does anyone like this?

I think there would be a consensus on this: today is the yukkiest day of the entire season. Honestly, it could not be worse outside: there is patchy snow -- looking not unlike the hide of a Holstein cow. Since we went through a thaw a few days back, followed by a freeze, the snow is not gentle or pretty: it's frozen icy patchy snow. The pathways/sidewalks/roads/driveways that were meticulously plowed, were subjected to a night of pounding ice and sleet. Since we are below freezing, everything is slick. And since the temperatures are only falling (a one day super deep freeze is coming tomorrow), there is no melting of that ice in sight. Oh, the roads and highways will be salted to the max (it's sooooo slick right now!) and so travel will eventually return to a winter normal, but Ed and I will not use salt on the farmette lands. And so, in moving from cars to farmhouse, from sheep shed to garage, we must navigate one stubborn layer of frozen ice, topped with more sleet and ice, because all day long we are under an ice/sleet,winter mix storm warning.

Have I made my case? It's mean weather!






(Some would argue that there is a prettiness to it all: ice and sleet and wintry stuffs on bare branches are not unattractive. But cast your eyes on the ground and take a few steps forward and you'll not say another kind word about this type of weather.)






Cats are hungry. Stop Sign digs in first. Jacket is getting more bold. Camera? Nina? Who cares. Move over, mom!






Our own breakfast is late.  We'd spent not a small amount of time trying to clear the cars and the walkway to the farmhouse. I would pound on the quickly forming ice, Ed would shovel it away. And then a new layer would form and we'd do it all over again.

Finally, a late morning pause...






I suppose it could have been worse. I was concerned about heading out for Snowdrop and even more concerned about taking her back here, beyond the well salted roads of Madison. But, the temperatures hovered just below freezing and so the salted roads were slushy and drivable.

Still, I must have told the little one a million times: walk slowly and carefully! You are navigating ice!






(I'd like to think she is impressed by how well we had chipped away at the ice leading up to the farmhouse!)






Once inside, we slide comfortably into our routine. First comes the snack and the introduction of any new books, or the rereading of favorites. Today I have a new one, but from a familiar series. The book has some tricky twists to it. To Snowdrop, it's too scary. She tells me to stop right there in the middle. I don't want to let her off the hook. It's not that scary! I continue. She runs away to hide in the sun room, closing the door for emphasis. I continue. My voice picks up a celebratory tone which carries beyond the closed door. She is curious and comes back for the final chapters. I'd say this is not an unusual way for us to get through a slightly scary text.

Satisfied and satiated, she is ready for play!






And we continue thus until evening draws near. We have a slightly different game plan for tonight: Snowdrop and I head out to pick up mom at work and then we make our way to the gym. The little girl has been taking gymnastics classes for several weeks now and today I have a chance to observe her at it. I am so impressed! Here, she can fly free and test her own reserves of strength and flexibility. She is a cautious girl by nature, but at the gym, she is unafraid.






There will always be kids who are bolder, pushier than she is...





But I think by now, she understands that success is relative: your finest moments come when you challenge yourself and emerge victorious. Somersaults? Other kids have been doing them at her age, I'm sure. But it took a gym class to have her try one. That she can do it now is its own sweet reward.

(A trampoline, on the other hand, has been a favorite since... dare I say it... since she tried one at the Tuileries Gardens a couple of years back.)






I drive home smiling. Horrible weather. Still, lots of reasons to smile.

landscape

When Ed was still trying to coax me into spending more time at the farmette, the hot spots here were differently configured. The farmhouse was (for a while at least) inhabited by a former friend. It was rundown and in need of work. The porch was poorly built and not usable. The color of the building itself was the color of uncooked pinto beans. Ed lived in the sheep shed. When he offered to build a writer's shed for me, I thought it should blend into the farmette green palate. Pale gray siding seemed so perfect! I didn't realize that for a big chunk of the year, the farmette land was not green at all. It was winter brown and charcoal gray.

The barn that leans on the red shed used to be red, but it has long shed its bright tones. It's mostly brown. The farmhouse is of course now yellow. I cannot stress enough how much I appreciate these two colors as I live here now year-round. They are my compass points: the southern yellow of the house, the ever bright and cheerful red of the shed. I wish the writer's shed had been painted a luminous yellow and teal -- anything to introduce another color boost to this winter landscape.


(Looking toward the barn and the eye popping red shed after a night of ice and more ice)






We did not give the cats a second feeding yesterday. Ed thinks we should be judicious in dishing out food for them (especially if they dont finish all that we give them; it invites predators to come eat the rest). Besides, there was an ice storm raging. No one wanted to go out once it hit. And so this morning, the three cats are hungrier than usual. That desire to get to the day's offerings leads the little kittens to overcome some of their "Nina-and-her-camera" fear.





