winter?

It's January weather. Maybe February (our second coldest month). Surely not early November! Brr!






Breakfast is early. Friday for us is a day of work, errands, of fitting in all that the week should have allowed.






Snowdrop's school is closed today and the girl spends a luxurious morning at her house. In the afternoon, she comes to the farmhouse.

I've been thinking about my role in her life lately. Because I see her so often, I tend to want things that parents (rather than grandparents) normally want from their kids: to be good, stay happy, and to do her bit to make life flow.

But shouldn't grandparents lend their time for the rougher moments? Shouldn't I be more of the old sage person who helps her navigate life's hurdles?  I no longer worry about work or stashing cash for retirement. I am retired! I want to write, but even more, I want to be there for those who need a bit of my help, love and good cheer. And patience.

But today, the little girl needs little of that patience. She is playful...







She is happy...






She is loving...






She is dexterous and creative.






And as always, she is eager to go out into the dark cold night with Ed to feed and lock up the cheepers.





There's always tomorrow and the day after. I'm sure my patience will be tested. And maybe my grandmotherly wisdom will click in and I will have helped her navigate those troubled waters. But today, we just had fun.

cold

As I write this (immediately after supper), it's 20F outside (-7C). When I wake up tomorrow, I am told it will be 16F (-9C). Or maybe even colder.

These are not "November in Wisconsin" numbers. You may think us to be a cold state, but we're not that cold!

The sudden temperature plummet requires an adjustment in the day. Finishing up the winterizing of the garden? Not going to happen... A game of disc golf? Someday. Taking Snowdrop to the playground by the lesser lake? Forget it!

Well, breakfast is the same. No change needed there.






And you really have to love the blue skies! The front yard is all gold and blue, with firs of green. Here you go -- a rare view of the farmhouse as it faces the road. It's hidden, it's unkempt, it's ramshackle and lovely.






But now comes the issue of what to do with a girl who, after school, relishes her time in the park playground.

I tell her in my "there is no negotiation, it is what it is" voice -- it's too cold. She is disappointed. I offer her a few minutes of play in the car. She takes it!







And then the library. She is always happy when I suggest the public library.

I never know how our visits there will go. She wants time at the computer. It's not always available and oftentimes I cannot get it to work well for her. She likes the puzzles scattered on the kid tables. Pieces are missing, kids are often running around dispersing all that can be dispersed. That's all fine, but the toughest part, I think, is taking a toddler to a place where she can pick her own books to read.

Snowdrop is enthusiastic about selecting books. Predictably, it is a hit and miss game. I mean, the girl recently picked up a New Yorker with an exciting cover and asked Ed to please read it to her.

But today she has a home run. She finds a book that she loves so much that she has me read it to her three times. It would have been ten times had I been willing. (It was about a little bear starting school...)






Finally I nudge her out. I tell her the Fitchburg Thursday farmers market has moved indoors because of the weather and that the vendors are all just across the parking lot. Let's run for it!

Oh, it is cold! I try to bundle her for the short sprint, but she is feeling the chill. My hands are cold, grandma! Hide them! I'm running!

All for naught. The Fitchburg community center that used to house the winter market houses it no more.

Where has it gone to??

I call Ed. He can't track it down. We're disappointed. We head home. And then, boom! We drive past a big banner announcing its new location. The Promega Corporation (our biggest employer) is housing the market this winter.


Hi Farmer John! We brought you some farmhouse eggs. In exchange, we pick up some cheese curds. (Snowdrop loves all of his free samples.)






The girl is fascinated by the Promega space.





She wants to explore it.
People are working, you can't go there...
But they will stop working soon and pick up their children at school...
Yes, they will do that soon.





The little girl has been "going to school" since she was 18 months old and initially, she didn't give it a second thought. But lately, she's piecing it together for herself. Books about children who love school but also miss home while they're at school are especially important to her and I can see why -- they give voice to her feelings right now.

At the farmhouse, she goes immediately to her characters and starts an elaborate game of school and home and the complicated ways a child navigates these two important centers of her existence.

temptation

A deep freeze came again last night. I do not understand why this particular annual keeps showing me its pinky blooms. I was ready to pull it out of its pot weeks ago. And yet, it keeps on going...





I have two laptops at the farmhouse: one is chunky and stays home and the other is light and travels with me. Ms.Light-As-Air is silver and pretty and she is close to five years old. Mr.Chunky is a bit tattered. He is just about ten years old.

