getting used to the young ones

It's five in the morning. Dark and quiet.
I'm going to go check on the cheepers. He means the little girls, now waking up to their second day at the farmhouse.
I was just thinking of doing that, but I'm afraid they're not alright!
They're fine -- he shouts up from the sun room.

Ten minutes later I shout down: what are you doing?
Sitting and watching them.

And so we have two chairs pulled close to the little blue box where they now reside. We're too old to plop down willingly on the floor, but we think it's perfectly fine to sit in chairs for a long long while staring at baby chickens.




I suppose it's that early brush with new life. You tend to stare at babies too when they first pop out. Count fingers, admire the crease in the little fist... Though in this case, we're more likely to laugh at a funny stretch of a chicken leg or comment on who is getting bigger faster (it appears to be the aptly named Cupcake who eats like there's no tomorrow).






Breakfast, set in the sunny sun room.






And then Ed rushes off to the Social Security Office. It is the month of Social Security drama for us. Yesterday he learned that someone had used hacked information (think Equifax breach) to try to apply for retirement and disability benefits as Ed. All straightened out now, but uff, what a pain!

In the afternoon, I interrupt my spotty writing and my constant chicken watching... (not you, girls! your little sisters!)






... to pick up Snowdrop...






... who then does her own happy baby chicken watching.






I do lure her away for our time with Brambly Hedge on the orange couch...






... and of course, necessarily, an animated story follows.












Snowdrop, it's time for us to go to your house.
Can I take my babies?
Sure...






(Ed hovers, showing off his newly purchased jacket from Farm and Fleet. Yes, it is exactly the same as his previous one, minus the tears.)






Snowdrop's mommy has a little free time and so we schedule a brisk walk -- if only to take in these early moments of spring.






We go to a lovely playground in their neighborhood. After many many minutes on the swing, Snowdrop heads for the sand play area. She tries to make the diggers work, but of course, the sand is still frozen.






The fire engine, on the other hand, bounces along in any season.






We walk along the nearby pond...






... watching the ducks, the geese, noting the incredible blue of water and sky...






At her house now, she settles in for a volume of Brambly Hedge. I admire the new sitting position: works well when mommy's growing tummy covers the lap area!






And then I drive back to the farmette. Not dark yet, but surely beautiful now in the evening light. Almost there now... Here's the silo, a sandhill crane,  here's home.






... with the three new babies. So very adorable, even when asleep.

hello, little ones

It's still dark outside. Sunrise today is at 7:11 a.m. but both Ed and I, late sleepers on any other day, are awake long before even a hint of dawn.

We should be on the road by 6:35, he reminds me, even though I need no reminders.
Breakfast afterwards, okay?
Of course.

Still, as we get ready to head out, I grab Snowdrop's leftover croissant and make myself a nice frothy cappuccino, to be devoured on the road. Years have passed since I've had coffee on the run! It brings back memories of cluttered days.

We arrive at Farm and Fleet at 6:58. Perfect!

We wait in the car, noting that we're the only ones in the parking lot.
I thought the chicken guy the other day said there would be people here to pick their favorites at 7!
Well, he was new, he was just speculating.

We walk in at 7. First customers! We head straight for the big tubs of two-day old chickens.





You've never seen anything so incredibly cute!

Buying chickens is not a one two three thing. You have to register. Name, address, phone number. And you have to select your breed. We've done our homework (and then some!). Barred Rock, Light Brahma (the most unusual of the bunch), Speckled Sussex...

These chickens are from the Cackle Hatchery in Missouri. If you have time, you may want to watch this video clip -- it describes the (3rd generation family run) business of hatching chickens. It's one of only three hatcheries in the country that will allow you to pick a breed (from a very long list) and get them delivered (and this is crucial) within two days of birth.

As I point to the cheeps of choice (that one! she's already eating! she'll do well! and that one! she looks bold but not aggressive! and this one!), I notice that other customers are indeed arriving. Mostly families. Kids, here before school starts, to pick their chicks (or ducks -- they have those too).





