wet Thursday

Oh, it rained! So hard, without pause, all morning long. None of us expected it, not even Oreo the rooster who somehow got stranded on the path, midway back to the coop, in all that wetness. Watching him from the kitchen window, I felt sorry for the miserable beast and called over to the sheep shed so that Ed would rescue him.

Yes, it rained. At breakfast time I glanced out at the porch and thought -- nah. Not today.






No interest in reviewing the flowers either. You'll have to be satisfied with my garden posy and the wooden cheepers on the kitchen table.






We were somewhat hurried. It's an unusual day (not only because of the constant drip and dribble from the skies). The young parents have many obligations throughout, including this morning and so Snowdrop is scooped up straight from her home crib and plunked onto the farmhouse kitchen counter. She is hardly awake and perhaps a little surprised to see me so soon again, but the girl is all smiles in the morning so she and I proceed as if this were perfectly ordinary -- this tub in the farmhouse kitchen sink, a splashy few minutes in the warm water, then a fresh little play suit for the day and a ready bib for the breakfast before her.






She is now a big girl, a really big girl -- eating four meals a day just like the grownups! (Well, this grownup is prone to evening snacking, but not in front of her!) Her appetite grows and grows and that means a post eating situation can be messy. All this to say that I am glad I had a spare play suit for her at the farmhouse.






Rain, rain, you wont stop, will you?

We practice sitting some more, because with that total balance will come a host of independent minutes of play. And she is so determined, that she outdoes herself! Sitting champ of the farmette!






Of course, she wants to be upright. She nearly always wants to be upright, up up, up and running. We settle for dancing to the music of Raffi.






Finally, toward the late afternoon, there is a break in the rain. Snowdrop and I go out to give the cheepers bread. Or rather, it works like this: Ed grabs the rooster, Snowdrop and I distribute the bread while the hens hover around us, we retreat, Ed puts down the rooster.






After being spoiled by warm weather, today's mid-sixties feel nippy. I make the excuse that we're not dressed for the great outdoors and take Snowdrop back inside.

And there is a lot to do with the little girl. Perhaps the biggest leap forward comes at lunchtime, when I was given permission to try giving Snowdrop a mushed food. Which food comes first for an infant? Would you believe avocado? Her reaction: puzzle, puzzle, scrunch, spit, scrunch, complete fascination. Let's see if just two photos can convey this lovely set of emotions:











I'll let that be the last image of Snowdrop at the farmette. Sigh... I wont see her here until July.


The day ends like so many late spring Thursdays end: with a trip to the local market, where we trade in our eggs for cheese curds and pick up the most wonderful sweet peas and delicate strawberries...






At home, I've timed our meals so as to leave plenty of leftovers for next week. Tonight, I make an oyster mushroom pizza. We eat just about half of it.





The weather people promised an evening of torrential rains, but we never got them. The skies remained gray, the cool breezes pushed aside any thoughts of summer, but we stayed dry. Unlike last year, no tornadoes passed through the farmette in spring and today as well, the rumble of thunder seemed distant and remote.

The land is refreshed, the plants are thriving. Luck. We've had it this year. In abundance!

crazy Wednesday

Nothing, absolutely nothing about this day tracked a pattern. Most importantly for Ocean purposes, I did not have the time to begin work on a post until late. The upshot? Today I am a terrible, awful blogger and if that sounds like a line from a children's book, well perhaps that puts you in good stead for what's to follow.

Ah well. Let's start from the beginning:

First, I mowed the tough parts of the lawn. A strange thing to do early in the day, but between now and Saturday, I felt it was the best hour for it.

Unfortunately, much of my hand-mowing requires going over chipped terrain. And it is the hottest day of the year. I am wearing my lightest sundress. Have you ever felt chips flying from the mower straight at your bare legs? Afterwards, I felt battered and bruised.

Never mind, breakfast is lovely.






We do have to hurry a bit because, as I explain to Ed, I have a doctor's appointment and so long as I am going to be on the far west side of town, I would like to stop over at the store and pick up a new dish rack. Why? Because! The old one is rusty! (Why make a dish drying rack that rusts from water is beyond me, but there you have it.) Too, I can quickly pick up a bottle of Cassis (black currant liquor) for those summer kir aperitifs. Essentials, no?

