Thursday

This morning at breakfast, we talked about the ongoing lawsuits against various holdings of the billionaire who happens to be running for president. This quickly morphed into a discussion of lawsuits in general, about tax codes that are difficult to follow and tougher still to enforce, about making savvy decisions in light of complicated pools of information, and about chickens who are no longer waging war, but are nonetheless making sure that the younger hens understand their place in the group.





All this caused me to blurt out -- it must be difficult to be prosperous, or to be a top chicken.
Ed laughed at that: a sudden sympathy for the powerful and wealthy of this world?

No. It's so much harder to be powerless and poor, or to be little Henny, who is so terrified of violating the social order that every time I raise my hand to throw bread (a gesture that the other girls understand means a dispersal of their favorite treat), she runs away, concluding that her station in life dictates that she should flee. But I do think being top hen (and perhaps being rich) must come with its own perils: look at Butter -- she can never relax. She follows the younger girls to make sure that they're not getting a better deal in life and that she, Butter, should have the first turn at fat worms or pieces of bread. Yes, it must be tough to guard your holdings or your premier status in life. Even as my heart goes out to Henny and my gratitude -- to Java who guards the littlest hen with her own huge presence, making Henny feel safe and comforted.








And as I am on the topic of little ones, let me go straight to Snowdrop's home. Here, I want to just mention two games that have positively grabbed my granddaughter's attention this morning.

First, the spoon series:






There is the spoon dance (where she does a lovely little step with her right foot):






And then there's the "bang the dishcloth" dance:






But it's the second play that really gets her chortling. After working diligently to sort shapes, she thinks up a funner game: peek-a-boo from behind the basket lid, which she deftly holds with her teeth. Just because.






I get my face very close on the other side and then she just can't help herself! It's so funny!






Of course, no day is complete without time devoted to carrying jackets, shoes, penguin, all at a run. Case in point (yes, it's kind of a wild hair day):












In the late afternoon, I pack her into the car and drive to our Big Mall. I'm not a great fan of malls and I am sorry to subject her to it, but I'm running low on errand time and I must return an item purchased under pressure (well, purchased when I succumbed to an email ad) and so I tell Snowdrop that I will happily pay for that overpriced toddler car stroller thing if she will stay good humored during our venture.  It's a $5 expense, but I'm desperate.

Of course, she's fine with the car, but loves much more the freedom to romp up and down the mall on her own.







Evening. I come home to cheepers, to Ed, to the quiet of the farmhouse. I would end my post  with this, but I do want to note just one more thing: as of today, I am the proud owner of a tiny tiny Warsaw apartment, all pink and awful in the photos that I inspected. Of course, that's the end of chapter one. What to do with it, how to transform it, and more importantly -- how to create good memories in it -- that surely will fill many Ocean pages in the future.

Wednesday

No, it wasn't simply a quick taste of good weather to wet the palate and hunger for more. Today's morning is as lovely as yesterday's and apart from the possibility of intermittent showers, it seems we're on a roll. A spring roll.

There had been rain at night and the morning walk to the coop was made the better for it. The damp earth feels no longer frozen. I'm sure there are worms. The cheepers are sure there are worms. The robins, the cardinals, the bluejays -- I've seen them all, I've heard them all. We're in this wonderful spring boat together!

Mists hanging onto the fields around us, the sun pushing through wisps of clouds, all beautiful, despite the absence of grand spring color.






(But that color -- we wont have to wait long for it. Do you see it?)






It's the kind of morning that makes us early risers happy to be up and about, before the rest of the world gets too crazy around us.






Breakfast in the sun room. (Yes, he's in shorts. What can I say -- I doubt I'll see long pants on him again for a long long time.)






And then I am off to be with Snowdrop. As I bathe her, then dress her, I'm thinking -- maybe I should just let her romp in bare feet today. In Wisconsin, you don't want to do that in the months after the frost sets in, but we're past those times, aren't we?







She is intrigued. She rarely sees her own toes. Well, today she wiggles them and balances on them to her heart's content.






What, I'm neglecting her face? Here she is, Snowdrop herself...






Later, as we head out on our walk, I tell her -- your nickname comes from this flower. It makes no impression on her. She is far too captivated by the children playing in the school yard across the street.






But is she happy with the onset of warmer days? Oh, I think so.





Her smiles are positively effervescent!

I'm home a wee bit earlier today -- with enough time to work in the yard. I clear, I rake, I clip. The cheepers are there to keep me company and for the first time, all four are working in close proximity to one another, picking bugs, scratching the soil, doing whatever it is that chickens do in weather that is quite possibly a chicken's idea of perfection.






 There is no doubt about it -- it's a grand day to be out scratching dirt!

Tuesday

Oh, what a day! What a beautiful summer-like (yes, summer-like) day! Windows wide open, birdsong coming in strong, cheepers running this way and that, as if themselves confused about the sudden onset of this grand loveliness.

