stumbling toward success

Sometimes, a day is so smooth that it almost seems boring. There are no mishaps, no missed opportunities. One hour glides fluidly into the next. Everything falls into place of its own accord. You sit back and grin smugly, as if somehow it is your own genius that got you there.

That was not today.

Oh, there were plenty of successes and calm hours. But I should have worried just a little when breakfast got off to a rocky beginning: Ed brought his computer to the table.






Now, every few months it happens that something Terribly Important calls for his (or my) total attention, even during the Sacred Morning Meal. But this was not today. I consider chatting with some techie person about the new smart phone to be low on a list of things that should interfere with breakfast.

He is apologetic.

He even offers to invest in a housecleaning service to help me out with farmhouse duties. Of sorts: a robotic vacuum cleaner. Nice, but I remind him that vacuuming is typically his contribution to our cleaning efforts.

Never mind. I look forward to welcoming a robot to our household.



It is a sunny day and it is supposed to be a warmer day. Indeed, I expect the snow to start melting.






It doesn't melt. Instead, we get the biting winds and we never make it upwards of the freezing point. Still, it is warmer than the past days have been and there will be a thaw this weekend, sooooo -- sledding weather, right?

Ed, wanting to be helpful and envisioning many good hours on the slopes, offers to meet Snowdrop and me in the park.
Which park do you have in mind? -- he asks.
A place called Sledding Hill! Right by Lake Monona. What a great name, no?


I pick up Snowdrop at school.
Her teacher pulls me aside and relays a typical exchange from the morning. Snowdrop had been drawing with markers and after completing her picture, she turns to the teacher: isn't this the most beautiful thing you have ever, ever, ever seen??
The teacher, smiling responds -- well, yes, very nice...
Snowdrop -- ever!

I grin. You cannot say that Snowdrop's emotional range is small. When she is pleased with something, she is thrilled!

But her pal, the true non-napper in the class is back today. Her co-conspirator. For the first time this week, Snowdrop does not nap. She comes up to me and says: I was a little bit bad today!
The teacher assures me that she noticed no such misbehavior.

The girl is bouncy. I'm thinking sledding will be just the ticket.

But it's a chore! Snowdrop dons her winter wear to get to the car. In the car, she sheds every last bit of it, claiming great discomfort otherwise. When we arrive at Sledding Hill, I have to redress her, all in the confines of the car, of course, and with great protest on her part: I want to do it by myself! Ed says -- I'll stay in my car and read a book until you're ready.

Finally. We're ready.






The sledding is okay: there are bare patches and so perhaps a tumble wouldn't feel so good, but Snowdrop is happy to go down with me in the big sled and I'm so pleased that she agrees to go down alone, in her little sled!





I call this a huge success! But after the two runs, she is done.

(Not Ed: he takes a turn and then has to bail out as kids unwittingly walk onto the path of his speeding sled.)





Snowdrop, however,  has spied the swing set. Nothing else comes close to a robust back and forth on a swing.




Now, have you tried swinging by Lake Monona on a windy winter day? Don't do it. It's brisk. It's cold. It can't be fun. Snowdrop complains about boots falling off. I complain about the cold.

It's time to head home. Off come the winter clothes in the car. On come the winter clothes as we trudge back to the farmhouse.

Once inside, she is happy as can be: the glow that comes from a snug room, a grand snack and a good book or a fun toy after a romp in the cold is phenomenal. Snowdrop glows!






... pink socks and all!






Evening comes. Ed has a dinner out with colleagues. I have a neighborhood meeting, to discuss some of the development plans for the fields to the south west. Neither of us wants to go out. I'm hungry. I would love to sit down with a delicately red kir -- that drink with a dab of cassis and a splash of white wine. I can't wait to get home, to that snug house, to play with my toys, read my books and eat a good, hearty supper.

But before I even sit behind the wheel of the car to drive off for my meeting, Ed comes in -- I am late, I have to go. I closed the coop, but Apple wasn't in it. Could you look for her?

I search the trees with a flashlight. I look in all corners of the barn and after my meeting, I look again.

No Apple.

She'll either reappear tomorrow, or she wont. Once or twice, we've had a chicken sit the coop out at night. They've always rejoined the pack in the morning. We'll be looking for Apple, our most successful egg layer, first thing tomorrow.

(Cheepers, last seen together in the late, late afternoon, heading to the barn...)





I'm back from my meeting. The conservation park project is on track. My bowl of soup is reheated and oh so warm! My kir is waiting for me. Exhale....

who would have thought...

technology and sunshine

As of today, Ed has a smart phone. One that he purchased for $20 (so a refurbished Android) and without cell service, but still -- he is now exploring all that he can do with it. (Me, I've had a smart phone for a long time and still know only half its capabilities, as evidenced by the fact that I rarely use it for much beyond texts, calls, directions, emails and check deposits.)

The downside of this for me? The proliferation of ringtones (because there is also my phone which at least plays Vivaldi, plus the landline, and his computer zoom ringtones) and the proliferation of cords, right by our lovely new-ish couch.

