Wednesday

So far so good. We're on schedule for a warmup. And today, by late afternoon, we actually break the freezing point (just by one or two degrees, but that's more than a dozen degrees better than yesterday)! And the sun! Oh, that sunshine!

Breakfast in the sun room and yes, Ed is in shorts.






The cheepers are thrilled to find solid ground once more.






Before picking up Snowdrop, I go to the bakery (Madison Sourdough) and though I am not French in my buying habits (I buy Snowdrop's croissants for two and sometimes even three days in advance. Shh! Don't tell anyone!), I am by now a familiar face. Today the breads look especially lovely and though I do not buy any, a photo is warranted.






I swing by the lesser lake just to see the state of the ice cover. Yes, there's a crust, but it's obviously nothing to worry about. It will surely disappear by the weekend. For now, one can admire the lovely patterns it creates on the water.






Okay: Snowdrop time. There isn't a doubt in the little girl's mind that this is adventure weather! And I am so buoyed by the upswing in the temperatures that I brazenly tell her to leave her snow pants behind. I am convinced we are done with them for this school year!





But we do not stay out long. If you walk with your balk to the sun, it doesn't feel at all like spring. We must be patient: tomorrow we'll be out of this arctic territory. We'll save the longer walks for the months ahead.



At the farmhouse, Snowdrop settles in to play. I pull back her hair to keep it off her face and she delights in swinging her pony tail so that it slaps her on the face.

(She insists on doing the sweeping after I bring out the dust pan to pick up croissant crumbs.)

Ed has a work meeting later in the afternoon and so he makes a point of coming over now. She would miss him if he didn't show up for at least a few minutes of play.






I thought she'd go right to her tea set -- feeding him cakes and tea is still very much a favorite these days -- and she does head that way (so much sunshine!)...






... but then she remembers that the other day, Ed showed her a youtube clip of polka dancing.

Want to play polka music ahah? -- she asks him. That's my (partly) Polish granddaughter!






They go at it together. (Ed asks -- what are the steps to this thing? I have to laugh. It's not as if he is a dancer at heart! Could he really pull off a polka?)






Snowdrop notices he is barefoot. Off come her socks.
Little one, he's putting his socks on to go out now.
She is unconvinced. They both continue to dance, socks in hand.






And so now we look forward. To the good days. The warm days (or at least warmer days).

(Except for Snowdrop. She doesn't look forward. She just likes whatever is before her. In the array of stuff, she finds her own essentials to happiness.)






There is a children's book about the coming of spring where Kevin Henkes, the author (and our local famous writer), notes that toward the end of spring we all can't wait for summer, but I don't agree with that. I think for people living in Wisconsin, the most joyous transition happens now -- when the snow finally melts and the flowers start to show their long hidden faces. Surely this change toward spring is nothing short of magical.  It's worth living in the north just to experience it.

chicken promises

If you were to give me this day say in January, I would be quite happy with it. There is snow on the ground -- a lovely snow at that. (So many animals visit the farmette each night...)






The sun is out. It's cold, but not extremely so. Single digits at wakeup, but it'll climb to just below freezing by afternoon. January weather.

Except that it's March 14th.

The cheepers, ever the hopeful girls, set out as a pack to traverse Ed's path to the garage. It's not snow-free, but at least their dinosaur paws are not buried in the white stuff.






I watch then do this and, feeling sorry for them,  I dash out, without jacket, in my slippers to greet the girls with bread and warm water. And I make them this promise: you wont feel so cold again for a whole ten months! I promise!

Are you listening, weather gods? I do not like to break chicken promises!



Breakfast is in the sun room.






All that sunshine -- it's warm when it streams into your home, but it's not so warm when I step outside to pick up Snowdrop, noting that at noon, it's a mere 20F (-6C).

I know she'll ask for a walk again. Should I go along? Or should I tell her that this is the very very last day of bitter cold for a good ten months and so let's just forgo the neighborhood adventure one more time?

It's a no brainer. She is all bundled and ready when I arrive. I tell her the stroller is set and waiting for us on the sidewalk. She is delighted! (Putting on your own winter gear means that you don't always get the boots right...)






It's not a long walk. I had parked the car by the coffee shop and we had a lovely fifteen minutes admiring the snow for (I hope) one last time this season.

