April 21

Some people wake up on their birthday and think -- I wish no one would remind me it's my birthday. Some (Ed, for example) wake up and don't really remember that it is their day of birth. Some think a party is a cool way to get loud and happy. I know one person who invites a dozen of her best women friends to lunch on her birthday (one year I was included, other years I was not). And if you're the Queen of England (she and I share this date for a birthday), you can let the populace cheer and you can keep the bars open past their normal closing hour.

What I think is grand is that everyone is pretty much free to interpret this day as they wish. Ignore it, revel in it, talk about it, stay silent -- it's yours and the wonderfully democratic thing about it is that everyone's got one (and thus we all have to share -- as I do with the Queen).

Me, I shamelessly admit to loving my birthday, though I can't quite figure out why. Neither can Ed, but he surprised me last night by coming home from his evening bike ride with a bag full of chocolate bars and a birthday card. Knowing how much he likes to avoid engaging in the traditional and emotive, I was touched.






This morning, before breakfast, I watch the rabbit family cavort around the big wood pile. The groundhog made a dash for her hiding place under the writer's shed. Birds chirp, hens cluck. It's all so lovely. And yes, there will be sunshine. I can tell.






From the garden, let me highlight my favorite narcissus from the current bloomers. It's sometimes called the Chinese Sacred Lily:






And boom! Here comes sunshine! The farmette, as viewed from the porch:






Yes, we eat breakfast on the porch. It's warm enough!






... and today you're stuck with a photo of me as well (straight out of the shower). To demonstrate I made it to 63.






We talk about a number of things pertaining to our work outside. A recurrent topic has been that of acquiring ducks. Ed things it's a grand idea, as they eat slugs, bugs and other such nonsense. I'm hesitant. Ducks also eat flowers and trample over gardens. I already have to repair damage to the flower fields every single day as the cheepers claw at them regularly with their dinosaur feet in search of bugs. I don't want to wake up to shredded daylilies, gratis a pair of ducks.

But we talk about it anyway.
We could use an old tin tub for their water play. Or Snowdrop's wagon...
No!
Alright, a tub.
With fencing around their area of play.
Some people say if they have enough space, they wont damage the yard...
Other people say they eat literally everything. Like goats, only with webbed feet...

And so on.


The rest of the day is so much like any other that Ed can rightly say -- you see, every day is like your birthday! And yet... There are the thoughtful and lovely gifts from my daughters. And there is that wonderful cheerfulness to this day. I'll love any day that oozes good cheer!


A few Snowdrop moments, for she, of course, is very much part of this day:

After her bath, as we study yesterday's photos.






Then, upon hearing the magic words (want to go outside?) she looks at me instantly and asks in her way -- you mean we can go out, out, out, over there, now?






Shoes, socks, sweater.
Ready? Go get your penguin!






Neighborhood walk:






All the way to the distant coffee shop where again it's warm enough to sit outdoors.






Trying to stay away from overly sweet bites, I've not given her anything with chocolate, but I decide that we can celebrate my birthday by buying a chocolate chip cookie today -- mostly for Ed, but with a bit broken off for us to share. Does she love it? Sure, though not as much as watching the baby at the table next to ours.






She's down to one nap now and she wakes up after it tussled but happy.






I watch her leaf through books and I think about how much joy she gets just from studying the pages.







It's nearly evening. I drive back to the farmette where honestly, I don't remember ever seeing such beautiful old orchard trees on April 21st!






In the evening, Ed and I join his friends who are in town for a dinner at Brasserie V. Corks pop, french fries sizzle.






But at 63, you make a point of coming home in time to see the sun go down behind the willow. There are cheepers to lock up, tomato plants to take inside.






And that's such a good thing!

Wednesday

There comes a time when spring sunshine turns into summer heat and you no longer wake up with a grin when you see slivers of gold across your pillow at daybreak. But we're not there yet.

There comes a time when daffodils will no longer thrill you, because other flowers will be catching your attention. We're not there yet either.