But like the first time chick people that we are, we're in a hurry. We've got our three in a box that sort of looks like a McDonald's Happy Meal. They mustn't get cold! (Never mind that they've already traveled in trucks on a not too warm March night and seem to have survived just fine.)

Home at last. We put them in.


 


They are sort of in shock. For a few minutes. And then they're sort of asleep -- a great antidote to stress. And then they're just plain cute! Tomato (brown), Pepper (black) and Cupcake (yellow). Names selected by Snowdrop, with some exercise of veto power and a light steer from me.





Predictably, I sit, staring at them in fascination and I worry. Ed! The thermometer says 102F (39C)! It keeps going up!
Raise the light (Ed has attached the heating light to a tripod).
But why does it keep going up?
Because the room is warmer. -- he says in that tone that implies "I can't believe I have to explain that to you."
But now it's too warm! And Pepper keeps falling asleep next to the water. Her head may roll in and she'll drown. They warn you about that. I'm going to switch the dish.

They don't like the switched dish.

I switch back.

Ed, are they sleeping too much?
I don't know, gorgeous...

Ah, but when they cheep their delicate little cheeper cheeps, it's like Mozart playing in there! (And indeed, when I hum a Mozart tune, they perk up and look at me with expectation... I write this in the evening, during the live broadcast of the Wisconsin Young Artists Competition and Pepper must surely be hearing it because she is soloing like crazy in the sun room!)





And so begins our baby chick adventure. Can we keep them going for a whole two months inside? We're surely going to try.


Breakfast at last!






And in the afternoon, I go to pick up a very excited Snowdrop! Her friend asks -- can she play in the park? Not today, pal. Not today.






We have only a scant half hour at the farmhouse before dance class. Snowdrop is mesmerized by the little cheeper antics!
Oh, they are babies!






I had warned her that for the first couple of days we cannot play with them. They need to adjust. Snowdrop doesn't mind. She is content just watching.






We take a break for a snack and a read. This is our unwind time. A day cannot proceed without that moment on the orange couch.






And now it's time to go to dance. One last minute with Tomato, Pepper and Cupcake!






We're at the studio. Ready!


















As I watch the little one from behind the one way window, I really have to admire her for fitting in so well in this world of bigger girls. She doesn't pick up on all the little pieces of the big girl puzzle, but she does pick up on a lot. She is a wonderful observer of the human condition!






And is a beautiful dancer in her own rendition of the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Whatever version of the story was presented to the little ballerinas, I'm glad it included a lot of happy dances.











Evening. Ed is playing volley ball, I'm babysitting the chicks. That means I get up every two minutes to make sure they haven't drowned or (inadvertently) destroyed each other. My reward? A happy trio and a string of lovely notes. Especially from Pepper. The loud one.

the day before March 14th

No doubt about it. Our attention is on tomorrow. Is the new thermometer working? Are you sure? We need to have the bigger box ready for when they grow a little. It says here one square foot per chick. But do they mean for a bigger chicken too? Why are these instructions so vague??


It's cold again. No crocuses in our yard, no real signs of the next season.

Too, Ed has an early work meeting and so we have to eat what for us is a super early breakfast.





We look out and watch the groundhog make his way to his summer home right by my day lilies.
He's taking stock. Moving in his tchotchkes.
Welcome spring!


And then I write. I would have made stupendous progress were it not for another long phone protest call with my insurance company. Toward the end, I did ask -- all this is going to go away in two weeks when I step into my Medicare shoes, right? Right?? There was a lot of hemming and hawing on the agent's part. Poor thing: she didn't write the rules on the way we do health care in this land. Uff!

In the afternoon I pick up Snowdrop. Sweet little one is ready to go, but I notice a mitten is missing. I suggest a search of the playground.






We never find it, but we have a wonderful few minutes (despite the cold) outside. The school playground is at least sheltered from the wind and for the short while we were there, it feels almost acceptable.






