week's end

We reach a high of 3F and the winds remain strong. The country roads are so slick that this morning, at the last second I opt not to take a curve in the road. I go straight to avoid spinning out of control. Ufff!

And still, it is a brilliant day! The sun comes up to a clear blue sky...






... and the fresh snow adds the gentleness that was so missing in our farmette landscape.

We eat breakfast in the front room. [To the commenter who asked -- why is Ed so happy, well it's simple really: he's happy because I'm especially happy. The excitement is contagious, even if the whole baby project is something that he can not fully grasp.]





Looking outside, I note how the snow had piled up rather high on the porch glass roof. Last year, after we put the glass panels in, we kept them immaculately clean -- brushing off every leaf and snowflake so that we would be able to take in all the light they suddenly offered. This year? We shrug and say -- looks good anyway, why bother.

But today I do bother. Maybe it's that we're about to have weekend guests again. Or maybe I worried that too much snow would crack the glass (Ed laughed at that one). Or maybe it's just that being around a very young life is so energizing that you find yourself doing things like shoveling heavy snow off a rooftop and not thinking twice about it. Here's my view from the top:






Otherwise, it is a blur of a day. The aunt and uncle from Minneapolis (my youngest one and her husband) drove half the night to get here in good stead and so my grandma time was limited to a very early morning hour...






After, little Snowdrop was delivered to her aunt's arms -- even before the young couple had time to shed their coats and scarves.






It was a beautiful meeting of two youngest ones! Sitting back, watching, listening to the chatter, I felt about as lucky as one could possibly feel in life.






Errands, more errands, even more errands. And finally, back at the farmette, I tried to take great care with the cheepers, who ventured out into the barn against all odds, then huddled in the thin strip of sunlight.






And then we spent an evening with Snowdrop and the parents, aunt, uncle. Ed came as well. Here are some of the men in Snowdrop's life:



uncle




dad





Ed


We ate Laotian take-out and there was always a pair of hands to hold little Snowdrop.






As we were leaving, Ed made sure that the baby scale was put to good use.





For some reason, Goldie the cat did not protest.

The last of the cold nights tonight. I can't say that I noticed.

then came the snow

Yes, today the cold was supplemented with periods of snow. Not the beautiful kind where you look out and say -- oh, what a winter wonderland! -- but the cold, blowing kind that you cannot shovel away because it just blows right back at you, mocking your efforts.

The continued bitter cold (two more days of this!) left ice crystals on the sun room windows. The plants there seemed to be shivering!






Ed and I had a rushed kitchen breakfast...






I had a scheduled Snowdrop engagement, which included getting her in and out of a car seat (a first for me!) where she just basically looked adorable (according to me and possibly the world, if they would only see her through my eyes).






Since little Snowdrop still refuses to call night "night," I offered to give her wonderful parents a rest and so Snowdrop and I hung out. Virgil, their cat, peeked in to check on her: 






Unlike me, he showed callous indifference to Snowdrop's greatness and went off to skirmish with the other cats.

Little Snowdrop and I spent a good many hours like this:






Well, too, we danced some to Italian music on my laptop. I got my daughters addicted to the stuff at an equally early age. Little Snowdrop looked at peace as Fiorella Mannoia crooned about the one and only love and red hair and black eyes.

And the snows and winds did their wintry thing outside and I wondered how old Snowdrop had to be before Ed and I could take her cross county skiing...

colder than cold

And still the temperatures fall. We never went above 0F today (that would be -18C, during the warmest hour of the day). The cheepers hid in the roost most of the time. Smart cheepers.

Me, I could not hide.

After a most cheerful breakfast...






I went shopping. Groceries, yes, the weekly food acquisition, but, too, I have decided to provide space in the farmhouse for Snowdrop and any future Snowdrops or Rosebuds or Cornflowers that pass this way and so with great pleasure I swiped my card at Target, and reveled in the imaginative crib sheets, towels and what nots now available for the wee ones (or their caregivers, since most likely a baby doesn't care what's underneath her bottom, even as the person changing the crib sheet again and again surely does).

Even though it was bittier cold, we were saved greatly by the sun. Leaving in the morning, I watched  it cast a radiance over the farmette that surely deserves a pause, despite the fierce bite in the air.






And coming back after the shopping, toward evening, I really feel that the day has delivered not a modest amount of beauty.






And still, my day is not over. In the late evening, I go to help with the relocation of Snowdrop and her parents. Finally, they can be home. Her home, their home.  Their kitties' home. Their family home.

Wait! Not so fast! A dead car battery. Snowdrop calmly waits, in her hospital knitted cap.







Alright. Car issues resolved, the young family goes home. I'm there with food and moral support.

Little Snowdrop is just fine. Except ...when she isn't just fine.






To a grandma, even the fiercest wail is nothing more than a lovely vocal articulation. But then, grandmas, I'm learning, always see their littlest ones like this:





Angelic, beautiful, filled with love, displaying nothing but goodness.                                                  

And I'm no different. Snowdrop is all that.

the second day

The moon gave us a winter white night. Long shadows, blue snow.

I know all this because I have developed sympathy new-parent-sleeping-habits. Two hours into the cycle I am wide awake, thinking baby thoughts. There are no baby noises at the farmhouse, but I imagine what they must be like and I lie there listening.

