surprises

It's snowing heavily outside and I am very glad that at the last minute I packed my biggest, thickest snow boots. They took up half my little suitcase, but I will need them today. I'm also glad I'm staying an extra day. I can't rush anywhere. Slow going is going to be the theme today.

(Out my bedroom window)






I eat a breakfast from a buffet downstairs. It's such a Polish breakfast! If you pass on the sausages and cakes, it can be quite healthy. I'm given scrambled eggs and I add to them herring, veggies, dark bread, along with odd pieces of fruit and a yogurt.






As I eat, I note the people in the room. There are a lot of families with very young kids. Not school age so much, but younger. (Schools in Poland close for a two week winter break in either January or February: it's staggered, so that different provinces close in different weeks. It prevents the overcrowding at resort towns and villages, though some have noted that travel in and out of a city during the beginning or end of that city's break is hellacious.)

And here's a generalization I'm willing to make: Poles love their vacations away from home. Young kids? No problem! It is expected that there will be children underfoot in the guest houses that dot the mountain landscape. I smiled when my architect friend in Warsaw told me that by the time her daughter was 4 months old, she'd been to the sea, to the mountains and even on one family trip to Tuscany. Possibly not everyone is so ambitious, but travel for vacation is the norm, not the exception.

And often times, it's multigenerational travel. At my guest house I see many tables just like this one: with a grandma in tow.






I think in the U.S. this verges on a tad screwball. Table after table with one or two grandparents! (Caveat: I'm not claiming this is always a good thing. I've heard stories of the Polish grandmas and they run the range.) I smile as I recall traveling with the young family along with Snowdrop last May. I see that this was culturally ingrained in me.

(Out the dining room window)






After breakfast, I switch lodgings. From the Orlik Guest House -- good bye, kind and helpful staff! (The owners' kids are getting ready to take their sleds out. Wooden sleds still are very common here.)





(the Orlik)




... Hello Willa Marisyn (just four minutes up the road, though even that short distance is not easy with a bag and a pack on the snow covered road).





This guest house is different: it's a prewar building (dating to maybe 1930), upgraded and turned into small family apartments. It's convenient, simple, but very fresh. The room isn't ready, but I'm not concerned. I leave my bags and set out on my hike to Rynias -- the homestead of Pani Anna.

It's snowing and not too lightly. I think to myself -- there wont be views today, but there surely will be a most lovely snow cover to admire.

Google Maps pegged the hike at 90 minutes. It was nearly twice that much. Even the main road leading to the village of Brzegi -- the place of Pani Anna's church and from which the hike into the woods begins -- is snow covered and tough to navigate.






I want to make you at least a tiny bit familiar with highland architecture. Here's an older house -- dark timbered, aged.






And another home. This is what happens when it snows a lot here:






The two below are classic highland houses.






Okay, onwards! The village of Brzegi winds down a road for about two kilometers. My best guess is that it has two, possibly three grocery stores. Here's one of them. I find the listing of what it stocks interesting: four items are mentioned -- bread, dairy, alcohol, beer.






Because it is snowing, my camera goes in and out of my jacket constantly. Out it comes for a shot of the village, sloping down the hill.






Half way down (or halfway up, depending on your perspective) stands the village church.






There is no service and so I peer inside. Not surprisingly, wood, carved artfully and in the traditional manner, dominates the interior space.






Onto the village road again. Here's a house with three classic elements: a beautifully carved panel, detailed iron hinges and a stack of wood for fueling the furnace in the winter. Many of the homes here are heated by timber. I can smell it in the air, especially in places like Brzegi (where, by the way, there are no tourists and you tend to think most people are not well off).






Dogs are ubiquitous. Some bark, some ignore every person that walks by, some keep a watchful eye and say nothing. Many are chained, but most roam free. None of them seem to have collars, but still, there's little reason for concern. In a village, a bad dog would not be tolerated. This guy is in fact quite friendly.






(Back on the "architecture plus snow" theme...)






And now here's something that took me by surprise: in Brzegi, you still see the functional horse drawn wagon. I spent years of my childhood in a Polish village and so I am quite familiar with this means of transportation. But I had thought they'd gone by the wayside now, in this next century. Not so. Here's one pulling a wagon of coal.






