Thursday

As I studied the weather map for the day, I almost regretted having wished for rain. I'll take that slow British drizzle. Storms? I'm not a fan.

It seemed a bit drab outside this morning and my walk through the yard was on the quick side. What's blooming? Let's go deeper into one of the flower beds: this Globe flower (Trollius) is just starting, which is perhaps a tad late for it. It's a moisture loving plant but it's happy in this partly shady area, chipped heavily to keep the soil from drying out.






Oh, and on this rather somber day, why not bring out the color of the coral bells? This is the plant that you love for the leaves as much as for the dainty flower stalks. (There are three here, lining the walkway, each with a different leaf color.)






Okay, straight to breakfast. Ed rouses himself from a day of rest. It's cloudy and about to rain, but warm enough to sit on the porch.






And then the rain does come, just as I drive up to Snowdrop's home.

She's as always, full of vim and vigor and she indicates in her usual way that going outside would be her idea of a good time. But it's a no go. The rain may be helping the plants at the farmette, but it's not making a little girl happy about having to stay indoors.

Never mind. She invents games that test her constantly shooting up height..

(Playing on the table...





... while the cat watches.)






... and she uses not a small amount of energy playing ball, which, in her version of it, requires quite a bit of running.






But when the rain stops and the storms seem to have skirted again the greater Madison area, I acquiesce and we venture out. To the closer coffee shop, where she surveys the clientele...






... then the art...






... then contemplates life.






She insists on walking home by herself and aside from street crossings, I let her. She has earned this little bit of freedom.







I go home then and catch up on computer work and paper work and singularly uninteresting tasks, pausing only to give the cheepers their bread treat...






... and then to go to the local market with Ed, where we talk to a farmer (who actually knows something about growing things) about growing buckwheat...






... and buy these beautiful berries from another farmer...






And then it's evening and I see Snowdrop once more, this time at the farmette.

Everything I'll write about  now, you'll have heard and seen before: Snowdrop and cheepers, willow branches, running freely through a field, making pizza at the farmhouse -- none of it is new. And yet, when you navigate the evening with a Snowdrop (or any little one), suddenly it's not the same. It's completely different. The sounds are unique to this season, to this day (she looks in awe at the hawks, listens to the multitude of birds, watches the bunny cavort before her). Tomorrow, she will be that much older and her reactions will be fresh and lovely to observe. Think how mundane our daily tasks are (cleaning a house, going to a grocery store, pulling a weed from a yard) and how un-mundane a simple evening walk is to a very young child.

(With the cheepers...)






(Watching the bunny rabbit...)






(Swaying the willow branches...)


 



(Running through a grassy field...)






(Helping make the pizza...)






(Waiting for it to bake and climbing on grandpa Ed to help pass the time...)






(Fresh and honest...)






I never heard a single rumble of thunder today. And the rain was modest. Maybe I should hope for just a tad more rain? If not, bringing out the hose this weekend isn't such a bad way to while away an hour here and there.

Wednesday

It's a rare day when one of us is not feeling up to snuff here at the farmhouse, but for Ed, today is such a day (he would deny this, so don't bother asking "how are you?" -- you're just going to get "great!"). I blame the frozen peas I told him not to eat.

The rhythm of the farmette gets a little thrown off when this happens. If he doesn't sleep well, I don't sleep well, so rest is rather elusive.

I finally get up just at the crack of dawn (that would be 5:18) and my early photos are all on the "new day is dawning" theme.






Every single one seems to be about sunshine poking through.






Even when I give one more nod to the peonies.





I do have to admit, the absence of rain is not good for anything. I'm watering all new plantings -- one bed each day (I have 8 major beds), but watering is a poor substitute for a good soak. (And no, I don't do soaking hoses. Watering is my hour of meditation. You can't meditate watching water drip out of a soaking hose.)

I have breakfast while Ed sleeps. Sleep is his way of dealing with just about any malaise.






And then I'm off to be with Snowdrop.

Now there's a perky child! Here she is, after her bath, running with an open book, telling a story with dramatic emphases. Clearly at this point, the tale has taken a frightening twist.






