what each season brings

I was up late last night counting ants. One per minute or two, out of the kitchen floorboards, making the journey through foundation to basement to kitchen -- with the garbage can being this year's preferred destination. I attack the problem with perseverance. Vinegar and instant removal helps. In the early morning, I see no more and I exhale. They'll be back, searching for nesting sites. The trick is to make this one -- our home -- an unattractive proposition.

When Ed and I first got together and he explained to me his position on the relationship between humans and animals (the unfair privileging of one over the other), I was taken aback by the strength of his convictions. Oh, I have known environmentalists and animal rights persons who are furiously rigid in their life style choices. Ed isn't that -- but his heart is with the animal kingdom, that's for sure and he'll go a long way not to disturb their habitat.

There wont be any potent ant killers at the farmhouse. It'll be me, doing the midnight vigil, with distracting vinegar and spot removal. And hope for an outcome that's agreeable to all.

This morning, as I sit down to answer emails, I see a flock of five large birds come swooping down again. Hawks. They'd been keeping us (well, presumably the cheepers) under observation for a few weeks now and though the hens know to hide when they sense their presence, I am always concerned that they wont catch on fast enough. Those powerful winged creatures shoot down like an arrow from the sky and though we have plenty of trees here to protect the cheepers, until the trees fill in with leaves, the sharp eye of the hawk misses nothing.

As I willed myself to sleep last night, I thought about this seasonal challenge at the farmette. No sooner had we gotten the mouse population under control and boom! Here we are, addressing the late winter onslaught of box elder and Japanese beetles. I'd do a beetle round up several times a day and still they came. That is, until last week, when they dwindled to almost nothing. To be replaced now by the spring ants, searching for their nesting site.

Catch and release (except for the beetles, which I -- but not Ed -- shamelessly destroyed).  And face the next adaptation and delineation of boundaries.


Oh, but the sunshine is with us again and so my thoughts quickly run to its glorious brilliance!

Breakfast in the sun room.





And then Snowdrop comes to the farmette for the day. I'll post a few extra photos today, even though you already see quite a bit more here on farmhouse Mondays, simply because the farmette is so the epicenter of my world, that photographing comings and goings here (of people, of seasons, of chickens!) properly reflects my preoccupations.  Why even more today? The day is just so pretty! Cool still, but with an abundance of warm sun rays. And I am thrilled to report that Snowdrop loves being outdoors, so much so that you could not doubt that she is this Ocean author's granddaughter.

Here's a photo album of at least the first half of our day:


First activity when she arrives -- feed the cheepers some bread. Let's make it more of a challenge and place the bread on the bench! (Of course, they will jump for it.)






Grandpa Ed comes out... the girl's all smiles.






We walk back to the farmhouse -- Snowdrop of course likes to give the pinwheels a good twirl.






We're all going to be here playing together? Good! -- she loves it when there are at least two other people in a room...






Ed's munching on a late morning snack of leftovers.
She wants one... he says with hesitation. (It's shrimp and asparagus.)
It's close enough to her lunch. Sure, you can share.

Shrimp! Yum!






I've been told this about her: she'll pick a shrimp over a french fry anytime.






Yes, she loves asparagus too.






Okay, little one. Let grandpa Ed eat. I put on a Raffi record to distract her. She does her signature dance -- a rhythmic bounce to the music.






Then, impressively, she stacks her penguin stacking rings. (I say impressively, because the ordering of the pieces is weirdly complicated for a little kid toy. I often cheat and look at the sketch on the bottom to figure out which ring comes next. It's not about the size!)






We get a phone call from the tree chopping service. They want to dump another load of chips! Well fine, though we should really make more room for it. Ed goes out to spread some, Snowdrop bums a ride in his wheelbarrow.






I want to show her the emerging daffodils, but she is too distracted by guess what (cluck cluck)...






Ed comments -- they just follow you everywhere.
Yes, I know.







In the afternoon, my deep desire to stay calm in life is tested, but in the end salvaged by someone who knows only how to stay placid, even when faced with mounting frustration.

It is a silly thing, really: we're all switching car seats for Snowdrop -- she has outgrown her baby one! The next seat will carry her until she is 65 pounds (wow!).

