Friday with Primrose

It's very odd to get up and not run out to check on the fate of animals living in the wild! Instead, I rely on Ed updates and as always, there is a mix of good and troubling, but I am determined not to let this topic rule my waking hours in March and so I take it in and put it aside.

It's not hard to move on to another preoccupation when you're in a different place and with another grandgirl -- one who is growing by leaps and bounds!






Primrose is moving around upright (I guess "walking" is a good word for it!) She does well if she can grab something, or if you walk along with her and hold her hand.  If I think I'm going to have any sit down time today, I am so very mistaken.

Parents are off to work (one last hug!)...






And I'm off to play.

(Yes, there is a breakfast stuck in there while Primrose is napping.)





I see this little one often enough, but still, I always need at least an hour to feel her pulse again -- kids change that fast at her age!

She is way past the "hold me!" age, at the same time, she needs someone by her side. If you are out of her field of vision, she drops everything and concentrates on making sure that you haven't fallen off the face of the planet.

Too, she uses every opportunity to pull herself up and get going. This is tricky stuff: she can't tell what will topple and what will hold steady. That's grandma's job.

 ("Grandma, I'm wearing new shoes!")






We explore her basket of toys. (These rings spin their way down! Sort of amazing.)






But honestly, Primrose rarely sits still for long. At this moment, it's all about locomotion. She is a child on the go!






A happy girl, she takes great pleasure in small things and is not easily upset. One fall has her scurry into my arms for comfort, but otherwise, she is all curious gazes and has quite the range of vocalizations and utterances. She can be serious and soulful, but in that belly there sure is a fistful of laughter! (She thinks being spun around in her push wagon is very funny.)






(Quiet time before the afternoon nap...)






(Yes, there'll always be a pseudo-selfie on a time release!)







I do miss my outside time with her. Looking out, it seems not warm, but not cold either. Right around freezing. That seems okay for a walk with a girl who has Wisconsin blood in her! We head out.






 The goal is to time our outing with the return of her mom. Intercepting her as she gets off the commuter train has always been a lovely ritual. But of course, it had been a summer ritual. If her mom missed one train or stayed a bit later and caught another, Primrose and I would wait it out in the  park.

Today, after a few blocks, I realize that a long walk is not the best idea. It's maybe a degree below freezing, but toward dusk and with a Chicago breeze, this can feel pretty cold. At the park, I do let her have a minute in the swing, which she loves ("way up high in the sky..."), but very quickly, I call it quits. It just feels too nippy out there.






Just as I am snapping her back in the stroller, I get a text that mom will be arriving within twenty minutes. That's too long to wait outside. Is there any commercial venue that could house us for a quarter of an hour? I peek into a bar. No... Too many steps to climb with a stroller. There's just one more place -- oh, what do you know! It's a dog boarding/grooming/supplies shop! Maybe they have cat food...

Hi, can I buy a can of your best kitten food? You see, I live on this farm, except we aren't farmers, but there are these kittens... 
Primrose listens, clearly puzzled by this whole adventure.






The shop is closing up soon, but the sweet owner/groomer/dog caregiver lets us stay as he tidies up. Besides, Ziggy, the barking spaniel still needs to be picked up by the owner.
How many dogs do you have here for the day?
Today we had seven. There was a lot of dog energy! But, they all know each other, so it was fine. Here, your little one needs a tissue.
I dab on Primrose's nose then look for a garbage bin.
I'll take it. No, no problem. I pick up dog poop all day long, I can certainly handle a used tissue.

We chat some, about dogs, owners, about feral cats of course. And then the twenty minutes are up. I thank him, Primrose waves goodbye to loud Ziggy and we go out again to great, beloved mom.





In the evening, after Primrose is back in her crib, protesting only slightly the end of a day of play, I toss a supper together for myself and push the young couple out the door. What good is a grandma's visit if the kids can't take a pause from their routines! Me, I pour a glass of wine, pile up a stack of ginger snaps and retreat to the new mystery novel that I started on the bus ride here and expect to finish on the bus ride back tomorrow.

Thursday

The last day of February. I cannot say that this has been an unexciting month, even though the excitement has sometimes been of the panic-and-worry type. Worry about the weather. Worry about the animals. Worry that spring is still too far away.

Looking back, I must complain that once more, we missed a chance at a picture perfect winter. The snow came, but I can think of only one day when it was perfect: good snow for play, plenty of sunshine to lure you outside. The ice storms and the cold were intimidating and now that we're nearing the season's end, I will admit to looking forward to the day when it all melts.

