Friday

Wet days are a gardener's reprieve. Not much can be done outside when the cold rain comes down. What a relief! Two days of work calls for a moment of rest: a pause so that you can think about what it is that you're doing out there. It's an interesting idea, no? Gardening requires thinking!

I have seeds that need to go in right about now, but there has to be strategy in their application. If I scratch them into the now relatively weed free soil, the cheepers will scratch them right out. That wont do. I have to outsmart chickens! That may be tough!

Too, we're going to try once more to do a broad application of buckwheat, right where I plowed down old raspberry canes. How and when and where to do it -- that still needs some thought.

Our tomatoes have sprouted under the warm lamps Ed has set up for them, but we have no idea where to plant them. We had small yields two years in a row. Was it the fault of the soil? We don't know. Where should we plant them this year? Neither of us have a perfect answer to that one.

And finally, I did succumb to the February cabin fever purchase of some online perennials. We're expanding the roadside bed. They should go there, but I want to fit a few new faces close to the porch as well, so that I can stare at them with amazement and delight. How to do this? Think, think!


In the meantime, the little cheepers have now decided that the edge of the box (it is such a high box! how do they do it?!) is a fine place to be. Ed and I are resigned, like the ineffective "parents" that we are: just on the edge now! not an inch further, you hear? Ha! How long before the itch to go further lands them (oh horror!) on a piece of furniture? How do people contain their young chicks anyway??






We eat breakfast in the front room because we are sure that if we are in the same room as the chicks, they'll only try harder to join us and I'm sorry, but I am not ready for a breakfast for the five of us!






In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop.

She is not a happy camper. Her nap was interrupted, I neglected to stuff her snack in my purse for the car ride back, the rain is unpleasantly constant and cold, and she cannot control the heavy umbrella that she "borrowed" from her parents. Any smart grandparent will tell you that this is not time to suggest puddle play.





She begs for a story in the car and after a few minutes of listening to my usual improv (sometimes I can make it come together, sometimes I stumble), she relaxes.

By the time we are at the farmhouse, she is nearly her usual smiling self. But offer her a baby chick to pet and her guard goes up. This is not a day for taking bold steps and experimenting with brave new gestures.






Magnets and books. These two thing fill our time today.






And yes, Snowdrop is the chipper little bunny, telling long stories, using remarkable phrases just to try them out...






And still, I know that she is fighting tiredness.






Evening. It's quiet in the farmhouse. There is promise of ice, sleet, rain -- all rolled into a weekend whole. We're waiting for this terrible horrible weather to strike us again, but in the meantime, all is quiet.

such a day...

The one April day that stands out as the grand belle of them all. A day not to be wasted. A day to hold in your pocket for all those other times when the world around you seems so drab and dull and relentlessly winter-like.

On this day, I felt we could take breakfast to the porch!






Our idea of heaven is to eat a morning meal here, studying the landscape that unfolds before us.






By late morning it's 60F (15C). I am working in the fields. Pull out all the stops -- this is the one day when I can get things done!







Weed, dig, prune, chip -- all of it.






Ed tells me later (possibly feeling there was a bit of inequity in our efforts out there): you worked really hard today. Yes I did!

Today is also the day I spot the first blooms at the farmette: Siberian Squill. Pure loveliness, underneath the grand maples.






It's a day to suggest a walk to the playground after school for Snowdrop.

Back and forth on the swing. She just does not get tired of it. Ever.






At the farmette, we examine the emerging blue flowers...






And inside, she rediscovers a book that grabbed her attention exactly a year ago. But on this reading, she understands so much more of its subtleties...






My grandgirl is lively today. Ed says she is always very lively, always preferring a run over a walk, but it seems to me that the upswing in the weather has energized her, in the same way that it has energized all of us.






Evening. She is about to be picked up. I take out supper ingredients for dinner.
What's that?
Spinach. (Today marks the last delivery of our CSA winter spinach. If there is any reason to really miss winter it's this -- the loss of the excellent, sweet sweet winter spinach. Snowdrop likes it too, though in less copious amounts than me!)






