Wednesday

The regularity of certain tasks allows your mind to drift while you're doing them and that can be a good thing. But it does mean that when that regularity is slightly disrupted, your automatic pilot flounders. You have to suddenly pay attention. And even so, you can veer off course.

This morning, our farmette guest is still with us as we try to figure out where to place this poor soul who is suddenly, understandably I suppose, quite unpopular with his landlords. (Hey, haven't you ever left a burner on inadvertently? And gone off to work, Wiener Schnitzel in hand, fire slowly causing havoc in the premises you left behind?)

Well, I was so distracted with the slightly different breakfast preparation (table set for three), that I did not remember to snap a photo of this very important beginning to our day. Just think yesterday's photo, only everyone's eating oatmeal and fruit instead of farmhouse eggs prepared to a 7 minute boil for one and 10 for another.

I can show you what the view was like for us -- this, looking out the kitchen window. Our Viennese guest had never seen a crabapple before and he was quite enchanted with ours. (It is indeed true that although the cultivated apple was brought over to North America by European settlers -- who in turn picked it up from its native Kazakhstan --the crabapple is the only apple tree that is native to this country. I'd never seen one in Poland either.)






Then, I continued to be thrown off by my adjusted Wednesday schedule. I had an hour to write and I did, forgetting to keep track of time, arriving, therefore, five minutes late at Snowdrop's home -- something no baby sitter should ever do to working parents. Everyone was very forgiving, including Snowdrop, who assured me she was just getting up.






Bath time then! And as I set her down and put away the various washing paraphernalia, she migrated over to a favorite spot in the kitchen -- her mommy's cook books, which is actually quite funny because her mommy, when she was that age, had a thing about cook books. She studied them obsessively for the first two or three years of her life.






And then Snowdrop sat down and gave me that "what now, grandma?" look.






Since this evening (not on my watch), the little girl has music class, I thought we should get in the mood and so I turned on the songs she'll be hearing in her music group. And we danced. There was a lot of arm waving (at least on my part!). [The photos are on a timed release, so you never know what you're going to get in the end.]






... But then I stood back and let her take the stage, because, really, she is much more fun and interesting to observe.





By the way, our color coordinated clothes? A total coincidence. I'm going out tonight with my monthly law school group so I paid a little more attention to what I put on this morning. Snowdrop -- she'd look good in a burlap sack, but happened to also don gray and red today.

Life is quirky that way.

In the afternoon, after her nap (where her hair got a little wild!) and some healthy, happy eating...






There was time for indoor play...





... and, too, we had a brief window in which to take a neighborhood walk. Storms are barreling up toward us and I hoped we'd manage to come back without being drenched and luck was with us, thank goodness!

Inside, it got a little intense toward evening. There are three cats in the house and not one is willing to put up with even a gentle petting session. And Snowdrop never stops trying. She'll climb all those steps trying to reach Virgil...






And reach for the sky wanting just a moment with Lucas...





But it's no use. They always escape her little hand.

Guess whose side I'm on in this?!

I come home late, after my retired-law-school-group dinner. Lightening flashes and gusts of rain pound on my windshield. Our farmette guest is working with machines in the sheep shed. Ed goes off to play volley ball. I settle in to write.

Tuesday

A hazy, sunny morning, lovely in its simple tones. We have an overnight guest at the farmette -- an engineering intern, here from Austria, with the unfortunate circumstance of having had his apartment damaged by fire because he was kind enough to make Wiener Schnitzel for a company social event. Something about forgetting to turn off the stove, but I could be missing a little in the translation.






I can't linger much over breakfast. Tuesday is an early day at Snowdrop's home. I barely have time to drop off a mouse in the fields to the far north (if it's all the same mouse family, then I think we're starting in on the cousins, because this one was number seven for the year).

I've said before that Snowdrop is an energetic little girl. This morning she surely fulfilled that promise. After her breakfast and bath she lingers maybe for a handful of minutes...






... and then she is off. To the kitchen.






