Tuesday

We are not stuck in an Arctic rut, but I have to say, this morning's wake up temperature (1F, or -17C) did make me momentarily wonder if, perhaps due to some plate tectonic oddities, we're inching closer to the North Pole.

Well, it was a lovely sunrise.





The cheepers came out for a second, possibly because they knew that I had oatmeal raisin cookie bits in my pocket.

And then I buried myself under the quilt for a good hour to recover, only to torture myself some more by going out on the roof (windy!) to sweep the latest snow off the plates of glass.

I needed a very long, hot shower after that.

And a breakfast among flowers.





My morning was in the farmhouse and that was just lovely! On a sunny day, every corner of the place is bright and optimistic, as if telling us -- what's outside is beautiful, if you only give it a chance!


My afternoon is with Snowdrop. The girl is intense...






... curious,






... love filled,






... exuberant,






... spirited.






And indulgent.






(You'd agree if you knew how many times she let me sing "rock-a-bye Snowdrop, in grandma's lap..." this afternoon.)


I'm home now. The TV is on -- the President is making his yearly speech. I've cracked the last cheeper egg for supper, grated the last scrap of Parmiggiano Reggiano cheese. Outside, the crescent moon shines brightly over us tonight, here in the crisp and cold Upper Midwest. And that's such a beautiful thing.

Monday

Where did my morning go?! Did I let it slip away as I stared at the thermometer? (Morning reading: -7F, or -22C.) Did I lose it reading my gripping novel? Or when I dug in to try to understand the ins and outs of my retirement account? Certainly not spending time with the cheepers -- I cashed in on Ed's offer to open the coop this morning. He claims it's downright balmy out there. Fine -- enjoy!

I admire the view onto a frozen world from the kitchen window. The only delicate thing about the landscape right now is the appearance of patches of blue in the cold heavens above. (Though they disappear shortly after I take the photo.)






Breakfast -- we take our time with it. Among flowers again.






And then Snowdrop is here and she falls straight into her routines, which, if Ed is around, always begin with a climb up his belly.






And they include lots of walking. With shoes. With only one shoe. With no shoes -- I see it all.












In the afternoon, there is lunch, of course...






... and I let her pace all corners of the farmhouse some more. (That's a wine cooler, Snowdrop. You're too young.)






... and then I take a deep breath and take the girl outside for the drive to her home. I feel a surge of guilt -- the car, purchased quite used, does have this excellent luxury feature -- heated front seats. I turn the heaters off. It's not fair that I should have a warm behind while the little girl rests suspended in a car seat.

At her house, the explorations begin all over again. She is delightfully independent, but she listens closely to any explanation or instruction I may offer. (Just call her Christophena Robin and Penguin...)






It is evening all too soon. I feed her supper, I put her down for a late nap and I make my way back to the farmette.

It's snowing now -- that most sublime snowfall where every flake is lush, thick and magnificent. The air is still. The night is dark. The winter quiet has set in.

I'm glad I had to be out and about. It is, in fact, a beautiful winter night.

for the birds

You know it's going to be a brittle day when you wake up to 12F (-11C) outside and the thermometer decides to go down from there rather than up.

Neither Ed nor I wanted to let the cheepers out, but my sense of duty prevailed. (Ed always puts the girls away in the evening -- which truthfully involves only latching the coop, but still, it's dark and cold then and very uninviting.)

I haven't raised the camera toward the farmhouse recently. Today, it looked noble and grand. (And warm and welcoming.)





I told myself -- I'm not going out today again!

Idle promises. In fact, I did go out again, but that would come later.

It's Sunday, so farmhouse cleaning comes first. After, we sat down to a really flower filled breakfast. I mean, I brought every blooming thing to the table. The sun came out strongly then and you could imagine that spring was just around the bend.






I will report on nothing else today. I spent most of the hours preparing for next week (it will be an exceptionally busy one!) and looking out the kitchen window. Bands of robins would come to our trees, eat the apples and fly off and this was rather entertaining in a tame sort of way. (Do you see the awesome foursome here?)






