his thoughts, her thoughts, my thoughts

We finished moving food out of the warm refrigerator by midnight. Now came the puzzling question: what went wrong? The fridge was not especially expensive, but it was well rated by Consumer Reports. We bought it when I moved to the farmhouse some five years back.

These machines now have codes and flashing numbers and a whole plethora of bells and whistles to alert the repair person to what's malfunctioning. But it's not information that's readily available to the consumer.

Unless you're an Ed.

Not for him the normal response: call the repair person, get a diagnosis, pay for a fix, resume your normal life.

He searches the web all night until he finds the probably cause, removes the troubled circuit board (officially called a "jazz control board"), and makes a list of places in town that might stack a replacement for the defective part. 

Unfortunately, to buy the board locally (rather than having it shipped from who knows where), you have to pay a couple of dollars more.

Well so what??? If we don't fix the fridge today, then I can't grocery shop tomorrow and (for complicated reasons) I can't shop Saturday either so we'll wind up doing take out, or eating out, which will more than offset the savings of having the part shipped! -- That's my reasoning.

And Ed?

So you really really want me to buy the board today for 125 when I can get it possibly as soon as next week for 85?
Yes!
You really need the refrigerator that soon?
Yes!
You want me to go all the way to the next town to get that expensive part?
Yes!
Now?
Yes!

He mulls this over for a bit.

But first there's a work phone call for him and I throw my hands up and retire to the porch to eat my own breakfast. He joins me, skyping with his work buddies as we eat.






(View from the porch these days...)






(Like in Giverny last October, here, too, the blooms are more than 80% annuals.)






In the end, he does get the part, but he remains troubled by the added expense, even though in exchange for it, I tell him that we'll cancel our date night dinner out tonight and we'll scavenge around and see what's still fresh among the foods we salvaged from the dead refrigerator last night.


It's been an unusually warm early Fall. Yes, we ate breakfast on the porch. And when I pick up Snowdrop, she lets me know that she does not need a sweater.






Happy girl! She carries her lunch bag to the waiting stroller, delighted that I have in mind a brief walk now.






It doesn't take much to figure out that she wants to go to the playground.

I'm on top of the world here!






Indeed. This one small playground is perfect for her age: there's nothing on it that she doesn't like or can't do these days.






After, we pause ever so briefly at the coffee shop -- mostly so that I can get a take-out cup of the strong stuff (it was a very full night).

You're not forgetting the cookie, are you grandma?






On the walk home, I can't help but notice that the air feels like late summer, but the trees are telling us we're long past that season.






Oh no, grandma! There's a fallen branch blocking our path!
Walk around it, little one.






And at home she plays with her new plastic love -- a rocket launch pad.






Blast off! Again and again.






And she drives, or pretends to drive. Happy to take you on as a passenger...





And finally she begs to wear my shoes.
Too big!
Not too big...

Too big!!!!






Want to go out again, Snowdrop?
Oh yes!!!





Yeah, a happy girl. This is where my thoughts overlap so perfectly with hers and his: she's happy.

And that's such a beautiful thing.

Wednesday

Where do hours disappear? One minute I wake up and walk in the predawn light to the chicken coop, marveling at the stretch of day before me, next thing -- I'm watching the sun recede at a galloping pace to the west. How is it that a day can move forward so fast?

Officially, or at least in my calculus, the day begins at the breakfast table.






But I will have accomplished a lot by then. Routine stuff. And always, there will be at least a glance at the yard. No matter what the season. Honestly, every square foot of farmette dirt is known to me by now. I take note. I think about what must be done this month. Not today though. Not today.






Very quickly the noon hour rolls around and I am at Snowdrop's school. She must have climbed onto the bench by the window, because as I approach, I hear her chirpy voice -- gaga! Hi gaga!






She wants to go for a walk as soon as we leave school, but I tell her we have errands to do and despite her tiredness and her need for a nap, she willingly goes along: to Paul's coffee shop for a container of pickles...