Over breakfast...





... we talk about changing technologies. The company he has been overseeing all these years is undergoing significant and progressive, I think, changes going forward. We speculate about disruptions: the benefits that follow, the adjustments that need to be made. It's a fast moving landscape. If you're one who is rooted in the present or worse, advocates a return to what one was -- you're eventually going to stumble.


It's a cold day once more. But again, there will be sunshine! I can tell!






(The farmhouse, with the first wisps of blue sky.)





landscape

Speaking of moving landscapes, we are in transition here, at the farmette. We have a neighbor to the west, but otherwise, we are surrounded by fields: some farmed by truck farmers, others dedicated now to a development that will completely reshape our views to the north and east. But the development has stalled and so we are at an impasse. Weeds have taken hold everywhere around us. Someday there will be streets and if I'm lucky, prairie parks and maybe even a playground. For now, there are thick clumps of thistle and who knows what else.

But to my surprise, across the road (so to the southwest), the landowner has sold his fields to another developer who, in exchange for supporting development elsewhere, as a consolation prize, has promised to use this large parcel for a conservation park -- preserving the wetlands and, additionally, creating spaces for educational outreach and urban farming.

Honestly, from my point of view (and I am one who vocally and consistently opposed development here, since it surely will disrupt any number of wetland habitats), we have the prospect of being surrounded by restored prairies and conservation parks. It is a great consolation prize -- I could not be happier!


pink

Snowdrop continues to profess her deep adoration for the color pink. I just looooove it! She'll tell us again and again.

I was shopping online for a farmhouse scarf replacement. I lost her favorite -- "my beautiful scarf!" -- and so of course, I'm looking now for a pink one. And so long as I'm on this lovely website, I browse through their sale items and come across pink socks. What are grandmas for if not to pick up extra pink socks for a granddaughter?!

The two items arrived today. The surprise is in the socks:





Made in Poland! Who would have thought...

not sick

I pick up Snowdrop at the usual time. I look around the class - still severely depleted: only four were present today. I ask if Snowdrop is the only one who hasn't succumbed to the ravaging virus.
Yes, her teacher tells me. We're all going to start eating veggie sticks now! (This is Snowdrop's favorite lunch item these days.)

It's sunny and the temperature isn't too awful: 25F (-4C). But the wind is biting. Still, Ed and I think a few good sled runs on a real hill would be lovely. We pick up him and the two sleds and head for the disc golf course: the hills there should be perfect for Snowdrop.

But on our way, the phone rings. Ed has a sudden dental appointment. (What we thought was a cold turns out to be a dental problem.)

Back we go to the farm, Ed leaves us, Snowdrop and I return to the hills.


snow

We no longer need two sleds for just Snowdrop and me, but I take out both anyway, because the girl likes the little one for rides, but she'll need the big one with me in it for the run down the hill.

It is a brutal tug to the hills. Ed, where are you??

I nearly give up, but I'm not sure if the snow will last: tomorrow promises the start of a warmup. We want to (I want to!) have one good, fast-ish run!

I admire Snowdrop. She has been shuttled from one place to the next then back again. And now it is cold. It is windy. But she doesn't complain about any of it. As I huff and puff and pull her along, she hums songs to herself, turning her face away from the biting wind.

At the bottom of the hill, I should ask her to make the climb on her own, but I don't have the heart. I puff my way up, two sleds in tow, one with my three year old granddaughter.

And now we are at the top. Selfie!







She loves it! It's not a super steep incline and so our speed is moderate, but I have to say, it is well worth the effort to get to it!






Before we head back to the car, Snowdrop wants to take a little walk -- just to the bench and back. This is when you can see the beautiful effect of the wind on the snow!






Her pinkness is reflected in the snow...





So much beauty in one brief trip to the hills...


play

These days, Snowdrop spends a good bit of time in her world of characters and stories. Still, there are some games and plays that she will do only if I take part. Dressing magnetic dolls (a modern version of paper dolls) is one of them.

You might think there is no value in having a toddler dress these cardboard kids. But Snowdrop loves this activity and I blame the public library for introducing her to it (they have a set of similar magnet dolls in the play area). For her, it's an opportunity for more storytelling and for exercising control over a daily routine: getting dressed.






I have no doubt that it's time happily spent.






We do puzzles together as well. Some are grand introductions to reading and today, she turns totally silly with them. No grandma, it's not a fox, it's a telephone!





evening

Ed is playing volley ball tonight. I think about the day, I think about the coming spring, summer, fall. There is so much to think about! To anticipate!

But really, this day is fine in its own right, despite the fact that we are in the thick of winter. Earlier, as Snowdrop and I snuggled on the couch with a short stack of books and a bowl of fruit after our romp with the sleds, she said -- I loooove warm!

It's warm here, at the farmhouse. Lovely warm. In all ways.

winter!

A friend reminded me yesterday that we've hit the middle of meteorological winter. Well then! We have many weeks left for significant snows! Half over, but a whole half before us.

