Thanksgiving Tuesday

You can, of course, declare any meal, or label any day of the calendar "Thanksgiving" and it will count. It is nowhere written that living the spirit of this holiday must be felt on the fourth Thursday of the next to last month of the year.

I can, therefore, call this my "Thanksgiving with Snowdrop" day. Not only is she with me for all her waking hours, but, too, it's the last time I'll be playing with her until the end of the weekend and so I shall think of it as my own turkey and Snowdrop celebration.

Not that I'm roasting a turkey for supper. Thankfulness doesn't require having a stuffed bird in the oven.

The day starts as it always does -- with me releasing the cheepers at some very early hour (and thanks to one of Ocean's longest readers, I have the proper wrist warmers for the task. In fact, I think I create the perfect image of a farm frau -- walking to care for her chickens in the man's ten sizes too large overcoat, so well suited for a walk to the barn, clogs on bare feet, woolly wraps around my bare hands. All you need now is a photo of the chickens (who are so cold that they do their funny foot to foot stomp).






After tending to their needs, I hop over to the sheep shed to feed the very very aged Isie boy and finally I walk back to the farmhouse which, I think, looks properly ready for the winter holidays (icicles, sled and all).






Breakfast in the sun room (wake up, Ed! I need to get going!).






And then I'm with Snowdrop, just minutes before she herself wakes up.

Not too many words for you here -- I haven't time for lengthy writing today. A few photos, yes, of course. My own grandmotherly Thanksgiving photos.

What now, grandma?






Lap bouncing's fine!






I'm concentrating here!






A dance and a hug? Okay! I like to watch the little light flash on the camera before it clicks! All by itself! Amazing!






More serious play...






Which can be exhausting! Familiar Snowdrop thumb suck follows.






But it's always short lived. Life offers too many opportunities for lighthearted romps!






I'm so very thankful for all this. Every day I think about the wonderful moments that flow my way. A call from a daughter, a message from the other, a day with Snowdrop.

But let's put some trimmings and trappings of the holiday onto this day. Snowdrop, how about some turkey and root vegetable mush for lunch? You first turkey -- yum!






After a big turkey meal, a walk is highly recommended. It's above freezing, but just barely so.

Going out in winter sure is complicated! 






Off we go!






Look, Snowdrop! The lake is starting to freeze!






And now the afternoon light fades. We hurry over to the farmhouse for that one last sled ride before the snow melts in the days ahead!

Is she happy in her little blue snow rocket? Well, the protest is loud and persistent until I hand her the bread we are to feed to the cheepers.






The then mood changes. Cheepers! Now that's fun!






Grandpa Ed can't resist joining in on the fun.






Back in the farmhouse, it's the same -- he tries to find instructions on the Internet on how to fix my headlight, but Snowdrop thinks hanging out with him is just the bees knees.






Next time I look up, they're figuring out the headlight problem together.






She eats...





She naps, she plays. And then it's time for her to go home.

Thank you for your superb enthusiasm, Snowdrop! I'm so grateful for all that you bring to the table.

Here, she's telling all of us -- do have yourself a very happy Thanksgiving week! With love.

good routines

So much of what I do each day is just a repeat of what I did the previous day. Getting up to open the coop, preparing breakfast and later -- dinner. Caring for Snowdrop. Sipping tea in the afternoon. Eating squares of chocolate in the evening. I mean, you're yawning, right?

Oh, but I love it all so much! And I look forward to the next set of minutes and the one after. Is it because I'm so often away that I remain so excited about, say, a regular old Monday?


On this regular old Monday, I am up with the sun, which is always a grand way to begin the day.






And we have breakfast in the sun room...






And then Snowdrop arrives (because it is Monday).






Just a few morning photos with her: reading her favorite farmhouse book...






Dancing (yes we are, even though it may not seem like it!)...






Exploring her environment for the nth time, but of course, each time everything is a little different...






When the sun is at its highest, I suggest a run on the sled. She's not to keen on the idea. I can almost hear her saying it -- why can't we just play in the farmhouse? And me answering: because it's beautiful outside and you can glide over the snow and maybe we can even build a snowman!

We do glide and though I'm sure you're laughing at this small imitation of a snowman, well, you have to start somewhere!





But all the while, I can hear it in her babbles -- can we go home now? Can we?