To the bathroom. The hallway.


 


The closet.






Up the stairs, chasing Virgil, or I should say trailing Virgil who moves with lightening speed, especially on the stairs.






Her bedroom.






The kitchen again -- exploring the finest details of whatever item she encounters along the way.






(Sometimes sampling her discoveries...)






Yes, at some point we do take a break. I contemplate taking a nap at the same time she takes hers, but settle in for a nice cup of chamomile tea instead. Very grandmotherly of me, no?

And here's the other grandmotherly deed -- in the late afternoon I insist on that fresh air play. The little puff ball starts with some leaf piles...






... but we take a brisk stroll as well and the air is perfect for it: crisp, but not yet off-putting.

I know November will give us some poor weather days soon enough (tomorrow?), but I'm not thinking about that right now. It has been a beautiful month thus far. Truly beautiful.

Monday

I felt like the dutiful partner who sets her alarm clock to make sure her guy wakes up in time to catch a predawn ride to Chicago, then herself doesn't go back to sleep because, well, once you're up, you may as well stay that way.

How to make use of this early set of hours? I decided to make the tedious task of depositing yet another mouse into the fields more interesting by going out to the Nature Conservancy and watching the sun rise over the rather pretty if bare forests there. (It's a short two miles along the rural roads from where we live.)

Since I've last been there, a farmer enclosed the fields next to the public pathway and there are now longhorns grazing on the grasses. I lingered a while, because the sight was so very pretty. Birds swooped down in droves, the hoarfrost did its magic in the fields and the cattle looked so very content.






And eventually, the sun cracked the horizon, intensifying the colors and leaving me with that feeling of peace that comes on these beautiful early mornings in the country.






Breakfast was, of course, alone (Ed's in Chicago on some machinists' event), but I had a magazine to keep me company.






The farmhouse was still. I did the odd chore and then got ready for Snowdrop's visit. Because if it's Monday, it's Snowdrop at the farmhouse day!

(Did I tell you how much she seems to love penguins? Not quite sure why, but this guy is definitely her pal here, as is the book about a baby penguin who happens to run through similar activities that she does -- eat, play, bathe, etc.)






As you could tell from the sunrise, it's a beautifully sunny day today, even though we've definitely dipped some twenty degrees below last week's highs. Still, 50F (10C) is not bad for November! We go out to give bread to the chickens -- always a high point for Snowdrop...






... and then we go out front to admire the leaves the maples have shed.






I tell Snowdrop that some of the best views are if you look up toward the sky. The canopy of gold is gorgeous right now. She tries it. And smiles.






In the late afternoon, we return to Snowdrop's neighborhood. This is where I love to walk with her and she is almost always an eager participant in these ramblings. Adding warmer clothes did at first elicit protest on her part, but I think she's getting used to the new outdoor routines, especially when the sun retreats and there's a chill in the air.







Once again, I take her to the new playground and this time she is much more comfortable and confident here!






A young child will always let you see the opportunities that each day presents. She wont let you sink into complacency. She'll open herself up to your guidance with a smile on her face. How grand is that!

Sunday

You had to laugh. You want to finish up your annoying tasks. Dot the i's. Cross off things that should have been crossed off months ago.

You get up early, even before sunrise...






You take a sweeping look over your yard, liking what you see (the emerging sunshine helps)...






You finish cleaning the house, patting yourself on the back for having done half the work the previous day. You sit down to a relaxing breakfast...






And then you say -- we'll finally put the patio door project behind us. I'm going to paint over the spots (all over the farmhouse) where I used the wrong touch-up paint (the last time I wanted to put the patio door project behind us).

So you take out not the big can of paint, the one which you inadvertently used the last time, the one that was glossy and intended for the base boards, but instead, you use the little can. The one that has your handwriting on it saying "walls." True, it has a question mark after it, but you already know that it cant be the base board paint because that one is in the big can.

You paint with abandon, doing a thorough job, going over all the places where you touched up with the glossy paint (which looks like spit marks all over your walls).