I will have to hurry after the appointment, but this doc is always punctual, so it should be alright. I must go for a final grocery store shopping trip before my travels. I need more fruit. Well, as long as I'm going to be there, I may as well stock up for Ed's solo weeks -- things he can't do without, like popsicles and nuts.

All that will have to be done super quickly because I promised I'd be at Snowdrop's home shortly after 1. We'll play hard and take a walk and of course there is the feeding and the short nap -- all to be finished by 4:30 because I am scheduled to meet my former student and now very good friend who is in town. And I will need to keep an eye on the clock because by 5:30 I will want to leave and get home -- to eat a reheated bowl of chili for supper, before Snowdrop comes. The young parents have a night out today and so she is to be at the farmhouse at 6.

Do you notice a certain tightness to the  day?


In fact, it all starts well. I even have time to admire a flower or two before setting out. And I get the dish rack, and I am on time at my doc's -- only to find out that I don't actually have an appointment. But, but, I was so sure -- I even spoke to the nurse about it last week! Does she not think I need one? That's correct -- everything is fine, no need to check in, but it takes a while to straighten all this out -- more time than an appointment would have required.

Once you fall behind on a day like this, you basically tread water and hope that somehow you wont sink.

The funny thing is that I not only do not sink, I thoroughly enjoy every last minute of this hot, summer-like day. It reminds me of life before retirement, only without the stress.

Now as promised, a reel of photos.



Okay, you can come out! I've got Oreo!





Miss Carolina Phlox is about to peak





a favorite: for the cascading habit, for the smell of summer





Where were you, grandma??





You're funny too!





stroller time!





with my friend Sara


...the last one is, of course, of Snowdrop. Yeah, the dress changes (for one of the many out there baby reasons), but the spirit is the same.



Goodnight!

if it's Tuesday...

... then this time it must be a Snowdrop at the farmhouse day! It is something to look forward to! But first, I have to make up for lost garden time. Away goes the rooster (behind the fence) and out come the garden tools.

Well alright, breakfast comes first. With freshly picked peonies for the tables -- porch and kitchen. There are so many right now!











Walking the gardens, I take in the June siberians too. Now accompanied by campanulas...






Though after early morning rains, the irises look misty wet and grand, even without accompaniment.






Work time. Weeding, deadheading. Encouraging new growth, new blooms. One goes out, another comes in -- like the jump rope rhyme from my childhood (tenement for rent, inquire within, when one jumps out, another jumps in!)

And as I move through the gardens, I always find something unexpected: a green frog that each year emerges right in the thick of the lilies, a cheeper burrowing behind the lupines, a self sow cosmos -- always there are the surprises!







Then along comes Snowdrop.


 



The inquisitive, cheerful, trusting Snowdrop.






At the farmhouse, she looks for grandpa Ed and when she finds him, she works endlessly to cajole a smile. Yes, she succeeds. When he leaves, she stares at the couch where he once sat wondering why the bearded guy is no longer there.

Eventually, she tires of all the activities and I put her in her chair where she can keep an eye on things without too much effort. Mozart piano sonatas are playing on my computer and Snowdrop is at once interested...






...and delighted!






She rests, she eats, she sits, she stands and finally, we go for our long country walk. Here's her stroller face!






What do we see as we walk past up the rural roads to our east and to our north? Here, follow along:


 


















A dog runs out from a neighbor's home barking energetically. The owner comes out to apologize. He's a border collie. Don't mind him! He'll chase you if you move. Maybe nip at the wheels of the buggy, or your heels.. It's what they do!

Sounds not too dissimilar to Oreo, the rooster.

We walk back to the farmette. It's been a very warm day -- upper eighties -- and I wonder if Snowdrop would like a trickle of a hose on her warm body.

She doesn't. Enough excitement for one day. We return to the cool farmhouse where all is calm, all is familiar and as it should be.





How this little one loves the familiar! Even as she strains to master the unknown.

Monday

Throw me some good weather, a spring landscape and a free morning and you can rest assured that I will be outside working.

Unless the day proceeds like this one: full of the small twists that cause it to veer in different directions.

