weekend

Wake up early. Oh no! Sniffles! How can I have sniffles? I have a most perfect weekend before me!

I will myself not to think about it. Get up. Open coop. Take no photos (it's raining). Get back to bed. Can't sleep. Damn.

A shower always feels good.

Downstairs now. Ed is making adjustments to his newest machine design project.






Breakfast. Inside. Quick.






It's drizzling ever so lightly, but we want to go to the market!

We do go to the market. Here's Snowdrop catching up with the rest of us.






Aunt, niece, croissant.






Next: to the store so that I may grocery shop.

And now it's early afternoon and we roll up our sleeves and get to it.


 


My younger girl and I love these cooking marathons. The menu we put together is always absurdly difficult but in a sense, that's the point: the challenge is very satisfying! (Today, from Keller's Bouchon, we pick the herbed Gnocchi a la Parisienne, prepared with summer vegetables.)






My older girl keeps us company in the kitchen. As does Ed every now and then.






Oh! Here's a wonderful photo, done by Ed, of me, my two daughters, my granddaughter.






Yeah, her!





(We're whipping the cream now.)





Dinner's nearly ready!






And dessert (also from the Bouchon book) -- almond cake with strawberry rhubarb compote.






In the late late evening, the girl's parents propose a few minutes at their neighborhood coffee shop. There's music tonight. The little girl loves music! Dancing to it is possibly the highest of highlights for her.






Happiness is sharing music and dance and a weekend with the people you love!

endings, beginnings and everything inbetween

Up early. Very early. So much to do!

Pretty sunrise.


 



And am I imagining it or are the bugs receding? Ever the optimist!

I weed a little, but just a little. Not much time for yard work today.





There is, however, always time for breakfast. I explain to Ed: so if you are at your tech meetings late, then meet us there and if not, then pick me up...
He looks rather bewildered at the complicated instructions.
Never mind, just call me!

He's off.
I'm off.

But not before checking the mail: yes! it's arrived! The book I had seen at my guest house in the Scottish Borders -- Bouchon. I want to cook from it this weekend.

Now I'm really off. Can't be late.

It's not exactly Snowdrop's first day of school, But she has an orientation -- a visit to meet her teachers and inspect her classroom. Her parents invite me to tag along so that I can get a sense of the place. I'll be picking her up at the half day. I imagine that I am one of a million grandparents doing just that next week (and that's just in Wisconsin)...

She is excited, possibly because everyone else is excited. Still not fully dry, but it's a warm day.







Off we go!






The visit goes well. Sometime next week the new schedule begins!

(Parental pride...)






After,  I'm still in a hurry. Farmhouse is clean -- I attended to it right after opening the coop, but there are last minute things to take care of. Big weekend ahead -- my younger daughter (and eventually her husband) is coming for a three day visit. This is suddenly manageable because the young couple has moved to Chicago and so now the distances aren't as great. I am excited for the changes in their lives and I am very excited about having her here for more than a fleeting moment.


Evening. We all meet up at Sujeo for dinner (which I think you'd call Pan-Asian or maybe Korean). I'd never eaten there, but Snowdrop has and I'm told she shocked the staff by polishing off a plateful of shrimp ceviche.






Here we are:






Wonderful meal. Afterwards, outside, as we decide who drives home with whom, we pause to dance.






Oh, how the girl loves to dance!


Dance, my aunt,  dance!







Settle now, dear girl.  A book? Okay!






After, my little one and  I need to study the cook book for tomorrow.






(Snowdrop, with  her last minutes of pre-bed reading...)







Night. They say there will be storms. Ah, but it's the week's end. Sleep in, unwind. Take a deep breath. Exhale.

Thursday

I'm back in the saddle again, riding the routines of a farmette life. With Snowdrop galloping alongside. Well, at least for the day. The routines of the summer aren't here to stay. We're awfully close to a complete reset of everything, as Snowdrop will be starting school next week.

But that's not today's story. On this morning, I wake up to a somewhat buggy day, which means that I have little patience for outdoor work. One photo of the farmhouse at summer's end...






Another -- looking toward the grand crab apple...






... with a close up of two bees working the same flower...





... and I'm done with the outdoors.

Oh, how grateful we are for the bug-free porch!

Breakfast.






And a photo of what we see, looking out to the side...






And then I am in a bit of a rush, because today is Snowdrop's last gym class. She'd had a pause from going there in the weeks I was away, but she is happy to rejoin the group and plunge into the various activities -- including one she hadn't been sure of before but now likes just fine -- being rocked around in a great big parachute.






As before, she is drawn to the balance beam. I can almost tell what she's thinking -- how did I get myself into this pickle? And more importantly: how do I get out of it?






There are many large blocks and boulders for her to climb over and she is thrilled to do this again and again.






The class always ends with balls and bubbles and she is a great fan of both.