Both of them sort of work. Mr. Chunky has almost no storage left (ten years ago, it seemed like so much space!) and so every evening I give him "a bath," cleaning out anything I can, to avoid getting that threatening message, letting me know that Mr.Chunky is bursting at the seams and can hold no more! Ms.Light-As-Air, on the other hand, has constant hot flashes and her cords, like all computer cords, are torn and shredded, but she is a light and happy girl and I expect to travel with her for a long time into the future.

My phone, on the other hand, is a young babe (at two years old) and it does what so many other phones do when they get a few years under their belt -- it drains the battery rapidly. And it messes with this and it messes with that. This morning, neither Ed nor I could figure out why it was messing with my email and so after breakfast...





I pack up all my devices and make my way to the Department of Information Technology (we know it as DoiT). One benefit of retirement after twenty five years of teaching at the university is that you morph into being an emerita and certain benefits -- such as the services of DoIT -- are forever available to you. The idea is that you can pontificate to the younger generation until your last breath, though the reality, I'm sure, is that anything coming from the ancient crowd is immediately deleted by the younger ones now in charge.

I expect the walk-in tech services to be crowded. I mean, we have tens of thousands of students, another such great number of staff and faculty, and they all have technology coming out the wazoo and it all breaks constantly, no?

In fact, the service counter is empty. The tech whiz zips her fingers over my phone, shows me how to fix problems in the future and boom! The phone turns golden -- it is as good as... well, as a two year old with low battery life can be.

While at DoIT, I chat with some of the tech whizzes. I learn about the new generation of computers. I work my fingers gently over the keys of a new Mr. Chunky on display (who, in reality does not look that chunky anymore).

It is glorious!

I am so tempted! Here's my logic: my own Mr. Chunky will surely break down soon. And then I will have to buy something new. Why not do it now and enjoy its wonderfulness even earlier?

Of course, new products are like the farmhouse after a Sunday cleaning: you appreciate the freshness so much on the day that you do your cleaning (or the day you buy your new computer), but after a while, it's just your old home again. Or computer. It just is there, old or new.

I blow a kiss to the new Chunky and return to the keyboard of my trusty dusty.


Time to pick up Snowdrop. As I get ready to leave, I notice how the giant maples in the front yard are suddenly shedding all their leaves. We are in the week of a carpet of gold. (The cheepers follow me around as always...)





I think how grand it would be to toss leaves with the little girl today.

But it's so cold! Sunny, but oh so chilly!

The little one is just barely awake after her nap (yes, a whole week of napping!)... Her teacher reads a book, her buddy and she slowly get their acts together to head home.






But should we head home? Snowdrop wants to go to the playground.

A haze has taken over the skies. It's 42F (about 5C). No one is thinking playground thoughts.

Except for Snowdrop.





She just wants her time on the swing. And it is a really really long time (I'm the pusher, I should know).

Eventually I can coax her to abandon the rhythmic back and forth. We spend a few much warmer minutes playing in the car...





And then I remember that this is the first day of our spinach CSA! During the winter, our favorite spinach farmer grows and harvests this wonderful year-round vegetable for those who sign up for biweekly purchases. This year we've upped our share to two pounds every two weeks.

I explain to the little girl that we are heading to the spinach house. This just delights her, especially when I tell her that this year, as a special treat, she can get out of the car with me and pick up the spinach.





I'd like to say that she fell in love with the spinach leaves as I let her dig into the bag and sample its sweet greens. That would not be entirely correct. She was okay with it. But she was excited with the entire project and so there is hope!



The sun has nearly disappeared by the time we pull into the farmette driveway. I ask her -- do you want to play in the leaves for a few minutes?

There is no hesitation.





None whatsoever.











Inside, she tries on her farmhouse boots for the winter and then she settles down to her books. Can you read this one page grandma? The girl here, is not sad, is she? 





Reassured, she picks the next book and the next one. I put on a kettle of water for tea. The house is warm, the evening is soft, mellow.

When Snowdrop returns home and our supper dishes have been cleared, I sit down to my trusty dusty computer and smile at the recollection of the beautiful new Mr. Chunky at DoIt.

records

I hear we may be setting temperature records this Thursday or Friday. Not of the good kind (a record high would be lovely, thank you!). It's already cold today. It will be far colder in a few days. I mean, brrr!

I feel cold just thinking about it.






But in the early afternoon, the sun comes out and though it already is cooler than cool, well, it feels okay somehow!