But here, too, I want to be careful. We are not training them to be house cats. We're not even sure if we want three cats living permanently in the garage. So far, none of the farmette cats have been birders. Stop Sign has shown no interest in hunting things that fly. And she keeps a healthy distance from the cheepers.  Will her kittens coexist equally well with all that lives here on farmette lands?

We feed the cats. We watch them. We talk about our duty to neuter them and wish there was an easy way of doing it. And of course, in the long winter months, we are entertained by them!





During winter, you take one day at a time.


Breakfast.






Does it seem to you that winter brings with it a good deal of focus on feeding? And slightly less opportunity for movement? Oh, I chase kids and shovel snow. But these are add-ons. You know you're in trouble when there isn't a core activity that you return to all winter long. Cross country skiing used to be our thing. You know how that turned out: there hasn't been the snow for it. Consequently, we're not moving enough.

So today I resume yoga. I used to be heavily invested in going to a local yoga class. But, the grandkids came, time was short, I stopped. Now, in resuming the practice (using a youtube for it -- it's so much more efficient!) -- I do understand that in the four years I've been without it, I may have grown rusty. Stiffened up here and there. And of course, there's the silly knee, the crinkled back... Perhaps I shouldn't quite try to outcompete those half my age.  Perhaps I should look for a slower paced session.

I find a youtube under the title of "yoga for seniors or returning yogi."

At the end of it, I am gloating: too tame! I'm nimble still! I can do more! Next time, at the very least, I'm going for "yoga for the slightly aged and still competitive with the younger set."

That kind of bravado usually does not end well. And sure enough, as I leave to pick up Snowdrop at school, I calculate that I have just enough time to stop by the post office to mail a package. But to be on time,  I have to rush. I move quickly. Into my car. Zip, zoom. Out of my car. RUN up the ramp to the post office entrance. And there I trip on some broken piece of ramp (can you sue the federal government for inadequate facilities? No you cannot. I remember that from my teaching days) and fall hard on both my knees.

Nice work, senior yoga super star! (I'm hoping for swelling but no major damage; that would be the good outcome.)


And here's someone who has no trouble being nimble and sprite. She does it effortlessly.






Also effortless: her hunt for my stockpile of ginger snaps!






Today she resumes storybook ballet.






As always, her very favorite moment is when they put on the costumes and act out a story.











Or is it? Perhaps her very favorite moment is when she finishes class and comes out to find her mommy waiting for her...






I hobble outside and drive home. The ice storm is dumping every possible bit of slickness on our roads, our driveways. I know to be careful on those. I sometimes wish I knew to be careful in less obviously tricky situations. I mean, isn't it predictable? I survive rooftop scrambles and icy roads, but I trip and fall on my way in to the post office. I always said -- don't worry about the obvious. It's the stupid that will, in the end, drag you down.

typical

I would say that this day is as close to an average February day as they get. Frozen ground, a light cloud cover that eventually fades to give us that cornflower blue sky.

(Morning: still a tad cloudy, but with bright contours and a promise of better light)






You begin to imagine spring: what would it be like to have the crab apple in bloom, to see the willow fill out with its pale green leaves...






We aren't at the cusp of spring -- I'm not that easily deceived! -- but we are moving along at a good clip and that natural progression feels good. It's as it should be. A day of February calm.

(My morning animal feeding becomes more interesting as the kittens become increasingly used to the routines. They are beginning to understand who butters their bread.)






Breakfast. I call Ed down -- it's now or never! In a few minutes Sparrow will be here!

Ed -- are you done (with the photo) yet?






No... Let's try again.





Better.

Indeed, the little guy does come moments later. We've flipped the schedule somewhat and so this week, Tuesday is his farmhouse day. Is he happy about it?






He's Sparrow, isn't he?






Feeding: the smile lingers...






... at least until he finds himself confronted with carrots.






Sparrow is a quiet guy, but he has good control of his body. Still, wanting to go somewhere and getting there are, unfortunately, not the same thing!






In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop.

(Jacket on...)






(Jacket off...)






After our ritual reading time, we play.
She has an idea. She always has an idea: Gogs, we're taking a trip!






We'd just read a book where someone feels compelled to take a necessary journey, so I ask her -- Is it a necessary journey?
No, it's a fun and beautiful journey.
Okay then! Fasten your seat-belts! We will be flying over the ocean!
No, not over the ocean, over one hill and 16 pieces of grass.

And in a few minutes:
Holy smoke! We just landed in a beautiful place!






And in that beautiful place I lose her to a story which she spins now for herself. I retreat to sip a coffee with frothy milk while she tells her tale.





