fly fishing

A cold day, with a new dusting of snow. It's not a morning where you want to linger outside. A quick walk to the barn to tend to the cheepers and that's it.





I don't have to go out again for a while. Or do I?

I get that early morning phone call that can only mean one thing: Snowdrop's down again. I offer to go to her home after breakfast so that the parents can attend to at least the most pressing work business.



Over the morning meal...





... Ed talks about fishing with his dad.
I liked going out with him on the boat to fish. Flounder. We'd be fishing for flounder. Often times we wouldn't get any. And in fact, I'd prefer that. It didn't make me happy to catch the fish. I just liked being out there with him, fishing.
Me, I love Ed's recollections of time with his father, though I feel this particular musing is heading somewhere.
Indeed: you should write this on your blog: shopping for a dining table is like fishing with my dad for flounder.

From this, he spins into fishing tales. Did you know that trolling differs from fly fishing? Actually I know next to nothing about fishing. Last time I tried to catch a fish was when I was right around Snowdrop's age and I cast about the pond by my grandparents's village home with a butterfly net. I think I netted and released a tadpole or two. Now, Ed is suggesting that we watch a youtube on fly fishing.

This is how time simply disappears when I am with Ed.


When I get to Snowdrop's home, she is rallying again! It's such a relief!

She has her medical kit close at hand. I bring over her farmhouse baby. She checks her baby's health.






All good. What now, grandma?






We run through many books and games, but what really gets her going is the idea that she should dance. (It's her inspiration, likely tied to the fact that she knows she has to skip her Storybook Ballet class today.)






Seeing that smile on a grandgirl who was so dragged down by a bug just a few hours ago makes this grandma's heart swell!






(She picked up from a book that dancers do Arabesques. Okay!)






(As in her Storybook Ballet class, we end with a story. This time, she does the reading. I, in my own "light dance wear" -- undershirts are a winter staple for me -- listen.)






(Then, one more check, to make sure we're all well...)






... and I return home.

(From the cheepers: where have you been???! They're so demanding of attention on days when they're cooped up in the barn!)






In the late afternoon, Ed and I hop over to the local park for a quick ski run. I mean, there's enough snow and there is a patch of blue in the sky. What more could you ask for?!





Evening. I think about fly fishing. I think it reminds me of flower tending: long periods of silent work, alone, working in cooperation with that what nature allows.

Tuesday

I wasn't sure about today's schedule. Will Snowdrop be well? Will she return to school?

I am up early. Just in case.

It is again bitter cold outside. But pretty! Especially in the minutes just after sunrise.






I go out to greet/feed the cheepers. There'll be plenty of sunshine today, but the hens have had enough of snow adventures. They're staying put, in the barn. Wise decision.





I clear some of the farmette paths and I decide there is enough snow up on the porch glass roof to warrant my climb out there as well for some heavy duty shoveling. It's brutal work, especially if you're dumb enough to leave your mittens inside. I wont be making that mistake again!

Breakfast. In the sun room!
(Ed asks -- could you cut my hair later today? Oh yes! So glad you asked!)






In the end, I learn that I'll be picking up Snowdrop in the afternoon. This leaves a golden morning window for skiing!

Except that it's so cold. We're at 6F (-14C). But there is snow. For the first time this winter, there is an adequate layer of snow on the cross country trails in our local county park.

We bundle up. I mean, we really bundle up. It is only the second time in my life that I see Ed put on snow pants. I do as well -- the old fashioned kind that make us both look like inflated balloons. It's worth it -- anything to keep warm.

It's a beautiful day to be outside! The trails aren't groomed, but we manage!






And perhaps you will have guessed that halfway into our run, we get very very hot.






I have to say, I do not mind feeling hot when an Arctic blast has descended upon us once more. There is something deeply satisfying in opening your jacket and unfurling your scarf in defiance!

Ed asks -- can we ski over to my favorite tree?
Of course! His favorite tree has a grand resting place for my camera, thus providing us with a time release selfie.






A pristine white snow, a clear blue sky -- what more could you ask of a February day?!






In the afternoon, there is Snowdrop.






She is feeling much better now, even as the day has dragged her down a bit. She surely has flicked away whatever bug was ailing her, but you can tell that she is one tired little girl.

