skin off of a fat piece of salmon. If she or he seems unbusy, tell them to cut the fish up in chunks. (Why?  - it cooks evenly, quickly and it avoids the grease splatter.) Not smaller than 1.5 inches please. Okay, get some broccoli, dill, garlic, lemon. And Red Boat fish sauce. And a chunk of parmesan cheese, and a russet potato or two. Ready, set, go!

Stick two potatoes in the microwave (prick them first!) for about 10 mins if medium. Grate cheese (or just buy grated cheese if you really want things ready in 15 mins). Press a couple of garlic cloves and mix this mush, plus a dash of olive oil and a shake of salt with the salmon cubes. Take out a frying pan, put a little olive oil in it, heat it up. Dump in the salmon cubes and occasionally flip them around. Boil a little water, set a steamer inside and steam trimmed broccoli (or just plunk it in the water if you don't have a steamer) for 3 - 5 minutes, depending on flower size. You're almost done!

Check on your potatoes. If they feel soft-ish, they're ready. Cut them in half, place one half on each plate and sprinkle with parmesan. Splash some fish sauce into the salmon (you can also add a little soy with maybe honey and a dash of ginger for a teriyaki touch). Don't overcook the salmon! Eight mins tops!

Plate the salmon. Squeeze lemon over it and maybe add some dill sprigs, esp if you bipassed the teriyaki step. Broccoli also deserves some parmesan. Because I like to be regarded as the corn cob grandma, I also threw a corn into the microwave for three mins after the potatoes came out, but this is completely unnecessary. Cut a tomato into wedges instead. Less starchy.

Boom! Done!




And now's the time to let all good children go to sleep. If you're entertaining your mother/mother-in-law for the evening, then your options (for uttering words of deep love) are limited, but of course, wise people know that you can stretch Valentine's Day over to the next evening. Grandma will baby sit and you'll do the town.

Sweet, silly Valentine's Day! What's there not to love?

Thursday

Let's talk numbers.

I wake up this morning to a big chill. High of 9F (-13C). And it's not going to get any higher than that. Stuck at 9. Which is 20 degrees warmer than tonight's temps: we'll be going down to -11F (-24C) tonight. Which is cold, even for Madison. Add to it a gusty wind and we're talking a windchill of -30F (-35C). That's painful. I mean, we've been there before. This is no record for us. Still, no one likes to tread down that frigid path.

The cats are wise. All eight spend the night in the sheep shed. Yes, eight. Six sheep shed cats plus the two little ones. The young newcomers are still unsure of what's what. When I come in to feed them this morning, they leap up and out the cat door. I imagine they'll get used to our coming and goings.

Breakfast.





On my (mental) list for the grocery store, I have listed the usual flowers. I buy some every week -- whatever is cheap and lovely. Of course, picking up anything the day before Valentine's Day is a challenge -- not for want of bouquets, but because everything is suddenly not cheap. Nonetheless, Ed will have wanted me to get a bunch of something nice and the grocery store's nicest selection is in the roses.

They are charging $19 for two dozen. This I view as an unnecessary extravagance. I'm sure it's targeting the guy shopper who wants to appear over the top generous to his girlfriend/spouse/partner (forgive the gendered pigeon holing here -- I'm just making guesses now).  Me, I can't fit 24 roses into my little pitcher. I would prefer to spend $12 (of Ed's money -- remember, it's his gift) for 12. But, I live in a land where less is most often not viewed as more.

(twelve roses fit perfectly!)





In the afternoon, I pick up the kids in my usual way -- first Sparrow, then up the steep stairs to get Snowdrop. On Thursdays, I always run into the grandparents of the girl's classmate, their to pick up their four year old granddaughter.  They always ask me the same thing: "you look after both?" and "every day??" I know they feel like they ought to do more than just Thursdays. And their grandkids are way past the age where you have to carry them up and down flights of stairs.  I tell them bluntly -- I'm 66. I can do this still. (Though I admit, the stairs are tough.) They smile with relief. We're 72, they tell me, as they make their way into the classroom.



Here's how well these two bandits know the lay of the land. As we enter the farmhouse kitchen, I hustle to put stuff in their proper place: jackets here, boots there, backpacks over there. My own jacket - hung here, purse in the corner, phone out. In the two minutes it takes me to do this, Snowdrop raids the cabinet for her beloved bag of potato chips...







... and Sparrow opens the closet where he finds his preferred bag of Annie's cheese puffs.





Yes, they do get healthier snack offerings. But this is their secret indulgence. Their big treat of the day.


Today is dance day. The story? I have no idea. All that I notice is the sweet smile. Snowdrop is the dancer who never forgets to dance with joy.

Wednesday

The good thing about weather predictions in recent times is that they are quite accurate. If they say there will be snow, followed by an arctic blast, you can be confident that there will be snow, followed by an arctic blast.

