Wednesday - 334th

Eyes on the thermometer, on the cats, on the microwave. 

When you live in isolation, your day is made up of little acts, facts and foibles. You notice that the polar vortex is still the unwelcome visitor that has way overstayed any possible welcome. And you try to coax and cajole six feral cats away from the writer's shed so that the seventh feral cat can get something to eat. Because it is super cold and you can't stand the idea of the seventh, an outsider, going hungry out there in the wild. 

And you provide encouraging words to Ed who has finally brought in a new, brand new $50 microwave to replace the broken one that has been dangling over our stove for months now. The busted machine comes down, the new one goes up. 

After breakfast of course.

(Ed's morning hair...)

Eyes on the live coverage TV,  on the play room which still needs a lot of straightening and winnowing, on the sky where the clouds move away and reveal lovely sunshine. Still polar vortex cold and a touch windy, so that if you go out, your face stiffens to something resembling cardboard. But we can't resist. We ski, alone, I guess because no one else finds cardboard faces to be attractive.

Eyes on dinner preparation and unfortunately not on Dance who is underfoot and suffers the indignity of being stepped on by me.  I hope she does not hold grudges. 

 

 

 

Dance now routinely spends time in the farmhouse in the evening, though I have to wipe her down before she comes in because she has taken to rolling around the dirt in the barn right after her dinner. My hands look nearly black afterwards. Did someone say cats are exceptionally clean?

 

So no, I did not write much today. Distractions were ever present. Good ones mostly. Seventh cat well fed, microwave installed, and a double loop skied. A day of accomplishment, wouldn't you say?

Tuesday - 333rd

Just in case you live in a northern state and you think that the trauma of the pandemic, of a polar vortex week, of having kids underfoot, of the sameness of each solitary day are all just too much, do take note of this: today, the first bunches of daffodils appeared in our grocery store's flower buckets. And as it was a grocery ordering day, I had an early morning delivery... 

 (sunrise over farmette lands)

 

 

... that included this beautiful face of spring:

(an incongruous pairing: daffodils next to a candle with a lovely scent of a Christmas tree; we are in a period of transition!)

I know that daffodils come late to our gardens here. We have to wait until April for that. But grocery store daffodils (possibly the cheapest flower ever sold) are a fine start of what's to come. Think of it -- below that frozen ground, things are stirring restlessly, waiting for that moment when shoots can break ground and announce the coming of spring!

 

 

 

Just not today.

Breakfast, after I shave Ed's beard. How about a pre-Valentine photo of the two of us?

Okay, so there are daffodils. That's great. But one cannot escape the elephant in the room -- the bitter cold. I see that when the groceries are being dropped off on the chair at the end of the driveway, it's -9F (-23C). And worse -- by Sunday night it will be twice that number below zero. What to do, what to do...

Here's my strategy (after I'm done appreciating the daffodils):

First, I think of the people who live in regions where this reading isn't all that unusual. Imagine those who inhabit northern Finland. Or northern Canada. Their skin must positively crackle from the cold! So I'm grateful. And I turn the thermostat up a little. After all, Ed is sitting with a quilt over him in the middle of the day. That's how cold it is. (It is true that under that quilt, he is wearing shorts.)

Secondly, we go skiing. Because outdoor sports do get you out of your polar-vortex-that's-lasting-way-too-long funk. Really they do. (I see that many do not share this view. Once again, the trail is completely empty.)

Third -- there's the candle. As I mentioned, I have one more Christmas tree (very lightly) scented soy candle and picking up that whiff of a Christmas tree reminds me that we could still be in mid December, waiting for that holiday, instead of in the middle of February, waiting for daylight savings time (March 14th!) to get here.

Finally, I cook up a big pot of chili. I picked out two bags of tomatoes from the big freezer and I set the big yellow pot on our stove for a night (or two or three, depending on our appetites) of gut warming chili. (Yes, it's true: I add chicken sausage to ours. People do all sorts of crazy things to their chili.)

(Primrose, joining me for a FaceTime chat, watching me cook)

Tell a child there's a polar vortex stuck over your town and they'll shrug their shoulders and keep on playing. And so should we. Yep, and so should we.

Monday - 332nd

My thought today? Be careful what you wish for!

For any number of reasons, Ed is making a concerted effort to pick up some household tasks. For example -- this morning I hear him telling me: don't you get up, gorgeous. I'll go feed the animals. And he did! I was in bed until 9!

And after breakfast...

... I see him taking apart the dish rack. I had been wiping it down and now here he is, screwdriver in hand, tearing the thing up, wiping it with vinegar, scraping it with sharp objects. 