I pick up Snowdrop and she is content to make the trip to the playground. But in leaving school, one of her class buddies comes up to her and asks -- can I come to the playground with you?
You worry about your grandkid being polite. Snowdrop loves her inventive play, her swing time. But she also likes this boy who is a sweet and good kid and so she says yes.

We make our way to the playground under canopies of gold...





(I do realize that Snowdrop is in her warmest jacket and her pal is without one... In this case, I do not think she is overdressed!)





(They share a croissant at the picnic table...)






(And do a lot of running, swinging, spinning, sliding...)





While the sun shines and the cold winds blow...






And then it just gets too cold and we all head home.

(Snowdrop, in her tent, playing... school.)





(she finds my collection of chickens...)






I'll take the winter cold. But can we have some snow with it, please?

put your cookie where your mouth is...

You can tell when we drop down to below freezing: the cheeper water dish has a layer of ice. Time to plug in their heated dish in the coop. And at the farmhouse -- time to load the mouse traps. And time to bake those cookies.

But wait, it's a partly sunny day, no?

(Breakfast...)





Didn't I claim that sunshine on a cold day is lovely and inviting?

Shouldn't we be taking a walk?

Cookies first!






And now the walk. I haven't much time and so we drive over to the nearby county park. I am forever grateful for how close it is to us. A hop and a skip. You have no reason to make excuses. It's there and it's lovely.

Especially on a mostly sunny day.






(Turtles share my love for cold weather sunshine!)





But in the course of the hour we are out, the clouds roll back in. Oh, faintly at first. But thoroughly and completely by the time I head out to pick up Snowdrop at school.





This presents a dilemma. It's cloudy and in the 30sF. (Oh, maybe 3 or 4C). The Bug that had been with me last week is on the retreat, but it's not totally gone. I don't want to take her to the playground.

Is there an alternative? Something modest but exciting?

I have this idea: Ed and I had spotted a handful of sandhill cranes on our way back from the park. The little girl had loved greeting them when they came to the fields across the road from us. Wouldn't she be thrilled if I took her to their new resting place? They're not here for long -- in another several weeks they'll be off for Florida.

Snowdrop, let me show you where your friends are gathering...






I'd like to say she was thrilled.

It is a beautiful sight after all...





But the outing leaves her clinging to me in ways that are not typical for her. Snowdrop isn't a fan of loud noises and we are in the thick of a cacophony of sound. We are near the dog park and the dogs are raising a ruckus.  She clings harder. I like cats, grandma. At home, we have cats. Her grip tightens. When we step into the overgrown fields, a pack of shrill birds flies up to get away from us. A tractor plows the field, three fighter planes zip across the skies just above. I mean, it's a loud world all around us!

Grandma, can we go to the farmhouse?

Indeed! And guess what, little girl? There are freshly baked cookies! Can I interest you in a ginger cookie?






You really appreciate the warm, quiet farmhouse after an outing in search of cranes.

cookies, stuff and flying things

Ed and Snowdrop both love an occasional cookie. To a person like me who loves to bake -- easy or complicated, I'll do both! -- this is not a bad thing. I can please my precious eaters and occasionally nibble on something too. (I've always been a dessert nibbler, preferring to sample this and that, often begging for a piece of someone else's slice rather than sticking with my own dessert.)

Well, not so fast! It turns out that my two precious eaters have preferences! Strong ones at that! Ed will go so far as to fuss about the texture of a chocolate chip cookie! It took a while to find a bakery that bakes these to his liking. And when last week I baked what I thought were delicious cherry/blueberry/chocolate chip oat cookies, his response was -- they're okay, in a non-cookie sort of way. 

Snowdrop, too, has a refined sweet tooth. I can't figure out in which direction it tilts. Chocolate is good, though not too much and not too messy. Gingersnaps win her over. In small amounts. That healthy-ish cookie I baked? Bleh...

When I was flipping through my cookie book, everything looked pleasing to me and potentially not so pleasing to my precious eaters. So I asked Ed -- what kind of cookie do you really like out of all the cookies out there?
You know, I really like even plain old white cookies.
You mean sugar cookies?
Well, I don't know if they're sugar cookies... I'm thinking of the ones I used to get from Schrafft's as a kid, back in New York. [You know Schrafft's? It was a lunch chain, for the shopping ladies of New York City, with a sideline of ice-creams, candies and apparently bland cookies that Ed once liked.]

I'm not in the mood for meeting that standard. I flip some more and settle on ginger cookies.