Later, I drive the little one home. And the icy mix comes down and we are in the middle of a winter storm once more. There will be another winter storm tomorrow. And the next day.

Perhaps there is no such thing as a typical February day. From calm to storm. From sunshine to ice. But just remember, after February comes March. And soon after, blossoms and willow leaves.

quiet before the return of winter

We're in this soppy messy impasse. March weather, Ed calls it. Except, it's not March. It's February -- the month most likeable for its brevity.

I go out to feed the animals.

The cats are nesting in the uppermost shelves of the garage. Sweet. What's not sweet is the melted snow right outside the garage. It reveals mountains of droppings -- this was the kitty bathroom at the time of the great freeze. Right now, it's just one great mess. I pick up the snow shovel and deal with it as best as I can. Three cats in one small space -- ufff!






In this warmer spell, the cheepers are restless. They want food. They probably want to be out and about.





But are they safe yet? When is a good time to release them?

In this turmoil of snow, hawks, and cold weather, we locked up the cheepers just as Stop Sign brought her babes to the garage. I wonder if the cats would have stayed had the cheepers been set loose. I know that we could not have left bowls of food out in the open for the ktties.

Today, Stop Sign followed me to the barn. Perhaps she had that aha moment -- oh, so that's what happened to all those chickens who pestered me before!






Breakfast.






And catch up time. I have a lot of paper work to do. The afternoon comes ever so quickly.

Time to pick up Snowdrop!

It's our usual fare: books, fruits, play.






Including a game of pretend ballet school. Snowdrop, being teacher extraordinaire, asks me to do leaps and twirls. Maybe she wonders why my leaps aren't terribly high and my twirls are a bit slow paced. Or maybe she thinks I'm pretending to be a really ancient person. Still, we make a good team. We teach her pretend children how to love to dance. Isn't that what counts?






Sometimes Snowdrop gets distracted by a sudden idea or opportunity. Today, right in the middle of ballet school, she veers off to the table of various Polish wood carvings and tiny Italian glass birds. I lose her to a story that she now creates with her new playmates. I retreat. She stays with her new game until her daddy comes to pick her up.






I make soup tonight. One of those hearty ones, with onion, beans, kale. I add carrots, corn and cabbage. A big pot, good for several days. The temperatures fall all evening long. Snow tomorrow night. A February mix of March and January.

in a fog

It's a wet and foggy day. You don't want to be outside: not at all! Even the walk to the barn in the morning seems sloppy and uninspiring.







The garage cats are a little reclusive today and I have to think it has something to do with yesterday's visit by the strange bird (likely that darn Cooper Hawk). Normally, Stop Sign comes out to greet me, or at least greet the dish of food I bring with me. Today, she hovers in the back, near her little ones.






Or am I imagining this more cautious behavior? Maybe she doesn't like the wet slush and the damp air any more than we do. I am terribly inept at reading cat expressions and behaviors.

Breakfast. Ed is a tad exasperated with my morning photo. Can you tell?






I had wanted to zip through farmhouse cleaning and go out for one last run on skis before the snow gets too soupy and thin, but as we drive out to the park, we decide against it. It's just so damp and unpleasant and there are plenty of bare spots along the trail.





Our next stop is very indoorsy: we are to work with my mom and her new cell phone. This is a bit of a leap for her. While she has been very comfortable with computers, smart phones or even mobile flip phones have not been part of her daily life. The learning curve is significant. You don't realize it until you break down the steps of usage. Strange screens appear on a regular basis. You have to figure out how to get yourself out of unintended pickles and perturbations. The finger motions - taps, swipes -- they're all new stuff.

She makes great progress. Indeed, unless something very strange happens (not impossible with smart phones), she should be set!

In our remaining time there, we put up countless framed pictures on her apartment walls. She loves looking at the kids and great grandkids and she has plenty of them now decorating her living space.






On our way home, Ed and I again consider our outdoor options. None of them seem grand. Not even slightly grand. It's so foggy! Slushy! Wet! Even the ice fishermen are on the retreat (from the lesser lake)!






No matter. We have stuff to do at the farmhouse. One dead car to recharge. One robot vacuum cleaner to set loose upstairs. One dinner to cook for the young family!






Winter Sunday dinners... Warm, comforting. People say there's a game on right now. I understand the lure of an exciting match in the thick of the winter season. But for me, that meal around a kitchen table is about as exciting as anything I'd want to watch on the big screen. One child tells a story, the other shows off his growing appreciation for mush -- what could be more thrilling than that?






"If my big sister gets two macarons for dessert, might I at least have one? No? Bummer..."






Maybe next year, Sparrow. Maybe next year.