A few hours later, when things have dried, you stare with disbelief: you've just applied glossy paint all over again, only in even more copious amounts. Now you don't just have spit marks on your walls, you have explosions of blotches. Thus the paint trim around the patio door remains, once again, in a state of "to be finished soon."

In the meantime, you just have to laugh.


We were productive in other ways: I trimmed the asparagus bed and did a half-assed job on the grape vines. We tiedied up the old veggie bed and threw a proud look at the new one. I trimmed spent flowers in the big flower field.






(Do you agree that the day lily is a superstar? Look at this wee thing, still throwing blooms in mid November!)






And in the late afternoon, we go for a short hike -- along one of our favorite paths, the Brooklyn segment of the Ice Age Trail (where we also release farmhouse mouse number five; so far, none have come in from the basement). It's a brown world out there, but this is when you appreciate the luminescent red of bramble leaves...






The trail leads to one of my favorite vantage points in Dane County (where we live). The incline isn't steep, but it offers a sweeping panorama of our farmlands, forests, wetlands. It's grand in every season!






At home, even by 3:30, the light takes on an evening richness. I settle in to cook, but I have a view onto the crab and it is lovely.






And in the evening we have the pleasure of the young family's company for dinner. In other words, I can hang out with Snowdrop! Long time readers may recognize my apron: it's Polish (gifted from my sister) and I've had it for decades. My wonder-bread apron. Never thought I'd wear it with a granddaughter in my arms.






I made braised chicken with braised artichokes -- a dish that is perversely French. I say this because it requires a level of detail that really adds so much time to your cooking schedule, even as the added flavors from said process are there only for those who sniff and savor over and beyond what we normal human beings do. Case in point: the braising of the artichokes (actually artichoke hearts by the time you're done dismembering them) is so carefully orchestrated...





... and honestly, it would take a real food obsessed individual to notice the difference between these hearts and the ones you'd get by simply boiling artichokes in water. The French can be a tad over the top in terms of their food preferences. (The chicken is braised in an equally complicated fashion, but I do think that meats are easily made mediocre by improper cooking habits so at least there, I think the fuss is justified.)

But let's focus on the little one.






She was amazing (says the very objective grandma)! She ate with us today -- chicken meat with a bit of roasted squash.






I am sure she appreciated every bit of flavor contained therein!

the tiny details of Saturday

If the weekend is a time for me to take stock, then I fulfilled my weekend obligations well today. In reviewing what's what, I was, in fact, filled again and again with feelings of enormous gratitude. To start with, all younger family members are feeling well (it had been tricky earlier in the month). And the skies -- they are as beautiful as they always are in the Midwest, even and perhaps especially in the less beloved colder months.



(a wintry sunrise)




(beautiful clouds)




(the stunning fields to the north, dusted with frost)


Then, too, the golden tones were still evident around the farmhouse and it looked so very lovely to me in those early morning hours. (I also couldn't help but take note of the very visible and very awesome patio door.)






Oh, and the cheepers are doing very well!



(these are Scotch colors!)


Before breakfast, I did some farmhouse cleaning, testing my new theory that splitting this over the two days of the weekend will make it less odious. [Ed commented that I ought to learn to develop, nay, worship my inner mess. I told him I already confronted my inner mess every time I stepped into his sheep shed in the morning to feed Isie boy.]

Breakfast was lovely.





After, I did some solid writing and when I could write no more, I did the "running around town" kind of chores -- return this, repair heels of city boots (for future travels), and finally -- purchase warm knock-around shoes. I have only shoes from days of work and they are too fine and too awkward to put on for farmette winter work or even Snowdrop strolls. Time to fill the void.

Here, I truly felt my one pang of guilt: I bought Birkies, which perhaps you know are a tad upwards of $100. That's a lot for me to spend on anything, let alone shoes. When you're retired and insist on traveling as much as I do, you can't go around buying things. It's all about choices.