Yes, but does it have a happy ending?? She leaves me hanging.






We take a walk to the coffee shop and her mom joins us. Snowdrop has forgotten about strawberry tarts and delves with relish into bits of an oatmeal raisin cookie.






That was great, grandma!






We alternate between walking and pushing the little one in a stroller.






And then, at home again, Snowdrop and I play. Of course we play. But what? Well, there's "shapes." Circle goes in the circle, heart goes in the heart...






Okay, cool. But can't I put heart on my shoulder just for fun?







Or behind my back...






Ah, Snowdrop!


They say it will rain tomorrow. I don't believe it. I throw some water on the western bed that hasn't seen moisture for a while.

A message comes in from Al, the beekeeper. If we can establish buckwheat, he'll split one of his hives here. (Will we be bee keepers, or simply enablers in bee keeping operations?)

Days are so full of uncertainty. Will it be this way, will it be that? Should we even fuss?

But too, there are things that are rock solid. I love you, you love me, said to the ones in your life who really matter. No reminders needed, even as reminders are always welcome.

Tuesday

Walking the land -- you've heard me say it: Ed and I walked the land. Snowdrop and her parents walked the land. Snowdrop and grandma walked the land.

For me, observing the changes that take place around us figures prominently into this, but I do it, too, to take note of where interventions are needed.

This morning, after letting the cheepers out, I walked from back to front, taking note where a plant was dug out (thanks, young squirrels and chipmunks!) and of course, appreciating the blooms that are about to subside and in places -- beginning to emerge.





When a sleepy Ed asks me -- what's new with the cheepers? -- I give him a report on the eggs (Scotch has stopped laying, so we typically get 2 - 3 each day), I tell him that the coop needs fresh wood shaving, and then I complain about my dug up and decapitated plant.

He responds -- but you have so many that are thriving! I remind him how terrible he felt when we found two tomato bushes destroyed by some animal. We had planted over 100 tomato plants, which is substantially too many for our needs and yet we grieved the loss of two! You get very invested in things you grow and though I have hundreds or perhaps thousands of plants that I put in, divided, started from seed, ordered from catalogues, picked up from the market, moved from isolation to prominence etc etc, I honestly know where each is and how it is faring.






As I approach the new front road bed, I am surprised to see the cheepers, too, walking the land. It's one of their endearing traits: they set out as a foursome and they move in tandem, pecking here and there, completing a circuit. (They do this once, sometimes twice each day.)






Me, I don't stay out long. It's cloudy and cool this morning (and still with no sign of rain).

I hide under the bed covers and study kiddie pools on the internet, thinking that when it gets hot, perhaps Snowdrop would love to play in one at the farmette.
Don't buy one. This from Ed.
I think she'd like it.
There'll be mosquitoes..
I can place it in a clearing.
I'll build you one.
How will you build a kiddie pool for a toddler?
With boards and tarp.

Sigh. Ed really does hate adding stuff. Use what you find. Don't add. I agree in principle. But sometimes what you find just isn't as good as a molded piece of plastic picked up from a big box. Do you stick to your principles then?



We eat breakfast inside. 58F (14C) would have been lovely at the beginning of April, but now we are spoiled. Too cool for a meal on the porch.





And immediately after, Al and his wife come over to walk the land with us. They're bee keepers and they're assessing the farmette to see if they can place a hive in one of the farther corners. It's all about the availability of flowering material. They're intrigued by our buckwheat project.

It looks promising. Perhaps next spring.

I zip up my jacket and take out rosie the red moped. Brrr! It's a cold ride to Snowdrop's home!


When I get there, she is still in her pajamas...





We go through the morning rituals, which include a bath and a lot of play...

(Two balls, Snowdrop?)






(So many books, so little time...)






... and then we set out for a walk to the park.

She uses the swing, surveys the equipment, but prefers the grassy fields for dandelion picking.






At least at this stage, she'll pick a good romp over a good slide or climb.






There are no children or people here today and I watch her in her solitary play and I offer my services as a "flower transporter" -- which basically means taking the dandelions and saving them for "later."