And I wonder about why she wouldn't instantly fall in love with sledding and of course, it's not too hard to guess that the novelty of it all is a bit overwhelming. This girl is so tall and toddler-like in so many of her behaviors that one forgets she is just ten and a half months old. Sledding has not been part of our routine. But it will be!

I remember how eating elicited once a big grimace. And now:






Too, surely grandpa Ed  took some getting used to. (That was a while back!)






So in the afternoon, we try again with the sled and the snowman and we'll try many times in the months ahead. Coveted routines are ones you learn to love. Over time.






(What brings out the smile is a visit with the cheepers, who leave the shelter of the barn for a few paces, enjoying the sunshine, the cleared path and a few bits of stale bread.)






And of course, if you venture out into the strange (one hopes one day thrilling) world of sledding, the return home to the farmhouse is that much sweeter.






Grand routines, lovely days. Such really lovely days.

quiet Sunday

As I wake up at my usual early hour, I think - might there be a pretty sunrise over the snow-covered fields? Should I be up for it? I glance outside. Misty skies at the horizon. Not likely to let the sun do a splashy, colorful entrance. And there isn't a reason to open the coop this early. Will the cheepers even bother leaving the coop, given that it will not get above freezing today and snow has blown in through the barn door?

Still, it's a pretty morning. I'm up and out, taking in the brisk and cold morning.

As I lift the lid to the coop's roost, I see that the cheepers are feeling a bit like shut ins.





They take the leap and quickly retreat into the depths of the barn where, in fact, there is no snow. We're off to a good start.


I go back to the farmhouse and retreat under the quilt. Ed is still snoring. I luxuriate in keeping warm, in not rushing, in dozing, reading, not really caring about time. The consequence of this is that the farmhouse cleaning is off to a very late start. Indeed, I'm not done with it until after the noon hour, but it doesn't matter.

Breakfast  (or is it lunch?) is especially sunny and delicious. The coffee I drink is magnificent (or at least I deem it so). The week ahead is easy and full of opportunity.





Opportunity to do what? Well, after Tuesday, I'll have many days to write. And to revel in how good it is to sit back and sip that coffee and how these quiet times of merely lifting a cup or glass up for a leisurely sip (tea if it's the afternoon, wine in the evening) is such a pleasure because it allows for reflection and a moment of peaceful contentment. 

Which brings me to the topic of Thanksgiving -- a topic that right now has everyone talking. And so I was not surprised to hear a discussion of the pleasures and travails of the Thursday meal on the radio just a day or two ago. The NPR guests (I hadn't paid attention to who they were and it hardly matters) uniformly agreed that they had very mixed feelings about their own family reunions over that holiday meal. They all thought that there was, this year, much to argue about, since world events, plus our own presidential elections have encouraged great polarization and created schisms among family members who, in the best of times, found it difficult to get along.

And this made me wonder: are happy family gatherings really on the decline? Because I always believed that most people anticipated with pleasure these festive family meals, even if there was the proverbial grumpy uncle or difficult to please cousin to contend with. Is it the case that where Congress goes, so goes the American family? That it is increasingly difficult to find peace and compromise, because, what with the various ways in which people can express themselves, that loudness of opinion carries forward to the dinner table, making life miserable for most gathered together for the grandest of grand meals?

Me, I love family gatherings (even if this year Ed and I are on our own on Thanksgiving... but there's Christmas!) and fussing over a meal is, in my view, a grand way to share space with a mix of generations and personalities. But maybe those who feel great anticipation are fewer in number? Reassure me that this is not so!


In the late afternoon, Ed and I are back on the Brooklyn segment of the Ice Age Trail. What a difference a snowfall makes!






I did forget that this week initiated the deer hunting season. Neither he nor I are wearing blaze orange and when we find pools of blood on the trail, we know that we may be just a little too incautious. We come across a pair of deer hunters and I ask them if we should turn back, what with our somber-colored clothing. They assure us that they will not shoot us. We trudge on.






It's incredible how fast the sun goes down once it decides to move toward the horizon. We had started with clear blue skies and lovely afternoon dapples of light on the trail...






... but very quickly, the sun retreated to a lower point.






Another hunter! This time we come face to face with a bit of a lost soul trying to figure out what's public hunting grounds and what's private land. Just don't shoot at us -- I tell him.






