April

At last! The month that no one calls "winter" anymore. And what a sweet beginning to April! Sunshine and warmth -- your perfect combination for us winter weary Wisconsinites.

Breakfast? Sun room! Yeah!






Suddenly, there aren't just the occasional narcissus sprouts and floundering crocuses. Everything is moving rapidly forward. The growing season is now fully upon us. (And I am in my usual finger wagging chastising mode toward the cheepers, who love my gardens as much as I do, though for very different reasons.)






On these off-season Saturday mornings, my daughter and I have been taking Snowdrop to the Performing Arts Center where there are varied musical performances for a very young audience. Today's show was a little unusual -- a puppet story, done in the traditional Taiwanese fashion. I think it was over the head for most of the kids in the audience and Snowdrop proclaimed not so quietly that she "did not like this song," but it was a fun outing nonetheless: she enjoyed her fish crackers during the show...






... and afterwards, loved her walk with us to the Capitol Square, where we popped into a toy store and she took to the scooter-bike like a kid who was training for the big league.






Driving back to the farmette, I just couldn't get enough of that feeling of a seasonal turning point. This is the time to turn your attention to the outside world.






(So much to admire...)






(So much!)






And we did just that: Ed and I sat down to do out annual planting of tomato seeds. I told him that we really must show restraint and so we limited ourselves to 100 plants.






Toward evening, Snowdrop came to the farmhouse for a sleepover and I had her plant a few seeds as well. Did she like pushing tiny seeds into dirt? Yes she did! Does she know that someday she'll eat a tomato from that tiny seed? She will by summertime.






I was ready to go inside and finish making our pizza then, but she had other ideas.





It took a while to redirect her indoors. I would imagine that many kids in Madison tonight felt like they were finally set free from the constraints of coats and hats and who knows what else. Oh, but it's good to be moving into April at last!


Indoors, Snowdrop is as always happiest when we both play with her. I added a tiny set of Duplo legos, thinking that a pizza joint would get her imagination rolling, and she did like sticking all the pies in the oven, but what tickled her most was the motorcycle that came with the set. Here's Ed, answering all her million and one "what's that?" questions, in this case having to do with the motorcycle.






A quick run with Rosie...






And it's dinner time.  As usual during these weekend sleepovers, we watch a nature show during our pizza meal. The number of "what's that" questions grew and grew and grew. Snowdrop is really wants explanations!





(What's most gratifying about the photo above is that it's after 7 and there's light pouring in through the windows. Oh, how I love spring!)

Suddenly I see that it is way past her bedtime and so now I have to turn on the no machine: no, it's not a good idea to go out now. No, the sled wont glide if there is no snow. No I don't think reading thirty books is in order. No I don't think Rosie wants to go shopping just now...

But yes, there is a moon outside and it's shining brightly on us all tonight.

Friday

A small twist in a day and suddenly, everything is different, novel, clever!

A simple thing (on this cold and gray March day): Snowdrop's school is closed for parent teacher conferences. I flip my time with her: from second half of day at the farmhouse, to the first half of day at her house.

I wake up and get going. Really early (for me) and really fast (for me)!

Breakfast! Hurry, Ed! Hurry hurry hurry!!
Ed: I'm not in a hurry...






At Snowdrop's home. On time. Phew! Parents go off to their conference with the teachers (the girl is doing great!), then to work. Snowdrop and I play rockets and trucks until she tells me: the trucks are too loud.





She settles into fixing the roof of her play house with a wrench and screws. That sounds ambitious, no? I put her up to it.

And then I say the magic words: do you want to go out to a special lunch with me? In a restaurant?
You'll think the magic word is "lunch" or "restaurant," but no: it's "go out!"







She states her preferences: we should go out to a bakery where she can have a croissant. Well fine with me! She is a cheap lunch date!

We go to Madison Sourdough. (In the parking lot, she encounters urban art.)






At the bakery/cafe, I order for her both the croissant and a grilled cheese sandwich with fruit. She eats both. (I set up the camera for a time release.)






Another patron offers to take our photo. Sure! I mean, how often do I get to take Snowdrop out to lunch! A cheap lunch at that!






We go for a short walk after and she is my best companion, admiring everything, describing it all, asking questions, pointing to our reflection in the glass displays...






Okay, back to the artsy parking lot...






Then home. Her home.

She is full of energy! As the cats watch, we dance!
