We walk then to the coffee shop, she eats a bit of scone...





... we go home.

And in the afternoon I am back at the farmette and the air is so cool that I am not at all tempted to be outside. I take a nap -- a rare but wonderful occurrence for me! And by the time I wake up, the sun is out and I am out there with it, giving water to the pots and crossing my fingers for rain this week.

if it's Monday...

On the downside, we're not getting the rain. I foresee a week of dragging out the hose.

On the upside, it's just such a gorgeous day!

Let's take a peek at the garden first. These bells always look more like trumpets to me -- poised to announce their magnificence!






By 5:30, the cheepers are really anxious to be out. They peck at the wire door as if it should magically open for them. When I unlock the hatch, they lunge for the great outdoors, stretch their legs, dust off their feathers and immediately come back to me for a corn treat.






Meanwhile, back in the garden: Wait, have you forgotten about us? We're not done with our joyful bloom yet!






I see you, peonies. But I also see the dainty evening primrose in the bed that abuts the road. (The oenothera is not really a primrose, and it also blooms in the mornings, but nicknames stick and most people will say -- oh, what a gorgeous evening primrose!.)






We have a half leisurely breakfast on the porch.

[To the commenter who wonders about ants on our cut peonies -- the answer is "it depends." Most are free of ants by the time the blooms are fully open. We have, to my count, about a dozen peony bushes at the farmette and when they fall (and even when staked, they fall), it's time to cut them back and bring in the flowers. And to the commenter who tells the story of her son getting stung by a peony wasp -- yes, I see them on the buds as well. I will be very surprised if Snowdrop sails through her farmette days without some sting. Having myself spent childhood summers in the country, I know too well the sting of wasps and the tangled bee in my hair or, worse, the bare foot on a bed of clover where, inevitably, there will be the poor bee. But I haven't given up on bees or clover. Wasps -- well, if Ed wasn't around, I'd probably take a wack at them now and then.]






Breakfast is "half leisurely" because Ed and I have a meeting about protecting the endangered wetlands to the east of us.  I ride my rose-ah-roo and though it's not supposed to rain (see first paragraph), on my return I go through an unusual cloud pattern of gray mists of a faint shower against a blue sky. The farmers never even pause.






And because it's Monday, Snowdrop comes over to the farmette. Ah, there she is, walking up the path to the farmhouse. With the chickens, who are convinced she carries with her bread.






So of course, we must then bring them bread.


It's like this, cheepers...






I shall cast a spell on you!






And then you will do as I say!






We leave the cheepers  behind and head for greener pastures. Oh, how green it all is! It still boggles the mind that the world can be this transformed in such a short space of time.






I tell Snowdrop how cool it is to simply let yourself fall into the grass. Me, I would just lie there and take it all in, but Snowdrop loves the act of falling down and she does it again...






... and again.






And for the record, let it be noted here that she is the only one at the farmette who adores the purple flowers of a creeping charlie (an invasive that threatens to creep too much into nearly everything).






As I noted some time ago, she now also adores her red wagon. Grandma pulling her around in it? The best! Go, grandma, go!






I show her the first tomato!






And of course, we have to admire the vineyard! Look, Snowdrop, do you see the baby grapes?






Can we keep on going?






Let's return to the yellow house now, little one. Grandpa Ed just came up from his workshop in the sheep shed.






Yep, he's in the kitchen. Acrobatics!






Why she loves this is beyond me, but she does.






Eventually, they settle into a quieter game of ball. He bounces it to her and it flies between her arms and she laughs and laughs.






Ed is fixing himself a leftover lunch and so she must eat too (or else she'll snitch stuff off his plate and he will not protest). She keeps an eye on what he's up to:






And in the afternoon she and I run errands. We go to Paul's Cafe to get pickles (they're out of them, but I promised her a small treat and so we pause for one).






And we stop at the library where she spends a good bit of time studying the antics of others...





... before settling into a routine of picking out books for some hypothetical future read.


Tonight, I watch a documentary on the Normandy invasion of June 6, 1944. Yeah, images of the American Cemetery come back. How could they not...