The chair arrives just as Snowdrop is waking from her nap. Well that's not good. Especially since she is waking up a bit of a grump (it's rare, but it happens). I juggle her, trying to read the instructions, pulling straps, flipping cushions, wanting so hard to understand the difference between this belt and the other...

Ed!

He comes, we both watch the youtube instructions. He reads the booklet, calls the company, all in that calm voice of his that always brings me down from a potential spin into a world of petty frustration. And as we go out to install it in the car, the girl wants nothing more than to get down and run around with the chickens, even if it does take them all to the road (no, no, no Snowdrop, that is not a place where I can let you run free!).

Snowdrop is frustrated with the new restrictions ("no no no Snowdrop, not the road") and yet - I'm calm now and very quickly, so is she.

Funny how calmness rubs off and leaks onto the souls of others.

The seat is in, the girl is comfortable in its accommodating larger size, the sun continues to shine as if there's no stopping it now.

April is such a fantastic month!

Sunday

I look up at the early morning sky, split evenly between threatening and promising and throw out this question -- are we done already? Have you had your interminable pout and tantrum? Can we proceed to the gorgeousness of a warm spring?






Of course, the sky takes this opportunity to dump something on the ground -- for a few minutes. Then it looks okay again. For a while.

 (The daffodils stubbornly refuse to show their colorful faces until they get some honest sunshine, even as the day lilies continue their upward surge.)





I suppose if given the choice, I would pick what we had this year -- a wonderful early early spring and a somewhat cold and wet period thereafter. You're so sick of winter by March that you appreciate the sudden and unexpected pleasure of feeling warm and buoyant. Too, this period is only a clean up stage in yard work. It's too early to plant or even divide anything. If it has to be cool and wet -- early April is a good time for it.

But listen! The second half of April begins next Saturday and the Flower Factory, for decades now my faithful supplier of perennials, opens its doors then. And well it might! We are promised sunshine and warm air for this truly grand event.

In other words, I'm asked today to be patient. To ignore that pouting sky that throws down stuff on and off all day long. To work side by side with Ed when things settle down up there (the usual: we clear, throw chips, weed etc, with the active participation of the cheepers, whose scratching habit is ferocious right now). And occasionally to retreat and work on sprucing up the inside of the farmhouse (including rearranging furniture to accommodate the arrival of the small chairs and table for Snowdrop).

These then are the rhythms of this Sunday. (After a leisurely breakfast in the front room, with Ed gazing at the flower bed we installed this past week.)







An afternoon coffee break, recorded here because it brings color to an otherwise gray day...






And then very quickly, it's evening and Snowdrop arrives with her mom for Sunday dinner at the farmhouse.





I almost don't get the dinner plated. The girl wants to be involved!

Fine. Here's a bowl. And a spatula. Mix!






Am I doing a good job??






Dinner is  ready. Time to cut the bread. In the alternative, let's put Snowdrop in charge of the bread.






Snowdrop loves baguettes!






Dinner's fine too.






One last photo. Three generations. Missing is my younger girl. We'll get her in here soon enough!

Saturday

When I moved to the farmhouse now five years ago, I decided, with Ed's hard encouragement, to adhere to minimalist principles. Downsize yet again. Buy (almost) nothing new. Make do.

And it worked. The furniture I had was just fine. True, the kitchen table that Ed threw in doesn't expand and large family meals have required an awkward combination of several tables strung together to look like ... several tables strung together and yes, for various showers and family celebrations some people were without comfy chairs to sit on, but basically, we've done well. Inspired by this success, I continue to downsize. My library collection is one fourth what it once was. Useless kitchen gadgets (sometimes but rarely missed) have done well on Craigslist. In the alternative, Goodwill is just 3.1 miles away.

I like to think we add flowers outside, but nothing inside.

Then along came Snowdrop.

The crib. Of course she needed a crib! And a high chair. And a changing table. And so on. I'd forgotten how children swallow stuff and they grow, too, so that yesterday's stuff is put aside for the next one, should there be a next one, and the next incarnation of stuff makes its way into the house.

I try to keep it simple. But the fact is, if a child spends a lot of time in your house, you'll want to make it a good place for her to be.

