Friday

When I am not traveling, I have very humble goals for Ocean photos: I want to pay tribute to the early morning meal that gets me going in the right direction, and in the summer I want to recognize flowers that bloom in the garden, and on days that I see my granddaughter, I want to pick out something in her that made an impression on me that day.

A funny thing happens when several worlds collide (for instance, Snowdrop is at the farmette and does many fascinating things, while flowers bloom, birds sing and maybe all this is taking place during breakfast) -- I can't stop myself from taking another photo and another and one more, until I have maybe 22 and believe me, it may have been four times that if I hadn't restrained myself.

In other words, one thing inspires the next and this interplay is so heavenly, that it spurs me to keep the camera out. (Too, sometimes there'll be so many radiant blooms, or Snowdrop will be a whirlwind of cleverness and delight -- that, too, has me reaching for my camera again and again, despite my humble goals.)

I can't say I ever have flat days when I just do not want to take photos. But there are days when I just want to stay with the basics.

Today is such a day.


It's a gorgeous Friday. Really gorgeous. The daffodils are now running full speed ahead.






And of course, our breakfast is in the sun room.






And then I have the week's dinners to plan and groceries to buy and I put my camera down and I know this is all there will be for you, because in the afternoon, I'll be working in the garden and in the evening, tiredness will seep in.


I have now spent too many weeks preparing land for new plants and yet this is the perpetual challenge in creating gardens. Today, Ed and I try to eradicate a weed that somehow crept in behind our backs and is now threatening to take over the raspberries if not the world (it's the terribly invasive garlic mustard and if you have it in your yard -- do yourself the favor of pulling it out and destroying it now, or else...).

It's not really hard work -- it's a dig and a pull for each of the hundreds of clumps, but it's boring work and in the meantime, the wood chip pile is smoldering (it's so hot in there!), and the beds have holes that need to be covered (thanks, cheepers -- I know you live to scratch, but if you could work around the budding new growth, I'd be deeply appreciative), and the dozens of chomped off tulips have to be buried (I know it's you, groundhog, you fiend, you!)


I add tiny photographic details here. Of Ed examining tenderly the tomato sprouts.






A little sunburned! Damn!

And one of the cheepers, rushing.





Girls, I expect you to get along. That's directed mainly to, you, Scotch. You have to lay off of Henny. Got it? No? Remember, my kick is stronger than your fearsome chase.

In the evening, in a burst of enthusiastic and visionary hope, I cleaned the porch: I stripped all cloth (from the table, the swing back chairs) for laundering, I picked up the debris of winter and I scrubbed off a layer of blown in dirt. Should there be a beautiful hour tomorrow, I'll sit back on the porch and write from there.

that's more like it!

A day that could only please. I find no fault with it at all! It begins with a spectacular morning, with plenty of sunshine. I needn't have bothered with the fleece when I came out to open the coop.






I survey the gardens. Asparagus tips, coming up!
My flowers are tentative. One petal at a time. But I assure them, this is the real deal.






Breakfast in the sun room.





And then Ed and I carry the three big pots of wintered over annuals outside for the season. That's how sure I am of the warmth that finally broke through today!

My day with Snowdrop starts a little later in the morning, but I am with her until her bedtime and so the photos will come flying, especially since I wont see her again until Sunday (the young family has a busy schedule of activities in the next three days). So, lots of Snowdrop today. Lots of sunshine the whole weekend. Lots of joyous celebrating of the outdoors hereafter. (I calculate that the garden starts to look grand in my eyes toward the end of April and stays that way until toward the end of October. That's six months of rapture. We're just at the cusp -- the very best place to be!)


I come in and Snowdrop greets me right away -- grandma, will you please read to me a gazillion books, one right after the other? Please?
God, are your eyes blue today, Snowdrop.





Let's just read one and then -- guess what? We can go out right away!

No complaints there.

In our walk, we do pause at the distant coffee shop, where yes, the raspberry crumb from a scone tastes good...





But the people watching... ah, the people watching!






The day is so sunny, so perfect (in the sixties F by noon), that we detour to the little playground by the lesser lake. By now, a swing is old hat to Snowdrop. A happy hat.

There are a handful of other kids there and this just pleases her no end!






Since they do the slide, she's happy to try it too. With assistance.






Sweet one, the goal is to slide down.
But I like looking at the others from up here!






Let's slide down anyway.






The people watching was better at the top.


We walk over to the beach (as do the other kids). Is it her first time walking across yellow sands? How many beaches will she know in her lifetime?





We go to the water's edge and she is just seconds away from walking right in. But of course she can't and I see that this is going to be a tough one to navigate in the summer. My older daughter swam in Madison's lakes when she was little. By the time my younger one was a toddler, the warning signs went up: keep kids out of the lakes. Even today, a cautious parent warns his little boy -- don't touch the water!






I'm ready to head home, but she is not. Okay, how about looking my way for one last photo by the lake?
Nope. You see, there are these little kids playing over there...






It's past her lunch time/nap time/home time.
We need to go home, Snowdrop.
Funny how quickly they can round the mouth to produce that favorite toddler word.






Oh, but it was a glorious morning!


In the afternoon, we leave the big city and make our way to the farmette.

It's a turning point for Snowdrop, I think. Whereas before, she would be wide eyed and tentative to all that the outside world presented to her, today, she seems so at one with the undulating land, the swoop of the birds, the sway of the willow branches.






(Our tomatoes, outside for the first time today.)






Where is Grandpa Ed? 
In the sheep shed, working. Let's call him out!