Now, you have to understand, cleaning the dish rack is a big deal. We have such hard water that you may as well be pouring calcium pebbles out of our faucet. And no, we're never going to soften the water. We're not wanting to dump salt into farmette lands. So we live with the minerals and everything sooner or later gets a hard coating of white stuff, with an orange hue. And when the urge to get it cleaned strikes you, then you gotta go big. A wipe down will accomplish nothing. So Ed goes big and now dish rack pieces are all over the kitchen counter and I of course feel compelled to help him. We spend a big part of the morning cleaning the damn dish rack. And you know what? You can't even see the effect. It's covered up by dishes that rest in the rack during the day.

And because Ed had been putting in some effort, I force myself to get moving on the huge job of tidying up the kids' playroom. There are a lot of lego pieces and partially decapitated structures floating around that need some organizational magic to get them looking like something other than a mess. And the gate keeping Sparrow out has to come down. The kids were freely walking through it daily. Away it goes. There's still much to organize and give away, but at least I started in on that project.

I should be pleased. We both worked hard to get things in order at the farmhouse. So that's good, right? 

To a point. Too much cleaning and clearing leaves you depleted. As in -- I wasted a day on tidying? How mindlessly boring is that!

On the upside, I had my weekly Zoom call with this girl:

We discussed, among other things, monsters that are, at night, out to get you.

And toward evening, Ed feels strong enough to go skiing with me. We do the big loop in our park and the trail is completely empty. No Super Bowl to thank for that. It was the cold that kept people away. Did I tell you -- we are still in the deep freeze. When the wind kicks in, we are going to really feel like the Arctic is some nice tropical retreat by comparison.

A winter sunset.

Home. With cats, leftovers, Netflix, pop corn, and a clean dish rack.

Sunday - 331st

Super Bowl Sunday is a day of opportunity. You can seize the quiet outside and make it yours. As the entire nation huddles in front of the TV, highways empty out, ski trails have fewer winter nuts plowing through them.  [I'm speaking from the perspective of a person who absolutely does not like football. Sorry, I haven't a cell in my body that would muster up enthusiasm for the game. I have tried. It can't be done.]

But then comes the polar vortex. We wake up to -11F (-24C). The high will be somewhere around 0F (-18C). Would you be happy seizing the moment outside when the numbers are in these ranges? You would not.

There is some sunshine, and that does help...

But mostly, it's just plain cold. I float the idea of skiing early on, but Ed had damaged his knee yesterday when he slipped on the ice and so he is taking it easy for a few days. Convenient excuse!

Breakfast. Warm and cozy.

In the afternoon, I once again raise the idea of doing something, anything outside, and Ed still resists (due to his knee), so I go at it alone: a quick loop on our favorite hilly trail.

It's not great fun. Sure, the park is empty, but the wind has created drifts and there isn't a track to follow and the going is slow and the air feels mean. 

On the upside, it is Sunday -- the day I bake and cook for the young family. I had asked for baking suggestions and was told any cake would do. Fine. I'll bake Heatter's FBI cake -- an old family favorite. Chocolate with whipped cream. And strawberries is you have nice ones. It looks like this:

And very chocolaty on the inside, with a layer of whipped cream and strawberries cutting through it. Ed and I get to keep a wedge, but mostly it's for these guys:

Along with the usual dinner favorites.

On the downside, I got a call from my credit card company asking if I really did order the delivery (presumably for a Super Bowl party) of all those pizzas in D.C. Of course it wasn't me. As I've said, I do not like football! Fraud alert! So, good bye credit card number. You did not last that long. It's a mean world out there.

On the upside, I saw a mouse in the mud room (where we keep incoming groceries) and we asked Dance to please catch it and she did!

Oh, and there was an odd fragment of a rainbow in the sky tonight. Odd, but lovely. 

So here we now are, Sunday evening, staying in, Netflix running, as if Super Bowl Sunday wasn't even happening, as if it were just a fine old weekend night, where the big event is the arrival of the deer (I confess that this photos is from yesterday, but it looks the same, every evening, they are here, digging in my flower beds, hoping for lotus seed pots or dried remains of my plants.)

Saturday - 330th

As the speed of the vaccination roll out accelerates, so does talk of what we would do immediately after being fortified with the protection of a vaccine. Not so much me -- it will be a long time before I do anything beyond spending time with my grandkids, but I hear it in others. Wisps of hope for a return to at least a few of life's special moments. Friends talk about returning to a favorite grocery store, about getting professional haircuts. Maybe starting in on some deferred house remodeling projects. Maybe going on a long hike. Maybe even traveling to go on a long hike, with hair cut professionally, and with a bag of goodies from a favorite grocer, all at the same time.