We reach a look-out point and now I know we must hurry back. The moon is lovely, the air is still. It was freezing all day, but it's especially cold now that the sun's warmth has retreated for the day.






Just one selfie...






A look out on the wintry farmland...






The sun is so low now...






And then it's gone. Just as we reach the parking space where we left the car.






The drive home is in the November dusk. We pass deer. I want to tell them -- you're the lucky ones. You escaped the hunters.






Lucky. Me too. So lucky to have days like these. So very lucky.

a Saturday where the rules are broken

We knew there would be some snow. But when a winter storm is predicted for the night, you never can tell what you'll find when you wake up. Would it fizzle to nothing? Would we see a snow cover at all? It's actually rare to have substantial snow here before Thanksgiving.

Ah, but this time is different. There are no rules, after all, where storms are concerned. We wake up to beautiful snow.






The crab apple trees sport a lovely layer of white stuff.






The pinwheels don't give up, despite the drifting banks of snow.






My wreath, purchased yesterday and not even properly placed yet, is already covered with it.






I stumble out to my car. Snow-covered. I use a broom to do away with most of the heavy stuff. It's not yet the sunrise hour, but it shouldn't matter -- no one will be watching the sun popping the horizon here today. If the roads are navigable, I want to go out and see this wintry landscape of ours! I'm one of those who will always be thrilled by the first big snowfall.






It'll always look beautiful to me.






I drive toward our Lake Waubesa -- always such a pretty spot...






Though of course, the water hasn't frozen yet. We've barely had a couple of nights with below freezing temperatures!






At the farmette, we've been slackers in terms of winterizing the cheepers' living quarters and so even before breakfast, we pick up the coop (with the hens inside -- no one wanted to step out into the white ground!) and move it into the barn, surrounding it on three sides with straw bales. The cheepers seem relieved. We restock their food supply and clear a path for them, though to our knowledge, they never leave the coop today.


As I walk back to the farmhouse to fix breakfast, I pause to admire the now quite different view.






It's beautifully warm inside, but I've been running around as if it were autumn out there. Hot shower first!

And now for a good breakfast.






And then it strikes me that Snowdrop should have a sled and she should have it soon, because if our last Wisconsin winter were to be any marker of our snowfalls, we may not have many weeks where she can enjoy it.

 I study toddler sleds on Amazon. Ed is shaking his head. Why buy new, when some good soul wants to get rid of the old? We turn to Craigs list and sure enough a dad wants to offload the sled his son never grew to love. One time I took him out in it and it flipped and he never would go in it again!

It's perfect. Just Snowdrop's size (the sled is for a toddler, but she is a very big girl). Snowdrop's mommy suggests the two of us take her out in it in the late afternoon and I'm thrilled to tag along!

But first, Ed and I have a ski date. Oh, how I love these quick spins on the trails just up the road from us!






This time, it's as if fall and winter were put in a blender and after a few robust turns, out came this day. The wind is brisk and the temperatures remain below freezing, but it's thrilling to be out on skis again.






The skies are blue now, but not for long: the sun is sinking and the shadows grow long.





Oh, but it's so good to be skiing again!

And then I hastily drop Ed off at the farmhouse and drive over to Snowdrop's home. Her mommy has purchased some warm shoes for the girl. She tries them on. Perfect fit!






On goes the snowsuit. Typically she is not thrilled to be dressed for the cold outdoors, but she is patient this time. Maybe she knows that a first snowfall is special?






We take two sleds -- her mom has an adult toboggan and of course, I have this child's sled. We put her in it and her mom pulls her along (I pull the toboggan). The light is so beautiful now!






Snowdrop's mom is enthusiastic about the outing and this makes all the difference to the little girl. She even occasionally cracks a smile!






We're at the top of the small hill. The views are tremendous! (Though it looks like you could go straight into the lake from here. Rest assured -- you cannot.)






Her mom tests the run herself first. Good. Nice and slow. I pick up the girl from her sweet wee sled...






... and put her in the lap of her mom. Down they go. And one more time!





I can't say they flew with Olympic speed. And an attempt to show Snowdrop how to do a snow angel is less successful. Still, without a doubt it was a beautiful outing. For all of us.

I drive home so deeply satisfied.

Pausing to admire the last of a sunset...






... and of course the moon, rising so beautifully just to the east of us.