Sweet girl goes home... I turn to the much neglected today little chicks.
Well now, out again!





I forgive them. It was a day for the great outdoors!

to work once more

We enter a two day spell of what I think of as perfect April weather: warming sunshine, temperatures finally crossing into the lower 50sF (maybe 12C). It's the kind of day that pulls you outdoors. Bits of green grass and tips of daffodils begin their vigorous climb out of their winter slumber.





We're not the only ones wanting to be out of our confinement. I come downstairs and find the awesome threesome raring to explore!





This wont do. It does seem that no wall is too high for these girls!

I suggest to Ed we take a break from fretting about chickens. We eat breakfast in the front room and try to ignore their sweet chirping noises from the sun room where they reside.





And very quickly after, we're outside, assessing what work needs to be done right away.

The big cheepers have dug up a few of my plants. Repairing the damage is a priority. Our wood chip pile is plentiful, but it's still frozen. We do some bandaid work around the roots and then head out to the beds that need serious weeding. Oh, but it's a beautiful day for it!






Off comes the jacket. Ed is in short sleeves. I'm not quite there yet, but it surely feels grand to be digging and tidying the garden once again!






A few hours later, we put down our shovels. We can't overdo it. Besides, it's time to pick up Snowdrop.

She and I haven't much time before dance class, but the girl is full of ideas on how to fill those minutes. At the outset, she wants to go up to her room to rest. "I'm exhausted, grandma!" -- she tells me.






She doesn't look exhausted and indeed, her moment of rest lasts ten seconds. At most. I prod her to get ready for class. We need to get going! She's excited and eager, but she does have other things to attend to first. "Just one more minute!"






What do you have to do, Snowdrop? 
Sing a song and play some music!
What song, little girl?
It's called "Joy and love!"

I'd say the lyrics pretty much conform to that subject matter.






Finally, we leave. She takes her baby to class, or at least to show her where the class takes place.






And now the dancing begins.

It's a very interesting combination today -- of a Mexican hat dance...






... and a Hawaiian hula number.






Snowdrop loves it all.






The girls in her class get pretty worked up during free form dance and at one point, one of them accidentally rams into Snowdrop, who sprawls to the floor. No one's hurt and Snowdrop takes these things in stride. The dancing continues.

But after class, the mom comes over and encourages her little girl to ask if Snowdrop was feeling okay after her fall. It's such a simple gesture and still, it makes me smile all the way home. Kindness is always so beautiful.

It was that kind of a good, good day.

to work

We started the day gently. Tending to the chickens... (here, they're surely gossiping at the watercooler)


 



...Breakfast -- all following familiar patterns that belong to all seasons.






Things began to pick up when Ed asked me to come outside and help fold up the netting we'd used (ineffectively) over strawberry plants.

Outside... Not so bad out there... A little cool perhaps, but still, not unpleasant.

I should be putting in some of the early season seeds, but to do this I need to clear overgrown flowerbeds. Mind you, out of my nine vast flower beds, most are tended well enough. But the more distant ones suffer neglect toward the end of the summer. Even now, I see tell tale signs of creeping charlie and mustard garlic.Time to dig all that stuff out.

And so we set to it. It's just 42F (5C), but I no longer am willing to wait for that bright warm day. We have too much to do.

It feels like old times: digging, clawing, heaving, working in soil that in places is moist and rich and in other spots -- solidly frozen. The cheepers follow us around and for once I don't mind their scratching.






We spend only a couple of hours on this, but it feels like we've put in a solid chunk of garden time. Our workload  this season is huge. Today, we take our first gardening steps. It feels grand!


In the afternoon, of course, there is Snowdrop.

(Can you please read this one?)






Most of our time together is handed over to pretend play.






She is the leader. We are her cast.






Evening. Quiet time. This is when it really doesn't matter what is happening outside. You can't see it anyway. You think only with pleasure and anticipation about the good, warm days just ahead.

life's peculiarities and unexpected surprises

For me, technology is like health insurance: at some basic level, I don't understand the way it works.