And here's a horse pulling a sleigh with some felled birches.







Finally, just a little under two hours since I left my guest house, I am at the turn off point. This is the road to Rynias:






In the summer, it's a dirt track. I was concerned that it would not be navigable now, but I see easily identifiable sleigh and tire marks. I'm greatly relieved. It would be hard to lose one's way now.

It's snowing hard and I am so glad to have my boots, my warm winter coat, and all the other regalia of a winter in Wisconsin. Too, I brought my hiking stick and never was a packed item more useful!

Despite or perhaps because of the relentless snow, it is a stunning hike!






But there are no short cuts that I can take. All the side paths are covered with several feet of snow.

And finally I come to the clearing. Here are Pani Anna's house and barn. As I've noted before, her husband died and her sister's son, his wife and their three boys live in the big house. In exchange for the help that they offer their aging aunt, they will one day inherit the farmstead.





That's a tricky set up. I knew this in the past and I recognized it again today as I approached the house and bumped right into the nephew's wife. In a half a syllable of a response, she told me something I did not expect: Pani Anna is home.

I'm stunned and delighted to hear it! I go upstairs and knock on the door. She's there alright, sitting by one of the kerchiefs that she embroiders for sale to Poles living in the U.S.






She is pleased but not surprised to see me: I had sent her a Christmas card telling her that I would come mid January (that was before I learned she was to be away).

Why are you here? I ask bluntly after the hugs and kisses and after she settled me with a warm cup of tea. My friends said you'd moved in with relatives for the winter!
I did! She answers. I used to live in the kitchen hut, but it became too hard to stay there and so I moved inside the house, which as you know is where my nephew lives with his family.
And church? Do you still go?
Yes, I can go with my nephew's wife.  She makes the drive into the village.

Such a funny mistake to make! Such a good thing that I did not call off my visit here!

But it is true that Pani Anna is not in the best of health. She has heart issues and she is contemplating if she should give in to surgery. But she is not oblivious to the fact that she has a guest! She quickly re-pins her hair and changes blouses to an older embroidered favorite of hers.

(I see that the photo I had shot, framed and mailed her -- of her and her husband -- is hanging on the wall...)






As she takes out sweets for me, we talk about her family. She is one of nine -- all born and living in the village right after Brzegi -- Bialka. Only one had passed away at a young age. The others are still in good health and they call each other frequently (she received two such calls during the hour or two that I was there).





We reminisce. And we talk about the way things are now: her living arrangement, her everyday life. I notice that she doesn't have a TV -- just an old radio. She says she doesn't care for any it. Stas (her husband) used to follow all the stuff on the radio, on TV. If he were alive, I'm sure we'd get one, but honestly, I can't listen even to the radio. So much squabbling and disagreement! People can't talk calmly any more. I don't like it! Oh, don't I know it!

It's nearly two when I force myself to leave. I'm well aware of the fact that Bukowina -- the place of numerous tourist homes and ski slopes, the place where I was able to find such pleasant rooms -- is up in the hills. I've walked down to get to Rynias. I'll be climbing nonstop once I get on the main road. It will surely be dark by the time I reach my guest house.

I promise to come back soon. I wont wait another five years. I wont.

In the course of our visit, the snow filled clouds parted and departed. And this, too, is a magnificent surprise -- I'll be able to see the tall Tatra Mountains! Rynias was always special because of our youthful trips here. And one reason we came back so often was because of these views.






I would have been okay with the snow, the clouds -- all of it. But with a clearing sky, it is just exquisitely stunning here!






No matter where you look -- stunning.






But I really must hurry back.

On the track again. Oh! I should take a selfie! My cap is sacrificed to provide a steady dry place to set my camera.





Done!

The clouds come back for a last hurrah. A few flakes fall again. The high peaks are only visible if you know to look for them.






But by the time I approach Brzegi, the sky is mostly blue again.

(Civilization: a man and his dog. The dog barks furiously at me but when I reach out to let him sniff me, he cowers. The man laughs -- you crazy mutt! All big talk and then you hide!..)