The clerk tried to convince me that it would be a fine investment to also buy waterproofing spray. I pointed out that I would never bother spraying (especially since Birkies are a rather open shoe concept -- you don't wear them to keep the wet out). He offered to put on an initial coat for me. I gratefully accepted and only later realized that he was going to charge me for the cost of the spray ($12). I did not have it in me to say that it was a mistake, that I never intended to purchase the damn spray.

I mention this because after, Ed sprung for a new "welcome" mat for the farmhouse (without the "welcome" word on it) and I was so enormously grateful for that. Even though he doesn't travel, still, you wont find Ed buying new things if he can help it, but here we are -- proud owners of a new mat, one that cost me nothing at all!

So often our days are like that: generosity steps in just when it's needed, when it makes the path just that much smoother. Small details? Maybe. But days are made of small details. They are what make for grand days and poor days.

I've had a string of very grand days.

Because my sweet guy had work related meetings today, I was on my own for a walk and I kept it short -- in and out of Owen woods (close to all those chores I wrote of). The colors are all in the sky right now. Well, almost all in the sky.






A hawk swept down to the ground and I wondered if he had caught a mouse. We've caught four so far this season at the farmhouse (last year we set a new record at twenty over the winter months). I suppose I ought to have hostile feelings toward predators, given our cheeper vulnerabilities, but I don't really hold a lot of good feelings toward mice and so I hoped the hawk ate well today.






I didn't see Snowdrop at all. I almost offered to take her for a walk or to play with her for a bit while the young couple did whatever it is that they had to do, but I decided that a day of no Snowdrop makes the future days of many hours with Snowdrop more precious and valuable and so I held back, concentrating instead on the beauty around the farmette. And there was plenty of that. You get the rare frontal photo of the farmhouse today. Typically it is not anything we would want to brag about, but the front trees (mostly maples) are the last to shed their leaves and right now, near dusk, the vignette is absolutely stellar.





For supper, Ed has been suggesting that I take a break from a week of daily cooking ("want to go out for a seafood dinner? or better yet, get subways for home?" "No thank you!"). Honestly, it is a perfect day to make chili. The amount I make is good for three days' of eating, but more importantly, the flavors and scents of chili match perfectly the hues and colors of this November day.

A fine Saturday. Really a fine one!

Friday

We are seeing the last of the gold: crab apple, asparagus ferns, birch leaves -- they give us that final burst of pleasure, but no pleasure can continue without interruption and today's brisk wind is likely to speed up that final fall of brilliant leaves. The nakedness of winter is almost upon us.






(Even as some flowers refuse to give up! The delphinium has sprouted a new set of buds, the gaura just keeps on going...)






But I walk briskly past all of this as I let the cheepers out. Although still above average for the month, the temperature readings tell it like it is: we have turned our backs on the glorious warm and sunny days.

Still, breakfast is in the sun room. Just because.






After the usual Friday errands, I am with Snowdrop, who is delightfully rambunctious and right away challenges me to a chase, ending with a giggling fit when I "find" her, as always, on the bathroom mat.


 



She shows off her "no hands!" stand...






But wait, Snowdrop -- what happened to your other sock?
I don't know! -- she seems to be telling me.






In the late afternoon we go out for a walk and I am tempted to throw a blanket on her, but at the last minute settle for just a warm cap. Is she happy with the additional outerwear? No she is not. I remind her that she is a winter baby and even though she is less than a year old, this is the second winter (or almost winter) of her life.






In the evening, I bring Snowdrop to the farmhouse so that the young couple can have an adult evening. She is easily made happy here. Feeding the cheepers is such a joy! (Why is it that a young one can so easily get pleasure from such simple acts as breaking bread for chickens?) Too, when I put her down in her play area, discovering favorite toys that she hasn't seen since her last visit here sets her babbling with glee (she has certain vocalizations and babbles that she reserves only for happy times).

And then I bring out a new surprise -- a pinwheel. Does she like it? I think so.






Oh, Snowdrop!