Sunday

There is a difference between looking forward to something (say a trip) and being dissatisfied with what is before you as you await something better. I favor the first but shy away from the latter. If you anticipate something with pleasure, it does not mean that you are feeling grumpy about the world you inhabit. I love my days at the farmette with Ed. I love waking up to a peek outside to see if there is snow or if the crocus blooms have proliferated. 

I love that first morning walk to the barn. The smell of damp earth, of hay in the barn -- all potent reminders of a farm life that once prevailed here.

And you know that I love our breakfast. Today I drove over to the bakery that has croissants as good as you'd find anywhere...

... so our breakfast turned instantly special.

And I could continue to run through the day and list all that makes it beautiful. But it's absolutely true that I also love thinking about a next adventure or trip or something that's out of the ordinary. It's an added bonus to a life of deep contentment.

What's to be avoided, I think, is the lusting for improvement over what the day delivers. The dislike of a cloudy rainy day. Of unexpected cool air. The brown tones to an early April day. Wanting a sunny May afternoon instead of what we have today (a relatively warm if cloudy day) unfairly belittles all that's grand about the natural progression of seasonal change. Dormancy and awakening, pauses and restarts. If you stop and think about it -- they are all delightful. Each day brings its surprises and that's just grand, I think.

A good example of taking in a day as it is presented came for us this afternoon, as we walked the Ice Age Trail over in the Brooklyn Wildlife Area. It's a lovely bit of trail -- there's forest, there's prairie, there's even a view over the farmlands stretching into the horizon.

It's not yet showing new growth, but Ed and I almost simultaneously commented how beautiful the forest felt after the cold winter (which is when we last walked here, in the snow).

And the prairie grasses -- such promise of life sprouting still under the soil's surface, but sprouting nonetheless, even as the yellowed grasses of last year continue to sway in waves of gentle beauty before us.

A fabulous walk. Really fabulous.

 

 

 

And in the evening, the young family comes over for dinner once again. It's been a while!

(big cracker)

(big cracker with cheese)

Sandpiper is more active each time he comes here!

The world outside changes, the world inside changes too. What's there not to love!!

This is what peace feels like. How wonderfully lucky to be living in its thicket.

With love.

Saturday

Okay now! Sunshine! Let's get to work! Still a little nippy out there, but that's April for you! Let's get started. First task: weeds and debris. Clear the beds as best as I can.

But but but... there's still a dusting of snow on the ground!

Nah, that's night stuff. Be gone in a minute.

But but but... there's breakfast to prepare!

Alright, eat your breakfast. Then get to it!

But but but... the proofs for my Great Writing Project have arrived! I need to go over them.

Fine -- do one chapter, move it along and then pause and work outside.

No, really, I can't. I have a very important phone call with a Polish friend. We're all set to talk in the late morning! 

Well then talk! How long can that take?

Turns out it can take a while. Still, by noon, I'm done with Poland. Phone calls, emails, all of it.

And so I step outside. Snow's gone, crocuses have opened up.

So where do I even begin?

I take out a new pair of gardening gloves. That's always an inspired moment. Gloves, fresh, clean, on your hands, ready to do some serious digging and pulling.

And I do have a vision of sorts: my motto for this year? Don't be thorough. Don't clear all the spent stuff. Don't pull all the creeping charlie. Attack the biggest offenders first and then, as if expanding beyond the core, work on a bit of the detail. 

So that is what I do. For an hour. Ed comes out then and offers to help, but garden clearing weed pulling are tricky jobs for him. He cant tell a weed from a perennial and he doesn't see new growth, so moving around an early spring flower bed risks having him trample down new tips. Instead, we go on an inspection walk. To the new tomato field, and lavender patch. To the new orchard. Up and down farmette lands, in the glorious sunshine of mid April.

In the later afternoon, I pay a visit to the young family. 

(Kids, at play)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At home again, another Zoom call, and before you know it, it's evening and the work day, or rather the potential for outdoor work fades. 

But that's okay. I had a good start. Only please do not remind me that our taxes are due in a few days. I do not want to hear it.

Ed, want to make some popcorn? 

