full, to the brim

There weren't enough hours today and yet, somehow, the day closed with a feeling of total satisfaction. Even if we could not take big steps forward, we surely took enough little steps to feel all stepped out.

The day started many hours before sunrise. Ed and I talked about work. Sometimes the night hours are good for this. You become very issue focused, zeroing in on the key points. So we talked and zeroed in and then caught another hour of sleep, but no more, because there's much that has to be done today.

Big things, little things. Finish digging. Fix dripping toilet. Work on porch steps. Work on work.

Phew! I'm sweating just thinking about it. Let's pause and admire a few day lilies.






Alright, breakfast. Does Ed look strained? Well, maybe just a little bit.






I pull him out with me to the Flower Factory. I want just a few lilies to replace the ditch ones I dug out. But really, I want an excuse to go out here so that he can rest, far from computer, far from much of anything except the flowers around us. Ah, there's that smile.







Back at the farmette, I dig and I dig, but not for long. I have a very important lunch date -- celebrating my daughter's weekend birthday. I meet the young family at Graze downtown and of course there are gifts, including two cook books. We (my daughters and I) are a family that devours cook books. I see that Snowdrop is going to join us in this.









am I doing this right, mommy?



It's a lovely lunch. A beautiful moment of peaceful enjoyment.







And after, my girl, Snowdrop and I take a walk along State Street -- that funky street that links the university with the Capitol. We do some minor shopping. Here, my daughter admires bracelets while Snowdrop and I admire the mirror.






Afternoon. I'm back at the farmhouse digging, digging...






And toward evening, Snowdrop is dropped over here so that the parents can quietly continue the birthday celebration. So indeed, if it's Tuesday, it must be Snowdrop at the farmhouse day.






Evening comes far too quickly. I glance outside. Oh, summer is really rushing now toward the season's end.


 


Snowdrop and I play and I realize that this is her last long visit here until much later in the month. Will she be completely grown up then? It surely seems that she grows in leaps and bounds.

It's an evening with a lot of laughter. Oh, does that girl know how to laugh!






... and how to love. And be loved right back.






Oh, Snowdrop!

cat's away

Our cat, Isie boy, is not really away. In fact, he never leaves the sheep shed these days. But oh, when a certain someone takes off for work, this mouse gets ideas!

The day has a very typical beginning to it. A breakfast early enough for Ed to take off for "his" "office."






Away he goes, determined to use his ancient Honda, even if it means he has to carry a package in what seems to me a very awkward position.






Alright. All's quiet. As I take a walk through the farmette, assessing my flower fields, I am, as always, in awe of my pretty ladies -- the day lilies. To me, in the heat of summer, they always stand out.






So, wouldn't it be nice to cut back, just a little, the tiger (aka ditch) lilies that dominate the bed in front of the farmhouse? And replace them with some more day lilies? Ed would protest, but Ed is off off and away.

I take out the shovel and get to work.





A few splinters and blisters later, I stop. To be continued tomorrow!


It's the afternoon and I'm due at Snowdrop's home. Oh, she is delightful, of course.






We play.






We walk.






Necessity causes me to change her clothes. We play some more. And oh, does that girl know how to laugh hard!






Eating? Well, pears do not fare so well, but playing with the spoon is a real hit!






And now it's evening and I'm home. Farmette home, where the lilies prosper and my plans to expand their reach cause me to smile and smile.

weekend at the farmhouse

It's the last day of Snowdrop's visit. For those who look for general nuggets of thises and thats on Ocean, rather than just grandma notes, move on! My day is full of my granddaughter. This post, therefore, belongs to her.

Snowdrop is just a farm girl at heart. Wake up with the roosters. Again two hours earlier than her usual at home.

Never mind, she's in a great mood!






(And yes, we finally lowered the crib today. Clearly she is moments away from climbing out.)


Eat your bananas, beets and blueberries, little one! The label says HappyBaby...






I ask you: does this look like a happy baby?






The words "by myself!" were invented with Snowdrop in mind.






The much needed bath.






She drinks her regular stuff, then she gives me that "now what?" look. (All the while practicing her vowels.)






An aside: the pillow reminds you of Oreo? Here's an update. He's with his 21 hens and they finally decided to let him join their clique. And back at the farmette, our girls couldn't be more docile and good -- no bickering, just pure hen love. Snowdrop, Ed and I are part of their brood. They follow us everywhere, clucking away in hen happiness.