It's a full Snowdrop-sitting day for me and immediately after a sunny breakfast...





... I head out to her place.

What if, what if, we pulled out something with short sleeves today? Just this one day, because I know we'll return to March and trudge restlessly through iffy April, but for now, let's pretend it's May, or better yet -- June!






Run, little girl, run with the wind!






Warm days, happy days, giddy grandma, giddy Snowdrop.






And in the afternoon, Ed shows up, just for that walk, not anything grand or extravagant, a simple brisk walk around the neighborhood, but oh, what a walk! Light sweaterss (in Ed's case -- shorts), light spirits, spring steps, summer thoughts.






We come to the lesser lake -- it's ice free!






And a coffee shop interlude, just because.






On the way home we stop at the playground. First time this year!
Can I just run around grandma?
Are you really only fourteen months old, Snowdrop?






Her mom had told me Snowdrop likes going down the slide just fine -- with someone. I'm game! Ed catches us (and takes the photo). Admittedly, not a long slide. But thrilling! For the grandma as well as the little one.






Such a day! And what is most extraordinary is that the best is yet to come.
 

Monday

Rise before dawn, sleep soon after dinner. It's a good pattern, if a bit out of step with the modern world. (My grandma favored it. My grandma was not modern.)

Let the chickens out, study the skies, inhale deeply.

In anticipation of Snowdrop's Monday visit, I ask Ed to put together the red wagon that I have added to the farmette stock of childhood essentials. Watching him work, systematically, almost rhythmically is always deeply satisfying. In building something, he displays his fantastic patience and great care. He'll never throw out a curse or an exasperated groan when things go wrong. (Unlike me.) And so I look on, taking in, too, the pale sunshine that warms the morning air to a whopping 60F (15C) today.






Breakfast is late. The sun has almost left the east facing room. No matter. There is no rush today.






And shortly after, Snowdrop arrives.

Let me post a very representative trilogy -- it documents well her typical first minutes at the farmhouse.

There is the search for a favorite stuffed animal to hug.






An initial run between rooms, at first with just the stuffed rabbit.






With a pause for a look at a favorite book.






And now I interrupt her play and suggest taking bread to the cheepers. At first, she is happy with the prospect of putting on the shoes and zipping up the fleece jacket. But her love of the red wagon is not instantaneous. I took a handful of photos. This is the only one where her face is not sporting a grimace.






But you know how it is: if you're unsure about an activity, you get very excited when you're on safe ground again. And so back in the farmhouse, she is especially happy to be doing one of her very favorite things these days: filling her arms with a jacket, shoes, maybe gloves, and, too, a stuffed animal...






...she runs with all this in a delightfully hoppy happy manner.






And if Ed's patience is in putting together parts to form a coherent whole, her's is in keeping a load in her arms. If something is dropped (and it is -- every few sauntering steps), she picks it up and tries again. And again. And again.






Lunchtime. Hey, little girl -- a new bib from the Conservatory in Minneapolis!






And the afternoon? Oh, the games Snowdrop invents for herself!

She makes penguin stew... (penguin stew???)






She brings her stack of stuff to "work" alongside Ed, who watches, amused at her cleverness, her sparkle.






The two with the wild hair!






Later, toward the end of the day, I take her back to her own neighborhood and Ed tags along, happy to go out for a walk with us...






And we find that first beautiful sign of growth: snowdrops.






We stop briefly at the coffee shop...






Snowdrop knows she has to wait for her wee morsel.






She is also learning that sharing is important. That even a wee crumb tastes better if you can eat it with a friend.






Such a good beginning to a week! But you could have guessed that just by reading this one fact: we had May-like weather today. On March 7th. In Wisconsin. Amazing.

Sunday : from their home to my home

The last leisurely hours in Minneapolis. In their apartment...






... then at brunch, because you know now (see previous post) there will always be brunch. This time, we eat at the Eastside which gives me that final taste of city.






And a final long pause which, honestly, is never long enough to cover all that I want to ask, all that she wants to ask.






It is a beautiful day outside. As promised, the sun is strong, the air is warm. Oh, but the sadness of leaving!

Never mind. We have planned encounters ahead. Looking forward is as familiar to me as any other feeling that I bring to the table.


And speaking of realizing a future wish, here's a tiny bit of news: Ed reports that the chickens are out and about and no one is thinking of killing another. Or if they're thinking it, they're not acting upon their deep rooted desires to eliminate anyone who stands in the way of total stardom. In other words, it appears that the pecking order is holding, with only a few missing feathers to show for it.


Back home now. Ed and I go for a late afternoon walk. Not too long, not too far. Just enough to feel the breeze coming in across Lake Waubesa, all the way to the frozen pond where a sandhill crane does a shout out to the coming of spring.