At the farmhouse, Snowdrop is just that much calmer than in the past high excitement days. She moves from storytelling...






(Always the storytelling...)






... to games, letters, and even a little bit of building -- a rare pick for her.






(Ahah joins in for a bit...)






Snowdrop, too, has chicks on her mind. When, grandma, when are they coming?
Hmmm. Maybe tomorrow.

Ed says -- I can't remember being this excited! I glance at him sharply. I mean, except about you of course!

They're just chicks and I have such mixed feelings about adding more claws to my garden and yet, we are planning to be up before dawn tomorrow to drive out and.... take a look. Yeah, just take a look at what the chicks are like.

the world of brambly hedge

Unless you're someone who grew up in the 1980s or 1990s in England, you've likely never heard of the Brambly Hedge. It's a place. Well, it's actually any place in the rural landscape, but if you want to get specific, it's embedded in the English countryside, where daintily clad mice families live and prosper right before our noses -- in the hollows of trees and tree trunks in the forests and fields, river valleys and meadow lands.

The idea to write about such a place came to (writer/illustrator) Jill Barklem just as my older daughter was born and since we spent some time in England as she was turning three, I came across these books -- at first just four: Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter, all part of the Brambly Hedge series and fell deeply in love with the imagery they gave us. Lucky for me, both my girls grew to love them just as hard. We spent many many hours tracing the details of the lives of Mr. and Mrs. Toadflax, the indomitable Wilfred, Mr. and Mrs. Apple and their happily married Daisy (or Lady Woodmouse if you prefer) and don't forget about Mrs. Crustybread the cook, whose birthday cake for Wilfred has always been my idea of the most beautiful celebratory cake ever! (Poppy Eyebright will always supply the cheeses  for any celebration from his well-stocked dairy.)

The stories are subtle and sweet. There isn't great drama. It's all in the beautiful detail of daily life. And as I spend my days now at the farmette, I think I a little bit inhabit this painting -- of life where even a mouse can lead the most simple yet splendid life of family and feasts.

And so it was with enormous joy that I took out a thick tome of tales from the Brambly Hedge today for Snowdrop. Her mom had beat me to it -- she'd been reading her these stories all weekend. They are long, detailed, with many words that Snowdrop cannot possibly understand (but enough that she can indeed lose herself in the magic of that world). And now I can see that Snowdrop is as in love with Brambly Hedge as any of us were or continue to be. And that just makes my day.


But of course, the day starts elsewhere -- in the barn...


 



... and in the farmhouse, over breakfast in the sun room.






I have silly details of life to attend to all morning -- you do not want to hear them. Who could possibly want to give airtime to my exasperation with my primary insurer who claims I owe $1600 for a doctor's visit? Nah... (I told them to write me an apology letter when they sorted out their paper mess, but I doubt they will.)


And then it's time to pick up Snowdrop.

Look, grandma, my new pink sunglasses!






Outside her school: the purple flowers match my boots!






And now we are at the farmhouse and I hand her this treasured volume of dreamy wistful stories.






I hand over the afternoon to Brambly Hedge. I have to! Snowdrop's own story is a compilation of events and celebrations and names --  of her babies and imagined people and Brambly mice -- they all make their way in.






She wants a picnic feast just like in the book and of course, ours isn't in the meadow and we have to make do with her play cakes and tea cups, and still, it feels extraordinary: as if Wilfred the devilish boy mouse will run out and blow his whistle and make us all run for cover!







Evening. Since Daylight Savings Time started this weekend, light is with us even after Snowdrop leaves. I suggest to Ed that we take a brief walk. Maybe I just want to be among the tall grasses now, as the mice retreat to their pantries and examine what might be had for the supper this evening.






We hear the call of geeese and sandhills and countless other birds doing their final circle in the sky before settling for the night. Bring out the crusty loaves, the blackberry jam, the elderflower tea and biscuits with cream. It's time to breathe in the country air, eat up a feast of foods and... exhale.