Still, she is content to read her favorites...






And she takes a stab at play, but honestly -- I think she'll be happiest when she is tucked in for the night in her warm comfy bed.






Evening. A quiet one. All projects put aside for the day. The snow outside has turned from morning gold to dusky dusty blue. Winter colors in a still world.

at home

My first words here are in the form of advice: slow down! And watch a youtube clip on on how to keep a baby/child/adult from choking. Seriously. It'll take you a handful of minutes and you may save a life.

It is a bitter cold morning. In the negatives (so, well below -18C). There is a momentary showing of sunshine and the cheepers take that as a good omen. They are so wrong.






And now they're stuck in the garage and there is more snow on the way and the temperatures refuse to climb more than a wimpy couple of degrees. It's that kind of a morning.

Ed is sleeping in. I am a little bit in a hurry because Snowdrop is under the weather and I promised to spend time with her at her home this afternoon.

That doesn't justify a rushed breakfast, but the head doesn't always work out the finer details of life well before that first morning cup of coffee.






So at breakfast, I choke. Ed is adept at Heimlich maneuvers and so I am back to normal quickly enough.
Seriously, Nina! On oatmeal? -- he shakes his head in amazement.
It was a strawberry! -- I answer in my defense. And it isn't the first time that I have choked on fruit. I am a notoriously fast eater. That seems so antithetical to someone who loves to savor well prepared food, but there you have it, the truth's out. I eat like the devil.

Of course, if I can wedge a strawberry (or apple bite -- another favorite offending object), so can you and so can your kid. So watch a video on how to help when someone near you is gasping. Different ages require different strategies: watch them all. I'd say take a CPR course, but you wont, so at least watch how others do it. Still reluctant? Let me suggest this five minute one on helping kids who eat too fast or stuff their mouths with legos:

For adults -- lear the Heimlich. It's easy and effective: above the bellybutton, with upward thrusts.

And now the clouds roll in. Ed is back in bed, I'm settling down to write.



In the afternoon, I am as promised at Snowdrop's house.

I smile as I remember her grand claim that she prefers plain to fancy! You could have fooled me, little one!






She is feverish this morning, but by the time I get there, she appears on the mend. Good books, quiet play and a solid nap fill the hours quickly.






We cross our fingers that nothing more serious will come of this.

As I walk up to the farmhouse, I notice two things: no footprints in the snow (therefore Ed has not left the house all day) and, too, it's not really dark yet. Yes, it's bitter cold, but just that show of evening light is so uplifting!





I shovel a few of our paths, then come in to savor the wonderfulness of a warm house on a cold cold day.

to Cottage Grove! Or, careful what you wish for!

Well, what a surprise! We must have a half a foot of snow on the ground and it is a pretty snow! The winds haven't yet blown the puffy white stuff off the branches. I go out and admire the suddenly delicate landscape.







(Not that the cheepers are pleased!)






Finally, winter has given us something to admire!






Over breakfast...






... I make my case to Ed: we should get the listed farmhouse table that I discovered and liked yesterday. It's long, yes, but it looks so authentic! And it's not wide! It wont overwhelm!
But I thought you wanted something lighter, brighter! I'm so confused!
I want something that feels right.
And this feels right?
Yes it does.
I just can't believe it! It will crowd the space.

(Pause)

Okay. Forget it then.
No... we should look.
Really?
Yes. I don't like the idea of such a large piece of furniture, but I'm trying to understand what's driving you here. We should look.
Great! He'll meet us there this morning! It's in Cottage Grove. Let's take the truck!

I say this, even as the truck is buried under heavy snow. It has to be cleaned out. It has to be backed out of its precarious position in the corner of our parking ledge. Still, I am convinced that once Ed sees the table, his heart will swell with joy and we'll drive it home, in time for our Sunday dinner tonight!

Ed plows the driveway and works on clearing the truck. I'm excited.

Are you sure you like it? As much as the one in the store?
Yes, I think so. It's different, but...
I'll say it's different! (In Craigslist, it is described as hand crafted from repurposed barn wood. And the photos are stunning!)

And now it is time to back out the truck. The wheels spin and slide and before long, one wheel rolls into the huge groundhog hole and the other dangles precariously over the ledge.

