Thursday

I couldn't wait any longer. It has to be today. True, the night was so chilly that the water froze in the water dish we keep for the cheepers by the picnic table. But the forecast promises a warm up. Soon. And anyway, today is so sunny! Even the daffodils perk up!






And the cheeper girls seem somehow more radiant, more effervescent today (Oreo follows, at a distance)...






And in the new orchard, a few cherry blooms signal the coming of fruits. Maybe not this season, but soon!






Ed and I eat breakfast in the sun room, but thoughts of the porch are certainly in my head. Maybe next week we'll be out there again!






And immediately after breakfast, I drive out to my favorite shopping venue of them all -- the Flower Factory. Now! Today! It's time to take a look at what may be good for planting in the new flower field standing ready (after the bramble dig out operation).





There are very few people shopping for flowers so early in the season (at this possibly largest perennial retailer in the Midwest, just ten minutes south of the farmette). I talk to the owners and compare notes on which plants had trouble this winter. For me, the struggle is always with lavender -- it lives, but it tells me again and again that it would prefer a climate closer to that found along the Mediterranean.

It takes me several hours just to look, to touch gently, to admire. I pick out some new additions, but I'm proceeding slowly this season (in part because Snowdrop fills a good part of the day for me and too, I don't need to buy so much; I can divide some of the plants in my garden and spread them to new flower fields).


And very quickly, it's time to head for Snowdrop's home.

She is radiant and cheerful and shows off the best ballet pointy toes, so appropriate, given her ballerina "shoes"!






We try sitting up again...






And there are books to read...






And of course, her gymnastics are very impressive.



(look at me, grandma!)




(oh oh! I flipped to the side! how do I get myself up now?!)


Very impressive!



(yeah, I think so!)


And, too, I like to watch her work through her grabbing motions and I tell her that she is indeed the best grabber I have ever seen this side of Lake Monona! Snowdrop likes compliments.






When her mom returns home, the three of us go for a walk around the smaller lake.



(Snowdrop, can't you smile for the camera? Nope!)




(but I'll smile for mommy!)


It's both cool and warm, sunny and windy -- a day that reminds you of how easy it is to get complacent about spring and the good things it brings with it, at the same time that it nudges you to have hope, because really, we're done with the tougher seasons!

In the evening, Ed and I take a walk in our local county park.






It's quiet here most anytime we come (a very underused park!). And we're quiet too tonight, both lost in our thoughts -- mine straying toward people, his probably toward machines.





It is late by the time I get supper on the table. Cheeper eggs, asparagus, mushrooms. A spring favorite of ours. With a huge salad.

The day started prettily and ended beautifully. How good is that?!

the next day

As Snowdrop plays with the intensity that is so part of her style, I'm looking outside the window in her home and thinking -- my those really are snowflakes out there! Oh, nothing that would stick. It is, after all in the mid forties F. Much better than the near freezing we had at daybreak. Snowdrop, your nickname seems very seasonal today!






Again we take a pass on working outdoors. Breakfast in the kitchen, both of us loving the oatmeal that, too, seems fitting for a day like this!






With the whirlwind of activities and travels, I've not caught up with the basics of life (for example, paper work) since before I left for England in mid March. This is the day for it. With a few solid peeks at the daffodils outside to remind myself of spring.






And of course, there is the afternoon with Snowdrop. She is right now leaping into new realms of physical adeptness. Huge push ups!



(I can fly! Sort of.)




(Hi, grandma!)



And tumbles!






And a more or less steady sit.






But more importantly, she is playful -- with or without guidance. And when she catches me watching, when she hears the sound of encouragement coming from me, she beams. And then I beam. And she beams some more. And chortles and goes back to mastering the next step of play (which, of course, is for her, hard work).







Who says you can't be energetic when you're housebound?!

Of course, eventually you do get tired...






Evening. I pull into the long gravel driveway of the farmette. Such daffodils there are!






At home, I look through my two new cookbooks (birthday gift) and, too, at the trail guide for a planned July adventure with Ed. A glass of kir vin blanc rests on the side. The good thing about spring is that not all days are beautiful. You don't have to work hard with a pitchfork and a shovel every single minute of the season.

...on April 21st

I  don't believe I have ever lived through an April 21st when there hasn't been at least a speck of blue in the sky. This year, I thought I'd lose that golden streak -- the weather was slated to be cold and gray, but as Ed and I sat down in the kitchen for our breakfast...