As it's the last class, Snowdrop gets a ribbon of achievement! (Not to worry, so does every other kid in class.) Ah, the girl is growing up so quickly!






As is our habit, after gym we cross the street and go to the public library, where, as at other times, she loves to sit on this stool and "read."





And we go to Paul's coffee shop where we pick up pickles for grandpa Ed. We have done this all summer long and I feel the significance of this being our last time. Oh, not forever. Just for this season.


As I get out of the car back at the farmette, I happen to glance toward the crab apples. And I catch sight of the end of summer colors in the big flower field. It's deeply satisfying to know that these flowers are here to stay. They'll come back next spring. They've surely had a good run of it this year!





Snowdrop plunges into all her favorite play routines at the farmhouse -- with added new twists: really, Snowdrop? Did you pull off the table cloth behind my back? Ha ha ha.

She is by nature extremely playful (aren't all kids...) and though she isn't one to push boundaries and behaves very much within the parameters of the reasonable and good (you would call her a friendly and respectful little one if you met her), she does like to tease.

I have no photos to show any of this. Indeed, I'll give you only three from our farmhouse play and one of them (the first) was taken by Ed.











In the very last photo, she finally gets what she wants. I had said -- lunch before cookies and she was willing to wait. Through left over shrimp salad (which she loves). Through yogurt (which she loves). Through her plate of fruit (which she loves). Once the last of the peaches, grapes, blueberries and strawberries disappeared (into a very full mouth), she pointed excitedly to yesterday's labors set out on a dish on the counter.

Yes, Snowdrop. Time for (half) a cookie with milk.





Happiness is (half) a cookie and milk.


Later, much later, Ed and I ride his motorcycle to a cottage by the wetlands, where a small handful of us have been meeting rather regularly to strategize about how best to preserve this precious land that surrounds us. It was a productive meeting and also a beautiful little ride past our neighboring farms and prairies.

I waved to these guys and told them they had a special greeting from all their cousins in Scotland.






And I took a "whizz-by shot" of this prairie. Meadows of gold.





I'll leave you with that photo. I love its spectacular rush, even if at times we all yearn just to slow things down a bit.

farmhouse day

It rained last night. I had kept the windows wide open, optimistically, without thought to rain. I had to scurry and make amends at odd hours of the night.

At dawn, or thereabouts, I go out to open the coop. It's raining, the air feels sultry, my flowers are leaning heavily toward the ground.





But by breakfast time, the storms have passed and at least some of the flowers of late summer perk up again.





Breakfast is on the porch. Ed and I discuss what kind of learning is beneficial to save the human race.





The bugs are still menacing our farmette land, but they have receded enough to allow me to occasionally venture forth into the thick of green growth. For example, after breakfast I clean up the front bed enough to let the remaining lilies (and yes, there are remaining lilies!) shine.





And then Snowdrop comes over for a day at the farmhouse.





I feel torn about letting her play outside. Initially, I let her run out and have her fill of outdoor freedom. But as she runs towards the denser areas where raspberry canes fill all available spaces, I see that she's heading for trouble.





The mosquitoes will get her for sure. I redirect her toward the indoors.

Ah-ah comes over. She's delighted with his antics.






Knowing that we may be stuck indoors all day, I've prepared a cooking station. Snowdrop, we're going to bake! 

I'm not ambitious. Cookies would be nice. I've just come back from the UK -- my yearnings stray toward ginger. What? No molasses in the cupboards? Ed: I'll get you some molasses.

He comes back. Snowdrop and I set to work.

What do I stir, gaga?






Well, the whisk works better with the dry ingredients.
(Okay I'll do both!)






In the past year, I've let Snowdrop smell various spices. She's become quite good at taking a whiff (rather than wanting to taste). Today, she watches as those fragrant particles are shaken into the cookie batter.






Time to roll the ginger balls in sugar!






Okay, we're done.  A few minutes later the cookies are ready -- to be tasted at the end of lunch.






Meanwhile, the girl plays.






Runs.






Flips through books, chortles, dances, snuggles -- oh, it's nice to know she hasn't totally changed!

Lunchtime. It's easy today: leftovers from supper! Then her favorite -- fruit!






And finally I remind her about the cookie. Served with milk.

Happy girl, happy gaga.





In the late afternoon, just before her parents arrive to claim her, Snowdrop  eats her afternoon snack which includes -- watermelon!






And then her parents arrive and I hand over a happy, well rested and well fed girl.






 The sun recedes. In its last minutes, it always throws a beam of light just at the middle garden. I catch it today.





And it reminds me of the fact that if you are lucky to be there at the right time, every single day of the year offers a magic moment of light, color and texture out on the farmette lands.

Someday, maybe Snowdrop and I will make a habit of looking for it, reveling in its fleeting beauty.