Today I announced that Snowdrop really will need a small table and a chair. Ed groans at this. Let's look at Craigslist! We do that. I don't like anything.
How about if I built her a picnic table with benches?
Nice of you, but it wont look good.
How about if you pull up a wee chair to the coffee table?

I laugh at that. Our so called coffee table is a whopping 24 by 24 inches. It serves as a resting place for Ed's computer, his stack of unread mail and a dining table come suppertime for the two of us. The image of fitting in Snowdrop's crayons and paper is kind of funny.

We rearrange things to make room for the wee table and chairs. The farmhouse is small, but it will take on another piece of "stuff." Ed shakes his head. Minimalism, diminished yet again! In exchange, I promise to give up another shelf of books and the walker Snowdrop rejected long ago.

We are determined to live an uncluttered life.


But this does not hold true for our great outdoors!

True, we wake up yet again to a hard frost -- near record lows -- but I know this will be the last one and so I walk out at sunrise with a bounce to my step.

Besides, it's going to be sunny! Sunshine makes up for the cold.

(From behind the willow...)






(It's cold, Java... I know, Henny.)






(This better be the last of it!)






We eat breakfast in the sun room.






And then we work outdoors. Oh, do we work! It never warms up beyond the upper thirties F (no more than 4C), but I shed everything, down to a light sweater.

We pull weeds, we unload wood chips and we expand (that's right, expand) the new flower bed that will run along the front of the property. For the first time, I will be growing plants that aren't just for us to see (all our other flower fields are within the farmette courtyard, so unless you come up to the end of our driveway, you would not know they are there).

I don't have many photos. It's dirty work and the camera deserves a respite inside. Just this one, of, well, nothing, really. Ed is rebuilding my bean trellis. I'm pulling weeds.






But it's a magnificent day and Ed had to listen to me say more than once -- isn't life grand?
To which he'll respond -- Yes gorgeous, in the most non-emotive voice he can muster.


A brief coffee and cookie break (just at home)...





And then we continue.

It's after six when we finally throw down the pitchfork, the rake, the clipping shears. And of course, this was the day I was to cook something other than the simple, the straightforward.

Well fine. Roll up the sleeves and get to it. With a special thanks to Yotam Ottolenghi, whose recipe (from Plenty More) I follow, using eggs from our girls.






It's a Parmesan cauliflower cake...

(Before it goes in...)






(After it comes out...)






Late supper. Long day. Beautiful day. Flower beds waiting now. In all their readiness.

Friday

It's the end of a week. And, we are in the final push to get us out of the more challenging aspects of early spring: it's the last in the string of cold and gray days. And the little girl is near the end of her sniffles. And me? I just move into each day as it presents itself, even as I am very glad that we're facing better days ahead.

But first, the wake up: a dusting of snow, again! But it's not too cold. This is silly stuff. Even the flowers don't much care about the inconvenience.






The cheepers too seem oblivious: this is like a sprinkle of pepper on the sweet cake of spring.






Breakfast. Lovely. Cheerful.






And then I sit back for a few minutes and think about cooking.

I'd just responded to an email from Pani Karolina (my Warsaw architect-designer extraordinaire) and it had caused me to reflect on how I prepare food these days. Pani Karolina had asked if, in order to save money (the renovation is coming in over budget -- what a surprise), I wanted to eliminate the installation of a stove. Cooktop -- yes. But am I really going to bake or grill or in other ways fuss with major food preparation in Warsaw?

Well, the answer is obvious -- I may or may not, but if I hope to sell the apartment at some point to someone who buys it for its completeness and wonderfulness (no further work required!), it's got to have a stove. And who knows? Maybe I'll even use it!

And this lead me to wonder if, in recent years, I've gone too much in the direction of simplifying dinner preparations. I still take at least an hour (on Sundays -- more than that) to prepare dinner each night, but I've concluded that Ed doesn't much care if I finesse a meal and so if there are corners to cut -- I cut them.

But this, I think, is a mistake. I recall the famous words of my friend Patrizia in Parma, who was shocked that I shouldn't dress with care, just because the people I see in the course of the day don't particularly notice. Don't you want to do it for yourself? For the way you feel in all ways? -- she had asked.