Another horse and sleigh. I tell the man -- that's one lovely sleigh. (Caveat: I admire the sled as a tourist. Is keeping a horse cheaper than maintaining a truck? More versatile here, in the snowy mountains? If that were the case, why has the animal been replaced by trucks and tractors?)

He laughs -- it's good for hauling baggage! Yes, I see that -- today it's filled with manure. We do it the traditional way! -- he shouts back.





The sun loses its grip on the landscape. Shadows grow long and wide. I see a path I'd like to follow... No, I can't. Not this time.





A car pulls up and a man, a family guy leans out and asks -- you're not a tourist, are you? Now it's my turn to laugh. Am I that? Maybe... Before I have a chance to respond, he continues -- because we were wondering if I can make it up this road.
How are your tires?
We don't have chains.
Hmmm... There are signs on many of these mountain roads that warn of the need for chains. Still, he looks determined. I wave him up.  I've seen a car spin around a little, but ultimately make it.
Thank you!

Another sled with manure...






Another classic homestead -- one house still glowing in the last rays of sunshine.






And now I am out of Brzegi and approaching Bukowina. Oh, I come across a horse drawn sleigh here, but it's as if I've entered a completely new set of vignettes. I've come into the world of winter tourism again. Here's a favorite for Poles: the kulig, where a horse pulls you in a sleigh and you wave a torch behind you. It's quite beautiful, especially when there are several sleighs and it's night time.






It's not quite night yet, but as I mount the last hill, I see the last pink tones in the sky.






Dusk. I'm tired, but it's been such a good day -- so full of the kindest surprises.

And you think that's that, right? Not so.

I booked a supper at Karczma Szymkowka (a karczma is like an inn where you would go to get good, local fare). With my email (sent yesterday, when I learned I'd be spending an extra night in Bukowina) I sent this message -- please tell the owner I'd like to say hi.

(Evening walk to Szymkowka...)





In fact, the owner, Janek, is possibly my oldest friend -- dating all the way prior to grade school. Our parents knew each other and it seems I enjoyed playing with him. And I got to be really great friends with him in the first year of primary school. We were in the same class.

To say Janek is surprised to hear from me is perhaps one of the greater understatements I could make. I knew he'd left Warsaw. My sister maintained a contact with him and in fact we met once since our childhood -- when she orchestrated a coffee during one of my then infrequent trips to Poland (some dozen years ago). And now here I am eating supper with him in his restaurant (which also has three chalets on the premises that he rents out to the more affluent vacationers) in Bukowina.





Yes, in Poland, you do not let go of your friends. Not even those you made when you were six years old.

Janek brought out these photos tonight: This, of my sister, me, himself, playing in the river that was so much part of my childhood at my grandparents' village house...






And this one -- of the two of us being grilled on our reading assignment in first grade.





And now he orders for me. I want you to eat stuff that is really from here and which you wont find anywhere else...

For starters, saffron milk cap mushrooms with onions (grows in European pine forests) and grilled smoked sheep milk cheese with cranberries. For the second course, he orders sausages for himself and local trout for me and for the whole meal, he suggests the favorite local drink --  beer (though not warm this time) with wisniowka (a potent sour cherry liquor). (I'm thinking my guesses for going local were spot on last night!)

(the mushrooms)




(the trout fillet)




You'd think we had a lot to catch up on, but in fact that's not entirely true. Without Face Book or blogs or the like, my generation here in Poland has tracked lives of friends the old fashioned way -- by asking others about who is doing what. But we do fill in details. Janek has been instrumental in promoting a vision of Bukowina that in the recent decade has become an established reality: it is Poland's leading ski destination. He tells me -- people will always want to go to the Alps of course. But they start here. They learn to ski at good prices. They teach their kids here. This is what Bukowina is right now -- skiing for Poles, on their terms, at their prices.

We drive at night to the biggest and best ski slopes and he proudly points out the exquisite brand new lifts (that one came from France, this newest one -- from Italy).  He's satisfied that he's left his mark here. He laughs when I ask him what's next.