... we looked up to see gentle light painting our porch outside. Sunshine!





You might ask how it is that I remember the weather patterns on this day so clearly. Well, it's something that stands out for me because I was born on this day. My mom used to say the sunshine on April 21st matched my disposition (this was when I was a child), but realistically, the sunshine on this day and my luck to have it there has more to do with the fact that I've always lived in the northern hemisphere (and northern portions of it), where April weather can change with a snap of a finger. Clouds can quickly disperse, or accumulate. Today, they give me at least that glimmer of hope.

This year's advanced spring means that I will be seeing plenty of daffodils in my flower beds. Their beauty is so rewarding that I have planted them among other perennials. They overwhelm my beds with golden color even in this young time of the year, where not much is blooming.






Once they're done, I have to put up with months of spent stalks (they wont rebloom next year if you cut them back). So enjoy them now! This is their moment -- a few weeks of utter beauty.






From early in the morning, we watch carefully the movements of the cheeper pack. Initially, they're cautious, as if calibrating things afresh: are we the same as before? Does the reappearance of Oreo put us in the same positions again?

The answer is yes. Within an hour, they're moving as a group. There is no fighting among the girls. Scotch isn't shunned, the white girls appear almost docile.






I pick up the loaded water pistol again, but I also tell myself that if I'm to live with Oreo, I must not shy away from him. I've grown so used to side stepping around him that it's almost impossible for me to head out without carving my path in ways that avoid coming close to his sharp beak. But this wont do. I have to not care. And so I teach myself to regain control of my space. Not easy. At 62, you tend to be more cautious, less brazen.

What else happens at 62? Well, in America, I become eligible for social security. In other words, I am officially a senior. (In Europe, in most places, I entered senior status at 60.) I suppose I can glare at the young people who occupy spots on public transportation that are reserved for seniors. (In Poland, young people automatically get up when they see someone older standing. There's no hesitation. It happens instantly.) Now if only there was public transportation for me to use!

Alright, back to this day -- a special one for me and made so much grander because it comes at such a beautiful time of the year!

I have a "girls only" lunch: my daughter and her daughter take me out to lunch!




let's go!








(And I eagerly await a second celebratory meal, to include my other daughter, later in the month.)

And then Snowdrop comes over to the farmhouse for her weekly Tuesday visit.


 
mommy's hands: total trust



You must be patient with Snowdrop photos today! Call it a birthday privilege!



grandma, I'm not so good at standing yet...





but I'm getting better at sitting!





and I'm great at lying down!





selfie!





book time!





big hands, little hands


After, Ed and I head out to our favorite local chocolate store (Candinas) where Ed lets me select a box of truffles for the weeks ahead. (We share a truffle or two after dinner every night.)





Finally, he and I go out to dinner. We're in search of mussels and fries. Our go-to place, Brasserie V, is out of mussels, so we amble over to the back up plan -- Jac's. It is a completely satisfying meal, eaten as always (when we have the chance) at the bar.

The day ends quietly. Ed writes a birthday note, I talk to family, I read your wonderful, kind, happy words. Perhaps the best part about birthdays is to hear those wonderful, kind, happy words.

onwards and upwards

Before dawn, before the first crow of the rooster, the chicken mama (the true owner of our cheeper brood) finally responds to my calls and comes to take Oreo away, to a farm sanctuary of sorts, she tells us -- a place where he can presumably act out to his heart's content. Ed vows to be a frequent visitor.

After, the remaining three hens seem a tad scattered in their behavior. Do they sense that their protector is not trailing behind, as he did for all their time at their farmette?

Scotch gets pushed around just a little more than usual. Oh! The three girls are fighting! Are there new hierarchies forming already?







It's a cool and wet day -- not the kind that invites you to be outside. Many of the daffodils have bent with the rain that pummeled them all night long. But most stand strong and tall. Do flowers, too, have hierarchies of strength?






For the first time in a long time, Ed succeeds in picking up a white hen (they usually scatter if you reach toward them). I'm thinking -- maybe he's trying harder with the girls, now that Oreo's gone.






I clean out the coop -- another first in a long while. Oreo never liked it when I neared their space. My movements around the farmette had been greatly influenced by where he was and what he was doing. Not anymore, I'm thinking. I've regained my freedom, though I, too, sense the small void now, without his overbearing presence.