The insurance puzzle is easy to lay out. It's known to any insured person who has had to use medical services in this country: you think you're covered by insurance (though you never ever know the cost of a medical procedure or visit because it is a closely guarded secret, so don't be foolish enough to ever call a provider and ask, for example -- how much is a cataract surgery? The answer will always be -- "that depends," and there it'll end) until weeks or even months later, when the bills start coming: the co pays, the deductibles, the not covered by insurance -- on and on, from the person who answered your phone call, to the stitches used, or the pills popped -- you'll get all these bills and suddenly you realize that you're not home free.

Technology is equally mysterious. Ed has a firmer grip on it and indeed, spends many of his work hours finessing some aspect of some technological piece of magic and still, sometimes it eludes us both. Take last night: at about 2 in the morning, I woke up and realized that I had forgotten to turn down the thermostat for the night. Easy: the farmhouse temperature is regulated by a smart phone operated thermostat (indeed we don't even know how to do it like in the olden days -- on the wall). I reach for my iPhone, click on the app, click several degrees down and we're set. Two seconds after doing this last night, I hear the robotic vacuum cleaner wake up downstairs and set out on its journey, in search of dust particles. Ed, who is still downstairs is dumbfounded. What just happened??

You think you have life figured out -- black holes, galaxies, apes evolving into homo sapiens and then boom! You're back to wondering what the hell just happened when you clicked your thermostat that then woke your robot vacuum cleaner.


Morning. I go outside to feed the cheepers. Snow once more? Really?











Breakfast....





When I glance at the forecast, I am delighted to see that there will be a warm up later this week -- the first one of the year! I am less delighted to note that it will end after a mere two days.

But then, in my morning mail, I find a (general audience) message from Snowdrop's school principal. She writes about the need to connect our children with nature. I smile rather smugly: yes, don't I know it! We are losing our connection to the natural world! Children are detached from seasonal transformations!

But as I read through the email, I pick up a new twist to her message. She quotes (from a Montessori webpage): Children may realize that, just like humans, nature has different patterns and “characters." Nature can be daring, silent, wild, gentle, gloomy or glorious. There is no one way to “be.” These patterns come and go.

The point is that children, too, have feelings, moods and reactions that aren't linear or always predictable. That's interesting in its own right: we shouldn't expect them to be this way or that, but instead we may teach them to understand that dips and peaks come and go and there are plenty of gentle and glorious days ahead. We can't do much about the weather and perhaps we shouldn't feel hostility to our own or to our children's feelings as they ebb and flow. Point well taken.

But further in the piece I also read how this disconnect from our natural environment is proving to be damaging to our children at a deeper level. American kids (perhaps others as well, but the comment is about our own) are more anxious and oftentimes less healthy than their parents. Might we help them by changing their routines somewhat? By bringing them, as it were, in closer contact with nature?

I have the luxury of living at the farmette. In the same way that I spent so much of my childhood at my grandparents' home in a deeply rural village in Poland, I now benefit tremendously from having each day defined by what is happening just outside the farmhouse doors. I plan my free hours depending on the "mood" of the weather.

Of course, you don't have to live in the country to pay heed to nature. It's just easier that way: the natural world throws its mood in my face, like it or not. My hope is that my grandkids, when they are here, will pick up the same love of shaping their free play depending on what nature delivers on any given day.

My second comment is a little bit of a rap on my own knuckles: I've been a rather demanding "observer" of what is taking place outside this month. I'm mad that we still can't dig into the pile of wood chips because it is frozen solid! And the crocuses are hidden and the buds on trees look like they did three months ago: shut tight. I've replaced my "isn't that interesting" observational stance with something that is more like an entitlement approach: why hasn't April delivered great sunny days already??

Let me see if I can readjust. It's a cold April morning. Isn't that interesting! Can't heave wood frozen solid chips, but can admire the emergence of daffodil foliage. And wait more patiently for those sunny, warm days.