And so today, I took greater care with planning the menu for the week ahead. I picked up cookbooks before going to the store. I thought about the lessons I had learned over the years about preparing and presenting dishes.

And that felt really really good.


In the afternoon, I am with Snowdrop.

My younger daughter had asked -- why don't you try pigtails on her? Today I did.






I suppose the one issue is that suddenly, the girl looks... like a girl! Did we bypass toddlerhood?






Suddenly, I am the east European babcia singing --

Wasn't it yesterday
When they were small?

Sunrise, sunset
Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly flow the days
Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers
Blossoming even as we gaze...






Late, late afternoon, the winds pick up, but the skies clear a little. You want to go outside, Snowdrop? Does she ever!

(At the coffee shop.)






And in the evening, she is at the farmhouse.

Snowdrop, do you want to go outside?
!!






In the house again, the girl picks up her favorite books and some unusual ways of reading them.






And she finds some new books too - variations on the very first stories that caught her attention.






And of course, she makes a beeline for the airplane and the train with the funny wooden passengers on board.






When did she become so certain of her own mind? So good at figuring out her own path?

One of the unexpected bonuses of being a grandparent is that it brings you down a notch in terms of your ideas and beliefs about raising children. If you thought you got it right (or wrong) with your own kids, this new line of progeny teaches you that actually, you haven't figured out anything at all. And in my opinion, that humility is a very good thing indeed!

variations on a melody

Honestly, it is like that -- each day is a pretty little piece of music that repeats itself with slight twists and detours and the occasional crescendo, but it is a familiar set of notes, that do not change greatly from day to day.

But if you want my blunt opinion, I will be quite happy when the next three cold days pass and we are back to the warmth of a true spring.

This morning, after breakfast...





I stay home and study the apartment plans Pani Karolina sent me. You'll remember perhaps that she is the person who is boldly and bravely leading the renovation team that will be transforming my Warsaw apartment from something horrible to something quite lovely (that's the goal anyway). Right now, two students are still residing there with their big musical instruments, but this does not mean that nothing is being done: plans are hatched, project proposals reviewed. Doing this at a distance means that I have to have a good deal of trust. I cannot be concerned with every detail. And in fact, I have plenty of trust: I assume Pani Karolina understands what I want and has the good sense and good taste to create a very lovely interior. I'll not show the plans just yet, but I do want to note here that I studied them with some degree of care today.

(Ed comes in to show me the haul of eggs for this morning. The green looks better when placed next to the white and brown.)






And then, of course, it is time to care for Snowdrop.

Our games are, in part, predictable. There is always, for example, a time when she and I make tea.

Grandma! It's ready! The kettle is whistling! Now, grandma, now!!






And then she'll run run run run run!






These days, there is the Hyde Park Corner speech, told from her chair.






Sitting with penguins is de rigeur as well.






There will be, for a while yet I'm sure, that painstakingly delicate task of turning single pages of a book, though today there is a change of material.





This is a big book that belongs to her dad, who has, for a long time now, loved baseball. Snowdrop will surely know a lot more about the game than I do and I think she has already been to more games than I have in my life. (That perhaps could be misinterpreted to mean that she is a regular at our local ballpark. She really isn't -- it's just that she and I come to sports with different histories and cultural imperatives. I'm sure she will never be as avid a ski jump watcher as I have been in my time. Ski jumping is big in Poland.)

But I smile, too, at how subtle a baby sitter's influence can be. It's no secret that I love train travel. I don't think it will be long before she boards some train car of some sort in her young life. And in the meanwhile, she and I can be excited about toy versions of this experience.






Though of course, I am as excited when she picks up a ball (the girl goes big!) and tosses is at me with great pride.






Should I be less excited to see her take a step toward texting and driving (she's sitting at the driver's seat after all)? No! I prefer to think she's catching up on her novel while in a parking lot, while her friends? partner? children? (children?!?) shop.