We settle in to watch the next series that sucked us in -- about British people who, with very few pounds, want to build a home of their dreams. It's a great reprieve from the violence and horrors of what we'd been watching before I left for my trip. Mellow, tame. Spring time hope. Dreams, realized.

Friday

If I had to give a one word title to this post, I'd fall back on this one -- time. With a few pat phrases thrown in: how time flies... how we waste time... that project takes too much time... not enough time to read and play... time to go now... time is everything.

Several events conspired to make me very much aware of time. First - the weather sucks. It's April at its worst. Yuk.

(what you see is snow on the trees and timber)

Time for a reset! Although Ed warned me that we are in a La Niña year, where the cool air has gripped the northern hemisphere and will likely linger into the summer. Cool and wet? Hmmm. I suppose we're due for that. We've had such pretty summers the last few years!

Breakfast, alone this time. I have a Zoom call soon and Ed is fast asleep upstairs and I am feeling compassion and sympathy.

My Zoom call is with a Polish friend -- he'd sent me a photo of our group taken fifty years ago. Before we were all married and settled, and certainly before we were anywhere near thinking about retirement. These young men were my best friends in those days, and they had come to New York to visit me. So we talked about it. How young and brazen we were. Puffed out chests, cocky, self assured. Big hair. Ready for anything. Taking chances with our lives. Traveling, always traveling. 

Then came the fifty years of real life. Some really good years, some amount of tragedy, all unpredictable, unexpected. We're not shriveled and resigned by any means, but man oh man, have we ever changed over the years! 

 

Interrupted thoughts. Time to pick up Snowdrop. Even though I have little time with her today, as she has a phone date with other grandparents later in the afternoon. She and I have just enough time to finish that wonderful book that swallowed us whole yesterday ("Measuring Up").

And then I quickly take her home and return to the farmhouse to my old yellow pot in which I have cooked a million stews, soups, chilis, and who knows what else over the nearly fifty years that I have cooked with it. Ed and I are still talking about replacing our gas stove this summer, but I have to say, I would not have been so willing to do it if the new stove-top could not have handled my Big Yellow Pot. (Fortunately it's a fit!)

In the evening, I come back to thinking about my garden. It's time to reevaluate my strategy here: last year I expanded, it grew, some of it was taken over by weeds, other parts I gave up on, figuring that the maple roots will never allow for a good flower growing experience. So, lots of good outcomes, but also some poor results. The thing is, I'm not sure I want to fix the poor results. The bed by the sheep shed will never be free of the invasive growth of pernicious weeds. The bed by the road will never thrive in the way that I imagined it would when I first planted it. So what's the long term plan now? I mean, I'm planting a lavender bed out back, but how about the remaining beds -- what's the vision?

I'm thinking about it. That's something, isn't it? Time to reimagine where I'm heading. It'll take time, but I am definitely re-conceptualizing how best to approach the challenge of maintaining a dozen huge flower fields.

And of course, because I'm still with a half a foot in Europe, I drift off to sleep before it's time for me to do so. Bed time is fluid when you travel and when you return! Good night then. May we wake up to a warmer day! Enough of this dusting of snow already. It's time to move on.

Thursday

Neither Ed nor I are rushing to work outside this year. It really is the messy weather. In other years, I'd be looking forward to the arrival of perennials in a couple of weeks. Now? I haven't finished clearing the flower beds yet. 

The gardener in me wags a finger at my efforts thus far this season. I dont even have a good plan! And, I am a little apprehensive about the spring bulbs: my daffodils are coming in awfully dense, shade has taken away precious sunlight -- all of this makes for lots of foliage and too few blooms. I recognized this last year but was too busy with other beds to do anything about it. My tulips? Well, I seem to want to defy nature. Sure, I put in new bulbs each fall, but I rarely dig out the old ones after they're done blooming, which is a real no no in gardening with bulbs. Tulips do sometimes come back with healthy blooms, but most often they do not. They are not a perennial and treating them as such will eventually catch up with you. When I was in Giverny I did ask if they really dug out and chucked all their massive tulip plantings and I got the expected "yes, of course."

So I'll be digging out and composting lots of stuff this spring so that I can get a good start on the next spring season. Fun. 

And in the meantime, the temps stay in the shadows of spring and Ed and I stay indoors all morning long.

In the afternoon, though, I am once again picking up Snowdrop at school.