Well, that wreck cant be moved. Certainly not until Ed thinks of a clever way of not getting himself tossed upside down over the ledge, truck and all.

We take the car. We can always hand over a deposit and come back later. Ed has trucker friends! We'll borrow a truck!

And it is a good thing we're not driving the pickup  because the roads are treacherous! The hazard light in my car keeps flashing: you're in a slide, you're in a slide! Yes, I do realize that. I'm trying to stay on the road!

We are late. I am apologetic. I look around us: we're at a golf course. In some sort of a storage shed.
The wife wanted the new table in, so I moved this one here.
Okay fine, let's see it.

It's horrible. The wood is not smooth at all. Run your hand over it and you'll walk away with ten splinters. It's a piece of junk.

He must have seen the look of disgust on my face. He is quickly reassuring: This isn't really the one I wanted to show you. The big one is in the club room.
Okay...

We walk to the club room. There is another table there. Presumably also built by him out of "repurposed barn wood."
It's not horrid. Just pretty gross.



We drive across country roads and some forty minutes later, we're home.

But I can't shake the awfulness of those tables. That must have been an exceptionally misleading set of photos on Craigslist. To me, it looked so good!

Ed brings up the ad again.  It's not the same table. I can see that the one in the photo doesn't have the row of screws I saw in the ones he showed us. The guy is pulling a fast one. It's a bait and switch. He's scamming.
He tries t o reassure me. You'll find something. And if not, we'll consider something new.


I smile.



In the afternoon, we had signed up to work on building a prairie along a segment of the Ice Age Trail. But I'm thinking --  surely the volunteer event must be cancelled. The snow is significant. The wind is harsh. It's just 11F (-11C) and it feels even colder.

We get a message from the coordinator: we're on! wear warm clothing!

The clouds have moved on, the sun is brilliant. It's beautiful outside!

But oh, is it cold.

We meet the very small group of volunteers and hike up toward the four acre field, soon to be prairie.





The coordinator is happy to have us. We have a wind shield and we've built a fire to keep you warm! Let's get to work!

Ed and I empty seed pods into a big tub.





The seeds are attached to soft, luxurious puffs and when the wind kicks in, several puffs rise into the air and dance away from us.






So delicate! So beautiful.





Our coordinator mixes up bagfuls of various donated seeds. Millions, trillions of seeds! He knows his work well. Rows of footprints mark off segments of the former pasture. We each get a segment.

Off we go, carefully sowing the seeds, making sure that they're evenly dispersed.





Ed comments -- who knew sowing seeds could be hard work...

When we're done, we're offered donated treats from Clasen's Bakery. Someone tells me the morning buns are especially good when toasted over the campfire. I try it.






Ed tries it.





Delicious! But then, pretty much anything would taste exquisite here by the warm fire on this bitter cold day.

(Us, the seed sowers, as taken on a timed release.)






Ed and I do one more segment and then we cut out. I have a dinner to cook and it is dangerously close to evening time!






The young family is at the farmhouse tonight and yes, we'll be eating at the old table. The trusty reliable smooth and bright little table that has stood up to so many family meals!






And yes, Snowdrop. There's time for play!






There's always time for play!






Always.

think: flowers

A Saturday offers an opportunity to get out and be adventurous. Ed and I found a stretch of land by Lake Waubesa (the lake that's just up the road from us) that we had thought was private property. It's not -- maps indicate that it belongs to the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources. We'd like to explore it. Maybe today?

Maybe not. It's dreary out there. Gray. Not too warm either.

We have breakfast in the front room. On this morning, I really appreciate the fact that daffodils have started making their preseason appearance at the grocery stores.





Since I am reluctant to go out, Ed disappears to do some volunteer work at a construction site where they're demolishing a bank building. A group of hobbyists from a local maker space were given permission to scavenge some of the remains. So far as I know, he's there, taking apart doorways and glass partitions.

I stay home and do the annual task of planning out the next flower bed expansion. (In the front yard, where we'll both widen and lengthen it.)

And outside, the snow starts.





I read the forecast: 1-3 inches. Big deal. That's a dusting, not a snowfall.