Who knows?!
Indeed. Let's at least hope for surprises -- of the best kind: sweet encounters with strangers and with the oldest of friends, the unexpected appearance of the sun, a snow capped forest, mushrooms and trout, and a beer with a touch of the sour cherry.

traveling to the mountains

Does it make sense to travel for so many hours to go so far and to stay for just a short while? For me, the answer almost always is yes. (It helps that the airfares to Poland are at their lowest ever.) The tug this time came from something my Polish friends said when last we talked -- Pani Anna, a Polish highlander living away from civilization on a farmstead (called "Rynias," just by the Slovakian border, a woman who had opened her farmhouse doors for us when we were just students looking for a cheap place to spend a few nights (only to return then again and again as we grew to love the place) -- she's getting very old.

This doesn't really surprise me. Her husband died a half dozen years ago and during recent visits (five years ago with my American friends, and before that -- with Ed, whom she proclaimed was the tallest man she'd met), Pani Anna already seemed very old.

I always think about going back to see her when I am in Poland, but this time, I did more than just think: I booked this crazy trip for this very weekend with the specific purpose of making my way to Pani Anna's mountain home.

That was before I found out that Pani Anna is so old that she no longer can spend a winter at the farmstead. It's too hard for her to hike the hour it takes to get to the village church from there! (She is spending more and more time with relatives who live closer to a church, even if it's not the church that she would call her own.)

Still, her nephew's family lives in Rynias year round and my ticket is the kind that cannot be refunded and so I am off! Even if I cannot find her, I will most surely profit from a hike to her home. The mountain air, the quiet of the woods, and, too, the feeling of arrival as one rounds the bend and comes to the farmstead clearing -- there's so much beauty in that simple grouping of houses -- a timbered home, a kitchen hut, a barn, an outhouse and a dog kennel... Yes, to me, it's worth it.

The iffy weather is always an issue: will there be snow? Ice? Fog? Will it be too cold? Will the path be easy to find if the snow has really buried it?

I've been studying the weather patterns in that region. It's looking snowy but not too bad.

And so I leave the comfort of my Madison life -- see how pretty our lakes look in the late afternoon, from way up high?






... and in Minneapolis I board a flight to Amsterdam... (morning sky over Holland! so lovely!)


 



(It's been cold in western Europe: the fields and homes lining the canals have a light dusting of snow.)






And in Amsterdam I eat my unhealthy European breakfast...






And then I fly to Krakow.


How different the landscape here is! Thin strips of field, an undulating terrain, all looking splendid under a light coat of snow.






With the mountains to the south...






Ah, there's Krakow itself: even at dusk, I can spot the castle rising high over the river...






From Krakow, I travel two hours south -- to Bukowina Tatrzanska (translate that as "Bukowina, belonging to the Tatra Mountains"). From there I will be able to hike over hill and dale to Pani Anna's homestead.

Bukowina used to be a sprawling hamlet with a handful of houses, a few b&bs and a a store or two selling such highlander stuff as sheep skins and smoked sheep milk cheeses. Under Poland's market economy, it has expanded its offerings. It's not even one hundredth as as popular as the nearby mountain resort of Zakopane, but this very image of a quieter and gentler landscape has meant that it's a lure for many city folk looking for a bit of highland magic. And so the b&bs and hotels have proliferated. Ski lifts have appeared. A thermal bath spa opened its doors to weary travelers.

I'm staying at Pensjonat Orlik. "Pensjonat" translates to "a small guest house." Orlik isn't quite that. It's cheap by American standards (under $50 for a sweet room, a breakfast buffet and access to some spa facilities), but it's no homey, tattered place. It has aspirations, as well it should: the staff is ever friendly and the place itself has the character of the mountains. The flowered throw on the bed, the roped walls -- familiar to me, to anyone here. Mountain stuff. We grew up with it imprinted on our souls, so much so that most Poles wouldn't give any of it a second thought.











I arrive in the evening and I've booked a dinner here and so I go downstairs to eat and to contemplate my first night in the mountains.

I say "first," because while in Amsterdam, I managed to write and skype and rearrange so that indeed I will be staying in the mountains until Sunday. I couldn't get a second night at the Orlik, but I found another place for tomorrow just steps from here. For now though, I am enjoying watching young kids romp through the dining hall as parents eat, and I devour an exquisite mountain waters trout, with the typical sides of a Polish dinner: grated carrot, cabbage -- all excellent.

