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.

Saturday

For a brief second, I worried that spring was moving too fast. Are we already in the last month of this season? How did that happen?!

And then I remembered: spring isn't really a full season here, in Wisconsin. The first month should properly be called "the waiting period," where, to the naked eye, nothing much happens. Spring, too, is the shortest of the four season. We often go from a period of cold air to a brief showing of moderation, then straight to summer. It all can happen in the course of a couple of weeks.

This year is unusual. Our spring is glorious and full -- stretching from early April onwards. I'm not surprised that I fret about its passage: it's been a nearly perfect season!

Morning. It isn't hot, but it's good enough for a breakfast on the porch.






Looking out, looking in. It all looks grand!






I do very little work outdoors in these early hours. Snowdrop, her mom and I have our regular Saturday morning date -- a walk to the downtown farmers market. Here she is, getting ready to head out. Always a little serious when she settles in, deceptively so because I have never known her not to like a stroller excursion.






We're on the square. Her mom checks in on her. The girl's doing fine!






We pause at a farmer friend's table. Asparagus is probably at 25% of the market stalls, but we buy from Matt (Blue Valley farm). George, the guy to the left helps out and he too, is a friend. A writer friend. It's his first in-person encounter with Snowdrop. He smiles down at her.






She smiles right back.






And so we continue.

The day warms and by the time we're back at Snowdrop's home, her sweater is no longer needed. She is eager to play, but I leave her with her parents today. A good grandma is one who knows not to linger every single day.






Besides, I have work to do at the farmette. Ed is already immersed in weed removal.






Scotch sees me and runs along the path now decked with flower petals. Hi Scotch!






I look around. What's blooming today? Well, the newer Icelandic poppies.






And in the rock garden, these guys are up and running.






But my attention is focused on the new flower fields. I weed them and cover them with chips and of course, none of this can be done quickly. Guess why...





And now I am in my gardening mode. I dig, I mulch, I water. I munch on emergent milkweed buds (taste like asparagus!). I plant pole beans, string beans and two types of peas. I finally, finally, put in the nasturtium seeds and, too the cosmos. I don't exactly finish anything (left over plants, seeds, etc). I have too much before me. But I made a dent.

To me, that's all that I can ever hope for -- to make a dent. A beautiful, warm, late springs dent!

Friday

I think it's cool how one photo, one story, one event will inspire different reactions among those who see it, read about it, experience it, recall it. One reason I so enjoy your comments is that they are uniquely your own and the collage of thoughts is never predictable, never static.

I thought about this as I went through a rather predictable set of tasks today. It could have been a low photo day for that reason alone. Add to it a rather gray sky and you'd think I wouldn't be inspired to snap pictures. Wrong. I look at my day's tally and I'm surprised at how much there is. For me, there is a small (and I mean really small) story behind each one. And it strikes me that you might find equally small, curious things to smile about in them. So, here's my rather typical Friday, with those few details that made it a sweetly special day.


I go out before breakfast. We didn't get the rain that I expected and my new plantings needed a hose down. I can't help but turn my head again and again toward the crab apple.  Oreo looks positively regal in the frame of the tree blooms!






But there's a new visual draw for me now.The perennials are starting their show! It will last until October. Expect each day to have a photo of at least one emergent bloom. Today, you get two! The iris is a new addition, but the Icelandic poppy, so fragile in appearance, is coming back for a return performance, with a strong showing this year!












Breakfast. We're entering a week of intense fragrance, as the purple lilac -- the most typical of farmstead flowers (my grandma had lilacs by her house back in Poland!) -- bursts into bloom. Possibly even more noticeable in the photo is Ed, who hasn't asked for a haircut for many many months. This morning he asked. Beard trim too.






There's so much to look out at when we eat our morning meal on the porch! Today, the girls, working the new flower field grab our attention.






This is the time of that beautiful confluence: when the crab apple hasn't yet lost its petals and the lilac has started its full swing of purple extravaganza.





I leave you with that last one from my quick strolls through the yard.

There follows a photographically blank morning of grocery shopping.

And then I go to spend time with Snowdrop. She is double pleasure for me today -- an afternoon visit at her home and later, in the evening, she'll come to the farmhouse, as her parents attend to their various social obligations.

A few photos from my visit at her home -- and forgive me here, I'm overindulging my camera, but that's because she overindulged my senses!

First of all, what's new in terms of her quest for the next challenge? Well, she's ready to try out her jumper seat (her doc says -- it'll  really strengthen her (already strong) trunk!). Does she love it instantly? Let's just say she's tentatively giving it a chance!






I give her some tummy time, but she's not interested in flipping. She tries to scoot forward and finding herself to be moving at below the speed of a caterpillar, she tells me she's had enough!






So, what does the little one like on this day?  Stretching her arms up high!  Up up, grandma!






And here's another new favorite: practicing different vowel sounds! Does she coo? Yep! With a perfectly adorable pucker!






We pause in our play to take a walk. Not around the lake, just in the neighborhood.






It's cloudy, but warm. The little one dozes off as I admire the blooms in some of the yards.






And at home, she is ready for more play.





No, Snowdrop, gotta go. But I'll see you this evening!


Snowdrop comes over in the evening with the best of her moods pinned right to her (short) sleeve. Typically, my photos with her are selfies, but when Ed's around, I sometimes hand the camera to him. Here he's in a comfortable position on the couch and getting up seems unnecessary...






For a good hour, Snowdrop amuses herself with two new toys here. This is one of them.






And here's the other.






Ha! You're thinking Ed's the toy? Well, you could say that, I suppose. But I was referring to the soft ball with the loopy things all around it.






I suppose I'm giving you a Snowdrop overload today. Let me end with this one, where she is, in my view, showing me all her might.





 I stopped taking photos after that. You wont see her arching her back, or kicking up a storm with those strong legs, or dozing off late late late into the evening with a thousand smiles and giggles. But really, if a camera is to show off the best parts of your day, then I can only say that there isn't enough room on the photocard to take in all that a May day such as this one can deliver.