It seems funny to have her here as opposed to in a room overlooking the Grand Canal or a narrow street in Paris (she notes this as well), but on the other hand, it's good to have this mellow time at home with her, where we do nothing ambitious at all. Eat and read her entire time here.

Today is a day I also pick up Sparrow at his preschool. 

So, both kids, back in the swing of things in their post spring break routines, while Ed and I twiddle our thumbs at home waiting for spring to really take hold.

With love...

the day after

A trip has three parts to it: the planning and anticipating, the actual day by day experience, and finally -- the thoughts that follow after. I like all three. They're all important and they all take time. I'm cycling through the third right now.

A grandchild-grandparent trip is a rare bird these days. Though Snowdrop told me that she knows a number of kids who are really close to their grandparents, nonetheless, the standard deal is to visit the grands (either old ones come to young ones, or young ones go to old ones, with or without parents). By the number of surprised (always sweet) comments I got from people we met during our travels, I gather that this wasn't a combination people are used to seeing out there, great distances from home. 

This doesn't really surprise me. Parents are older these days, which means that grandparents are older. Keeping a youngster happy and busy while abroad is not for those who are gettin' on in years. As Ed told me this afternoon, after planting three more peach trees - gosh, it's getting harder each year to dig those holes! I used to do a whole orchard in one day. Now? Three holes and I'm spent. 

Too, not every child would think this is a fun way to spend spring break. Not sure that Sparrow would vote to travel, over time spent at home with his sibs.  As for my Chicago grandgirls -- there we have two parents who are enthusiastic travelers themselves. I know they would want to tag along on any trip the girls took to interesting places. (Are you curious how those two grandgirls are doing? Me too! Here's a peak, from today's FaceTime call!)

One takeaway is that there is no cookie cutter pattern to follow for everyone. You can't just decide you want to do this and expect it will all fall into place exactly as you see it. Even with Snowdrop, whom I see nearly every day of her life (and so she's no stranger to me, to say the least), I was, for a long time, very tentative about the trip. Only because she, her parents and Ed were all so enthusiastic about it, did I finally decide that the time was right -- for her and for me.

And of course, because it was so rich in experiences, both Snowdrop and I learned a ton -- about each other, about ourselves. Her mom's first text comment upon her return yesterday -- where did my little girl go? she seems close to twice her age!  (Interestingly it's the reverse for a grandma -- after a trip with a young child, I feel less old than when I left!)

What would have I done differently? Oh, not much, really. You have to keep trying this and that to figure out what fits, but sometimes even the misfits are fun to work through. I'm not sure Snowdrop really figured out the singular significance of the veggie island of Venice (Sant Erasmo), but as we walked its paths on a rather gloomy, misty, eerily magical day that afternoon with Martina, and the little girl ran around picking dandelions while I tried to explain to Martina why dandelions are actually not popular with Americans (she just didn't get it), I thought -- this is a uniquely beautiful moment.

There is a spillover effect of a trip: I hope after spending all this time with just one grandchild, I'm actually a much better grandma to all of them. You get closer to that young soul when you walk hand in hand with one for days on end. You get out of your old person's rut and start seeing things as they see them. You grow more patient. (Snowdrop asked me if I ever get impatient, since I don't usually show much anxiety about stuff in front of her or the other grands. I laughed at that and told her when we come back, she should ask Ed!)

I'll just add that there's a lot of handholding when you travel with a child. And it's not only that you hold hers to guide her along. She holds yours to let you know that being there with you is a good thing. 

 

Meanwhile, back on the farm...

I'm still stunned how little green I'm seeing out there. A patch of cereal rye (a cover crop we used last fall), that's all.

(the new peach orchard)

The daffodils are shooting up but nothing is near the blooming stage yet.

At breakfast, there's much to review. In a few weeks, I'll be in my busiest period outside. For now, I'm just waiting for a warm up!

(Though we do take the time for a walk in our local park. So brown! The world is still so brown!)

Many people come back from a trip inspired to cook with greater care and imagination when they get home. What do Ed and I have for dinner tonight? Leftover frozen pizza. It doesn't get lower than that! Tomorrow. I'll return to kitchen duty tomorrow. For now, let's just say I have jet lag!