We're up early and so the day's warmth has not yet taken hold. We eat breakfast, therefore, in the sun room (rather than out on the porch).






Ed muses -- do you think I need a haircut?
That's a roundabout way of asking me to trim his shaggy head. I have ten minutes before I have to leave for Snowdrop's home. Can I get it done? Yes, sort of. I zip through the job and hope that when I come home later tonight I wont think - oh, no! that looks awful!


Speaking of shaggy heads, this girl surely woke up with one this morning! (It's breakfast and, like her grandma, Snowdrop loves her berries!)






There may come a time when the little girl will not be especially into photos -- either the taking of them or looking at them. But right now, after her bath, she loves to sit on my lap and study the flickr (photo storage) page on my computer, where at the moment she appears on numerous occasions.






Will there ever be a time when books wont thrill her? Because right now, they do.






Just before noon, the sun pokes through the clouds and I think this is a great signal for us to head out for a walk. We make it to the distant coffee shop where the barista, who recognizes us from the rather regular visits, inquires -- are you her mother? (Which is a polite way of asking -- what's the deal here with you guys? Who's who and doing what?)
I laugh -- as I am one day shy of 63, it would be some kind of miracle! I'm her grandma.


There will come a time when I will sit with this girl at an outdoor cafe in a striking place, surrounded by great food, delivered by expertly professional waiters. Today, we settle for a table in the parking lot of the distant cafe and we drag chair, coffee and scone there ourselves. But it's grand nonetheless. Against the heat of the wall, we take our jackets off and soak in the glorious warmth of this April 20th.






Yes, but is she happy?






Without doubt.






I thought that the time would never come when Snowdrop would love the swing. Not only has it come, but she is so in love with it, that it is impossible to coax her down. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Past lunchtime, past nap time, back and forth...






Finally I suggest we walk back together, holding hands. That makes her happy.

And yes, there comes a time when your toddler granddaughter would rather be pushing the stroller than be pushed in it.





Oh, Snowdrop!


If time is more on my mind today, it's because lovely celebrations of my birthday (which is tomorrow) start tonight, as my daughter takes me out for drinks at the Robin Room. It's a beautiful place, with delicious concoctions. Just the two of us. We leave Snowdrop with her dad. Time to revel in an adult moment.






(Oh, but which drink is best?)






(The bar tender prepares our selection with utmost care.)






(Perfect!)





Perfect ... yes, truly that. Well, there should be a third glass -- my younger daughter's. Soon! In the meantime -- perfect.

Tuesday

If yesterday morning and evening (that is in the hours I was not with Snowdrop) I planted day lilies in the former tiger lily spots, divided and moved the yellow cone flower clumps, dug up and moved hostas, planted sweet pea vines, and pulled out what seemed hundreds of garlic mustards (to his credit, Ed pulled out even more), today I did none of that. Take away the sun and you have an April day of the sort where you hesitate before plunging into any project outdoors. After all, it may rain.

On my early walk to the coop, I keep my hands clean of dirt. They're roughened by unplanned spot diggings (I wear sturdy Farm & Fleet gloves, unless I start pulling, scraping, working the soil on the spot, without reaching for them -- this happens far too often).

I pause to admire the daffodils -- especially those in the western field -- they always bloom first.






Breakfast is in the kitchen. Too cold to eat out on the porch. [You have to laugh at that last statement. Just a few weeks back I would not have attached the words "too cold" to anything that promised to reach the upper fifties F. Now I think that reading is chilly and uninviting.]






I leave early for Snowdrop's home. There I tell her  -- it's back to tights, little one. Or, how about a pair of pants and a work shirt?

From bath, straight to "her car," with "cell phone" in hand. Great going, Snowdrop!






Who on earth are you texting, little girl?






I have a better idea. Want to read me a book, grandma? Or ten? Or twenty?






(After a book, or twenty...) How about a walk before the rain comes down? 
Yes!
With a pause at the distant coffee shop? 
Yes!