And this is when I saw that the sunshine had enticed the cheepers out of the barn. I ran to greet them with more slabs of bread. Honestly, sunshine will make the deepest Arctic air feel grand. Or at least okay.





The evening was quiet. My daughter is away on a business trip and I hadn't the heart to drag my son-in-law and Snowdrop out for a farmhouse supper. Ed asked if I wanted to go bowling, but I told him the idea of stepping out in the dark and cold had absolutely no appeal. I did bemoan the missed exercise opportunity, but he assured me that bowling wasn't exactly aerobic. Perhaps he was feeling a tad lazy about it too.

To compensate, I did something I haven't done for well over a year -- a "yoga on youtube" session. If you want to test yourself to see how much you've aged from one year to the next, do yoga at yearly intervals.

I resolved to stretch more going forward.

I cooked up a hearty soup for the week and felt deeply grateful that the furnace in the farmhouse has never failed us. Yet.

Saturday

Though Saturdays are typically Snowdrop lite days, this one is a bit different as the young family needed extra help this weekend.

Besides, it's not as if there is a pull to do something outdoors. We are about twelve hours away from an Arctic blast and in the meantime, the temperatures hover at the freezing point and even the delicate snow shower doesn't improve the landscape greatly.

The birds are wonderful to watch. From the warm quiet of the farmhouse kitchen.






I do a quick sweep of the roof again so that we wont have a repeat of the frozen solid snow to contend with and again I feel so grateful for that hot shower that warms you so completely after you've been working outside in a t-shirt because you didn't want to bother with the clunky jacket.

We eat breakfast feeling buoyed by the flowers again. (Full disclosure: the potted colorful anemones are from Giverny, but they are not real.)






And then I hurry over to Snowdrop's home.

The little one is, unfortunately, convinced that someday, the real deal cats will open up their hearts to her. Here's Goldie, the most queenly one of all. Snowdrop knows that Goldie does not take well to an outpouring of even gentle affection from her... 






But the poor girl never stops trying. It rarely ends well and so the only thing I can do is distract Snowdrop from the queen herself.






It's easy enough.






In the late morning. I take Snowdrop to music class -- this is the third series of song and dance classes she has enrolled in (they're part of the national Music Together program) and I have to smile at how far she has come. If before she was a fairly passive participant, now she is stomping and clapping and shaking things like a real toddler. True, her rhythm is uniquely her own, but hey -- why be constrained by convention?! (No photos. Too much action, too many other children, too much dancing and clapping and swooshing.)


At home, she feels emboldened. If yesterday she was parading around with two, three toys clasped tightly in her hands, today, she carries a whole basket of treasures and scatters them behind her, like a little Gretel.






Snowdrop, who will be picking these up after you?
Is that a real question, grandma?






And the afternoon? Well, there is lunch. Her all time beloved food? Sections of those clementines that flood our supermarkets in the winter. (Can you tell which cheek she naps on?)

After eating, she plays.

I'm thinking she needs to be introduced to public transportation. She has too many positive feelings about cars.






And of course, she has so many positive feelings about penguins. Someone indulged her love this Christmas and gave her Mr. Penguin supreme (it didn't help that he was on sale at the grocery store where we all shop so I understand the temptation). I have to say, that image of Christopher Robin and Pooh Bear? Nothing, compared to Snowdrop trying to criss cross her home with Mr. Penguin in hand.






I leave you with a bunch of adorable (in my grandmotherly opinion!) Snowdrop expressions. The girl is a genius at working her face in ways that'll make me laugh.






I'll say -- are you a chipmunk, Snowdrop? And oftentimes, I'll get this:






Ask for a kissy face, and (sometimes) you'll get this:






Oh, the beautiful faces of childhood!






Toward evening, I wave good bye to the sweet girl and head to a chocolate store. Why? That's next week's story. For now, I'm driving on the country roads, thinking how sometimes even that, which has little going for it, can actually turn out to be quite beautiful.






At home, I cook comforting pasta. Not hand made tortelli, but still, a thick veggie pasta dish that truly lets you forget the weather outside.