And Ed talks about sailing. It's the age old discussion: why cant I join him for a bit of it. "Because I don't want to" could be worked over and challenged in the past, but this year, it's so firmly in place that it's pointless to dangle any enticement before me. Believe me, the very last thing that I will do once I am safe to move around more is go out on a boat with Ed and some assortment of his sailing buddies. Particularly when my daughter will be close to delivering her child, and the growing season will be in full swing, and I'm still likely to be liking the security of my isolation bubble, which has such thick walls that I cannot imagine how I will ever climb out of its protective shell. So no, I'm not going sailing with you, Ed, and especially not this year and in the manner you are proposing.

Still, it comes up. So much so that in an effort to shut out the sailing talk, I take my breakfast away from the table...

 

... to the couch. Which is something I never do. Ever. But today, I ate my oatmeal with my eyes glued to the computer screen.

All this after feeding the animals. Or at least the cats. The cheepers, locked in their coop, are not eating much. I've seen this PTSD in them before when one of the flock is mauled by some intruder. Or, maybe it's that they are numbed by the cold. It was blustery and in the negatives today (think -20C and below) and I watched them stand together as if in a marching band, looking dazed and shell shocked. Ed keeps resisting plugging in a heater in the barn. Me, I want to give these guys a better, insulated hen house, with maybe a lamp that will give off some heat, but that idea is up there with getting a new car. Meaning it's not going to happen. We make do.

Did I mention that it is wintry pretty outside? Well it is. Really really cold, but pretty.

Snow brings serenity to the landscape.

I suppose we could push ourselves to go out skiing. I mean, people ski in Canada and I'm sure it's colder there than it is in Wisconsin, even now with the polar vortex forcing Arctic temperatures our way. But somehow the euphoria of being out on a trail is a little tamed in this week of bitter cold. We do go out for a walk, but just along the new blocks in the new development, to spy on the new houses going up quickly, even though I'm so bundled in scarves and jacket hoods that I can hardly see anything beyond the ice underneath my feet. Yes it's very slippery out in the real world of streets and sidewalks.

 

In the evening, I pan-fry a piece of salmon, which reminds me of Scotland, which reminds me of the islands and the highlands there, which reminds me of travel. So, maybe I do have a window creaking a little, wanting to be opened to a future of visiting something other than the barn at the end of a farmette path. But not in the near future. Maybe medium distant future. If all goes well and we don't all ruin our chances of getting out of this crisis quickly and with our skins intact.

Friday - 329th

More possum issues this morning. Now there are two inside the coop, feasting on poor Java. We deal with them as best as we can, grateful that at least we have a place to take them to, understanding that they are probably just going to come right back. We read that possums can travel up to 25 miles to return home. Going forward, we'll keep the cheepers locked up for a while. Maybe this wild group will have moved on in the coming weeks. Another little factoid: a possum does not linger in one place for long (though I don't know why it would move away from a farmette feast of meat, eggs, feed and all.

So that's the dismal stuff. The "we are pretend farmers" stuff. But there is more to the day. For one thing, there is the cold snap. An Arctic blast supreme. Doors to cars frozen shut. It is cold! And it will be even colder, for many days.

I have to admit it  -- I don't especially mind. Sure, at 7 in the morning, I find myself shoveling the driveway -- we're expecting a small delivery and I dont want anyone's car stuck in the drifts of snow -- and I'm thinking 'my but it's cold." But it's also lovely outside!

The cheepers are still locked in the garage, where they are feasting on styrofoam boards. Yes, we have given them food. They ignore it and go for the styrofoam. So much for organic anything this month. Ah well, they're not laying eggs. Too cold, too stressed, too winter-weary.

Our brief car trip takes us through very beautiful countryside. We've gotten spoiled with all the snow this year, but honestly, this never fails to make me smile. 

How can you not love the combination of snow and a February blue sky!

(blowing and drifting)

(along a rural road)

Oh, did I forget breakfast? Maybe it's because it wasn't as peaceful as I would have wanted. Dance came inside again and would not leave me to my meal. Ed claimed she just wanted to be petted. I think she was a little more hungry for the parmesan cheese shreds she'd enjoyed the previous night. NO, Dance, I do not have parmesan cheese shreds for breakfast! Move on!

