fresh Monday?

It's a beautiful day! Truly gorgeous. A tad cold, but the snow transforms the farmette into something out of a painting.











We begin to move forward after all our animal dramas. Well, we're trying. We have a lovely, sunny breakfast...





And as we settle into our routines (no Sparrow today -- plans are still being adjusted for the young family following last week's medical emergency), we talk about corrections we can make going forward. Protecting the cheepers from hawks and owls has always been a challenge. We don't want a rooster -- I wont put up with that aggressive temperament. We'll muddle along as best we can.

As for Stop Sign -- that's now a challenge too. We had talked about trapping her to get her vaccinated and spayed (Ed has been actively involved in any number of feral cat maintenance programs), but then she up and got herself pregnant! Figuring out how to help her protect her kitties is a major problem (should she again choose to mate). We think she lost several little ones before she brought her two to the garage. Given that she kept them hidden for a long while, it's hard to imagine how we can keep them safe for the duration of their young lives. These are animal issues that will be part of our conversation for many weeks to come.

And now here comes another twist: today for the first time, we spot the big blob of a raccoon, hanging out under the writer's shed. That is bad news at so many levels! A raccoon is a danger to the cheepers. He carries diseases. He probably wont hunt down Stop Sign, but he can kill her by infection. And for sure, we have to limit the amount of time we leave food for her outside. Eat now or forget it, little girl!

In the meantime, Stop Sign seems at times morose...






... at times sanguine, or at least her usual calm self.






When I go out to chat her up, she comes closer and meows non stop. I tell her I have no answers for her. Just care and concern.


Ed and I should have gone skiing, but I tell you, all this animal stuff is a time drain! I do my yoga and we enjoy the utter beauty of the day looking out, from the warm comfort of the farmhouse living space.






And in the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop.


 


As we come inside, Ed comes in. He hovers, as if wanting to talk.
I ask -- You been to the garage? Something's up?
Well, you wont believe it, but as I was going in, this large animal came out, running past me toward the writer's shed!
The raccoon?
Maybe. But Gorgeous, I don't think it's a raccoon.
Was it a leopard?? (This from Snowdrop.)
Let me show you how raccoons run. He finds a youtube and we watch raccoons saunter across the lawn to the tune of Chariots of Fire. Snowdrop is fascinated.





This was not the way the big animal ran.
So what are you saying?
It's not a raccoon.
What is it then? (Here's a tiny shot of it, taken from the kitchen, so at a big distance and through window panes and porch screens.)





I think it's a Maine Coon.
A what???
You know, that very, very large cat.
Ed, this thing was huge!
They are huge. And look! Stop Sign isn't concerned! She's on her way now to check him out!






Snowdrop is captivated by this exchange. What should we name him?
What do you think?
She'd been listening to Ed's description of these large cats. How about Long Whiskers? She does pick the complicated names.






(You cannot say that Stop Sign is not interested in The Huge Cat! At the very least, it's refreshing to see her demonstrate some spark again. Off she goes to sniff him out!)






Snowdrop and I play. I try not to think about the animals in our various sheltered spots. Who is this newcomer? A welcome friend? A new headache? How will it all turn out? I save all this for later and concentrate on Snowdrop's story of the snake in a box. It is, thankfully, a happy story.






(A pause for a new book: The Pink Umbrella. Rich in illustrations... Suggestively spartan in its story line. The Amazon pitch is "perfect for fans of Amélie." For whatever reason, she loves it.)






When I drive the little girl home, I notice it -- the full Snow Supermoon. I mean, it's supersized! And beautiful. A February special. Funny how even this month has its fair share of stunning surprises.

Snowy Sunday

Stop Sign, the cat who has been hanging out at the farmette, on and off, ever since she was a kitten, the one who this winter had a litter of her own and brought two of her kittens to the farmette's garage less than a month ago, had disappeared yesterday, along with her two babes (who were more like adolescents by now). We found blood in the garage and expected the worst.

Near midnight, I went out for the thousandth time in search of any traces of a cat and in calling her name, I saw Stop Sign coming toward me from the direction of the barn. I took food to the barn and left it there. I checked a half hour later and saw that she had eaten a chunk of it. By then, she had disappeared once more into the night.

Today, I am up early. The snow is coming down hard and I find myself shoveling the walkway to the farmhouse door many times. All day long -- snow falls, Nina shovels. Light, pretty snow, but it's a misleading loveliness: we still have a horrible thick layer of ice underneath. Walking is very tricky: you never know if and when you'll slide over a solid pane of ice.