(The snowman survived it all, though most of his olive mouth was eaten by deer and his carrot nose has fallen to the ground. No one bothers to stick it back inside. He's so icy-brittle that you'd have to really work hard to get it in there.)






I go out early to feed the animals and am again disappointed to see no one in the garage. I feed the cheepers, leave some dry food out in case the cats come back and head back to the farmhouse. On the super-upside, for once I don't have to chip away at any ice on the path leading to the farmhouse door. No new snow, no new ice. How lovely!





Ed and I talk about the cats. Why am I so in love with them? Generally, I'm not drawn to cats. They always seem so unaffectionate. I understand that this is their unique trait: they are independent. I get that people love them unconditionally. But if you asked me to again consider bringing a cat into the house, I would say -- no way, not a chance.

And yet, this little cat family is special. Stop Sign has a history with us and when she had her little ones, we were very happy. To get them safely to adulthood seemed like a fair goal.

And so when I step outside in the morning and am greeted by silence, I'm disappointed.

Ed grins -- you sure are attached to them.
You want to have them in the house, don't you?
I did not say that. I know you hate all those cat hairs.
I'm sure they would be at loose ends inside anyway!
Probably true...

It's not clear that you could domesticate these guys: they are one foot into our lives, but honestly, if they disappeared one day and we never saw them again, I would not be totally surprised. (I would be crushed, but not surprised.)

I look out at our rural road. It's not exactly busy, but cars do zip by every couple of minutes. Such a danger to these cats, who never look left or right before crossing!

I just want them to be safe.
You want them to be here, in the garage.

He is right.

Minutes later, I see the two little guys! Here's Dance, sauntering in. And Jacket is with her.






And they are ravenously hungry, especially Jacket who probably has not eaten for two days. Still, Dance, the smaller one, is the lead girl. Jacket has learned that Dance gets first dibs. If he wants to eat, he has to work the Step-and-Dine (which she avoids). And he does. And they eat every last bit of food.






Breakfast for us too. Finally.






Happiness is seeing the two little guys together again. (But where is Stop Sign?? Always the worry...)






In the early afternoon, the picture, from my perspective, becomes complete. I look out the kitchen window and boom! There they all are, playing.











I make the hundredth trip outside, this time to greet Stop Sign and to load up the dish with food for her.  I'm happy to see her filling out now - she was such a scrawny girl! Too, the little guys are growing! Dance, the smallest, looks older than her sweet two months.





And so you could say that the month ends on a high note. Even Whiskers makes an afternoon appearance. The animals that have made us (well, me) panic and wring our hands all month are fed and at peace. We've gotten better at meeting their needs, but of course, we are only one small piece of their complicated existence. For now, I'm relieved that tomorrow starts a new month -- one that will surely give us better weather and also give these farmette cats (dare I call them that?) another boost into a stronger life.


In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop.


 



She is, unfortunately, not here for long. We barely have time to finish a book, to start a new game....







 ... and then I have to hand her over to her dad.

I have a bus to catch. You know my route! Car to bus, then the L train, then a walk through familiar blocks ...





... to Primrose's home. Time to check in with the 11 month old girl! And of course, with her parents.

(I leave plenty of instructions on cat care with Ed. As if I knew even a fraction of what he knows about looking after cats! And now I turn away from February, from cats and cheepers and icy paths that lead to creaky barns, and give my full attention to the young family living in Chicago, where, by the way, I see not a speck of snow or ice.)

Wednesday

This month will go down for me as the month, where I tried to understand the comings and goings of four cats: all living in the wild, one (Stop Sign) being quite comfortable mixing and mingling with us here, at the farmette, two being her offspring, and finally the fourth -- the newcomer, rather transient still, but appearing to rely now on some food from us.

I can't say that I feel any more confident about predicting their movements now than I was a month ago.

And so this morning, I am no longer surprised by who is in the garage and who is not. I am not surprised that one hour later, that configuration changes. And I wont be surprised if everything changes, several times, or not at all as the day progresses.

I can only hope that the cats, all four, know how to keep themselves safe. We can help them with food and discouraging predators. But the rest -- well, they move according to their own compass.

This morning (a cold one!)...

 



... at first there were none, then, for a long time, there was only one (Dance)...






... then there was another (Stop Sign)...