Let's start with the sweetly predictable breakfast.





It's prompt and ready at 9, since Ed has a morning meeting to go to soon after. He promises he'll lock up Oreo so that I can roam freely and work without a rooster hanging (quite literally) on my heels.

We do take a few minutes to pick some weeds (Scotch watches, hoping for worms)...


 


... and, too, to wash a chicken.

That may sound strange, but we've noticed that one of the white hens has been slumping lately. It could be the heat. It could be a nibble at a indigestible plant. I offer another explanation: her butt is so dirty! I tell Ed that maybe she can't push eggs out in all that mess. Since she is lethargic, Ed picks her up easily and I work the hose on her rear and scrub her (almost) spankin' clean.

And then Ed takes off for his meeting and I note that he has forgotten to lock up Oreo. Since I have no intention of messing with his moods, I spend the morning inside paying bills and doing the type of general accounting that one does on a rainy day. Except that it is a very very lovely day and here I sit, trapped indoors because of a rooster. At least the view out the kitchen window is a good one.






The second part of the day, on the other hand, is plenty nice --  I proceed to Snowdrop's home.

I walk into her bedroom just as she is waking up from a long morning nap and I note right away that she has turned the corner: she certainly knows how to quiet her anxieties (if such there be) with recourse to her thumb. It's such an important step toward independence!






And what else might she show you today? Oh, you know she'll be practicing sitting and standing, with her usual energy and determination...











Realizing that this is my last week with her (I'll be taking off this weekend for a little while), I revel in all of it -- the walk around the lake with Snowdrop and her mom, the smiles, the bounces, the stroller face...





... all of it!


Toward the end of the afternoon, the little one grows tired. The thumb comes up once more to soothe her. She sighs, like you and I might sigh when we've reached that point in the day when nothing can go wrong anymore.






Into her mom's waiting lap now...





...and off I go.


Later, much much later, after dinner, after the sun gets mightily close to the horizon...





... Ed asks -- want to go to Walmart?

He knows I dislike the store, even as I cannot resist a trip there with him. He wants to pick up a half dozen t-shirts (I'm hoping his torn ones will be retired now, but I doubt it!) and he wants my help in picking out good colors. At $3.69 a shirt, I think you can't possibly have good choices, but it turns out I'm wrong. As he picks up one, then another, I ask --  Pink?? You're going to wear pink?
Why not? -- he responds, in that tone that lets me know that he is beyond gender stereotypes.

There had been a splatter of rain and now a swirling low mist rises from the road. A pair of baby raccoons bounces just before us. Infants! Must they always be this adorable?

Sunday

By my calculation, the next very normal Sunday doesn't come around until July 19th and even that one is a bit iffy. You may be yawning when you read this post -- nothing happens! same old, same old! -- but for me, the routines fall into place beautifully, forming a pattern of habits that I rather love. (I love disruptions too. I'm conflicted that way.)

I suppose scrubbing the farmhouse -- my Sunday morning special -- can't fall under the heading of "love this!" but I do adore the freshness that comes immediately after. (Ed is less comfortable in the clean house. It usually comes with many directives -- just for today, don't do this, don't do that, put this away, please don't leave that on the floor... etc.)

Breakfast outside -- that needs no introduction or amplification.






And then we work outside. Not of necessity, but because it feels good to labor in tandem, hauling chips to places that need them, trimming, pulling out, cutting down -- the usual stuff that keeps us busy, especially now, before we have any signs of mosquitoes. (Last year, they started to show up in the second week of June and by mid month, we used our paddle zappers every time we went outside.)

It is warm and breezy. Storms were to rumble through but they seem to have passed us by. The sun pokes through now and then -- it really is the perfect day to be outside.













In the evening, the young family comes for dinner.






Snowdrop is her most wonderful self...






... and we spend a blissful time eating on the porch.






Later, much later, the doorbell rings. That's curious. No one ever comes this way unannounced. I send Ed to answer it and he comes back with a big container of perfectly amazing strawberries. Just like my grandma's!


 


They're from one of the Hmong farmers with whom we share this glorious landscape. A gift. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yes, the day shines. Inside and out.