Saturday little ones

Delays happen. You think of them as something that is part of air travel. But of course, mechanical issues can interfere with any mode of transportation. With the young family attending to car problems in Chicago, our morning here, in Madison, begins with crossed fingers: may everything work out well for them, and may they drive up without any more glitches, and before the rains come down on south central Wisconsin!

In the meantime, Ed and I have breakfast...






... and then I join my daughter and Snowdrop at the downtown Farmers Market. It's not so crowded now. People don't think of outdoor markets as being full of bounty in late October. But for us, there's plenty to buy still!

(apples...)






(pesto, cheese, beans, tomatoes...)






Me, I'm in it for the good company. I've done all the grocery shopping that will carry Ed along while I'm gone next week.





Back at the farmhouse, I see that Stop Sign is again at the porch door asking for food. Really? You just ate a while ago!

I watch her eat so hungrily... And then, on a hunch, I follow her once again. This time she goes to the garage.

Four.

Four little kittens.






She has brought with her the little flock we always suspected she hid somewhere across the road.






This is a huge challenge -- for us and of course, for them. There's much to be scared of: other cats, chickens, people. It doesn't help that Stop Sign is just as skittish, untrusting (except of Ed and me). Yet, if they give in to their fears, they'll be crossing that road all too often.

But how do we protect them? There isn't a chance in hell that Stop Sign and her four newest babes (and thankfully her last litter) will join the eight sheep shed cats in a peaceful and harmonious fashion.

Should we warm up the porch some? Surely these littlest guys are deserving of protection! Does anyone want to adopt some little kittens???



And in the afternoon, we see that luck is with us! The young family with their sweet Primrose pulls up, ready to head out with us to the pumpkin patch! But first, a look around, and a snack.













Pumpkin patch! It's a grand outing and only time and in the end a few sprinkles keep us from taking it all in. I'm posting a bounteous handful of photos, because, well, there are three kids and wonderful parents and it's October and how often do you find us all in a pumpkin patch anyway?!


(tractor pulls wagon with straw bales and those wanting a ride...)






(which pumpkin? how about this one??)






(Sparrow likes this one... I've noticed the little guy really does like yellow...)






(it was a very long and convoluted drive from Chicago, but we are all so glad you three are finally here!)






(the band of cousins, redoux!)






(pumpkins, corn stalks, pumpkins)






(a Sparrow accomplishment: he walked the whole way there and back)






(I know this to be true -- I adore all these guys!)






(loving the walk!)






(a snack at the pumpkin patch shed)






In the evening, the rain does come down, but we don't mind. We drive out to Pizza Brutta for a beautiful family supper...






I sit across the table from my two daughters and I half listen to their conversation. They have a tone of voice that I hear only when they speak to each other. It's full of kindness and a desire to be good to the other. It's funny, it's serious, it's personal. It's full of love.





Their spouses, their kids, they're all in this together. Little ones, feeding off the warmth and wisdom of their parents.


When you're old enough to be a grandma, you notice these things and if you're like me, you thank your stars every minute you're alive for your young ones, indeed, for all the good young people in this world who try so very hard to make this place a kind and loving home for everyone.

Friday

Here's something terrific that I learned today: I don't need crutches to hobble along for the next few months. My doc was convinced that I had a fracture. He was wrong. Whatever challenges I'll have this winter -- they wont include slip sliding around with child under one arm and crutch under the other.

What other news? Let's see... I worked on getting the house together for the weekend, for the month, for the visitors, for Ed.

And we ate breakfast.






As it's Friday, in the afternoon I pick up just Snowdrop (Sparrow goes home with dad). I find her in her class hurrying to finish a painting...





How I love these preschools that give my grandkids such a broad array of learning opportunities and creative outlets! How I wish this was available to all kids everywhere...

As we drive up to the farmhouse, I notice that the gusty winds have taken down one of our signs warning of animals at play. Ed! Help us out here!






How many times do I ask Ed to "help us out here?"  In the case of the sign, I wanted to point out to Snowdrop that we could easily do the fix ourselves: a little wire, a good branch... But still, the little one has long ago figured out that Ed is better at fixing broken stuff than I am. The next challenge: to teach her to be more like him than me.





The evening is calmer than we had expected or wanted. The young family from Chicago set out to visit and shortly into the trip they developed car trouble. Ah well. We will see them tomorrow. A busy day it will be! But hey! No crutches!

ants in pants and mice in mouths

We're coming upon a confluence of important (in my view) events: tomorrow the young family comes up for the weekend. They leave Sunday. I leave Monday, I come back Sunday, Ed leaves Wednesday, the holidays are upon us shortly after. In between, there are the awesome twosome here each day after school.

It makes for an interesting set of days.

We start in on the day early. I feed the cats, noticing that there is a bloody trail inside -- another hunt at night must have netted a chipmunk or mouse. Dance in fact is out at this moment. When I call her, she shows me another mouse dangling from her mouth. A hunt for the challenge if not always the food. Dance drops her catch and follows me to the sheep shed for real food, leaving me to take care of burial rites.

