Monday in photos

Yesterday, Ed and I did a detour to Farm and Fleet and though I promised myself I would buy not a single tulip bulb (I lost more than half in spring to animals), in the end, I could not resist. Now, when to plant them?

I start this morning. By the end of the day I have 12 in the ground and about 100 various other bulbs still in the mudroom, waiting.

Also yesterday, I said to Ed that if I could only figure out how to fit the red wagon into my small Mazda, I would take it with me to Snowdrop's school and she and I would then go to the Arboretum for a spin up the grassy knoll. He and I practiced getting it in and out and when I finally could do it by myself in under five minutes, I breathed a sigh of satisfaction and planned my Monday outing with her.

It was not the greatest idea I've ever had. Pushing her nap to reap that beautiful afternoon sunshine may seem theoretically grand, but the little one is tired after school and she could not make up her mind if riding or walking were the way to go. In the end, she enjoyed a quick "picnic," but then was ready to curl up in the wagon as I wheeled her back to the car.

Of course, kids are a funny lot: one minute they're tired, the next minute they're not. By the time we came home, she was happy to go out into the garden, happy to feed the cheepers, thrilled to watch Ed fix his truck and not at all ready for a nap.

Go figure.

So of course, after her nap, we return to watching ah-ah fix the truck. Exasperated with rusted fasteners, Ed says -- "I'll get back to this later." Snowdrop says -- "ah ah pull wagon!" And then "ah ah read toot toot!"

It is, in the end, a very beautiful day. What you just read is amply illustrated below. I hope you had a chance to exhale all the news and news commentary out of your system -- just enough to enjoy a moment outside, no matter what the weather. And if it was as gorgeous where you are as it was here, I do really hope you have a chance to take it all in and smile at the beauty of all that grows and thrives around us.


(Breakfast. Sun room.)






(Don't you want to feed us some bread? Later!)






(This rose is almost the last to give it up for the year.)






(The new front bed is doing well. Thinking ahead to Spring, I  add a few bulbs.)






(Snowdrop in the wagon at the Arobertum.)






(The trees are just starting to turn.)






(A picnic?)






(Sharing.)






(A girl and her cow.)






(Where the wild birds roam.)






(Do you want to lie down and rest? Yes.)






(At the farmette, revived.)






(After nap: even more revived.)






(Wants so much to understand what grandpa Ed is fixing on his truck...)






(Begs him to take her for a wagon ride. He never says no.)






(Inside again, asking him to "read Toot toot!" Yeah, he does a great imitation of a train horn.)






The clouds move in and out, touching the moon, receding, returning, receding. Lovely and serene.

Sunday, Sunday

In the darkness of the night, as I waited for Snowdrop's next call for help, I thought -- this is like Snowdrop's first night in Paris (she had the hardest time sleeping then, more so than at any other time in her life), except without the Eiffel Tower outside our windows.

Still, the little girl slept late and more importantly, woke up looking like her old self again.

A quick snack, a bath and then a breakfast of waffles -- something I hadn't made since my own girls were young.

She is slightly surprised that we are eating in the sun room. It seems a game. Our usual "you sit there and you sit there and I sit here."






But despite her still tentative appetite, she has no objection to the waffles.






As I get Snowdrop ready to go home, Ed attempts to get the truck out so that we can haul kayaks to a nearby river. Snowdrop discovers her wagon and between that and Ed's machinations with the truck, the little girl is just entranced.






The truck is a lost cause for now. I take Snowdrop home where she is so happy to see her mommy again and then I return to Ed and the problem of the day's adventure. No truck, no kayaks. Well that's fine! Let's do a good hike!

He searches for interesting trail segments, I search for Henny's eggs. She has been hiding them again.

Success! Ed finds a trail, I find the eggs. (Henny, why would you lay in the dirt bucket tucked away in the garage??)







We hike the Ice Age Trail segment just at the outskirts of Janesville (some 35 miles to the south of us). The trail runs along the Rock River and the views are tremendous!






The limestone cliffs rise to the east, the sun dapples between the trees that are still full of leaves.










But the colors are of this season.






We end up in a lovely park, one that I imagine Snowdrop would love to some day visit. (Ed and I try out some of the potential fun moments.)





And then we hurry home because it is Sunday and of course this is the day Snowdrop and her family (just mom today) are here for dinner.

Can you tell that the little one is feeling so much better?






She's happy, so we're happy. Ed -- well, he's happy but also hungry.






By the way, Snowdrop insists that we drag in a grown up chair for her for dinner. She's just recovering so we are more amenable to ridiculous requests. Of course, she enjoys spinning around in it until we turn stern and remind her that this is dinnertime.





Such a Sunday! Capped by an evening of debate viewing. Some would think this is a depressing way to end an evening. Not me. My granddaughter's on the mend, my daughters are well, Ed and I hiked under a brilliant sky. There isn't much out there that could bring me down tonight, sleep deprivation notwithstanding.

chaos and calm

Chaos in the media, chaos in the skies along the eastern coast, chaos here, too.