I pick up Snowdrop. We investigate what's emerging close to her (southern facing) school buildings. Snowdrops and glory-of-the-snow (which I call blue bells for her benefit... sorry for the slight, oh beloved Bluebells of Scotland!)!





We come back to the farmhouse.

A visit with the babies, excuse me -- the teens girls...





And then Snowdrop dives into her pretend play. This time she pulls Ed into her games.

As she places a headband with stars on his head and skips about with an endless tale of events and happenings he can barely follow, we can't help but laugh heartily at the whole set up.





All this takes place upstairs in the bedrooms. How to get her back down? I tell her that there is a party to prepare. This girl loves to fix pretend foods for a celebration.

She comes down and immediately changes it all to a wedding, announcing that she and ahah are getting married. Weddings to her are party platforms.

And here's a shock: the man who was born announcing to the world that he has no great love for the institution of marriage (so he'll tell you), allows himself to be lead "down the aisle" by little Snowdrop. Hold up your wand, ahah! You have to have a wand for the wedding!






Happy girl...






We click onto youtube and "Going to the Chapel and Going to get Married" fills the room. As the song runs its course, the next number by the Shirelles  automatically starts playing -- "Will you still love me tomorrow!?"

Snowdrop looks gravely at Ed and says, as if this sung question was a no brainer -- I will always love you! And within a second she is onto something else: pretend tea and cakes, grilled cheese sandwiches and pickles.


I lose them then to a few more soundtracks from the 1950s -- a music era that has basically held Ed's attention and affection since I've known him.






Evening. Snowdrop finds ribbons that I set aside for dance class. Pink with polka dots. She insists we wear them.






So, the usual, right? Work a little, read a little, admire photos of Primrose, play with Snowdrop. Or, not the usual at all -- a day of new charms and insights and warm feelings and yes, cold temperatures. What an interesting April this has been thus far, don't you think?

Sunday

For a good part of the day I truly believed that this was slated to be a throw away Sunday. You have days like that, no? Nothing really terrible takes place, so there's no reason to complain and yet your hours are filled to the rim with chores and tasks that are hardly pleasant. Maybe you remember that this was the weekend for farmhouse spring cleaning. Well, it took longer than I had planned. Even after scrubbing much of the upstairs yesterday and handing over most of the vacuuming to the robot, I still found myself cleaning for close to seven hours. Toward the end, I was losing all bits and scraps of good cheer.

It was tedious work.

It didn't help that a quick back and forth text with my daughter revealed that Snowdrop continued to be under the weather. Sunday dinner was suddenly a question mark.

And an afternoon hike with Ed? It was hard to muster up enthusiasm for it. Three words describe things perfectly: cold and gray.


That's the downside. But days are never really defined by downsides. They have sparks and twists and funny moments. My Sunday was like that.

So let's forget about the scrubbing, wiping, pulling out shelves and dressers, taking out winter grime from the porch, and especially let's forget about all the time spent on picking out countless poops from the chicken box.

Here are the stellar moments: let's start with breakfast, which is actually more like brunch. It's rather late.






And now you have to let many hours pass before the next stellar moment.

It comes late in the day. We've given up on an ambitious hike.  But there's time for a quick strut through our local county park. It may not be grand, it may be gray...


 



But we do pass fantastic sandhill cranes...





Though remember, it's cold and gray. I mean, it is what it is.


Toward the evening, I get the text that Snowdrop is feeling better. Dinner's on!

There's nothing lovelier than having Snowdrop with parents here, when you thought all day long that all the corn and dessert cakes you purchased for the little girl may have to go to waste.






Afterwards, we pay our respects to the three chicks.






Snowdrop is apprehensive about their sudden moves, but she adores looking on at arm's length.






(Her dad makes friends with Pepper...)






It's all extremely delightful...






... and the farmhouse is so super duper (to use Snowdrop's words) clean it makes my heart sing!

It just goes to show that even a dreary day can have speckles of magic sprinkled throughout.