My dessert choice is a little out of character, but I couldn't resist it: the menu has a number of warm drinks on it and nothing sounded as tempting as a warm Polish beer with a dash of sour cherry.




Tomorrow I explore the snow covered world outside.

up up and away

It's a lovely day for travel. True, airports in western Europe are closing because of storms (and I do have to pass through there tomorrow), but here, in Wisconsin, a light overnight dusting of snow has again added charm to the winter landscape and after initial clouds, the blue sky will once again take hold.

I'm not really rushed today. I'm scheduled to travel to Poland, but it's a quick trip (back next Wednesday) and so requires no great preparation (though I agonize over what boots and mitts to take: one day I read there'll be snow, the next -- that it's cold, yet another time I read about a "wintry mix," followed by sunshine).

Still, my little case is packed by the time Ed and I sit down to breakfast. (He, on the other hand, is a little rushed, as he has some work issues to attend to, but still, we give our morning meal special consideration.)






Though I have an afternoon flight out of Madison, I volunteered to pick up Snowdrop from school anyway. It's a routine that I love and she's quite happy with is as well. But I do not take her to the farmhouse. Instead, we go to her home. And yes, I again do not dress her for the outdoors. My excuse: it's a short walk from the car to her front door!






We play with all her favorites, but once she hears daddy moving around downstairs, she is eager to seek him out.






She'd like both of us to play with her. She suggests music and dance and is a bit disappointed when I say "not today..."






Still, a big hug puts a smile on her face. I'm off. See you next week, little one!

I drive home to pick up my suitcase and Ed, who'll take me to the airport. Oh, but it's a pretty day at the farmette!





On the ride to the airport I speculate how I should have done this trip differently. I should have been in this place longer, I should have booked a day more there, a day less elsewhere.. Ed tells me to change things around and of course I should and yet, it is so me to stay rooted in something I thought up a long time, without a clue as to weather patterns or inclinations.

I tell him I'll give it some thought.

And now I'm at the airport and the sun still shines and tomorrow evening, if all goes well, I'll fall asleep in Bukowina Tatrzaniska -- a hamlet just by the Polish Tatra Mountains.

Wednesday

We continue with January's penchant for throwing little repairs our way -- ones that would be monumentally significant were I to deal with them alone, but ones that get a quick resolution because Ed is so good at taking things into his own hands and finding a way to make things work.

After breakfast...






... he goes over to the tire section of a big box store to retrieve the repaired tire to my car (slow leak) and mount it back on so that  it will be ready for Snowdrop pick up.

While at that store, he purchases fifteen TV antennas. There is method to his madness: we have gone through two already that seemed promising initially but then balked, so that every time anyone moves from one room to the next, channels are dropped. Ed is convinced there exists a perfect antenna out there and he intends to work through all of them and stay with the one that works best. The remaining fourteen shall be returned.

Since it's the last time (for a week) that Snowdrop is to spend a chunk of time at the farmhouse, I cannot resist driving out to get a fresh baguette. Equipped with that, I pick her up and bring her back to the farmette.

She is in fine spirits and sets instantly to play with her Duplo. (Note that she no longer balks at the pony tail and indeed, when Ed playfully tugged at it, she informed me, matter-of-factly: ahah is pulling my pony tail! I told ahah to knock it off.)






(This next photo is notable for its inclusion of the character that she has labeled gaga. Interestingly, the woman does wear glasses but also has very gray hair. Was it a process of elimination, or does she identify gray hair with all gagas out there?)






Ah, the baguette!






Beloved baguette... Eat it, dance with it...






Chew it down to the very end...






Ed shows her the latest dance steps. She's curious. Baguette almost done!






And here, we return to this month's "fix it" theme. She loves this one little Duplo item -- the wrench. It doesn't do anything except attach to a block, or to a Duplo character, yet she is rather smitten with trying to get it to "work."