Today's song was well sung, though with some tough bars as the little girl is still ovecomming her sniffles. Tomorrow? Oh, you can never tell! There will be a variation or two. For sure.

habits

In recent years, I've not been photographing the birds that come to call at the farmette each spring. I don't use a telephoto lens and, too, I'm not a real birdwatcher. I don't much care if I've spotted one type over another. I just like their chipper music and their occasional blast of color.

And this is why I made a quick exception today -- the day is wet, gray, not too warm. That cardinal that came for a morning visit? He looks like he could be a featured model in a beautiful early spring canvas.






And speaking of birds and color, I hereby announce that our new hens have finally given us their first egg. It came from Henny -- our Easter Egger girl (yes, that really is what she is called, unless she is an Ameraucana breed, but I don't think so). How do I know it's hers? Well, we've been warned: she lays color tinted eggs.

In Henny's case, the egg color is an unfortunate pale green. Actually, let's be honest here: it's a downright ugly green. It recalls to you the Dr. Seuss book, Green Eggs and Ham, only of course, the inside of a Henny green egg is the same as a regular brown or white egg. All eggs start off being white, but as they pass through the chicken's oviduct, some breeds throw out a pigment -- genetically predetermined for the duration of a hen's egg laying career. Henny's has a brown tint to is as well -- a real charmer, no?






Henny, couldn't you do something just a tad more cheerful?

As is our habit on rushed and gray mornings, we eat breakfast in the kitchen.






I look out with longing at the porch. This stalled spring is not what you want to see after a season of little snow and dull colors outside. Never mind -- a few more days and we'll be on our way again to full blown spring.


I'm at Snowdrop's home in time for her breakfast and bath routines. The little girl is bouncy today! On the chair, off the chair, then on again, expounding.






The cats watch her from a distance (as is their habit). When one parades close by, she offers him her penguin toy, but he will have none of it.






She is used to this haughtiness on their part. She turns away and finds a more enthusiastic audience elsewhere -- in grandma.

She picks up a remote control and starts her game of running with it from one room to the next. They say toddlers don't really know how to run. Those who say this have not seen Snowdrop on the go.






This is when I know it's time to suggest an outing. You need only ask -- "want to go for a walk?" -- and her whole demeanor changes. We hunt for shoes, jackets, a penguin companion. She is so anxious that the expedition not be derailed -- that she did not misunderstand, that it really is an outing, yes, right now, outside, yes, yes!

She breathes a sigh of relief once I put her in the stroller.

It's not exactly inviting outside, but it's just a tad warmer than yesterday (in the mid forties) and the rains have acquiesced -- holding back until we're done with our hour long adventure. Yes, we do go to the distant coffee shop and you might think that this is why Snowdrop loves the walks so much, but I don't believe that. She shows no impatience as we stroll through the neighborhood. She is interested in what she sees. And she seems happy to listen to the songs that I sing during our walks. They're always the same: going there it's this, coming back it's that.

At the coffee shop, we go through all our usual habits -- the waiting, the ordering, the picking up of the high chair...






I almost don't bother taking out the camera -- same old crumb eating image, after all -- but honestly, it always makes me smile to see Snowdrop so captivated by someone at another table. This is what deserves a photo.





The two women who catch her attention are delighted by her and I see that this at once pleases her and causes her to turn just a little more shy than she used to be. I tell them that we have this habit of coming down here -- an excuse for me to sip an espresso and for her to get a bit of another world in her day. The women are school teachers and we all wonder if modeling patience and quietness and yes, friendliness in a cafe stays with a child (they argue vehemently that it does). Snowdrop does display her best manners this morning by waiting patiently by the stroller, penguin in hand, until I am ready to put on her jacket and swing her inside.

I don't know a parent or a grandparent who does not want a child to be polite and respectful. Snowdrop is surely on her way to being aware of her environment and of the expectations that come with participating in something that is inherently an adult activity. (At home, she has her pranks that she loves playing on me to get a reaction going. Even at this age, the girl seems to sense that this is okay for home, but not for a coffee shop.)


In the evening, the rains threatened again, but another truck came by and dumped its load of chips on our driveway. We have to make a dent in distributing the shredded bark and so I heave loads onto crucial spots, while the cheepers watch, hoping that below that load of timber there would be a pot of gold. Or in the alternative -- worms. Or at the very least -- stale bread.