 

And so long as we are on the subject of meals, I'll jump straight to dinner, enjoyed in the company of Primrose, who is very adept at using chopsticks. A significant skill, as today in her school the kids learned about the Chinese New Year. It isn't yet the lunar New Year Day yet -- that comes on February 12th, but still, one can never have too many celebration. (Primrose's teachers are very adept at creating celebratory hairstyles.)

And then -- quiet. Ed and I are so good at taking in the quiet of a farmette night! Well, except when a cat is invited inside. Or two cats. And they start chasing each other. And Netflix comes on and the pop corn pops.

Thursday - 328th

We wake up to icy rain. The temps hover at freezing and though we know there will be snow soon, underneath that fresh layer of white stuff there will be a slick sheet of ice. Groan!

It gets worse.

I move with some alacrity this morning. I need to wipe off the still mushy ice from the car and, of course, I want to feed the animals. 

As I enter the barn, I sense that something is a little off. The coop door is open, as it should be. But Happy and two girls are prancing about in the corner of the coop. Pepper is in the barn. What's going on here?

Oh no.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

In one opposite corner of the coop I spot a possum. Sitting over the dead body of Java. Our oldest, motherly, sweet and good Java. 

I quickly try to get the three trapped chickens to leave the coop, but Peach and Happy stubbornly refuse to move toward the door. I call Ed, madly, anxiously, he comes quickly and pulls them out. Tomato is missing. I have to think she was mauled and carried away by perhaps another possum -- who knows. She's gone.

We block the coop exit with a trap, but the possum refuses to budge, nestling itself on its catch. We hope in the course of the day we can get it out. For now, we retreat, struggling to make sense of what happened.

We had not seen any signs of wild animal life since we removed three possum last month. But, in hindsight, we should not have given up on trapping these beasts. Going forward, we have to move to a different winter strategy. With the cold spell rolling in tomorrow, the cheepers wont be leaving the coop, making themselves vulnerable all over again. All four of them. So we'll lock them in for a while until the weather is good enough for them to want to head out. But that's a plan for tomorrow. Today is looking to be a very long day indeed.

(Yesterday there were six, now there are four.)

Breakfast. Somber. Should we get new chicks this spring? Ed asks. I don't know. Maybe. I don't know.

In the meantime, the new feral cat, call her (or him) Pancake, is being hunted by the pack of six feline farmette residents. They sniff out the writers shed, make sure there is no intruder, then, satisfied, they retreat to the sheep shed (except for Dance, who retreats to the porch and eventually the farmhouse). 

(by the drying face masks) 

 

 

And this is when Pancake crawls out from underneath the writers shed. It's raining, no, snowing, and there she is, waiting with hope for food. I rush it to her, wanting so much to fill her up before the bitter cold sets in.

 

Winter, early spring -- these are the mean seasons here on the farmette. Last year, we lost a few kittens. The year before, a hawk took one of the cheepers. And before -- a beast raided the coop and took away two young pullets. You can't be surprised -- it happens to all free rangers and feral packs. Foxes, possum, raccoons, coyotes, hawks -- they all need food. Still, our animals are as close to pets as you're going to get without actually having them curl up under the quilt with you. And so every raid is a loss. And today, we lost the oldest and the youngest. Darn it all.

 

In other news, I got a call from Fox News this afternoon. After a brief chat, the Fox guy asked me if I would agree to be interviewed for their nightly news program. Why me, you ask. Well, when our state was establishing vaccination priorities, I'd taken the time to write a letter with comments (hey, they invited public comments and I am the public!). The Fox News guy had read them (I guess they're public record) and wanted more insights, especially since our university had established some vaccination priorities that are fodder for controversy-seeking news outlets. Predictably, I politely declined, but I did feed him some soundbites that might be fun to use. Given the nature of this game, I doubt he'll go down that diffusing-controversy-peace-seeking path, but still, I tried.

LATER:

The snowfall is very pretty (and constant), but I cant say we're tempted to head out. Ed has work meetings and besides, the roads are still snow covered and slippery.

 

 

I think about chickens and new cars and Fox News and anything at all that will distract me from editing sentences -- something that is becoming more tedious even as I get closer and closer to the end of the writing project. (Notice how I no longer call it Great. Even in jest. I'm on the hundredth version, and so it is in my mind anything but great. More like a headache that jumps from one lobe to the next and refuses to ever leave my head.)

Toward evening, we are too housebound, too restless. What do you think? -- he asks. I don't know -- I respond. But as always, the desire to not get too soft, too stiff, too darn lazy pushes us out the door. And on our drive through what surely feels like blizzarding snow, we see this animal cross the road, heading straight for the farmette lands.