Back to my flowers. I look up at the roses on the table and think -- yes, soon there'll be roses outside too.






In the evening, there is a special treat: the young family drops by! They have a house guest -- a close daughter friend who is therefore also a family friend. Snowdrop is delighted to be at the farmhouse with everyone!






But, the grownups want to talk, so she corrals Ed (who was napping upstairs) to read her a book...






Downstairs again, she and I do a puzzle. Hey, isn't it great to pretend the puzzle box is a sled? The girl scoots back and forth, back and forth...





Late evening. Time for them to head out. I walk them to the front door... Oh, look! The snow may not be thick and deep, but it's lovely! The winds will come at night, but for now, the air is still. The branches are iced with white puffy snow. And the snow lump (excuse me -- snowman) is getting a fresh coat. Good -- he needed it. His stick hands seem to be saying -- help me out here, people!





There's not enough snow for skiing, but it surely is enough to make you appreciate the subtle beauty of a winter night.


And the dining table... no progress yet? No, none at all. Indeed, I would say we take a step back. I had found a table I actually liked quite a lot on Craigslist (and it's only some 30 miles outside of Madison). It satisfied probably 8 out of 10 important factors (where the store bought one satisfies all 10). That's actually quite grand!

But it turns out that one of it's two flaws is fatal to Ed: the table has to be in its full "dining for eight" position all the time. It has no leaves -- it's just long.

I know I can override him. Farmhouse. Not sheep shed. Farmhouse. Indeed, I can just pull out the savings and purchase the table I love and be done with it. But I wont do that.

Not just yet.

to Sun Prairie!

It's the middle of the night. Gorgeous, are you awake?
I am now...
...Because I found a table you may like on Craigslist.
People posted new stuff in the middle of the night?
No, but would you believe it, these people simply listed it as a "pecan table," so I did not catch it in my search for dining or kitchen tables. Do you like it?

At 3 o'clock at night I do not have strong feelings about tables. Send them a message of interest.

And then we hear nothing. For a long time.

Breakfast, in the sun room!





This to compensate for the cold that is, unfortunately, still with us today. Brrr!

No matter. It's a grocery shopping day. In and out of car. Shop. In and out of car. Boom! Done.


And then I pick up Snowdrop who is... tired. (No nap, three days in a row.)

Carry me, grandma!
Okay... Let me take your stuff to the car first. Wait for me!
Okay, grandma...






At the farmhouse I suggest that she rest. She does. For two minutes. Maybe less.






I'm done. I want to go downstairs. Will you read me a book?






And somehow she rallies. This is so Snowdrop! She digs deep, comes up with a reserve and the spark returns.

You want to have some cake and ice cream with us? -- she asks, arranging her babies around the table...






Yep, the spark returns.





Sometime in the afternoon, the people with the pecan table respond to our message. Available. Yes, a nice medium tone. Excellent shape. Yes, come look at it.



After Snowdrop leaves, Ed pulls out his crazy old truck and we head out to Sun Prairie, home to the pe-can table. Pe-cahn table, Ed. It's pe-cahn.

It's not quite like the ones I identified as favorites in stores, but it's better than most anything we've seen on Craigslist. It's expandable. The shape is fine, the length -- perfect.
I should get this one -- I tell Ed.
Do you really like it?
I don't dislike it. It will be fine. It'll serve us well. It wont overwhelm the kitchen. Let's offer her 180 (it's listed at 200) and be done with it!

She wont take 180. She is wedded to her 200.

And so we load it up, right? I mean, 200 is completely reasonable.

(Let's have a drumroll, Snowdrop!)






(Come on, bang it out little one!)






Well... at the last minute I back out.

No, sorry. I don't want it.

It's wrong in small ways: too dining room rather than casual. Too pecan! Dull brown. Calling forth dark images rather than sunshine and daffodils.

As we drive home, I say to Ed -- I'm so glad we didn't take it!
What??? (You have to understand, the truck has no muffler. It is a noisy ride!)
I've learned that when in doubt, I should just walk away.
Something will show up.
What??? (Can't hear him...)
We've just begun. I don't mind driving around..
The truck isn't so bad..
You should get something you really like..
I know... Thank you.

At home, we reheat our lentil soup, load up our salad plates and exhale.