Interspersed (at least at the farmhouse) with periods of beautiful calm.

It's a glorious day outside -- one that invites outdoor work or play. But Ed and I sleep in, both tired from a week of too little down time.

We switch to our winter (would you believe it -- winter!) breakfast routine, taking the meal this time in the sun room.





And then we play a game of tennis. It is beyond heavenly! The tall white pines around the court are shedding some of their needles and some would complain that it makes the court rather tricky to navigate, but the scent is sublime and our game -- not practiced much this summer -- is grand.


And now we're in for a bit of chaos. Snowdrop is to spend the day and night at the farmhouse: one parent is going to a conference, the other is returning, but since comings and goings can be tough on a little one, I offer to have the girl with me during these transitions.

Except that as I go to pick her up, I see that she is more than sniffly. She is completely under the weather. Sort of like in Paris only worse.

Well, never mind. All the more reason to bring her to the farmette and to nurse her through the next bug.

Our wonderful crab apples welcome us home.






Initially, I thought I'd post no photos of the afternoon. You don't take photos of a sick babe. But kids are funny that way: one minute they seem like they're months away from being well and then next, they show signs of spark:






You put on a record, they want to dance (with cow)...






I'm especially buoyed when I go to the kitchen to start supper preparation and she follows. (What you're doin' grandma?)






I had wanted to make pizza. Should I proceed? She's not in an eating mode...
Sauce!
You want some?
Yes, eat sauce.

She tries, poor little one, she really tries.






And I am heartened when she makes her way to the sun room. This is where she loves to sit, so long as Ed and I are also there, sitting with her.






But with sick little ones, one minute they're up, the next, they just have to fold.

Snowdrop and I end the day with a lot of books. A lot of books.






And when I need a pause, she turns to Ed...






The night is calm. She is asleep. Ed and I are watching the end of a movie I thought I'd never agree to watch with him ("Martian"). Life is full of its funny twists and turns.

the world of cows

A sunrise on a mostly cloudy morning can be quite beautiful. If there is a break in the sky, you may find yourself, for one fleeting moment, with a burst of radiant color.





Initially it is a warm morning, but that quickly changes and I think we can now finally say goodbye to the warm and somewhat sultry air that's been with us for so long. Perhaps most of the bugs will go away as well. One can hope.

In any case, the dip in temps means that we're eating our breakfast inside once more. Until next spring.





It's Friday and so I grocery shop and I have my recurrent conversation with the meat people:
I would like the Italian chicken sausages for Tuesday. Will they keep until then?
We suggest you buy them Sunday or Monday. We'll have them then. We never run out.

I get this kind of an answer often: come back in a couple of days. Am I the only one who grocery shops only once a week?

But all this is trivial. I hurry as always. I do not want to be late for Snowdrop's school pick up.

And as luck would have it, the clouds begin to thin out. It's going to be a brisk and lovely day after all!

(Where to, grandma?)





Oh, I know where to! I've brought over the stroller: we're heading to a cow fair (aka World Dairy Expo), little one!


I'd taken her to the World Dairy Expo a year ago. She was then just nine months old and she was taken aback by the whole thing. (It's noisy, crowded, smelly and, well, there are all those cows!) What would she think this year?


(Whoa! Real cows are bigger than me!)






(Maybe we should go that way!)





She is again unsure about the huge holding pens where hundreds of cows wait.
Want to walk up between the stalls?
No!

But she has, too, a new level of confidence. And she is thrilled to climb any which way she can in the expo center's grand exhibition hall.

(Mommy and daddy took me here for hokey games! Where did the ice go?)






(I'm taking it all in, grandma!)






(Let's check out the International Lounge!)





She climbs every stairwell, navigates every inch of open space and in fact would be happy to do so for a long while, but it really is getting long past her nap time, so I point her toward the exit. Though I cannot resist a souvenir from this day -- a cow, of course.

(Do we have to go?)





One more pause to look at the parade of cows...






(I think I'm more fond of my own wee cow...)






At the farmhouse, she places her special new bovine pal in the high chair...






... then turns to the practicalities of life -- like tugging at the (now functioning) refrigerator door to see what goodies lie within.






A few strawberries. Perfect. She takes them (and cow) to her little table. I try to sneak in a pony tail. It stays up for about two minutes.






Cow gets the royal treatment today -- a special helping of pretend yogurt. (Snowdrop is not a milk drinker. We substitute it with yogurt, which she does love.)






I feel I've done my duty: I've gotten my wee granddaughter up close, really close to her home state's most important animal. We live in the "dairy state." An annual visit to the World Dairy Expo is sort of like a trip to the orange grove if you live in Florida or a lobster shack if you're from Maine.


After her nap, she feeds her bis. And her cow. Yeah!






A day of sunshine and gorgeous cows. What could be better?!