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.

Friday

Before breakfast, I set the cheepers free, clean their coop, fill their food and water containers. I feed Isie boy twice (he keeps pestering for something better than cat food), water the pots outside and wash the car (which has picked up resin from the willow and looks terribly dirty, to say nothing of the swarms of yellow jackets it attracts). I sort and chop tomatoes for the freezer and pick fresh flowers for the farmhouse. And then there is the usual morning stuff: put away dishes, tidy the living room, sweep up the mudroom. I consider doing spot weeding outside, but run out of time.



You mean there's another way out of this coop? But I'm scared to jump! (I pick her up and help her down.)




(meanwhile, the big girls want their reward for leaving the little girls alone)





(out back: late summer greens and yellows)





(the barn, from out back, where the goldenrod grow like crazy)





(Scotch navigates the flowers)





(in late summer/early fall, you really love the nasturtium)



Breakfast on Fridays has to be prompt, because Ed has his meetings and I need to be at the grocery store (shopping for the week) early if I'm to make it before noon to Snowdrop's home. (Friday is my shortest day with her -- just from noon 'til five.)


And then at breakfast, before we get to that peaceful part where we listen to the noises of birds and cheepers and evaluate the chance of rain for the next day or two, I tell Ed that it feels to me like the work-play balance at the farmette needs a tweak. Since he has stepped up to transition his company to the next stage of leadership (meaning ever since he has had to go to the "office" multiple times a week), he has slumped into recovery mode when he is at the farmette. Understandable. But the farmette actually requires quite a bit of maintenance work and it is at its best when we both roll up our sleeves and get to it. (To say nothing of projects, such as the porch door, a broken bike, a weedy raspberry patch, unclipped grape vines that languish as the summer draws to a close.)





Our challenge isn't that I work harder than Ed (though this week, that thought has crossed my mind). It's that I tolerate unfinished business and an unkempt look far less well and so I am forever compelled to get to it, even as he is happy to let things go, in favor of, say, reading a good book, or learning something new about machines, or even just reading endless articles on the Internet. (He has always been a crazy reader of everything and anything and the advent of the Internet simply means that he no longer has to rely on ancient periodicals and cereal boxes to tide him over when his stash of more appropriate material is low.)

Isie boy joins us for this meal (he is permitted access to the porch, so long as one of us is there to let him in and out) and we do spend a few minutes sitting back and enjoying this beautiful summer-like morning. I don't really expect that we will ever perfectly balance our work and play routines. And in reality, the pressure to get things done will diminish as we slide into the winter season. It's as if nature is telling us -- I got a plan for the likes of you (Ed and I are so very different in so many ways!): I'm going to let you both off the hook and give you time to meditate or chase mice or read cereal boxes inside, as I freeze the world outside and give everyone a pause.







At the young family's home, Snowdrop continues her run of good days.






I feed her spinach and pumpkin. You're thinking -- bleh! She's thinking -- what does the label say?






She chews on Wisconsin...






She chews on pretty much everything (upper teeth, coming in!). And then she hears a familiar voice. Ah, mommy's home!






We go out for a late walk, the three of us.






And after, I let Snowdrop do a delicious jumping session (oh, does she love this!) in the jumparoo...






...before handing her over to her mommy.






Bye, sweet little girl. See you Sunday! 

Thursday

I'm in my best on-time-departure behavior: I get up earlier than I need to so that there will be no chance that I should be late or even tightly on schedule, causing unnecessary worry for the young parents. It's an early morning for all of us.

Of course, I'm used to it. Not so much keeping time, but being up with the sun. I do my rounds: admiring the golden colors of autumn...



(one day lily still continues to bloom)


... feeding Isie boy, letting the cheepers out, cleaning their coop, refreshing their food and water, watching the younger girls, to make sure they're enthusiastic about life...






... then and only then returning to the farmhouse...





... where I remind Ed that I need to be out and on my way earlier on Thursdays and so if he is to eat breakfast with me, it has to be now. (If he looks grumpy in the photo below, let me assure you, he's not. Just a saint for coming down, half asleep, not really sure of his bearings, not wanting to disappoint me either.)






Snowdrop wakes up just as I arrive at her house. A bit early for her, but I know she hears the rush outside her room. That's okay -- we have an enchanting, longer morning of play.

The sun comes into her living room differently at this earlier hour and she is taken in by the patterns it makes on the furniture.






Still not fully dry after her bath, she is, nevertheless, ready to plunge into more active play.






Later in the morning, my daughter texts me asking what we've been up to and I tell her, truthfully, everything!

In that early time frame, Snowdrop jumps, crawls, bounces, stands, reads, chews, pounces, crawls some more, listens, bangs, explores nearly everything in her path. Me, I hover and guide and quickly grab to avoid impending crashes and run-ins with furniture, cats, and pretty much everything else that somehow manages to get in the way of her explorations.




(standing on her own; I hover)


There is in there a quiet reading moment (this book, about a hen of all things, is her favorite today)...





... but for the most part, her energy level is too high to allow her to sit still for long.

It is tempting of course, to photograph her constantly, all day long, especially on these days when I am with her all day long. But I refrain from doing that. Ocean, as you well know, isn't a baby blog: it does not chart all her ups and downs, but instead, gives a handful of snapshots documenting, more than anything, how I see her and how she and I navigate our days together.

Still, when the sunlight catches her hair, so that it really does look more strawberry than light brown, I reach for the camera.






When she flashes me a gentle, dimpled smile, I reach for the camera.






And of course, when we go out for a walk and she gives me that look, I reach for the camera.






I ride Rosie the moped home, thinking how beautiful the days are now. Next to us, the farmers are picking flowers for the markets. As always, they offer me some, but I settle for just a photo...






In the evening, I'm with Snowdrop again, this time at the farmhouse. Not for long, but long enough so that when she climbs all over Ed, I reach for the camera.







The day ends late for me. I'm tired, but in a good away. I know Snowdrop was a happy girl today. That really can make a grandma's heart swell.