After, I have this bone scan, fitted into the schedule because no Badger team member had come into the clinic with a training injury today. The scan will tell me how much freedom of movement I'll have in the days ahead. I suspect I'll face some recovery limitations, but hey, I'm just guessing. I really have no idea. I may wind up with crutches before the week is through. There will be adventurous adjustments no matter how you slice that pie!

Ed and I go to Finca Cafe following my appointment. I am always so happy there: the music, the floor to ceiling windows on three sides, the lovely people who work behind the counter, the fireplace. You don't have to work at hygge when you're there -- it enfolds you into the community of cafe people in the pleasant aroma of good coffee and baked quesadillas.






At home, I hurry through chores. The last bulbs to plant, Ed's hair to cut and beard to trim, seeding the young orchard meadow, posting signs warning of cats and chickens at play -- these are musts on my list. We get to most of them.

(haircut for Ed: one of my better ones...)






In the early afternoon, I pick up the kids. I have an agenda for us and I count on them to help me meet the demands of the afternoon. And they do. Cheerful and cooperative, happy and playful.

(first stop -- coffee shop. How many times have I taken Snowdrop here! Well, today, I take both.)




















(Bangs trim for Snowdrop. They do it for her at Bang Salon, right by the coffee shop)






Farmhouse, at last!

(A game of "orange catch" with ahah)






Sparrow still loves being held, but he'll substitute that for a long (handheld) walking session most anytime. And here's another sweet thing about the boy: He loves to come up for the reading of a chapter from Snowdrop's book, even though we're sure he understands very little. He's a sweet presence on the reading couch.

(On the floor again, they sometimes do get lightly in each others way. He wants what she wants, she wants what he wants...)






It's dance day for Snowdrop and I haven't yet figured out an easy way to transport everything and everyone punctually to dance class. I mean, we make it on time, but toward the end of the run to class, I'm holding Sparrow as if he were a slippery hotdog leaving my grasp.

(Dance class)











And in the evening, the very late evening, I bake a rock fish with olive oil mayo, kefir, pickle juice and parmesan cheese. Bizarre? No, just my own take on a fisherman's recipe from the fish shares that we receive from Alaska each month.


My eyes stay open for the meal, for the posting, but just barely. The next goal: get a decent amount of sleep. It's now or not for a long time!

Wednesday

Remember when I wrote here, as if to convince myself of the truth of such a claim, that I am done with major garden work for the year? Ha! Today, Ed and I spent the morning digging, pulling stuff out, clipping, pushing dirt. And to be honest, I'm not sure we're done. Suddenly, where a few days ago I saw order, I now see chaos and need for more effort. Somehow, with more leaves falling to the ground, I recognize a more brutal truth: we're never going to be done. We'll hang up the clippers and put away shovels only when the weather is too miserable to continue.

And right now, we're in a stretch of lovely days. The kind that last month would have made me shiver, but my blood is slowly adjusting to the cold season. It's just fine to be outside, to put in some effort into improving the vast (in my view) farmette lands.

After breakfast, of course.






In the afternoon, I put away the work tools and head out to pick up the kids.

Both Sparrow and Snowdrop are very happy at school. But Sparrow is still adjusting to the drop off and pick up routines. When I show up, he rushes over (insofar as the little guy can rush) and clings. Sort of like those prickly seeds from a burdock plant, only a lot heavier.

From his class we walk over to pick up Snowdrop. This, unfortunately, requires a long climb to an upper story. I'm teaching him to walk up on his own (with my support), but the little guy is in his most huggy state.  We're working on independence nonetheless.

Sparrow has only a lunchbox to take home with him. Not so Snowdrop: she has her lunchbox, plus two rag dolls in case she chooses to nap, plus outdoor stuff, plus copious artwork of the day, plus show and tell whatevers -- it's a boatload! Now comes the challenge of getting all this stuff plus Sparrow plus Snowdrop to the car.

We manage! So far so good!

(At the farmette.... I'm always so relieved: we got ourselves home without a glitch! Stuff, kids, everything!)






After we pass through the cuddles, snacks, books, more snacks, more snuggles part of the day, we settle into play routines. This is when I take note of small details. Like the fact that the kids' nails are getting long.  I have a pair of scissors at hand and I snip away as the need arises. Sparrow has always been fascinated by this and today, he insists that he should go after his toe nails on his own.






In the evening, the kids' school is having an Open House. I meet up with the parents just outside the school house.






We visit Sparrow's classroom first. He is confused. Am I being dropped off again? No! I dont want to stay and play!






Snowdrop, on the other hand, is thrilled to show off her works, her friends, her habits. I leave the young family to this joy of watching their kids thrive in their warm, secure worlds, where every child is a friend and every teacher is there to give them the support and warmth they crave.





At the farmhouse, Ed and I eat tacos once again. It's late, I'm tired, he's tired. Easy dinners, quiet moments. It's a good way to end  the day.