Then to the library to pick up several things that are on hold. It's been months since we've been here together, but she remembers well where the children's computer is. And though I don't manipulate it for her and do not bring forth anything that she might actually like to see or do, she loves to work the mouse and see what effect it has on the screen.






At the farmette, she lingers. I know she wants to head out in the wagon, but I cannot give in to this now. Reluctantly, she goes inside.






Ah-ah is there and she coaxes him to sit on her bike.She herself wont do it yet. She pushes herself around on a trike at school every day, but the two wheeler gives her pause. Still, she loves the helmet!







And then it's nap time and after -- snack time and I see the telltale western sunlight dancing across her face as she feeds her "bis." Yes, the day is nearly over.






One quick stroll with the little one across the fields to our east and we're done.





Well, we're not really done. Snowdrop goes home of course. Ed and I settle in for our usual evening meal and our low key activities. When it's nearly midnight, he coaxes me into a dish of ice cream. He takes it out of the freezer. The ice cream is very soft. As Snowdrop would say -- oh-oh!

Indeed. The refrigerator is not working. We spend the next set of hours trying to figure out what's wrong. Nothing helps. There is a small fridge in the sheep shed and we carry the essentials there for the night. I wish I could say we do it by the light of the moon, but clouds have rolled in and it's a dark night. I'm thinking that tomorrow will be another such day where the hours run away from us all too quickly.

Tuesday in photos

A working breakfast. We discuss how it is that people engage in risky ventures.






The coming of fall at the farmette...






I pick up Snowdrop at school -- I ask her if she wants to go to the coffee shop. No , she says. This way! She points to the playground behind it. I smile.

She tries the last of the big slides. The one that twists and turns. Success!






I take the swing photo because it is a guarantee of a smile.






We then go to the coffee shop. She is so good at drinking from a big person glass!






At home, she plays with her toy cat. She feeds it blueberries. She understands that the real cats aren't ready to be her best pals. She makes do.






After her nap, she wants to be outside again. We walk over to the park just down the road.

We race each other on parallel slides.






At home again, we play ball. I don't quite know how to play football, but at this age I think I'm okay with just throwing the football and shouting "touchdown!" Snowdrop is delighted.






Because she is a well rounded child, she then switches to dress up. 





Go out! Shop!
Not today, Snowdrop. Not today.





But I love your choice of shopping attire!

Evening. At home. Cooking supper. Watching the vice presidential debate.

travails of farmette life

As predicted -- it is a brilliant day out there! Autumnal and lovely.






At breakfast we talk about what needs to be done. Oftentimes this is idle chat. We make up a list and then do not follow it.






But today, Ed finally fills the mower with gas and sets to cutting back the grassy fields of the farmette. We try to make the fields smaller each year by replacing them with flower beds or vegetable gardens, but three acres is a lot of land and so there remain stretches of grass that right now look like we're getting the land ready for a flock of pasture animals -- the grass is that tall.

Once he works the mower over to what I call the wedding pasture (it's where tents were set up a few years back for my daughter's wedding), I wave him to a stop. He does not turn off the engine, but looks at me questioningly.
Turn it off!
I can't. It's charging.
Okay, but I need to mow here. For five minutes.
You'll have to sit down as I get off, otherwise it'll stop the engine as I get up from the seat.

We do this complicated maneuver.

The reason I always want to mow here is that Ed dances around emergent raspberry canes. He wont cut them back and I know too well that if we let them go, we'll basically have a farmette of raspberry canes.

I mow the area I want cleared. Done.

No Ed on the horizon. I continue mowing.

Ten minutes later, I'm still mowing. And still no Ed.

One hour later, I'm still mowing and cursing under my breath, because the machine is moving very slowly and many of the tall grasses have to be mowed over two or three times before I'm satisfied.

