Snowdrop sandwich

The day is colder, grayer, more reminiscent of winter, which, I suppose, is as it should be. We are, after all, still chugging along through the last days of January.

Ed hints that a walk would be nice anyway, but I'm not anxious to be outside. I've designated this day to be a "fill the bags for Goodwill" day -- a cleansing and purging that I'm certain will make me feel only lighter and brighter!

But all that can't be interesting to you. Old books, clothes, papers -- we all have them, we all should periodically work to eliminate a good number of them. This is everyone's story!

More colorful and therefore interesting are the beginning and end to this Sunday. They both are made bubbly and bouncy by the presence of Snowdrop.

She had spent the night here and I have to say, even though I see her daily, being with her in the morning when she wakes up is a special treat. Snowdrop awakens like we all should awaken to a new day -- with enthusiasm!

She starts with a tease, one that she loves: go up to a posted word card and tell me that it says "pink." I protest. I tell her it couldn't be. I tell her I am sure it says apple. Nope, she insists it's "pink." And then she doubles over with laughter.







Her good cheer is with her over a bowl of cornflakes (her choice today for "breakfast-lite").






And it lasts through her bath, and into the "big breakfast," this one with Ed. (I had asked her what she would like and she did not hesitate: scrambled eggs! With bacon? Yes! And fruit? Yes!)






This is when we look outside and notice that it is snowing.






We wont get more than an inch out of this one, but hey, the ground will look that much lighter and brighter. Besides, the flakes are fat and lovely to observe!






After, she plunges into play...






... and into feeding us pretend meals with cakes and who knows what else. She has a very detailed image of how we should consume her generous offerings. She doesn't hesitate to instruct!





Happy girl equals happy farmhouse. It's as simple as that.


The target return home time is 9:30, but we never make it out of here before 11. There is so much to do, especially when there's snow!






Ever the helpful Snowdrop!






Our snow lump (excuse me, snowman) will look a little healthier in the days ahead.

There is one tiny disappointment for the little one: in many books she has seen that children love to catch snowflakes on their tongues. Snowdrop hasn't had many opportunities for this, given are exceedingly dry winter, but this morning she gives it a try. But, the snow is too wimpy and her tongue not large enough. Ah well! I tell her there will be other snowfalls. I've been saying this an awful lot this winter!





On the drive home, she surprises me with her now repeat request to retell the story of the penguin and the purple cookie. I mentioned here, I think, that it was one of my poorest attempts at making up a new tale for her. And yet, for some reason it grabbed her. I've since embellished it, but still, I have to smile at how poor we are sometimes at predicting what a child might love.


And now there is the other half of the Snowdrop sandwich: the Sunday dinner at the farmhouse.






It's a meal that has a lot of Snowdrop favorites and adult favorites (shrimp, pasta, porcini mushrooms, tomatoes, haricots verts...).






It's late by the time we're done with it. Well, late for us. Not for Snowdrop.
I want to take my babies grocery shopping!
Snowdrop!






Still, we linger. There's a lot of good feeling floating around. Why move on...






Well, we all do have to move on. Tomorrow is Monday. It's good to end with a smile, but it's also important to get that good night's rest.

To a grand week ahead!

Saturday

One more quick breath of spring before we return to our winter normal (which this year appears to be a snowless cold).

(All melted, here at the farmette. Well, except for snowman lump.)






There isn't a doubt in our minds that we should hike today. But where? I hand over the task of planning out the day to Ed. It's only right: he's the one who swears staying home offers as much excitement as more distant travel. Come up with a staycation adventure!

But first, breakfast.






We are both stunned that he finds a state park within a half hour of the farmette -- one which neither of us has ever explored. That's almost unbelievable, as we think we've hiked every public access path within a far wider radius. But somehow this one had escaped our radar.

And so we drive the scant 28 minutes to New Glarus Woods State Park (which, oh what a surprise, is located just by the town of New Glarus).






At this time of the year, it takes us about two hours to do the large loop that hugs the periphery of the park. The snow is gone, but icy patches on the trail require careful handling.





The trail is mostly woodsy and it's a new forest -- one that grew in the last one or two hundred years, around the oak groves and out of the savannah that was once here. When settlers came, the prairie burnings subsided and the tree seedlings took hold, choking out the prairie grasses.