Tuesday

Such a day! Busy in good ways, odd ways, pretty ways, profound way, silly ways.

And to think -- the cats aren't even at the center of my orbit today. They must take a back seat. I'm in a tailspin of life's demands.

There is, however, always time for breakfast.





Then? The ridiculous and the sublime.

Examples of the ridiculous: after breakfast, I glance at my to do list for the week. Okay, here's an easy one: descale the coffee maker in preparation for a busy weekend of use. Last time the Chicago young family visited, the coffee machine was broken. We suffered through a weekend of bad coffee. Oh, people spoke polite untruths about it being fine. It was, in fact, wretched. I replaced the coffee maker immediately after.

Except I find today that the descaling program on this new-ish machine is broken. I take all the steps to troubleshoot. They yield nothing. I call the customer service. They have me run through the troubleshooting steps five, six, seven, eight more times. No go.

In essence, I spend the morning trying to get the machine to clean up its act. In the end, predictably, it doesn't. A new one will be delivered. Probably next week, after the young family leaves.


How about the profound? Well, Ed and I talk about where we're heading. It's not a discussion he initiates, but it's one I need, especially when we spin quickly through one week after the next. So here it is, in between curse words levied against my coffee machine.


And the odd? Here's one story: this week, my "sports doc" issued an order for an MRI. Long story, not too interesting, certainly not too threatening, but it needs a quick resolution because otherwise I may be inadvertently causing damage to some bone or other. Well, despite my doc's insistence that I do this now, this week -- no appointments are available this week.  Fine. I understand. I'll do it next month. My doc says no! This week. So I'm back with the MRI scheduler. Don't worry, she tells me. You just have to call first thing in the morning. We (this is the UW health care system) always reserve spots for the Badger team. If none are needed that day, you can have one of those. 

Well now, I didn't care about scheduling until I heard this. You mean that our football team gets priority over, say, a little kid who is in need of an MRI? I'm willing to hand over my slot to a little kid, or a parent whose bones need help while they juggle ten million things in their over-scheduled lives. Not so sure I believe in football players budging the line before all the rest of us.



In the afternoon, I pick up the kids. As always, the first few minutes are full of their needs: to be held, reassured, to be fed, to be read to, to be loved.












After a while, everyone settles down and finds a calm and happy place. Snowdrop wants to make a book. Sparrow is delighted to join her in that effort.






When the kids leave, I turn my attention to the farm animals. You have to walk carefully when the cats and cheepers dance around your feet in order to get you to their feeding stations.





It's become such a ritual. As ingrained as our morning breakfasts. Ed encourages the cheepers into the coop, I walk the cats back into the shed. Happy cats, happy chickens. It makes for happy campers all around.

Monday

A day of brilliant light and spiffy fall colors. How many more will have before the leaves tumble and leave behind a landscape that stays naked until April? You never know. Gusty winds and pelting rains could bring it all down pretty quickly. It's important to take in everything that's bright and beautiful now, today,  before we are pushed into the next season (visually, if not according to calendar readings).






The morning sunshine moves us to the Sun Room (how apt!) for breakfast. In these colder months, we chase the sunny farmhouse spots from east to south to west. It's worth it!






In the afternoon, I pick up the kids and suggest an outdoor adventure. Actually, I don't merely suggest it -- I insist on it. If we are to catch autumnal colors, it better be now! I borrow the young family's travel stroller (the one they necessarily had to purchase in Amsterdam), I ask Ed if he wants to come along, I pack a bunch of snacks  and set out.

As I suspected, initially the kids balk. It's so much easier just to head home where toys and books and warm sunny spaces await them. But I don't give in to this. Every season deserves a respectful outing where we notice all that's grand and beautiful about it. Today we pay homage to autumn and there's no better place for it than here, at the Arboretum.






And it is beautiful. And the kids take note.






(a snack, and a hunt for the reddest maple leaves...)
















(tall grasses)






On the return drive, Snowdrop asks if we could stop at Culvers. If you're not from these parts, perhaps you'll not have heard of it -- it's a fast food chain originating from Wisconsin. What sticks in my mind is the commercial for it -- Culver's: home to the original butter burger.

I ask her -- what would you like to get there? I'm thinking -- she'll want the frozen custard. Surely that's on her mind on this sunny if not too warm a day.
The fried cheese curds! -- she answers without hesitation. A true Wisconsin girl!

It's a true indication of how much we love these kids that I pull over and fill the car with the smell of greasy curds. Three out of four of us wolf down the fried breaded melting curds (though one of the three knocks off the bits of batter). (I'll let you guess who's the holdout!)


Finally, home. Farmhouse home. These two mainly play in their own spaces, but every once in a while, they come together, like this:






Sparrow is a pretty tired guy. He naps at school but not nearly long enough. Toward evening, he is in my lap,  barely keeping his eyes open. It's a long day for everyone, but without doubt, a most beautiful day -- with all the colors and scents of spent leaves and autumn sunshine.