The bad thing is that if you are not looking forward to the arctic blast, you can't hope for a reprieve. Just grin and bear it. It will surely come.

We are anticipating real winter stuff in the next couple of days. Consider this Wednesday a last puff of moderate winter air before it gets nasty around here. We're at around freezing now. There'll be a 45 degree slide in temps tonight. And snow. And wind.

My morning is full of stuff. Mom papers, mom visit, my own appointments, household errands. All smashed together into a handful of hours. It's a good way to handle life's hurdles: pack them in tightly, then exhale as you check off the last item on your list.


But before all this, there are the cats and there is breakfast. Both bring surprises: Miss Calico and Cutie are not porch cats anymore. Or at least not full fledged porch residents. Having discovered Paris (the warm sheep shed), they're not willing to give it up. They run back and experiment with going up the ramp and back inside the shed. We are hopeful that at some point they will fully integrate with the pack of half-sibs living there. Dance is the grand dame in that group and she will teach them well.






The second surprise comes from Ed, who comes down to join me for breakfast despite the early hour. This is a treat!






These are the morning's highlights. Fast forward then to the afternoon which, of course, brings the two grandkids here to the farmhouse.

Ooops! I let Snowdrop listen to a song on my iPhone in the car. Mistake. She is now glued to it.






And speaking of being glued, I've noticed that both kids are returning again and again to the Duplo Lego sets (which are perfect for an 18 month old Sparrow, but Snowdrop has found a way to create story setups out of them as well).






Book reading remains a delicate balancing act: how can we convince Sparrow that it is absolutely worth his while to snuggle with us on the couch as we read page after page of chapter books that he most certainly does not follow? Snacks help, but eventually the little guy wears down and asks for something more to his liking, using his limited vocabulary of course: help! down! momo? (Not sure what that last word symbolizes... perhaps it's really mama, as in -- I'm going to call my mother and tell her how bored I am listening to stories about a girl who appears to have strong emotions as she navigates life as a third grader).










In the evening, Ed plays volley ball. This Wednesday ritual of his makes for extra quiet time here at the farmhouse. Time reserved for letter writing, candle burning and, of course, reading. With a glass of wine. And popcorn.

Tuesday

Two loops?
Okay.

Two loops around the county park hill on skis, two kittens now back on the porch, two people at the kitchen table for breakfast. (Not necessarily in that order.)


















The motivation to go out and be active sags right about now -- in the middle of February. In another couple of weeks, the California poppies will begin their wild display of orange. And you don't have to wait until then for west coast wildflowers to start their thunderous blooming season. Desert marigold, desert lily, sand verbena, desert sunflower, apricot mallow -- they're on now! You'll say -- that's an unfair comparison. You're listing desert flowers! Fine. But on the Channel Islands off the coast of Santa Barbara, lupine and poppies and paintbrush and yellow coreopsis are also on full display.  How heavenly is that!

So you get a tiny bit wistful, even on pretty days like today, when the sun shines down on your wintry landscape and your windshield is covered with frosty designs.






But, we push ourselves out and as always, we're happy as winter clams to be on the now groomed snow trails in our local park.






The kids, at play, in the afternoon:
















In the evening, I'm out again, this time for a dinner with former colleagues. This is the month when you never feel like going out, but when you do so, you're always glad you did.

Monday

Classic beauty. You know the type -- one that everyone agrees on. Take a vote and you have near consensus: stunning!

Of course, even though there is near universal agreement, it does not take away the fact that beauty is subjective. I once listened to a report disputing this. Research had indicated that there are objective indicia of beauty. That they act like magnets, creating attraction even if there isn't an ingrained social belief that something is a marker of beauty.

And maybe that's right: symmetry and harmony are pleasing to the senses. You are at peace when you are in the presence of near perfect alignment.

I am, of course, talking about the weather.

I wake up to what surely has to be a classically beautiful winter day. A fresh snow cover, temperatures just below freezing, plenty of sunshine. It's stunning!






Everything is perfectly aligned!






And yet... Maybe I am drawn to things that are a little bit off. I'll take classic beauty, but I'm one of those who is intrigued by skewed, mismatched vignettes. And of course, perfect weather days torture you: good bye quiet morning with a book. The great outdoors beckons. You'd be a fool to turn your back on this!






Still, Ed is sleeping in and I am not going to wake him. Not even for a late breakfast.






By noon he's feeling better and wakeful and so yes, we pile the skis into the car and head out to our nearby park.






And it is a gorgeous run. Crisp, exhilarating.





Though you know, I'd be okay with some rain and mud in the next few weeks. A sprinkle perhaps, a melting snow, the first appearance of a green stem...

One can dream.



In the meantime, the kids just can't resist a snow drift.











In the evening, Ed asks -- want to go out to dinner? 
Sweet thought, but clear skies make for cold nights. Let's stay home. I'll cook up a couple of chicken brats...