I'm sure the new parents are exhausted. And I'm exhausted for them!


We are entering a two day period of intense cold. A wind is buffeting the already freezing air and we have warnings popping up everywhere telling us to stay inside.

I go to the barn to visit with the cheepers. They huddle, but they find a sunny spot and try to take in some of the sun's warmth.






As I throw them bits of bread, I notice Butter is off to the side, staring at the tractor-mower. Ah! There is a barn mouse right by the little wheel... see it?





Butter glares at the mouse. The little critter is feeling brave, wanting to join the feeding party. No way! Butter pounces at it. The mouse barely gets away.

We have a mouser-cheeper!

I leave the brood to their devices and head over to the hospital.

Day two of little Snowdrop's life.

How she has changed already!






Her parents as well. I sit back and admire the scene. It's as if they've been doing this stuff for years!












Time with little Snowdrop is precious. Very precious. A parent is overwhelmed with responsibilities. A grandparent sees only the beauty of every move, every yawn, burp, scrunched face.






It's dark when I pull into the long farmette drive. The cheepers are locked in their coop, Isis is eating cheese and crackers with Ed, both waiting to see what supper ideas I had for them.






We pick up our evening routines. I cook supper, we watch some documentaries.

Someday, snowdrop will quiet down in the evenings. Someday. Probably not today. Not just yet.

January Snowdrop

On this day, the sun rose at 7:29 a.m. It was the coldest night of the winter so far. -8F.

There was a full moon in a clear sky -- recorded officially in the annals of lunar history at 4:54 a.m., Madison time.

49 minutes later, at 5:43 a.m., a Little Snowdrop appeared. You know the Snowdrop is January's flower?

This one is the most special of all this year's flowers. Here she is:






Of course, her recorded name isn't Little Snowdrop, but close enough. With her birth, I became a grandma.






And they became parents:






Last night, at dinner, my girl was already having contractions, so you could say her labor began at the farmhouse. Of course, I couldn't sleep all night. And I had plenty to do: chase down a mouse (success!), clean up after an ill Isie boy, pick myself up after stumbling down the stairs in the dark -- all that robbed every bit of rest from under me.

But it didn't matter. When the news came of the birth, I was elated. I cannot find a proper word for it actually: relief coupled with joy, with lots of emotion thrown in for good measure.

The world was a beautiful place. Here's Little Snowdrop's first sunrise:






I was just setting out for the hospital then.

No breakfast photo today! My makeshift, straight out of a bag morning meal, while Ed still dozed and waved me off with a cheery "congratulations!" looked like this:





Ah, but it's a tremendously happy day over here, in Ocean land. A thrilling, love-filled, gorgeous day.

the weather and the wait

We are getting the winter blast of positively (or more accurately negatively) frigid air. Another inch of snow took care of most of the bare spots and so our world is white, cold and windy.

It's not hard to put your heart and soul into cleaning the farmhouse on cold winter days and so I go at it with full force and only after I'm done do we sit down to breakfast.

(I'm posting a full view of our front room breakfast nook because several commenters noted that the table cloth reminded them of Czech ones their grandparents owned. Fact is, this particular table cloth was gifted to my mother in Poland, but it could very well be Czech and more importantly, it is old -- at least 55 years old and so yes, we may all be united not only by an interest in sharing life's small pleasures on a blog, but also by a common tablecloth.)






The temperatures keep falling, all afternoon. The cheepers did not even enjoy a scratching session in the barn. They remained mostly huddled in places close to the straw bales. They hate a cold wind almost as much as they hate the snow.






We have two extremely cold nights before us -- tonight and then again Wednesday night -- and if we get through them without a problem, then I will stop worrying about the chickens. It wont get worse than this week. (Will it?)






Despite the drop in temps, Ed and I go out for a walk. I can't say it is entirely pleasurable, but we get some satisfaction knowing that we haven't yet grown soft. We live in Wisconsin and winters are what they are. You have to embrace the snow and wind!






Find the soft spots, the prettiness!






It's there.






In the evening, my older girl and her husband come for supper and it is, at least for me, a rather memorable evening because I am fairly sure it's the last time they'll be eating here at the farmhouse just the two of them.





Their daughter is due to make a grand entrance on Friday, but I'm betting on Wednesday because the girls in this family have a penchant for arriving on the very coldest of cold days and Wednesday promises to be that.

It will surely be an interesting week for all of us!

take out

We wake up to a thin coating of snow. It's odd how everything changes with that half inch cover. The brown colors no longer dominate. We are a landscape of dusty white, with the sheep shed adding that needed splash of red.






The cheeper habits change as well. Even though it's nearly 30F, they refuse to leave the barn. Ed brushes away some of the snow at the entrance but it's not good enough for them. They hate the feel of snow and the confusing absence of visual texture.






We eat breakfast by the front room window. The pines just outside always look their best after a snow fall. Winter no longer sags your spirits.






And still, even this light snow cover comes at a price: the roads are slick. You have to be vigilant! And we do take the car out for a quick trip -- to the library (a book is due!), to the forest (for a walk in the Arboretum)...















...and to our closest Indian Restaurant, where we pick up Shrimp Saag for dinner. Hot Saag on a cold day. It's fitting. Winter as is should be.