Great. A coyote. 

Honestly, I feel our cheepers, our cats are under seige!

The skiing? It is solitary and beautiful.

Never say no to skiing. A bath in the forest, a return to sanity after this crazy day.

The four chickens had trudged to the garage earlier in the day and we close the door on them there tonight, because it really is looking like the possum wont budge out of the coop for now. Poking him with a shovel did not work. We'll see what tomorrow will bring. 

For us -- it's time for a frittata supper. With potato, and brussel sprouts and mushrooms. And lots and lots of cheese.

Wednesday - 327th

It's the last day of weather meant for human habitation and so I must do everything, everything before all hell breaks loose. 

It feels that way, too. That I'm doing everything. Ed is terribly busy with some work transfer something or other issues. It's occupying most of his waking hours, leaving us to dig even more deeply into an already gendered division of farmhouse work (there because Ed is not good at attending to stuff that needs attending in order to keep the farmhouse presentable).

Hours upon hours spent on my usual home stuff, while the Ed list grows and grows and will continue to grow until he stops being so preoccupied with those work transfer something or other issues. A broken microwave, chickens without heat, property border issues, oh, why bother spelling it out. The list is just too long.

(To his credit, if something of vital importance broke in the farmhouse, he would fix it right away. The problem is that he and I have very different ideas about what is of vital importance.)

A pretty day. A pre-storm bit of blue-skyed loveliness.

The animals are as happy about the sunshine as I am.

(Though the cheepers huddle from the cold... six beaks visible and accounted for!)

 

We have a seventh cat hanging around here. A new one. And the pack of six is keenly aware of it and so I have that age old struggle of distracting them while I take food to the writer's shed. The cat is hanging out underneath. If it is still with us in several weeks, we'll trap her (or him) and have her spayed. And then we'll watch as this gang of sibs and half sibs chases her off the property. These guys are very protective of their space.

And speaking of new, I have the following isolation bug: I want a new car. People want new houses, new rooms, new kitchens, new sheets, new pajamas, new slippers, but I want a new car.

Now, I am not going to get one because honestly, even without travel this past year, and with near zero interest rates, I cannot afford it and, too, I do understand that in buying a new vehicle, you are paying THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS for that newness. For no good reason, because within a day it wont be new and it will feel to you like any old car, cluttered with kid toys and stained by tea drips from your travel mug.

Nevertheless, I want a new car. Here's why: as I already told you, I did everything today that needs to be done before a storm wallops and a horrible Arctic snap shutters us inside. This means I filled the car with gas, I picked up (curbside!) prescriptions, and bottles of (curbside!) wine. And I delivered some fruits, cookies and books to the young family. And, because they are nice and they want to keep me giddy with happiness, the kids and my daughter came to the door to greet me and I was delighted and began to tell them all some irrelevant nothings when Snowdrop interrupted me -- gaga, your car just rolled down to the street.

 

 

 

Thank goodness the car did not squash anyone or bump into some other car (it's a quiet street), but still, it does have this problem among many others. Ed has fixed the most urgent issues as they have arisen, but the moody rolling on slopes is annoying. It means that I can never ever leave it on any incline whatsoever and that's fine -- we live in a flat-ish environment, but then there comes a time where I just want to hop out for a sec and yes, there is a hill and the old and now quite rusty car will start its downward crawl.

I came home and told this to Ed who rolled his eyes and said -- you probably parked it in third.

I did not! I put it in first, as always!

I'm sure you put it in third.

It's rolled before! And besides, why would it roll in third? No, don't explain it to me. I wont understand.

I'll fix your hand brake, so that when you accidentally put it in third, as you likely did, it wont roll.

He does not understand. I want a new car. It's my isolation bug. It will pass I'm sure, but I took some pleasure at looking at websites of new Hondas, Subarus, Mazdas, and VWs. They look a lot more complicated inside than my now 14 year old vehicle, bought used, 7 years ago. All the more reason to learn about new technology now before I get too old to embrace it.

Any other photos from today? Of course! There was breakfast. (Almost ready)

There was Dance enjoying a new bunch of flowers. She does like the flowers.

And there was my outside masked visit with the young family.

And, too, there was late afternoon skiing. Imagine, I say to Ed. We could put the skis in a hatch back rather than you sharing space with them in the front seat. He says nothing. He knows that this too shall pass. Unless we have to stay cooped up for another two years and then I will really want a new car!

(I still think that in his winter garb, on skis, he looks like Bernie! Or at least Larry David. Who, of course, is related to Bernie.)