I think about a child's inclination to want to fix things. I swear my girls weren't really into tools, but was this because I didn't really include my kids in any fix-it projects (mostly because I rarely could fix things on my own)? That would be the obvious answer, but I'm not sure it's correct. I gardened massively when they were little and neither wanted to join me in this, almost always preferring their own indoor games.

But this girl is tempted by the outdoors. When I ask her if she wants to go out to the barn again, she is instantly at the door.

And in the barn, she remembers yesterday's broken coop door and she checks it out right away, asking me if she can close it. I tell her the cheepers would be upset.







Not wanting to linger too long in the barn, I take her out back. But it's just barely above freezing and she is definitely not dressed for outdoor play. No hat! no mittens! Not the warmest of her jackets! She has always been rather resilient to the cold, but I cannot take watching her hands and nose turn pink.






She doesn't mind, but I mind.






I hustle her inside the sheep shed. This is where Ed works on his machining projects. It's also where he used to eat and sleep and so there is a small kitchen and, too, a bathroom. She loves exploring these nooks and crannies of the shed. Initially, she is drawn to his kitchenette.






But slowly, her gaze falls on the machines.

This is virgin territory for me, both as a mother and a grandmother. Needless to say, I did not have metal milling machines when my girls were growing up. Nor bits that are used to make infinite things out of metal. Ed would have Snowdrop touch everything and more than once he has nudged me to let her explore more, to not always guide her or limit her options.

Of course, much of these tools are dangerous and so my hovering is warranted. But it strikes me that I do not trust her instincts and Ed does. And when she is presented with something like drill bits, she proceeds with appropriate caution.







Still, I'll only going to go so far. I'll always hover too much, perhaps even more now than when I was a parent. I cannot let her take risks on my watch.

But I do let her pick out the drill bits and handle them with complete fascination, gently returning them to their proper slot after the inspection. Even with my hovering, Snowdrop surely will have more opportunities to see how things work and to fix broken stuff than my girls ever did.






(And I'm cool about letting her stand on the window sill to gaze out at the fields behind the shed!)






Evening. She wants so much to have a game of baseball with ahah. Both hands, Snowdrop! Try it with both!

But she does not do that. She just wants to play ball, with ahah chasing the darn thing as she knocks it down again and again.






Later: Snowdrop is back in her home, an ice storm is raging, Ed and I settle in to eat one of my favorite homemade soups.

I think about last night's political speeches and reactions from all sides to it (you'll not be surprised that I was a fan), and about this day's news conferences and the words that flew there fast and furious, and I think -- this is not right. The world has gone mad. Perhaps it's more important than ever to stay calm. To think about those who are hurting even more than you or me. To speak with compassion. To take great care of our world and those we love. If you and me, we do that, then we'll always be on the right side of history. And isn't that a great thing?

Tuesday

If the new winter weather reality is that there's to be little snow in our future, then Ed and I need to face the fact that skis are going to sit idle. And we along with them. It's hard to hike when everything is icy. Ed doesn't skate and thinks he'll break many bones learning at this age. He plays volley ball well, I haven't played since high school. And so, searching for a common winter sport, we consider giving bowling a larger share of our free time.

Independently, we both look online (in the wee hours of the night -- we are that curious) on how one goes about purchasing a bowling bowl. (I cannot find a good one to use at the alley. The finger grips are all wrong and the ball often slips right off my thumb.) And independently we conclude that there's something just so extremely difficult about drilling holes in the correct place, especially for medium-poor players like me, that we give up and instead, spend the last two hours of the night discussing a work issue that Ed is thinking about these days.

In other words, I got too little sleep. So did he, but he does not have a morning appointment and I do.

As night turns to day, I look outside to see a world of icy rain. I call my appointment and balk at having to make the trip out on the icy roads. They tell me to come later, possibly because everyone has been canceling everything today and they have quite the empty waiting room.

All this to say that a morning, even a mundane morning like this one, is full of coincidences and unexpected consequences and odd chains of events. Never wake up thinking that your life is too predictable. Rain turns to ice and holes in bowling balls confound your sensibilities and there you are, wondering what the next surprise will be like.

Breakfast, thankfully, is without surprises.






And soon it is noon and I am heading to pick up Snowdrop. And my oh my, is it ever raining! We're just a degree upwards of freezing so at least the roads are safe, but the rain is brutal!