(At the coffee shop.) You know the routine. Let's find the high chair.






Look penguin! Someone's smiling at us! Penguin just stares at the cookie, wondering if he gets to partake.






The showers start just as we get back. This is the time to return to the book. Or twenty.






In the afternoon, the rains come down good and hard. Snowdrop knows this. There is a wistfulness about her...






But not for long. We go to the kitchen and play "chef." She's "mixing" here, very expressively of course.






And then I return home. Warm soup for tonight. Seems strange to bring back the comfort foods, but there you have it. April is very unpredictable.

Monday

We both rose with the sun today -- a demonstration of how full our plates are (or, in the alternative, how beautiful the day is this early morning).






With yesterday's filling of (most of) the pots with annuals, we've added color to the farmette in that sudden way that only planting more mature plants can accomplish. I used to scoff at annuals because in the past, greenhouses seemed to limit selections to marigolds and pansies. Or so it appeared to me. But as taste for gardening grew and expanded beyond the tried and true, so did the selection of plants. Yesterday at Kopke's I may have recognized half their offerings. At best. And so I've come back to these wonderful summer-long bloomers. I remember too well that on my late October visit to Giverny, I found that perennials had mostly finished their season, while the annuals soldiered on.

Here are a few pots, to give credit to what's really blooming in my gardens right now (and yes, I do include the violas, or violets, or johnny jump ups, which look like pansies, but their petal configuration is actually different)...






Well, too, I must include the daffodils. This is their prime time.






Our weather has been great the past few days -- too great for April. We'll go back to what this period typically offers (60 F, if we're not unlucky), but today we climbed to 81F  (27C). That's July weather! I can honestly say that it felt uncomfortably hot in the sun.

But great for a breakfast on the porch!






Snowdrop came a tad earlier than she usually does on Mondays -- straight from bed, still in her jammies. We were just finishing breakfast and so she joined us on the porch, thrilled to be appropriating the slingback chair again.






Bathed and dressed, she climbs onto grandpa Ed's chest and attempts to feed him some jam from one of those little jars I must have appropriated from some breakfast table elsewhere. (She loves to open our pantry door and reach for what's inside.) Can't open it, Snowdrop? A shame...






Alright. Let's not waste this summer-like day. Out we go!
And of course, guess who follows us as we walk the farmette lands...






Snowdrop takes off. Gone are the days of tentativeness and uncertainty.






Yes, little one, I know there are twigs on the ground from the willow. And that the grass is too tall. You see, we're kind of lackadaisical about stuff like that.
She's not put off by it. We continue along.






As do the cheepers, though they keep to the shade. If I were to guess which they dislike most -- the hot sun or cold winter winds -- I'd say it's a toss up.






Back inside now.
Grandma, do you think I have enough books about penguins?






She runs. Oh, it's good to be barefoot again!
Do I look like I'm flying, grandma?






There are many ways to read a book. Alone. Nestled in a lap. And now -- at the table.
Hey, we're both in polka dots! Coincidence.






Can I try the other chair?
Sure, Snowdrop.






During her nap time, I have a gentle coffee break out on the porch...





... and then I test the limits of the baby monitor by going out into the yard to study our landscaping work for this spring.

Alright. I have a planting schedule in mind. It's doable. I retreat to the farmhouse just as Snowdrop is starting to wake up.

Afternoon meal? Well, I thought about how I've favored the packs of pureed grains and vegetables for her (because they are nutritionally superior to anything I would whip up for her) and how maybe I should concentrate not only on nutritional value, but also on different textures and eating options.   So I make her a grilled cheese sandwich of sorts and I serve it with a cup of milk, using big girl cups and adult plates.





Oh, you amazing child, you like it all, don't you? Not for you the petty fusses of this or that. You just take on whatever the world (and within it grandma) presents to you.


Time to take you home. Ed, can you help me out a bit? I'm loaded down.

He does. She loves it.





On a day like this, what's there not to love?