Afternoon. It's surely past her nap time. Never mind. Her parents come home, she settles down, I retreat...






Not a big switch in the scheme of things, but it's one that has me thinking: do I take for granted all that is handed to me each day, because it follows a similar pattern? Do we all do that? A tiny change and I see the beauty of my day, all in a new light. Or at least a new shade.

I love my routines, my patterns. I prefer knowing what I'll be doing tomorrow and the next day. But I guess I like an occasional shake up too. We all need it: a chance to see something afresh.  A chance to delight in something as if we were tasting it for the very first time.

Thursday

We should be more in step with our natural world, I think. When the sun shines and the gentle breeze heralds a warm spring day, we should bounce out of bed and dance our way through outdoor pleasures.

Conversely, when the day dawns wet, cold and blustery, we should let our mellow inclinations take hold, progressing quietly, contemplatively through the hours, perhaps doing some tidying of indoor spaces and internal thoughts.

In fact, we begin the day exactly in this fashion. It's cold and wet outside and Ed and I read a bit, then talk about the issues of the day through a pleasant and mellow breakfast.






The cheepers are a bit confused by the wind and rain, but after a few attempts at scratching the fields, they retreat to a restful afternoon in the barn.






The crocuses fold up and wait for the passage of this weather front.






But Snowdrop -- she is bouncy today! Quiet and contemplative? No, not her!

Disappointed that we cannot go for a walk after school, she recovers quickly enough when I offer her an excursion to the library.







She loves our local branch and she takes in all that it offers, including great people watching and... lots of space to assert her rapidly accelerating independence.






At the farmhouse, too, she is so full of ideas, so full of adventure that I find myself waffling between indulging her creative assertiveness and protecting us both from sure mishaps.

It is a busy afternoon!

And the winds howl and the rain comes down and some of us think this is just perfect weather for a cup of tea and a good book while others feel the stir of great things happening, mellow inclinations be damned!

Maybe next time the weather turns nasty, I'll roll out the yoga mat. I can't quite see Snowdrop moving toward an hour of meditative thought just yet, but at least her exuberance would find an outlet in the practice of downward dog, or better yet -- in the floppy release of the child's pose.

Wednesday

What makes you happy? You know, so that you can't help but smile, feel all warm inside, breathe a deep sigh of contentment? I always thought that most people's lists are long and varied. There are the basics, there are the unusual pleasant surprises, there are the planned events and then of course all those little moments of beauty, peace, tranquility. So lots, no?

Ed, however, claims that his list is short. And he firmly disavows my suggestions that certain tasks that he has undertaken and which he pursues with dedication and hard work are sources of great joy. On the other hand, spending time together laughing at a clip of a late night monologue -- that pretty much tops his list. That, or working side by side on a beautiful day on some farmette project. And, he adds sheepishly last night, playing with me and Snowdrop.

People like that are rare, I think. Sure, many of us would say that spending time with loved ones or good friends are up there, but they're closely followed by other pursuits: reading, traveling, eating chocolate. Dancing, painting, baking, growing flowers. Work accomplishments. Success. Mastering the piano. Collecting antiques. Fishing. Perhaps not all these make your list, but some surely do?

I have always admired Ed's very modest approach to life and it is absolutely the case that I have simplified every aspect of my day as a result of spending time with him. And yes, what tops his list tops mine too. And still, I am the restless one. Despite Ed's reluctance to travel, I still get a thrill stepping off an airplane at some destination that I've come to love. Buying summer dresses for Snowdrop, grabbing a drink with my daughters and their beloveds, swimming at Franqui beach -- these things cling stubbornly to my list of happy moments.

Still, the more exotic stuff doesn't happen every day and I am so on board with the idea that the things around us are what gives us both copious amounts of happiness.

(I offer you a photo from last evening, taken just a few hours before we meandered toward the subject of happiness; the sun came in through the western kitchen window as it always does in the warmer months, the flowers positively danced, the little blue vase once purchased in Istanbul glowed and I smiled a genuine big smile of contentment.)






This morning, as predicted, is both cool and gray. The cheepers come early toward the farmhouse, perhaps looking for the little girl who was so willing to give them a ride in the cart.






As I prepare breakfast, I see that Trumpian real estate mogul in my day lily bed. Our resident groundhog has condos and vacation homes all over the farmette! Why can't he leave my flowers alone?!