Almost completely.

Friday

Looking outside, here's what I have before me: brittle, icy snow that's melting somewhat, but not completely. The ground looks like a holstein cow. It's raining. Not just drizzling -- raining. With a deep freeze hustling in later this weekend, we'll have an ice rink at the farmette. One big ice rink. And of course, there is fog.

Have I made my point?

On the upside, it's warm enough for me to have opened the window in the middle of the night. We listened to the owl who lives just out front in the tall trees that shield the farmhouse. She is a vocal creature and her sounds are soothing in an eerie sort of way. We'd never seen her, but she has been hooting up a storm since I moved here several years ago and I'll always associate that sound with warm nights and raised windows at the farmhouse.

Breakfast is among the colors of fruits and flowers. We are so very lucky to have a steady supply of both! (Right now, three of the orchids are blooming profusely, responding well to this year's long and mellow fall, where they soaked in the outdoor coolness that they need to rebloom for us in the winter months.)





And then I grocery shop.

I do think it's marketing genius to place flowers at the grocer's just at the entrance, where you come in having basically given up on seeing anything on your drive over that isn't a shade of brown or gray. I usually pick up the cheapest bunch right then and there, telling myself that color on the kitchen table is as important as nutritious food is in your kitchen cupboards.

Back at the farmette, I try to shovel away as much of the snow as I can, because really, I do not want a skating rink here come Sunday, but it's no use. It's just cold enough for it to remain stubbornly iced over. I throw down the shovel and head out to see Snowdrop.


Here she is -- finally managing a close encounter with the cats, something that she wants with all her sweet little heart. True, they're not the real cats -- they're pillows with the family's cat photos on them. No matter. Snowdrop loves them and they do not run away.







A conversation ensues. Okay, it's one sided. But it's delightful.






Another interesting moment, this time with a very worthwhile book!






Today, as yesterday and the day before, there is a lot of traipsing back and forth. Why use your hands when the teeth work equally well?






Lots of laughter. Especially around penguin.






Too, there is the issue of the horse. Forgive the gendered statement here, but many will tell you -- girls like horses. Case in point.






Yeah.






Evening comes. I drive home. The rains continue. The fog is dense. The heart is warm.

Thursday

We're entering the mushy, freezing, biting and inhospitable, gray days of the month. I have no interest in taking my camera with me to the barn as I let the cheepers out. I do not want to prolong my stay outside. I give the girls food and water and I hurry back to the farmhouse.

Our breakfast is lovely and way too short. I could linger at the table for a good hour or two. As you can see, we're eating in the kitchen, which offers a sweeping view of the path toward the barn. Occasionally, flocks of birds swoop down on the crab apples and tear off a few more fruits, but otherwise the world is still and colorless.






Perhaps you'll blame the winter craziness that hits most of us here in January and February, but I have to admit to having taken on a new pet. Her name is Lolita and she lives in the bathroom. She has long legs and I know she thinks of me as her friend and supporter -- I feed her the occasional box elder beetle that comes into the farmhouse in the winter. Lolita is getting plump. Ed says she'll lay eggs for a thousand baby spiders, what with the food I give her. (Yes, she is a daddy long legs and I've taken on Ed's love of these guys: they eat mites and other bugs and keep our air pure and clean. At least that's the theory.)

I finish off a chunk of writing.

And then I force myself to step outdoors again, but this time with the sweet goal of heading out to visit Snowdrop.

Now is the time to say something that perhaps you've guessed already: Snowdrop is her own person. I had two daughters and so I thought I came to this game somewhat prepared. But Snowdrop is a whole new discovery for me. I've never seen anyone at her age or at any age have such a drive to explore, to discover!












To figure it out.






It's so hard to hold back. To not do it for her. But she never asks for help. Never complains when it's tough. She just keeps on going. And when she succeeds, the grin is tremendous.






And she is a girl with a sense of humor. I wont bother mentioning what silliness on my part brought forth this round of giggles.






Ah, Snowdrop... You sure put a big spark into a January day.