He comes. She happily mounts his broad shoulders.
Grandpa Ed, look over there!






But he does have work to do and so we continue on our own.

Grandma, is something different here?
Yes, Snowdrop. We moved some flower pots outside today.






And finally I nudge her inside. There, I show her the New Acquisition -- the much debated table and two chairs. And here are two surprises: first of all, she is a tall girl, but the chair is nonetheless too high for her. She needs help (at least today she needed help) to get up in it and down from it.

But there is also another surprise: she loves it! Loves the confines of the chair. Loves the table play area. Loves that grandma picks up (for now!) whatever she drops to the floor.






Late in the evening, I tell her we need to make pizza for supper.. At first, I place her high chair by the counter and hope for the best. (Here, she adds her punches to the crust dough.)






Eventually, I bring her closer to the pizza, closer to the proccess of putting it together. As some of you have suggested, I place her on the counter, right where the action is. She watches as I distribute the sauce, the garlic, the mushrooms. I tell her it's time for the cheese. I hand her the bag.

Like every great chef, she tastes the cheese before spreading it on the pie. It's fine -- bring it on!






When the pizza is ready (mushrooms and ample garlic), she is too excited, too anxious to get her own piece.






She touches it. Too hot! Tears. But not for long. A few minutes later, she eats as if she hadn't eaten all week.






The sun is sinking quickly now. We go out again. Of course we do! It's so easy!

We walk the farmette, she and I. Behind the barn, to the east, to the west. I show her the daffodils. Anyone else and I would have shuddered: careful careful careful! Flowers. Don't touch! But I say none of this to her. I feel this place is as much hers at it is anyone's. Perhaps it's a grandmother's thing -- the child should not be held back too much.

And of course, she responds withe the greatest gentility and care.






She is my partner here. For sure.






I show her how the sun sets behind the willow and we both look up at the fragment of the moon. Look at the colors, Snowdrop, just look how beautiful it all is!





She looks. She understands.

Wednesday

Perhaps my enthusiasm was premature. We have before us a slow progression toward better times. Emphasis on slow.

It is a cloudy morning and it feels, therefore, as if we arrested the climb out of the weather doldrums. But it's all in the mind. Not too long ago, I would have been very happy to walk over to the chicken coop in just a fleece. Today, I expected at least a feeble ray of sun and was, therefore, a wee bit put off by the gray skies.

Breakfast in the front room.





And then a rush to Snowdrop's home.

My weather maps say (still using caps, because the change to mixed letters wont come until May 11th) TODAY WILL BE TEN DEGREES WARMER THAN YESTERDAY, but of course, yesterday was sunny and in the forties. A cloudy fifties F is nothing to brag about.

But I refuse to admit defeat and acknowledge that we are not yet dancing with May baskets dangling on our elbows and I dress Snowdrop in something that was definitely intended for spring.






That's overshooting the season alright. Never mind. The girl is so very active and the house is warm.

She is a tease today and looks for ways to make me laugh (or to see me respond with shock, which, to her, is equally entertaining).






But the running theme all morning long is clear: she really wants to go out. I mean really, really wants that.
It has to warm up, Snowdrop. Just wait a little while longer. I distract her with her favorite books...





But, not to get repetitive about this -- she really wants to go out, pointing to my shoes, the outdoors, the closet, her shoes, using every signal in her repertoire to get me to understand what I, in fact, do understand and finally I relent.

She is a bit anxious -- really? You wont change your mind? -- until I lay out our jackets, shoes and tell her to go get her penguin of choice for the ride.






We have a wonderful walk through the neighborhood and we do make it to the more distant coffee shop where I pluck out a few raisins from Grandpa Ed's oatmeal raisin cookie. When a crumb goes down the wrong way, I offer her water, catching myself too late that she is perhaps too young to be navigating a cup by herself. But she is very much a girl who likes to take on the new, the challenging. So the swig is a bit full. So what. A wee wet spot on the sweater. Big deal.






In the afternoon, I keep her sweater on, even inside the house. Tomorrow, there is talk of abundant sunshine. That's so wonderful! But today, the sweater stays on.






I drive home in the late afternoon. The truck farmers to the east of the farmette are working the fields -- clearing, burning, cultivating. It's still doesn't look much like a growing season, but believe me, it is that. Very much so.






What, you think Ocean hasn't shown enough of what's blooming out there? Okay, here's a duo of miniature daffodils. Bunches of them line our driveway. It's a cheerful welcome home.

Tuesday

The string of days before us is like a party chain of colorful decorations -- one better than the next! And today is plenty good already.

In the next few photos, pay attention to the sunshine -- it's the star of the morning!






The daffodils are finally releasing their pent up blooms.






The old farmhouse stands ready to admire the show of color that's sure to come now.






Sunshine! It's all about the sunshine today.






(Including at breakfast time.)






And, too, at Snowdrop's home. Here she is, right after her bath. (The girl is not disinterested in playing with cars.)






(I mean, it's not up there with penguins, but it commands a bit of her attention.)






Oh, but books! There are not enough pages to flip out there! It's best in a lap, with someone reading, but it's okay alone, too.






And of course, there is every single day that joyous run.






In the late afternoon, Snowdrop and I do make it to the closer coffee shop. They tell us it's only 48F (8C) outside and I take a protective wool wrap for the little girl's legs. But she doesn't need it. We're fine! We're so happy to be outside!

(She is blissfully oblivious to the themes to the new artwork on the walls.)






On the walk home we sing loudly. The words don't matter. It's all in the rhythm and the strength of the vocalization. Right, Snowdrop?