As I step outside, I look up and there is Stop Sign again. She is coming out of the garage. I give her more food and then I go down to take care of the cheepers. As I walk back to the garage, I hear the saddest cat wails coming from within. Snowdrop is besides herself with grief. Her two babes are gone and they aren't coming back and she knows it. And now I know it too: two young cats, gone.

I stay in the garage and talk to Stop Sign for a long long while. She wont let either of us come too close: she trusts us only to a point. You want to hold her, comfort her, but she wont let you. It's not what she is used to. She straddles that blurry line between feral and domesticated. She is, in so many ways neither.  She knows us, relies on us for food, hangs out near us when the sun is out and we're working the garden. But she is at this point a creature of the wild. We don't know if she'll ever cross over toward domesticity. My guess is that she'll always come and go, but truthfully, I don't know. 



Breakfast. Ed does come down for it, but I spare him the photo. We're both treading gently with each other, not placing too many demands, not asking for too many favors.






I do have a wonderful distraction today (and I have to say, I need it badly). Because her father is recovering from surgery, I bring Snowdrop to the farmhouse for the day. Her mom has a lot on her plate right now and Snowdrop loves having a long, unhurried day of play here.

And the snow keeps on falling...






And the drive today is long and along the slippery roads...

Once I pull into the farmette driveway, I want nothing more than to check on Stop Sign and head inside. But Snowdrop has other ideas.






She has this toy chicken. It's something to do with the movie Moana that has so thrilled her this past week. In any case, she wants to show the chicken to the cheepers and so we make our way to the barn.

I haven't told the little girl that Cupcake is no longer part of the pack. Nor have I told her about Dance and Jacket, the kittens. It's not that she doesn't understand hawks' (or was it an owl?) predatory behaviors. Too, she is familiar with violent death. She told me today (as part of one of her stories) that a super hero killed an evil thing and that it was a good thing because the evil thing was really really bad! (Where she got this is beyond me. When in doubt, point the finger at kids in school -- the source of all such wisdoms.) Still, I say nothing. I suppose I don't want any more sadness working its way into my day and so I put it all aside and she and I play...


 



.... and eat lunch...


 







... and read and tell stories until dusk draws near and it's time for me to pack her and a container of supper foods for the young family into the car and drive the whole sweet lot of them home.


And then I visit Stop Sign and talk to her some more, even as she is curled into a ball of sadness as she rests on the cardboard that was once a place of rest for the three of them, one on top of the other, in a beautiful display of kitten love.

rough winter

In all my years at the farmette (and granted, I've not lived here that long), I have not been forced to confront the reality of the natural world -- with all its beauty and pitfalls -- as much and as often as I have this winter. Maybe it's because these last months have been extremely cold. Or maybe it's sheer dumb luck -- somehow, for the most part, we felt that we had the upper hand here.

Humans have such hubris!

It is again cold. No Arctic blast, just plain old winter cold. We've been leaving the light bulb burning in the garage. The cats can get near it if they feel the need to warm up.

But despite the cold, the morning is lovely! Sunshine, that singular prettiness of a snow covered landscape -- it just makes you smile in total appreciation.






There are again no cats in the garage. Eh, I'm getting used to this: they're roaming! I leave out a little dry food and remind Ed to keep an eye out for when they return. They'll want their real grub right away!

We eat breakfast. Leisurely. Things are looking good all around.






And then I go off to meet up with my friend who is in town and happy to spend a long while reviewing life over a cup of coffee.






On the drive home, I pass the lesser lake. Do we have a bunch of dedicated ice fisher people or what??





I come into the farmhouse and ask after the cats.
Well, I'm not sure what's going on.

It turns out there's blood in the garage. And bits of fur. A feather, too.

There is no good explanation.

We must have had a visitor late last night (an owl?) or early this morning (a hawk?). Our best guess is that one kitten was taken away and the other ran away with the mom, Stop Sign.

That is a tough reality. Keeping the cats safe and well fed was something we took seriously. They had plenty of places to hide. How were they made vulnerable? Had this predator taunted them before? Is that why they left, then came back? So many questions now, ones without answers. Worse, they suggest a vulnerability that is still very much in play. We were to let the cheepers out in a few days. It seems now that whoever is keeping watch over the animals that live here would have ready food in them as well.

Ed asks -- Do you want to hand over the cheepers? We have a friend who raises chickens and would probably take our five girls. We don't want to keep them locked up in a coop year round. What's the point? They don't like it, we don't like it.