As he scurries into his newly dug palace, I ask Ed if I would harm him if I shoveled some dirt on top.
Yep, he'll die laughing at you! -- Ed answers.






We have breakfast in the sun room just because it's brighter there, even if the sun stays behind clouds.






The morning -- the first one without appointments or must-do chores in  many a week -- flies. We linger too long over the morning meal and we continue to talk about work and play and all such stuff and before long it's time for me to go and pick up Snowdrop.

But first, a stop at the bakery. Here we go: her favorite snack waits for her.






Snowdrop, of course, is both predictable and unpredictable. Yes, she eats her favorites, but seeing Ed munch on a bunch of cheddar bunnies brings out the longing for that which is his. (Snowdrop is thrilled if you give her some of your food to try. Plateful of snails? Great! Yum! Can I have another?!)






Cheddar bunnies. A new pleasure.






Snowdrop, of course, finds great pleasure and true joy in very simple everyday stuff. Ed comments -- of course she is happy! Two people are dancing polka with her and offering her a box of cheddar bunnies! 

Yep. The basic requirements for true joy.

(Can you touch the ceiling? Almost!)






(Watching polka dancers.)






A funny TV moment watched together, a shovelful of dirt, youtube polka and cheddar bunnies. Yep: happiness.

the great outdoors

This day is a teaser: here, take a look at what's coming!

By the time Ed and I sit down to breakfast, the clouds have parted and the temperatures start to climb. Not for good. The rest of the week will be wet and cold. But I get that: we need the rain, we need that reasonable progression toward full blown spring. And yes, I'll take today's sidestep and peek at the gloriousness of what's to come.






And though it's true: the farmhouse framed by a bed of blooming daylilies in July is more regal than its plain old facade in late March, but hey! Do you see those bunches of narcissus? And the plump buds on the lilac (to the right)? We are so on our way!






And yes, there are, finally, the emerging flowers of early spring.






Ed and I spend a few minutes working outdoors, but unfortunately, neither of us has the time to do as much as we might have done with a freer set of hours. I rake, of course. Clearing the flower beds is a priority and though I did much of the work during our February heat wave, there are still things to be done before the flowers emerge full force.

Too, we need to get started on the tomatoes. Last year we planted seeds on March 29th. I don't think this year we'll pull it off that soon!

Never mind. We're still only in March. We'll get to everything in early April.

In the meantime, we all get a real thrill out of having this gloriously sunny spring day.  I pick up an excited Snowdrop. She knows there'll be a flower hunt and a stroller ride in store.






The little girl and I both sing songs as we walk the blocks of her neighborhood. True, she sings a different song than I do, but that's okay. We're singing! That's plenty good enough!


Later, at the farmette, she has no intention of keeping her jacket on. Nor does she head for the farmhouse. She knows it's outdoor weather!

She saunters to the cart where we had been piling fallen leaves and spent plantings.






I want to climb inside!
Sure, Snowdrop.






The cheepers hear us and they come running, excited at the possibilities!






Snowdrop watches them, amused at their enthusiasm.






I don't think, though, that a ride in the cart is what Scotch, our older brown girl, had in mind!






I tell the little girl that perhaps her new doll Rosie (yes, I know -- her new doll has the same name as my scooter; I can't help it -- she chose the name) would enjoy being wheeled around more than Scotch does.

Oh, Snowdrop loves the idea of taking out the doll with stroller! She would be running down the rural road behind her charge for hours on end if I didn't remind her that the roads are off limits for play.






Time to redirect.
Look, Snowdrop! The crocuses are blooming!
Just yesterday, they were only a bud. Today -- perfection.






We go inside now. Snowdrop looks around for Ed. He comes over from the sheep shed and she is just too excited, explaining to him every detail of her life right now. The girl loves to recount what's happening in the here and now.











I suppose there is now a certain predictability to these posts: they start with breakfast and they end with Snowdrop enticing us to her tea party. I understand her happiness. After all, I too relish that time around a table.





And yes, I admit to the predictability. The thing is, with every new week, it all seems so different to me. Snowdrop grows, the seasons change, inclinations and perceptions shift and so in fact, nothing stays the same. It's as if each day I begin with something unknown and unexpected. Sure, it's the same good meal, but nothing about it tastes like the one from the day before. To me, it's always one incredible, beautiful surprise.