Still, there is the occasional clearing here -- brown and gold now, but likely to be quite pretty come summertime.





Overall, we give the park trail a very good if not excellent grade. Half of the trail is too close to the nearby road. You never want to hear cars when you're in the forest! But the other half is very lovely and we appreciate discovering this patch of (soon to be) green public space.

selfie!





We exit with a bang. The ice intensifies in one segment and Ed flips backwards, landing on his back and head. There! He was right! Plenty of adventure, close by!

We end our excursion with a stop in New Glarus. We want to try some of the local eateries outside the city and the Fat Cat Coffee Shop serves lunches in addition to the usual bakery items.











We share a piece of goat cheese and fig quiche.





And we head home. Can't be too late on the return. Snowdrop is coming over for supper and a sleepover.

Pizza time! (I am the most unimaginative grandma when it comes to sleepover dinners!)






Oh, that mozzarella cheese!






Ahah, take off your jacket! (He obliges. Of course.)






Then -- playtime!






...And a bit of coaxing to get her upstairs.
But Gag (her newest nickname for me, making her sound almost like a teenager), I want to play with letters!
That board says "no Snowdrop!" meaning no, now is not the time to play with letters.






We negotiate. We reach a deal. Which is then renegotiated. Three times.

And eventually she falls asleep, in love with the fact that for the first time here, she has a night light in her room.

A little light in life goes a long long way.

Friday

Well, we stumbled along in our own loopy way toward Friday. I'll say this -- thank goodness it is the end of January. The sun now sets at 5:02 p.m., the air has that whiff of pre-spring, and we can look forward to our goofy speculations about the groundhog's spring prophecies and flip through flower and seed catalogues for the spring that is just around the corner!

(The cheepers think spring is here today. Give them 40F (5C) in the morning and they come trotting to the farmhouse door -- something they never do in the dead of winter.)






Breakfast -- back in the front room, table badly in need of fresh blooms. The pot with the colorful ranunculus is from Giverny. They're fake.





Appointments this morning last longer than I had anticipated. Finally done! But wait, it's nearly one? How am I to grocery shop for the week and pick up Snowdrop in the next hour? (The time I spend in the grocery store each week is, on the average, 75 minutes. I mean, I examine each piece of fruit very carefully! Today, however, I zip through the place in one third the time and without a ready grocery list. It will be an interesting week of eating.)

I am on time to pick up Snowdrop. Phew! Such a relief.

Today isn't a spectacular weather day. Earlier, it rained, quite unexpectedly. It's not cold, but it's not pleasant. There's a bite to the air. Still, it is above freezing and it is January and one must seize these times to take in the greater world, because when the temps dip again (and they surely will), you'll run from car to house as if chased by a herd of angry hyenas.

But that girl! All those days when it was so cold, she begged for time outside. Now, when the temps are hovering just above freezing, she's indifferent to it. Rain and puddles covering icy surfaces? Bleh! It's as if she is telling me -- give me spring, nothing less will do.

So at pick up time, I resort to tempting her with little goodies: Snowdrop, if you put on your jacket and shoes, we can maybe go to the playground.... I bet the swings will be empty now... Mmmm! Back and forth, back and forth!

The dawdling child is in her jacket and shoes in a flash.

Back and forth, back and forth, for a goodly half hour!






We look out at the lesser lake: so interesting now! It looks like it's melting. Fools' dreams! You're actually seeing rain puddles on top of the frozen lake. It will remain frozen until the middle of March, or even into early April.






Snowdrop comes alive now that she is given plenty of time to spin her stories in this beloved little park. Yes, she should be wearing gloves and a hat. Go ahead, tell her that.






Snowdrop, you haven't munched on your croissant yet. Want it?





After an hour, I start to think of creative ways to get her back to the car. Well, maybe not so creative. Snowdrop, you want to check out the coffee shop? Maybe they'll have a cherry scone...

Ah, it's like old times...






As we wait for a rest room to become available, she finds a chair that she "just loves!"

Here comes another story...






I laugh in appreciation. She laughs in return.






Out we go for our walk back to her school and my car...