We do nothing for now. Processing this newest animal drama will take a bit of time. Ed reminds me that the life of a feral cat is usually very short. I can understand why: it's cold, food's tough to come by, cars are their enemy, and it looks like they're vulnerable to predators as well.


In the late afternoon, we go skiing. It's that or sit and watch the paths to see any sign of cats.






On the way home, we pass the usual fields of corn, farms, rural homes.

 



In one field, just short of a mile from the farmette, we pass three species of wildlife settling in for an evening feeding time: geese, deer, turkeys. There's a richness of life around us... with all the consequences that follow.



And in the evening, we go out. To our old favorite -- Brasserie V, where we huddle over mussels and fries...


 


... feeling comfort in a familiar spot, hoping so much that our sweet kitties are good and safe somewhere in the vast expanse of our rural lands, but knowing that probably, they're not safe anymore.

a Friday with a twist

Typically, Fridays are predictable  for me: shop for food, play with Snowdrop, cook dinner, go to sleep. With a few small additions, of course, but this is the core.

But today, I wake up to a phone call, which is never a good thing. I mean, who calls anyone these days except to relay a worry? Sure enough, it's my older daughter, telling me that her husband had the gall to get sick (the sentence gives a transparent hint as to what's wrong). He is out of circulation (indeed, out of the home) for several days. Normally, I would step up and offer more of my services, but it just so happens that another grandparent is visiting right now and so I am actually free for the day, even as it is an unusual day because there is this festering anxiety that always makes an appearance when someone in the family isn't quite up to snuff or is under the knife.

In the short run, the weekend, which was supposed to include a sleepover for both kids at the farmhouse -- is now completely rewritten, though it is unclear yet in what fashion.

Everything is a little topsy turvy.

Well, okay, but the day is sunny, so one tends to feel optimistic about pretty much everything that comes along.

I come out to feed the cats. Hi, beautiful snowperson!





But where are the cats? Gone again. This time, I have no horrific images of the little ones being snatched by some feline predator. I know they must have walked off -- two babes, following their mom. But why???

Don't they like it here?

Ed tells me that some cats will roam. And that's fine, but why would you set out adventuring before you had your morning meal? That seems terribly ill advised, no?
They know you'll dash out with food the minute they come back! 
If they come back. I suppose someday they'll just move on.

(Breakfast)






Oh but wait! Right around the noon hour they make an appearance again! All three! Where have you been in this bitter cold weather?? And yes, I'm immediately out there, scolding, feeding, fussing!

(Call it brunch)






(Followed by a nap)






In the afternoon, Ed and I go to the Arboretum with our skis. It takes a bit of pep talk (him to me, me to him) to get us out there -- I mean, it's really cold! -- but we do it!






And of course, it is so worth it. The light is beautiful, the snow is icy slick, and though there are no real ski runs, moving through the quiet of that vast woodsy space will take the wrinkles out of any day, really it will! 











Toward evening, I get reports that things are on the mend for the young family and really, in a few days, all should be back to near-normal again. You know, the regular normal, where we move seamlessly between homes, school, work and play, and all is right and beautiful and not dramatic or slightly twisted at all.

Val Day continued

Such a funny little Valentine! Mischievous, impish, beguiling. The sun came, albeit fleetingly. The temps soared -- up beyond 40F (5C), melting stuff, before tonight's deep freeze will recreate a layer of ice again. Everyone talked of how close we are to spring, forgetting for a while that we aren't anywhere near March 20th.

I go out to feed the cats, with a bounce to my step. Lots of footprints tell me deer have been visiting the farmette again. Perhaps other animals as well.






But where is Stop Sign?

The little ones are hiding again. The mother shield is missing. Their confidence is weakened.






Fortunately, they do come out to eat. Two little ones, alone.






Stop Sign does not show up in the course of the day. Perhaps this should not come as a surprise. In the past, she would leave her kitties in search of food. Eventually she lead them here. Is she telling them that they must now manage on their own? Or has she had an accident? Ed always says that the most dangerous "animal" for a rural cat is the human-driven vehicle.


Breakfast. Ed is being silly. Valentine silly.






And then we go skiing. Of course we do!






There's snow! It's warm enough! (Too warm, says Ed. Perhaps he is right -- by the end of our long run, our jackets are open.)






Our hearts are flying! Is that a cliché? Of course it is. I'm allowed -- it's Valentine's Day!

(Ed, by his favorite tree.)






In the afternoon, I pick up a happy Snowdrop. As we walk to the car, she shouts out -- we live in a big, huge place! It's so huge! So so huge!