Snowdrop wanted to go to the play ground, but I told her it was closed due to the snow. We did go to the neighboring lesser lake and that was the toughest part: the wind was harsh. One minute of it was too much. (A new layer of ice is forming on the lake! Yech!)






We were both happy by then to retreat into the sun drenched car and head for the farmette.

The excuse for the absence of hat and mitts now? Oh, it's just a few steps to the door...






... I mean, look how Ed navigates the path from sheep shed to farmhouse!






Inside -- oh, there's a lot of dancing. And I know you have seen a lot of photos of Snowdrop dancing, but hey, we are still suffering the return of winter and a joyful exuberance is a much needed antidote to what's taking place outside.

(Today -- with puppets...)






(... with ahah...)






(... and any number of other combinations.)






Post nap... Nearly evening. It's the relaxed part of the day... We read, we color...






... and always, there is the love of sitting at her table and dishing out pretend foods.











Such a day!

Evening, Ed and I go out on a dinner date. I've been anxious to try La Kitchenette -- it just opened last fall and it's the kind of cafe-bar-brasserie that makes you think of all the wonderful suppers and lunches you had in your travels through France.






Understandably so: Virginie Ok, the woman who took over and is both owner and chef is in fact French. Parisian. And the place is just so evocative! With buckwheat crepes, croques and tartines, stewed chicken and yes, boeuf bourguignon, with lovely wines by the glass and just a few perfect bistro type desserts to tempt your sweet yearnings, La Kitchenette is just grand.






I only wish it were within walking distance. Next to a flower shop perhaps? Or a bakery? Oh! Did I forget that Madison Sourdough, where I routinely buy croissants for Snowdrop, is just across the street? And flowers... well, spring is around the bend. There will be flowers everywhere. I promise!

Monday

If I were to draw out a theme from this day, I'd say I have been surrounded by a bunch of not so happy campers.

It snowed last night and indeed, it's still snowing. Not quite the blizzard others may be experiencing, but we will have a good half a foot of snow by the time it moves on. Yes, there will surely be a quick melt by the weekend. But hey, there is the "here and now!" No one is interested in more snow in the middle of March.

Most assuredly, this is bad news for the cheepers. They each, in their own time, made the trek from the barn to the garage. Who knows why. In the dead of winter, they rarely come out of the barn, but I suppose their chicken memories had them thinking about all the worms and sprouts they'd been foraging for the past several weeks. Maybe they thought if they could just handle the journey to the garage, all this cold white stuff would go away and the beautiful, rich, moist ground would swell with tasty treats for them again. So they took a deep breath and began their terrible march.






And then they huddled in the garage for the rest of the day. No magic wand took the snow away. Their dinosaur feet were cold. Incapable of managing the sudden coming of winter.

(Here are our sweet chickens, down to three, bonded by a deep desire to survive and feel part of a flock. A family of sorts. A band of sisters!)






At breakfast, Ed tells me that he really truly has to do his taxes. He's been saying this for days, but we are two days shy of his deadline, so I think he really truly must mean it.






Snowdrop, too, is less than excited by what the snowstorm has dumped on us. When I pick her up at school, she is bundled up in all her snow regalia. She is excited. She wants action!

But when I tell her that it is truly impossible, impracticable, and inadvisable to be pushing forth in a stroller in search of adventure, her sweet happy face crumbles.  Big fat tears spill onto her cold cheeks.
It's just too cold and snowy, little girl.
But I want an a'venture! With the stroller!

I would give her the world of course, but today I have to give her this unwelcome news: you cannot always get that what your heart craves.

At the farmhouse, she finds solace and happiness in going straight to her comfy play of putting the gaga character into the wheelchair and having ahah push the infirm gaga this way and that way.






Snowdrop finds happiness easily. The croissant snack thrills her, the tea set -- well, you know that it has as much healing power as a round of yoga for the sweet girl...






(Pretend sipping, pretend eating...)






Add to it a ball game with ahah (it's all apples and oranges!)...






...A few books,  and then her utterly joyous dancing (the "fish jig" is in constant competition with Abba's "dancing queen") and the day is made perfect again, the snow outside notwithstanding.






Nap is done. She asks for music. I'm about to turn on her favorites, but she shakes her head (she's good at adding emphasis to her words). No, I want zy'phone.

Okay, Snowdrop.