Ed and I eat breakfast. I stick cut daffodils from the garden in a vase for the kitchen table.






And in the afternoon, I go to Snowdrop's home. Having had a set of adventurous days away from home, she is utterly delighted to be in her familiar surroundings! She is all smiles and laughter! I sit her up on the couch and note that she is so much stronger now! She doesn't immediately tilt to one side!






Too, she is a total chatterbox! Even as she laughs at my imitations of her talk!






In the last days, she has become more adept at grasping favorite toys. This one she adores and she is convinced that she can fit it in her mouth. All of it.






I walk away in the evening thinking how incredibly happy this girl is. Something is going right in her life, that's for sure!


At home, Ed is putting on a good front, but I sense his feeling of loss. You say -- it's a rooster! He'll say -- it's a rooster!! 

I had texted the chicken mama to ask when and where Ed could visit with Oreo. She answered that there was no space at the sanctuary and so she is looking elsewhere.

Outside, Butter snaps and pecks at her sister. Scotch moves away. She knows that she's the next target.

I think about what I disliked most about Oreo: his unpredictability. But the water gun nearly solved that! And Snowdrop -- I can't have her play freely in the yard if he's around! But she wont be playing freely this year -- she's too young for that. Besides, Ed has always said that he will lock up the rooster if there are visitors. By next summer, if Oreo even lives that long, we can reevaluate.

How about my freedom? Here's the thing: in the past few weeks, I have done some serious thinking about what we fear and dislike and what we push away because we are too concerned about our own vulnerabilities to ever give it a running chance.

I tell Ed to call the chicken mama and ask for Oreo back. He hesitates, but only for a moment. He promises me a smaller, better water gun.
Here, look at this set of reviews! You know, there is a vocabulary that is used specifically for water pistols: soaker, pump volume, air-shot, blaster...

There's no doubt. Ed is thrilled. 

And yes, we agree to also take another orphaned chicken from the chicken mama. Yes, yes, we are the keepers of unwanted cheepers. And I do believe that this is a good thing.

explosion

There's no other word for it -- in the three days I was a way, the garden exploded. We are a good three weeks ahead of last year in our yard! The crab apple is starting to have flower buds, as is the cherry in our young orchard! And the daffodils! Shut tight (with the rare exception) when I left, now showing off their utter splendidness.






A warm spell held tight over the farmette in my absence and I have to think that even when we cool down next week, we can't go down very far -- it is, after all, getting very close to May!






Ed and I eat a glorious breakfast on the porch.





And of course, where there's an explosion of growth, so, too, there will be weeds, but our wood chips keep them under control and digging them out is -- dare I say it? -- a pleasure.

Oreo is on high alert, but Ed purchased a water gun and it is very effective! When the rooster comes near me, he gets doused. He hates that! (And I hate doing it, but it's a good temporary solution until his true owner comes to take him to another home where it's all chickens and roosters. May he prosper.)

And so I dig and carry more chips...





... and the day passes beautifully, peacefully, capped by Snowdrop's arrival at the farmhouse, where she spends the evening with me. She had been traveling as well in the time that I was away and she is just freshly back in Madison.

She wakes up to us here in the farmhouse and at first she is puzzled. Do I know you? Wait, how does this all fit in to where I was just this morning?






Something sparks recognition. In the alternative, my face is just plain funny. For a few minutes we laugh back and forth.





But then she reminds me that for her, travel is still hard and the farmhouse, while familiar, is not home.

It takes a lot of holding and serious conversation (Snowdrop, you know that you're safe here and mommy and daddy will pick you up soon!) before she finally decides to rest her soul and body somewhere between my lap and shoulder.  At the peak of her tired distress, I take her out for a breath of fresh air. In Poland, the belief is that fresh air can do wonders for the soul.

She relaxes. And promptly falls asleep. Then wakes up. Then smiles. Then cries. Then dozes. Then eats -- and we cycle through this many times until finally, just before her parents come to pick her up, a light bulb seems to go off (as in -- oh, I know where I am!) and she proceeds to kick her feet and articulate cool sounds that do awfully sound like words.

It's nearly midnight now. Snowdrop has gone home. There is a light patter of rain on the rooftop. Nourishing rain, good rain. Wish I could send some over to California.