At the farmette, I suggest outdoor play. She hesitates.






Maybe. But the lure of indoor routines is too great.
















But eventually, she is ready for snow play. But No mittens! Please, they don't feel right!

I let her suffer without mitts.






Well, she's not exactly suffering...






In fact, she is joyous! It is the first time we could readily build a snow person!






Much of Valentine's Day is enjoyed (pr exploited, depending on your holiday politique)in the evening  of February 14th. What was it like here, at the farmhouse? Good news! Ed goes out to the garage and finds that Stop Sign has returned! A day's reprieve from tending to her babes? A dalliance on this love day with her sweetie? Who can tell! I'm sure her babes are so very happy to see her back again!

Ed and I sit down to dinner, served on our little table in the living room. A tiny lobster tail or two (thank you, grocery stores for understanding our need for the easy and exquisite on this day!), an ear of corn, a piece of chocolate, a glass of bubbly.

Can we be more conventional??

Never resist the tried and true if it brings you joy. Happy days ahead to you all!

With love. ❤️

Valentine's Day is now

The sun comes out, the day sparkles!






I don't care what's underneath that beautiful white blanket! (Hint: it rhymes with nice.) At the moment, that stuff's hidden. We crunch along paths of snow.

When we have a large snowfall (it does not happen very often), everything looks lovely the next day. Each tree looks regal and splendidly bedecked. (Most would agree that the tall pines look most regal and splendid of them all.)






With sunlight come the lovely blue shadows. Blue skies, blue shadows, yellow farmhouse: perfection!






(Morning visit with the cat and her kittens.)






Breakfast. Pink is fitting for this day.






Why? Well, call it Valentine's Day for me!

How so?

Perhaps you remember sweetheart celebrations that I have dragged Ed through in years gone by. They were very nice, very sweet. They involved coaxing him to a card stand, typically conveniently positioned in a chocolate shop where he would buy chocolates, though I would be there walking him through the ritual and of course, we'd share the sweet candies afterwards.

But a few days back, I mentioned to him that someone we knew had just had a massage. I must have seemed wistful because Ed asked -- do you want a massage?

A Valentine's Day gift was born!

I hadn't had one in a dozen years. They're beastly expensive and when I do the calculation, it always seems that the benefit is too short lived to be worth the cost. Still, this winter, I have had my share of sore backs,  wrecked knees and who knows what else. On a February day, a whole body massage seems heavenly.

I pick everything carefully, spending hours on selecting the place, the person, the type of massage and perhaps most importantly -- the date for it. The massage would have to be at a time when the afterglow can stay with me. A stress free day. One when I can take lots of little breaks and remind myself how wonderful I feel (after the massage).

I chose today.  I selected a hot stone massage and no, they don't just take hot rocks and throw them at you! You get your massage and incorporated into it is a working of heated flat stones across your body, allowing them to kneed you before being placed in key spots where their warmth feels especially welcome.

I did not just go for my massage: I prepared for it. I did yoga beforehand. I savored my breakfast, and then I tried hard not to rush to the studio. All morning long I moved with care, with anticipation.

And it was an incredible hour! The sense of physical well being during a massage is so complete that you truly believe every muscle in your body is revitalized and ready to spring back into action.

I wonder if wealthy people who have massages on a regular basis continue to appreciate the wonderfulness of the experience. Possibly it becomes just a thing to check off, like drinking a cup of coffee in the morning. But for me, that hot rock hour was otherworldly!

Happy Valentine's Day to you, too, Ed!


In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop. That is, I appear at her school on time, ready to take her to the farmhouse. But she is in the middle of an art project. She needs the little bits of paper, carefully colored and cut up to be safely tucked into an envelope created by her, or rather by us, because she can't quite get the envelope to emerge out of scant pieces of paper.






Many, many minutes later we head out into the cold. At least I think it's cold.






Today, we are a little in a hurry. Still, you surely can't help but love the utter prettiness of the landscape as you crunch along (to warmer spaces).






A quick play, read, snack...






And then it's time for ballet.

Snowdrop does love going to class, though without question, it is the "story" part of "storybook ballet" that most excites her.






She'll do the dance positions, the steps, the moves.






But it is the reading of the day's story and the dance that follows that really draw out her inner joy.





Happy child, relaxed grandma, beautiful snow scapes, warm farmhouse. What else does one need to make a February day shine?!

 

(Here's why you should not put away your holiday lights after the holidays: their color on a snowy landscape is magical!)