I foresee many good hours of indoor play...






And indeed, the little one is happy, from the minute I show her the baguette I procured this morning just for her.

And ahah joins us and all is just about perfect...






Until, quite unexpectedly, she says: I want to go outside to the barn and give the chickens some bread.
You want to go to the barn? I look dubiously at the rain filled clouds.
Yessss. I want to see the chickens in the barn. She is very definitive with her yeses. You need only to hear that drawn out "s" to know that she means business.

I glance up at Ed. Want to come?

We head out.





And it's a good thing, because the warm dampness in the air has swelled the wood on the coop door and so it did not swing open on cue this morning. The cheepers are still inside and quite unhappy with their confinement.

(Ed tries to figure out what's wrong with the door lock. Snowdrop is anxious to help him come to a solution.)






The little one is clearly loving her barn excursion. She is thrilled to see the cheepers, thrilled to be peering at the barn's dark recesses.





The barn is where cows live -- she explains to us. I mumble something about not having cows, but she's only half listening. She is completely absorbed by the antics of the four hens.

The rain is dripping away outside, but there we are, under the still solid roof of the barn -- Ed working away at the door, Snowdrop jumping with joy, offering at the same time numerous explanation about the barn and its role in the solar system.






It's a delightful set of minutes, even as I am rather anxious to get us back to the house. It's not cold if you're jumping up and down or if you're Ed. It's rather chilly if you're me.


It takes a while to get Snowdrop excited about going back inside. But once there, she continues her dance and it's clear that in all that jumping, the bliss molecules have been activated in her brain and she is coasting on total happiness.






Total.






And it continues after her nap...






(Cooking up the eggs.)






Life. So complicated, but oftentimes -- so very simple. Like cooking up a bunch of fake eggs on a toy stove. Simple and beautiful.

Monday

An unusual day in an unusual month in, I'm hoping, not too an unusual a year.

Because Snowdrop has appointments later today, I'm not scheduled to care for her. Faced with a day that hasn't structure, I suggest to Ed we make it a date day.

Breakfast first. (And this is almost the last photo I take on this unusual day.)





And in the afternoon, we do all that we love to do together on a cold but snowless winter day. First, we bowl. I'm not great or even good, but we have great fun competing and lifting and running and  hurling and encouraging each other through each miserable or successful roll. Ninety minutes well spent.

Next, we take in an early movie. We do not go to movies much: I pick up many handfuls of new releases on my long distance flights and the rest we rent from the library. But occasionally there comes along a movie that I am anxious to see on the big screen.  La La Land is just such a film.

Our local movie house has long ago transformed the screening rooms to make them tiered and more comfortable. But in the last year, three things seem to have changed: first of all, the ticket agent gives us one glance and then produces two discounted senior tickets. Clearly the visuals tell him we are in that category.

Secondly, the screening rooms have been completely transformed and upgraded once more. Every chair now is so large that it beats first class airplane seating. And the chairs can be adjusted to a nearly complete reclining position. How much comfort do we need, we spoiled people?!

Finally, the noise level at the time of previews (all horrific and violent) and commercials is deafening. I was concerned that we would not be able to sit through a movie if the sound was to be this loud.

But the sound during the film itself is just right. And the music is exquisite! And yes, I can see the story analogy to the Umbrellas of Cherbourg. Truly a beautiful film of sweet reminders how small moves and just a few words can push us to act in ways that have lasting consequences.

When we leave the movie, we see the snow -- not more than an inch, nothing you could ski on, but just enough to make it a pretty world once more.

Our final date day moments are at Brasserie V -- a restaurant where we sit at the bar, eat mussels and fries and enjoy the pleasure of getting food that is always the same for us, always good, always deeply satisfying. (A selfie.)






One gets sentimental on nights like this. Life is complicated and requires some fine stepping and herculean efforts to keep one's spirits at a steady keel. Yet when you have days that offer so much gentle kindness, coupled with sweet sentimentality, it gives you reserves for future knocks and bruises.

Our date day gave me, gave us plenty of reserves.

The farmhouse shines brightly for us as we return home.