 



... then, by late afternoon, there were none once more. Jacket did not appear. Neither did Whiskers. Footprints in fresh snow tell us that no sure footed predator came around in the day or night.

I'm out, I'm in, I'm out again. I shovel, I scrape, I feed. Ed says (over breakfast)...





... I can't keep up with them in the way you do. They're going to have to manage on less oversight when you're gone!

But of course, my spring travel is a couple of weeks away. Who knows what we will have here then! And the cheepers! What are we going to do with the cheepers once the snow melts and they demand a release?

The mind spins as we cycle through our animal quandaries.

And so it's really great to put it all aside and focus on my afternoon with Snowdrop.

 (leaving school...)






(dancing up a storm...)






(if it's Wednesday...)






(an Olivia book at Storybook Ballet? Well that's good news for this little Olivia fan...)






(cant quite remember where in the story Olivia sports an umbrella, but Snowdrop is mighty pleased to have this prop...)


 


And afterwards? Several more trips to the garage, keeping an eye out, even as all is quiet and the temps keep on falling. Is March here yet??

Tuesday

The next ten days surely will test our love for living in the Upper Midwest. Cold. Snow showers. Icy ground cover. Arctic blast. Cold.

We turn our attention away from the weather. But I think our winter weariness has its effect even when we're inside: yesterday, I turned up the thermostat a whole degree over and beyond where we usually set it. Both of us wanted the extra warmth. How luxurious to be able to do this! How tough it must be for all the animals who must manage all weather extremes.

My morning walk to the garage, barn and writers shed is brisk.





And again, I am met with surprises. And I think -- how many permutations and possibilities can these farmette animals offer us?? Haven't we run through all of them by now?

There are no cats, anywhere. Well, that's not surprising. We know they've been running away at night. We just don't (yet) know why.

As I rumble around the garage, I find one possible answer: in the back, where there are the sad traces of Cupcake (it's hard to clean these things in the dead of winter), I find what is surely coyote scat.

Somehow, I'd never really given much though to the coyote problem. Hawks -- I see them very often. Daily, in fact. But coyotes -- they're so elusive. We never see them here. Ever. I know they roam at night and every blue moon, I'll find scat on the ground during the summer, but it's very rare.

Do coyotes eat kittens? You'll have read, I'm sure, horror stories about coyotes and wolves snatching pets and little children. The former (not the latter) has a little truth to it -- coyotes are omnivores. And in February, they intensify their search for mates and food.

People tend to think of these animals as living in forests and hiding in the great wilderness, but of course, coyotes, foxes and raccoons are very much part of the urban landscape. There is a UW project that seeks to record and track the movement of these animals in Madison (read about it here) and as I look at the map of recent sightings, I'm stunned at how frequent they are. It is a certainty that the farmette, too, is going to be in the path of one such animal pack.

We can take steps to try to keep them away. No more laziness about picking up all traces of cat food. (We've improved on this already!) Hide the compost. (We generate a lot of fruit and veggie trimmings, to say nothing of wilted flower waste, and we tend to be lackadaisical in the winter, thinking that no one but the groundhog cares what we dump in this temporary makeshift compost pile.) Put up a sensor light. (Ed has one at the sheep shed. It's not too hard to flash one by the garage.) Be prepared to make loud noises at night. And hope that spring will come soon.

In the meantime, I do have an animal worry. Of course I do! Late in the morning, Stop Sign comes back with Dance.






So where is Jacket? Yes, he has been missing in the past, but only once was he separated from his sister for a long time -- right after the Great Massacre, when everyone scattered and stayed away for many days. I watch mom and Dance together and I think positive thoughts -- Jacket is fine, Jacket is fine. But then, why is Dance meowing a lot all of a sudden? It doesn't sound right.

Though of course, I cannot read cat minds, nor can I interpret their behaviors very well.

Breakfast. (His eyes are closed on purpose. Why? Because he is Ed.)






And then I go out to get a haircut. You can tell I have travel within a few weeks -- I only think of haircuts before a trip.

I return to the farmette and see Jacket running toward the garage. He hits the food right away and refuses to tell me why he stayed away all morning.







In the afternoon, Snowdrop is here.

(It's so slippery! Sooo slippery!)






(Studying carefully the books that she does not want to read.)






(Spirited play!)






(Followed by a pretend nap time. She makes up fake beds. I think she plays the "sleeping child" role very, very well! )






Later, much later, we go out to the car so that I can drive her home. I glance over toward the garage. This is what I love seeing -- the three of them, in a row, feeding off of each other's physical warmth and love.