After breakfast...





... Ed asks: do you want to drive over to the middle of nowhere 32 minutes from here so that I can pick up a printer?
That does not tempt me. Why are you picking up a printer in the middle of nowhere? Craigslist?
That's right. The guy lives south of here and 32 minutes is the halfway point.
And it's worth your time to drive that much for something you could get from a store?
Well, you know...

Yes, I do know. To Ed, we're all overloaded with stuff. Why not help someone offload something he doesn't need, rather than shop for a new machine and let this one go to waste.

He drives off, I set up my mise en place. Nothing makes me more content than to have all my ingredients before me, at attention, awaiting instruction.





Half an hour later, I get a call.
It's me. I'm using someone's cell phone. The guy didn't call?
No...
He didn't show up. Okay, I'm coming home. 

As he hangs up, I ponder this a while. They spent a good ten minutes agreeing on a meet-up place. Why wouldn't the seller show up?
I glance at the clock.

Oh-oh... time change. Forgot! Ooops.

I cannot call. Ed, the guy without stuff, is also the only person on the planet who doesn't have a cell phone.

I go back to making my cookie dough.

Eventually, Ed shows up, learns of his mistake, says a couple of words like "damn" and after many apologies to the seller and many more minutes of driving, the two meet up and the sale goes through.

Ed returns with his printer. I suppose out of the weariness of the day he asks -- you want to go out and play disc golf?

I don't really want to go out and play disc golf. The course is closed for the season (the disc catchers have been removed) and so we will have to figure out how to create "goals." Too, the young family is coming for dinner and I haven't even begun preparations for that, to say nothing of the unbaked cookies that are ready in the fridge for their oven moment. And of course it's November. Cold. Dark. (See previous post.)

Still, Ed looks like he is in need of disc golf.

We set out to the closed course. On the upside, we are alone. No one else thinks to play disc golf when the season has ended.

And on the upper of upsides, we are enthralled!

Because it's nearly dusk, the birds begin their evening sweep and holler. Small birds, large birds. Geese and sandhill cranes. They all give the signal, then take off.

Of course, it's the sandhill cranes that catch our eye. And there are many many sandhills before us!





Their dance, their at once eerie and melodic call, their grace  -- they're so mesmerizing!

Eventually, they take off...






And that's equally beautiful!






Have a grand flight to your night time resting place!





(Eventually, their sound is replaced by the sound of an airplane or two -- we are on the flight path for flights coming in from the east coast. I know that my daughter, who has been away working in DC, is on one of those planes. I wave.)

Ed and I continue our game and it is actually a very wonderful game. I haven't quite shaken The Bug, but it feels great to be outdoors despite its peskiness.


Shortly after, the young family comes over for Sunday dinner.






We sit down, I smile. Another week, another Sunday.

slow Saturday

I'd recently come across this Emily Dickinson quote -- "November always seemed to me the Norway of the year." There is a bit of a back story to it, but no matter. Enough that she'd never been to Norway, but apparently harbored images that coincided well with this month, or at least as it presented itself to her in New England. (Dickinson stayed pretty close to her Amherst home all her life, leaving New England only once -- on a trip to Washington DC and Philadelphia.)

For me (as possibly for Dickinson), November does appear shady and dark (though my one trip to Norway was in June, so Norway does not spring to mind). Days that end too soon and start too late. This is curious, as January surely has as little light (in fact, overall less light), but in my mind, January is cold and bright and November is wet and dark.

Today, the month lives up to its image. Were I feeling fully recovered from The Bug, I'd suggest a forest walk, though you have to love gunfire to hike woodsy trails in Wisconsin in November, so perhaps I'd stay with the parks in the area where at least wearing blaze orange is unnecessary.

The air is wet and (at least at the farmette) woodsy. But I do nothing with it. After breakfast...






...I move slowly. Sort of at the speed of the cheepers.






To the grocery store and home again, where I cook a pot of soup for dinner. If I had to give my own characterization to this month, I'd say November is the soup month of the year. A thick soup with dark things swimming in it. One that's good for The Bug you're likely to catch right about now, even as the stores fill with cranberries and pecans and you're reminded that you really should be putting in your bid for a perfect turkey.






Soup. Tell me who doesn't love soup in November! Followed by a piece of chocolate. Dark, brooding. Maybe with toffee and salt bits in it. And if you are a Scotsperson -- a sip of the smokiest, peatiest of peaty Scotches.