Finally, as I steer the mower toward the next field, I see Ed trotting toward me.
Where were you??? I shout over the noise of the machine.
He reaches for the key and turns off the motor. Waiting for you to stop. 
I thought you couldn't turn off the engine!
It's charged already.
I did not know that. He glances at me with that "well, you should have known that" look. 
Besides, it's moving so slowly I could hardly get it to work.
He looks over at the controls: you've been mowing on idle???!?
What do you mean?
All this time, you had the throttle set on idle? No wonder it had no oomph!
But that's the way you had it!
Gorgeous, I pushed it down only because we were switching places...

I think I just am not good with machines.

And of course, by now the morning is gone and it is time to pick up Snowdrop.


The little one had a busy and full half day. The kids spent a good bit of time outdoors and I was not surprised to arrive and find the "all day" kids all fast asleep on their little cots.

Snowdrop rarely gives in to tiredness and indeed, as we step outside, she asks to go for a walk. I'm thinking -- this burst of energy can't last. I'll indulge it.






And then I cajole her into the car with promises of the red wagon, strawberries and favorite stuffies all waiting for her at the farmhouse.






Once home, we set out for a wagon ride -- it's easy going, now that the grass is cut!

When the place was overgrown and impassable, she'd wanted to go to the farm fields to the east of us. Today, I push the wagon there, proud of myself for mowing down a path straight to it.






She is only mildly interested. She admires a few field flowers...






Then turns and heads back toward the farmhouse.





No problem, Snowdrop! You must be hungry for a light snack of fruit...

(She loves picking out people on the Paris place mat picture and giving them identities. The guy with the baguette is daddy. The cool looking woman reading a book is mommy. Etc.)






She plays for a few minutes, but perhaps the little toy wagon reminds her of the great outdoors again because she asks with great urgency to go out once more.






Okay, Snowdrop. We'll go feed the chickens bread.

She's thrilled with the idea, sporting her own piece of whole wheat bread to keep them company in their snack.





I didn't see Butter eyeing Snowdrop's wee hand and missed shooing her off as the white hen reached up and ever so nimbly took the bread straight from Snowdrop's hand.
Mine! Snowdrop cries in anguish.
She didn't know. I explain that cheeper cognitive abilities and perceptions of possession are far less sophisticated than ours, but I know that for today, Snowdrop has had her fill of farmette chickens.

And I know as well that the girl is way overdue for a nap.

And she sleeps for a long time.

After? She looks at me inquisitively: what now, ga ga?





I tell her -- we have to fix your high chair.

It's a decorative fix: pegs have to be hammered in to cover up screws -- but I hadn't wanted to wake her and so I waited 'til now.

She is fascinated.

But intimidated. A hammer? Bang bang bang? You do it ga ga!
No, you help me, Snowdrop.






Phew. Heavy hammer. Hard work. Bang bang bang!

Job well done.






And I think it is so interesting that immediately after the hammer work, she asks to go upstairs and she reaches for my bowl of amber beads. But here's a catch: they get caught in her hair, again and again.

Snowdrop, let's pull your hair back in a pony tail. See? Gaga is sporting a pony tail.

I pull her hair back with one of my bands.






She can't see it of course, but she feels it (again and again). I show her (again and again) my own pony tail and she gets that this is what she has now.






Well, so long as we're in the big bedroom, can we open up the closet and get gaga's shoes?






Snowdrop, they're too big! Fine, put them on. But they're too big!
I can do it!

(Let's not tell her that she got the shoes on the wrong feet.)






She then tries on a pair of my slippers. She can actually walk in these and now she is hell bent on showing off her new look to ah ah.






It takes a lot of cajoling to get her to give up "dress up play" in favor of going outside. (Note that the beads stay on.)






She takes her owl purse with her and in this last photo, she reminds me of an old woman out there in central Europe going out to the market to pick up the week's supply of pickles or beets for borstch.





We take a spin around the fields once more. You've seen photos of her, of the flowers, of the fading crops. Let me end with one of the sky. That great Midwestern sky, all full of clouds and rays of sunshine and patches of heaven tinted in shades of cornflower blue.