Yaaaawn! And good night.

 

leaving Paris

On departure days, you breathe a sigh of relief if you get up on time. And if you pack everything well, and the zippers zip, and you're out the door just as the cab pulls up. And you give a very quiet little sigh of gratitude and relief when the child you're with doesn't complain that we have skipped breakfast, because no one is serving it at this early hour.

You breathe a sigh of relief if the traffic isn't horrible leaving the city. Of course, it's still dark and everything outside is a blur.

You smile with relief when the cab driver finds you a cart at the airport because there are now two little cases, two wee bags and two very heavy backpacks. Books, cameras, computers pack a punch. Your little one sees the check in line and makes herself comfortable on top of the suitcases. She fits. We move slowly and breathe a great sigh of relief when we are finally checked in. And now we're in the next line, the super big one that takes us through passport controls. Cart not allowed. Child takes a step and sits down. Gets up, takes a step, sits down. (Where? On your feet of course.)

A big sigh of relief when we are through passport controls and have removed all those heavy contents from our backpacks to pass through security. Nice agent calls me back to show me that I forgot to pick up my watch. That's the first time on this trip that I forgot something and I am hugely relieved that we have everything now and are done with the whole mess of getting to our point of departure.

And now (so many hours later!) is the time for breakfast and the girl is hungry. Yogurt, croissant and potato chips, not necessarily in that order. Others may think this was not the best way to fill a tummy, but who am I to say what a child's tummy needs at this moment of this complicated day.

One more line and such chaos it is! We're flying home on Delta and maybe they're not yet used to having full flights leaving Paris, because it is a messy boarding. 

And finally, finally a huge sigh of relief. Door of plane is closed. We're going home.

It's always such a long flight back. But I can do nothing but feel relief: there are no delays, there is no lost luggage, we have a comfortable layover in Detroit.

(Snowdrop can play with this foldable portable Polly Pocket forever. Only once did I have to crawl under tight airplane seats in search of a missing piece...)

And best of all, as we finally land (on time!) in Madison, pick up our bags and come outside, Snowdrop's mommy and two brothers drive up to reunite with the girl they've missed so much these past days. And yes, she is excited to see them. It's midnight on our internal clocks, but you'd never know it looking at her now.

Big, happy sigh of relief. We managed! We more than managed!

I drive home to the farmette, to Ed who has been out planting the baby peach trees, to the cats, the chickens, all of it. I am surprised how brown the grasses are still. Anything blooming yet? Only a crocus or two. The rest? Holding off until my return! 

Home. With so much love...

a child's Paris

On this last day in Paris, I want to let Snowdrop take the lead. Well, as much as that's possible. Being away from home in a place that isn't really familiar (it's her fourth trip to Paris, but the first three happened before the pandemic and she seems to have only vague memories of them) doesn't leave her a lot of wiggle room to plan. Plus, we do need to follow protocols. Nonetheless, she gets to choose stuff she calls fun. I go along.

First though, the essentials. Breakfast. Hurry up, before they stop serving it! (That's my running message every morning.)

So, what would you like to include in this day?

She wants to recreate something she appears to remember from our last trip here: I'd taken her and Sparrow on a picnic by the Eiffel Tower. She wants to do that again. But to accomplish it, we need foods. I go over the possibilities. She chooses bread and strawberries. She loves the French versions of both! But Snowdrop, where's the protein?

She hesitates. Do they have cheddar cheese? Nope. Okay, maybe ice cream? It's her day. We'll look for ice cream.

We go out shopping, but before we do the pleasant, we have to do the unpleasant: get Covid tests at the pharmacy to see if we can return home. They really poke your nose here, but it needs to be done and in any case I need to see if I managed to escape the infection. Long line, a coughing positive person being there along with all others  -- I mean, a real fun detour!

Happily, we are both negative (though they tell us to come back later for the documents as the computers are down. Phew!).

From here we side step to a bakery (that's easy -- we are surrounded by great bakeries) for the baguette. The man reaches over and hands me a cookie. For the little one.

And from there, we check the local produce stands for good berries.

By now, after all this rushing about, Snowdrop would have probably appreciated some down time, but I said I had something else in mind -- something that I have never done before but was sure she would love -- the Jardin d'Acclimatation.