I haven't seen Whiskers today, but Ed tells me he comes around in the hour I'm away with Snowdrop.

I return to the farmhouse when it's already dark. And so cold outside! I turn on the kitchen lights and set in on dinner prep: a lentil soup to warm your bones. I ask Ed -- shouldn't we throw some more food into the kittie dish in the garage? He says no, we should taper off these late day feedings.

I start in on my veggie chopping.  Stop Sign must have seen me in the kitchen: the lights are on, I move from one place to the next, and as always, I keep an eye on what is going on outside.

Hey, it's a romp of the kitties!
Ed, I think they're heading out... No, wait! They're coming here!

It just melts my heart: Stop Sign has done this repeatedly in the past -- come to the farmhouse door to let me know that she needs (they need?) more food. Today, she teaches the young ones that this is what they must do. Their reward? Yummy can of mixed grill.






We wait a few minutes and then Ed goes out to do the evening rounds: all cat dishes are removed, all lairs are inspected, some lights are turned on. He tells me later that he found no sign of the cats anywhere. Perhaps they left again. Maybe over time, it will be safe for them to stay.

Monday's little ones

Just as the Oscars were approaching the denouement -- the moment when the director prize was to be announced (I was especially curious if the Polish director of Cold War -- the movie my friend slipped into my suitcase when I was last in Warsaw -- would luck out and walk away with the big prize), Ed said -- we caught a mouse.

Such a relief! There may be another mouse. Indeed, there likely is another, but tonight's bold evening visitor has been tough to corner. I don't want to risk having it do a miraculous Houdini escape maneuver and so I suggest we set out to release the little devil right away.

I nearly miss the final Oscar prizes, but still, it's worth it -- we have a beautiful if cold night drive through a chilled and frozen landscape. We wish the mouse well and send him flying out into a clump of bushes.



This morning, the drop in temperatures is pronounced. Our front storm door looks like this:






And the outside world looks like this:






I am no longer surprised by what combination of cats will be there to greet me. Yesterday -- only Stop Sign. Today, no Stop Sign, only her babes, Jacket and Dance.






They rest on the blanket, but, too, they take little forays along the path. Looking for mom? I think so, because when she shows up later in the day, they are ecstatic.


I need not remind you that it is Monday. We are back on schedule! Sparrow comes to the farmhouse just before breakfast. We play first. I haven't spent much time with the little guy in recent weeks and so I test the waters.

Turns out he's the same happy little guy. Well, not so little: Sparrow is fast outgrowing clothes sewn for a 12 month old.







Breakfast, for my two guys.






(I don't know that he loves sweet potatoes... Like nearly everything here for him, this is a hand me down from Snowdrop's baby days.)






(When Sparrow is here with just the two of us, he tracks Ed's every move. Predictably, he likes it when Ed messes with him.)












As for toys -- well, I give him choices: I reach into Snowdrop's piles and pull out what's safe. Duplo characters. A music cube. Sticky blocks.

It's not even close: he likes the music cube just fine, has not the slightest interest in the plastic characters, and plays enthusiastically with the sticky blocks. I'm just so amused by this: I mean, Snowdrop is a terrific builder of tall towers, but all her passion seems to run to her story filled hours of character play (big, small, plastic, plush, imaginary, real -- it hardly matters). Sparrow may still lean in that or any other direction, but today, he just wants to connect sticky blocks and occasionally, bang on the music cube.






(Stop Sing shows up. More food, please!)






And then I pick up Snowdrop (who eschews paths in favor of deeper snow.)






(Did you really buy chocolate chip cookies just for me??)






(What should we play...)






(When I tell her I need to dash out for a sec to refill bowls -- Stop Sign had just returned -- Snowdrop insists on coming with me and doing the job herself. Stop Sign is no more afraid of her than she is of me.)






(Oh that crunchy snow!)






Inside again: we're playing "California, on a sunny day."






(A pause for a review of "what's growing in California right now." The list is long.)






As night settles in, Whiskers returns for round two of his food grab. Such a furry guy: if I didn't know any better, I'd say he' just a stuffed pillow, taking you along for the ride.





Nigh time. There's  a forecast of more snow, but I'm not really listening. In February, you take one day at a time and you find the time to recognize and acknowledge its singular beauty. And secretly, you count the days til spring.