In the meantime, I have to admit -- I'm enjoying the few inches of powder that we have on the ground now. It's cold still, but I hear we'll be drifting past freezing again this weekend. That's a warning: play now, because it may all disappear by Sunday.

Not you, girls! Don't get too brave. Turn right back -- we'll talk about food once you're in the barn.






They said it would be a cloudy day. Well now. Prove them wrong!






Slowly, the sky moves from gray to misty blue... (This view is of the farmette land, as seen from the road.)






But if I am enjoy the snow, it has to be a solo act, or, later in the day -- with Snowdrop. Ed, after avoiding everyone's sniffles, has finally succumbed to some mild version of something or other. He wants to come down for breakfast, but I suggest this as an alternative: upstairs, under the quilt,






As I work in the kitchen, I look out to see visitors. I watch to see if they're finding for sustenance. Seed pods. (Note one in her mouth?) The ones from our lotus trees. Go for it -- there are still several million lying around the yard. (And please leave vulnerable trees and plants alone. Thank you!)






When I pick up Snowdrop from school, I just assume she'll want to head straight for the farmette yard. She doesn't.
I just want to go inside, to read some books and eat fruit and play...
I surely am not going to push her into being out in this cold weather. I lug in her snow apparel, take off mine and start putting it all away.
Grandma, I really do want to go outside!
Whaaaat? Now??
Yes!

I laugh. She laughs. And honestly, she doesn't stop laughing, giggling, teasing for a long, long time.






... after I've put away all our winter stuff?
Yes!!!






Can I take my baby?






Faster, grandma! I loooove fast!











After a half dozen small hill runs -- down and up, down and up... -- I'm ready for a change.
Let's shovel ahah's sheep shed walk!





I'm going to cover you with snow, grandma!






Snowdrop, I have snow everywhere!






Let's go inside.
But I don't want to...
Let's see if ahah will share his cookie with us.







And back to laughter...






Yes, snow with sunshine will bring out the best in us! (A nap and a good snack help.)

and so it snowed...

You know how it is: throw her a penny and she wants a dime. Well, we got a nickel's worth of snow today and yes, I would have liked a dime.

Oh, it was enchantingly pretty to wake up to this! (Looking out from the porch...)






I went out happily to rescue the cheepers from the misery of being trapped in the barn, fed them well and admired the beauty of the delicate snow.






(Yellow farmhouse, white snow... still falling!)






But it is cold and the snow is very delicate: like meringue. I bend down to form a snowball. I can't do it -- the pack of snow crumbles in my hand.

Still, it continues to fall -- delicate stuff, but more of it. Well, just a little more of it. I'd be surprised if we had more than four inches total and it is a fluffy pile of inches. Clamp it down and it's like a squashed sponge cake, only not as sticky.

(Breakfast, with a pretty view...)






I shovel the driveway. Ed offers to blow it out, but is it worth starting the great machine for it?

But more importantly, is it good enough for cross country skiing?

Weeeeell...

Ed and I head out to our nearby county park. It's exciting to be going skiing again. It's our first chance to do it this winter!






It's so pretty here!






But it's not a good run. There just isn't enough of a solid cover and Ed worries that he's scratching his skis. He takes them off. I try to take a downhill turn and fall hard when the boards catch gravel.

We continue on flatter ground, Ed still off skis. And now he crosses a patch of ice and falls even harder than me.

We proceed more cautiously, both on skis now and honestly, it is a fun hour despite the difficulties, but my oh my, would we love a good old snowstorm. (Not the damaging kind -- just a wet, lovely, thick snow blanket for our winter landscape.)

(Driving home... The whole band of forested land is the farmette.)






In the afternoon, Snowdrop comes over. And of course, she is terribly excited about building "the biggest snowman ever!!"

This is the best we could do:






Ed calls it our snow-clump. I tell Snowdrop the snowman looks better if she kneels next to him.






Ever the optimist, she asks -- can we build a snow house?
You can't blame me for not trying...






But grandma, it doesn't have a roof!

I explain to her that the roof (and the walls and everything in between) will have to wait for more snow.

We take the little sled and scoot about the farmette. And I have an idea.
Snowdrop, there is a secret house out here that you can enter, and it has a roof and it's very beautiful. I point to the tall firs that grow toward the far end of the farmette land. You can climb into it, see?

She does see. She scoots underneath the vast branches.






Just big enough for her. Fairly dry, with the scent of pine needles.





Can I come in?
If you ring the door bell!

But it's really to cramped for me. It's hers. And she is very reluctant to leave it!







Come on, little one! We can visit the cheepers!

Yes, that does it. Feeding them in the barn still ranks as a favorite of hers.






Can I play with them for a little bit?
One quick minute!






Indoors again, she is full of spark!






Her parents come over for dinner and she ropes them into her stories.






And of course, when Snowdrop talks, everyone, even Ed listens!






It's a beautiful day, a holiday of course. True, the snow presented small challenges, but more significantly, it delivered such great joys! And I am sure as anything, everyone will sleep well tonight!