But if I thought I was going to have an easy time of buckling her in and heading out -- not so! She is full of memories of how it once was, before the cold crept up on us (and it did so early and fiercely this winter). She used to play in the car before our drive home, creating a mini universe of school and home for her tales of woe and redemption. She so wants to do this again today. I let her.
Just for one more minutes, Snowdrop! 
No, five! (I doubt she has a grasp of how long minutes are, but five is greater than one!)

Alright, five.






Later, much later, she asks Ed to go out to the barn with her to lock up the cheepers. He'd done that already, but it hardly matters. They head out to "inspect" the girls. They'll open the coop door and "make sure" that everyone is there.

After, he takes her to the picnic table (she was riding on his shoulders and so she is without shoes). They stay there for quite a long while. I watch from the kitchen. She works his flashlight. On, off. On off.

I ask him later -- what did you talk about?
Oh, she wanted to know about the deer antler that's on the table. I told her that once a year, a deer will shed his antlers. Every now and then, we find them in the yard.


(Ed, Snowdrop, flashlight, antler.)





Such a day! Full of stories with superb endings. Full of love for what has been and hope for what's ahead.

I blame January

An Ocean reader sent a comment after yesterday's post. The gist of it is this -- what about the porch??

You recall I had been speculating about how little of what is in the farmhouse is here because Ed would have willed it to be here. Most of the things were purchased by me, for me, or brought here from my former life. Perhaps that was Ed's thought when he recently looked around and sighed. His stuff was in the sheep shed. He wasn't spending much time in the sheep shed.

This led to reflections (both his and mine) on how our life together has evolved. I'm not sure that this is a worthwhile project, but January seems to be the chosen month for state of the union speeches and so we found ourselves suddenly and quite unexpectedly in the thick of such an analysis.

I do blame January. In the kinder seasons, Ed and I are too busy doing things outdoors, together, to think much about where or why we're doing them. We work the land. We built the porch! We rip out weeds and plant tomatoes. We extend flower beds. All that belongs to neither him not me -- it is ours.

And despite its furnishings, toys, and kitchen paraphernalia, so is the farmhouse. We created a life in it and around it and so it is ours. Glass roofed porch (his project, our labor) and all. He for me, I for him, and so it's all rather irrelevant as to whose it is, or who is most pleased or bothered by the final outcome. We try for success. So often we succeed. Sometimes we don't quite get it right. But, that's what projects are -- they are adventures. Our days at the farmette are one very raucous, spirited whirligig of an adventure.



Today the melt began again. A few degrees above freezing, wisps of lovely sunshine and the light layer of snow begins to disappear.

(The cheepers are puzzled by yesterday's addition of the snowman. They dance around him,  peck out his black olive eyes and move on.)








Breakfast: at the kitchen table again.






Ed suggests a walk. Actually, he suggests many things: why don't we do yoga? why don't we hike? should we go out for dinner?  Do you want to go away for the weekend?

I agree to the walk. It really is such a lovely day! We haven't much time, but that's okay - this is when the trails are most slippery -- we'll only hike so far. At our favorite of all places -- the Brooklyn Wildlife Ice Age trail.






You know, the one through the forest...






And looping around to this most gorgeous (in our opinion) view.






Selfie!






And back to the woods.






Driving home, Ed proposes a stop at the chocolate shop. It's been a while. Yes, that would be so fine! How many? -- the clerk asks. I go big: 25!
I want to do Ed a favor. We eat these chocolates at the rate of one a day (we always split them in two and we never eat more than that half each). With twenty-five, that'll take us past February 14th. Consider this then your Valentine's Day gift for me! You need do nothing else!
Nothing else?
Well, a card, if you so choose...






And now it's time for me to pick up Snowdrop.

She is in a fantastic mood! All smiles, all the time.






(Cookie thief!)






Most of her time today is spent on playing school with her babies and Ed and me. It is totally incomprehensible to me why she decides that I should be the kid and he should join her as a teacher (Snowdrop is obviously the master teacher: she gives detailed instructions on how he should proceed)...






So be it. Perhaps I'm more of a handful.






Ed nearly always does whatever she asks him to do.






One last photo -- of her leading us in a circle song -- the more we get together. It was very sweet to hear his deep voice and her gentle one singing the same words...





The more we get together, together, together
The more we get together the happier we'll be!