Dusk. I tell Ed that it would be a wonderful service to the cheepers if he could just shovel a way home for them. (I'd do it myself, but Snowdrop is still with us.) To keep their dinosaur paws from freezing over.
All the way to the barn? -- he asks.
It will take you five minutes. And it will make them so happy.

It does: five minutes. So happy.






It's a reminder for us, no? There are so many things that we can do for another living creature that would take so little time and would mean so much.

Late into the night we watch youtube clips on raising chicks. We're still considering guinea hens. Perhaps making the cheepers happy has gone to our heads.

Sunday

Some days I swear we are nothing more than just two people drifting on a raft heading nowhere in particular.

Take this day. Oh, I could go on about the weather: too cold, threat of snow tonight, too arctic, too wrong for the first day of daylight savings time. But honestly, there is a bit of sunshine, which lasts through our rather late breakfast...






So not too bad and especially not too bad when you think about the rest of the country east and north of the Mississippi -- it has blizzard warnings for the next few days!

And yet, something is holding us back. I say to Ed that a walk would be nice. He mumbles words that only under the most optimistic reading could be regarded as a "yes!"

Had I been insistent, he would have gone along, but I wasn't, and he didn't, and so we just stay home. He works, I work. I put a great deal of thought into my spring break trip (the week after this). He puts a great deal of thought into his machine design. The usual.

My theory: we are treading water until spring comes.

Thank goodness for the appearance of the young family tonight for our usual Sunday dinner! You can't just stumble along when Snowdrop bounds in and grabs her grocery cart and says  -- gaga, want to play?






Okay!






Dinner. Pasta and stuff. By the light of the early evening ! Oh, let's not forget that -- it is no longer pitch black at dinnertime!






After, Ed tries to catch the tail end of 60 Minutes on the TV. She wont let him. She wants to play.

They strike a compromise.






And in the end, he plays ball, she plays ball. Oh, does she play ball!





She calls it baseball. She calls all ball games baseball so far as I can tell. And why not? It's all grand. All of it. Even on a Sunday with no real meat to it. A pasta Sunday. Good enough. Really more than good enough.

Snowdrop would agree.

Saturday

If we spring forward in time tonight, shouldn't we spring forward into springlike weather?  Where is the fairness of below freezing temperatures all weekend long?

Still, with that little bit of sunshine in the morning, you can look up and down and all around and spring may seem not that far off after all.







Breakfast in the sun room, with the tulips that were such a pleasant acquisition yesterday!






And now the day proceeds in a non-weekend fashion: I pick up Snowdrop for a Saturday morning at the farmette.






She wants the outdoor time, but she knows it just doesn't feel great being out and about. Inside the farmhouse we go.
Hi ahah, what are you doing ahah?
I'm fixing the little vacuum because a mouse chewed up a whole big part of it.
Snowdrop stops and you can see her process this bit of information: what? that little creature that is so lovingly portrayed in all the kids' books can eat up a vacuum cleaner??
Look, Snowdrop -- it's just a little corner of the machine. No big deal. Ed -- must you be so honest about everything?

Snowdrop runs off to her play room, putting the thought of mice eating up vacuum cleaners to the side for now.







But she comes back to it. A mouse?






Mice like crumbs, I tell her and then I distract the girl with a new puzzle. She loves new puzzles! This one has magnets, which makes it pretty darn perfect. Ed takes the photo.






And it's the usual then... Music, dancing. With animals...






... with a book, too. She does not discriminate in her choice of dancing partners.






She dances with her whole happy heart.


So that is morning. But how do we treat the afternoon, Ed and I? What's to be done when the air is cold, the landscape so brown and uninviting?

Well, we have to search with eyes wide open. There! You see the sandhill cranes that appear nearly invisible in the fields to the east of us?






We take a walk in the county park just down the road. The little pond has clumps of ice at the sides, but I am not fooled: it's definitely priming itself  for the season just before us.






The big lake (Waubesa) is one full house: geese, ducks, they've all congregated to discuss the politics of life. Perhaps their own strife and struggle is greater than ours. Or maybe they are a content lot, appreciating each others' company, finding join in stuff that you and I can never even see or understand.





I say to Ed - maybe we should go down and study the lives and habitats of penguins.
He looks at me: maybe you should kayak down the Missouri River with me.
Maybe not.

Kids are kids. Mice are mice. Ducks are ducks. And gagas are gagas.