It's an amusement park set in a beautiful green corner of Paris and it targets, well, her age group! It's really for the elementary school set (those over 120 cm-- she just makes the cut there), though there are plenty of  rides for accompanied tots as well, so no one feels left out.

Why hadn't I ever taken my daughters there? The fact is, I hate rides. I hate things that go up and down and round and round. They are up there with sailing on rough seas: no matter how much I try to tolerate either, it always feels grossly awful and it takes me a while to recover, even once the world stops swaying and spinning in my head.

Still, this girl loves rides. I mean, she really loves them. I'm counting on the fact that she is old enough to send off on her own to most things that spin and twirl and bump and go every which way.

We take a taxi to the park. I thought Monday would be a good day because all French children are in school and indeed, the park is eerily on the empty side of the spectrum. The cold weather probably adds to that. It feels very much like an almost empty movie theater: on the one hand, great! There are no lines and you can see everything. On the other hand, missing is the peel of laughter and the shriek of the wild child trying out a wild ride.

Still, on balance, it's nice to have the place more or less to ourselves.

Nice, until we come to the biggest of the 4 roller coasters in the park. I mean, this is no giant by American standards, but still, it's pretty twisty and has some steep drops. She wants to go, but not alone.

What a grandma wont do for her granddaughter!

I'm still spinning in my head from the twisty horror of it all. (She loved it.)

I did do two other (tame) rides with her. The rest -- she was in fact fine on her own. Thank God.

(Lilacs are blooming here already! It was very warm... before we arrived!)

We were good for about two hours and then I was ready to coax her away toward our Eiffel Tower picnic.

We recreate however it is that she remembers it to be. Just goes to show -- great picnics have little to do with the food...(baguette and strawberries???)

I'd promised ice cream, but now it's getting mighty cool again. Still, I said the first cafe that has it on the menu will get us to step inside. (Me, I'm lusting after warm coffee...) Well, there is a cafe, and ice cream's on the menu, but once we are seated, the waiter tells us that they're just not set up for it yet. Would you like some other dessert?

Oh yes. (Delicious crepes, with coffee for the grandma!)

One more stop today, just one more -- at the Grand Epiceries Food Halls. But we purchase very little. It's a place with exquisite foods at exquisite prices. Like, $5 for a small chocolate sucker. A few will do. And we're done.

I choose a walk back to the hotel that will take us through the Jardins Luxembourg. We've spent so little time in the gardens! I want its calming grace for just these few last minutes and honestly after crisscrossing the city, I think Snowdrop will benefit from it as well.

And in the evening, we are about to go out to our last dinner. Reservation for 7 pm, it is now 6:50. The restaurant, Marco Polo, can be a bit intimidating (left bank, Italian, but on the posh side of things), but I've seen them handle little kids on my last visit there in the fall. Let's go! -- I tell Snowdrop.

Oh! She looks at me with eyes that are quickly filling with tears. We forgot the ice cream you promised! She's not entirely correct. I remembered and nudged her to consider it earlier, but she'd been absorbed in her story telling so it passed her by.

It's another "what would you do" moment and I know many of you would not play it the way I did. There's a lot to be said for shrugging it off with a Life is Tough attitude. Because, well, life is tough. Too, we're going to one of the best of our Paris restaurants and you need to bring a healthy appetite with you for dinner because otherwise -- well, what's the point. 

Nonetheless, I made a different call.

There is a gelato store just across the street from Marco Polo Restaurant. It closes soon, but there's time.

(It helps to know that the French give very, very small scoops, unlike the Italians, and certainly unlike us back home.)

At Marco Polo, she orders her fave and she scribbles and I look onto this child who's so full of emotion and earnestness and love. We write secret messages to each other and she writes I love to travel with you and I write I do with you. In code of course.

And they give her lollipops and she is surprised and pleased. She tells me -- in Italy they kept calling me principessa, in France they keep giving me extra treats...  So, the world does love children. How cool is that...

Tomorrow, we leave at dawn. Paris will be all that we'll see out the taxi window. And in the evening, if all goes well, Snowdrop will be back with her family and I will be at the farmhouse, where surely I'll have a few hours, perhaps days to reflect.

Until then, good night, with so much love!