Alright, time for the adult breakfast.






Well, adult plus.






Ed looks on.






We play. It's tough to do that when you're not even seven months and so, predictably, Snowdrop wears down. Of course she does! I take her outside to look at butterflies, flowers and crab apples. I'm not sure she picks out the ever fleeting Monarch on the milkweed.






And the crab apples are only worth a tired grab or two.






But I have no doubt that she takes in the flowers. And the hens.






A few more fairly quiet moments...



(by myself!)


And finally I put her down for a nap.

After -- she's ready for more jumping, moving and executing what, to me, looks like a nearly perfect downdog.





All this, of course, tires her. (Grandma is reaching for reserves of energy as well). We need a pause. Where to go on a hot and muggy August day?

Ed, do we need anything from the grocery store?
Can't think of anything.
Try.
Salsa. 
Which one?
Cheapest.
We're on it!

It's nicely cold in a grocery store (as opposed to, say, in a park) and the shopping trip offers educational opportunities as well. But the hot initial minutes in the car are discouraging. I pep her up with the usual generational tale: when I was your age, my family didn't have air conditioning. She is too young to come back with: when you were my age, your family didn't even have a car.

Salsa (and a bottle of Cava for dinner) in hand, we go back to the hot car and being the great sport that she is, Snowdrop, whose name isn't Snowdrop for nothing (she prefers the cold to the hot), hardly even articulates her displeasure.

At home, we track her mommy and daddy's flight on flightaware.com. Never do that! I am greatly distressed when I see the flight turning around and heading back to where it came from. And then it turns again. And again. Okay, I get it. Weather circles. Your mommy and daddy are going to be late for dinner, I tell the little one. She lets out a tiny groan. Possibly because she understands, more likely because she slept too little last night.

Evening. Snowdrop and I do some deadheading of spent lilies and watering of the flower tubs. It's beastly hot, but the girl is interested in the proceedings and boldly hangs on as I bend and twist and squat and straighten, maneuvering through the dense beds and aiming the hose just so.

The lilies are hanging on for another week of brilliant bloom. I swear Snowdrop appreciates their beauty.






As the gold tones set in again and the hot wind picks up, we finish our work outside and return to the cool farmhouse.





We wait for the parents. It amazes me how good Snowdrop is, especially on this evening, when she surely wants to catch up on sleep.


She "watches" a public tv show with Ed...






She jumps higher than ever on her jumparoo...






And when it seems like she has no more oomph in her, even as her parents are a ways away, I pick her up and do what I did with my youngest daughter again and again -- I cook with Snowdrop slung on my hip.





She is most certainly a future chef.

Tired that she is, every bit of the shrimp stir fry is fascinating to her.

Snowdrop, you are a kitchen super star (even if you haven't quite discovered the value of bananas, beets and blueberries yet)!

Finally the parents drive up, I hand her over.





But I'll not ever forget the week-end. She and I were best pals, even if I never could quite get her to wave a hello or good bye. Next time.

weekend at the farmhouse

She is up and eager to play two hours before her usual wake up time. My granddaughter appears to like an early start to the day when she comes for a farmhouse visit. She plays in her crib for a while, but at 8:30, she wants to join the party!






Who can blame her. It's a beautiful summer day here -- warm, dry, with a light breeze and a sprinkle of puffy clouds.

But we have our morning routines to attend to. So long as you're hungry -- and surely you must be hungry, Snowdrop! -- let's try that combination of bananas, beets and blueberries!






Well, at least I didn't give you a bath yet. 

She cheers up at the sight of grandpa Ed.






You know -- the guy with the beard.






Bath time, blueberry face! And then comes the real breakfast -- first hers, because you know, she's just a baby. And then ours. Out on the porch.



 (photo by Ed)


You could say Snowdrop participates in this one as well.



(photo by Ed)


Ed  looks on. When I'm not looking, he throws her a wide grin.






I have more chores. Do dishes, pick up laundry from the dryer in the basement... Hey, how do I do that with a baby that is becoming quite mobile and cannot be left alone? (She has a funny half crawl, but it does get her places, albeit with the speed and look of a caterpillar.)

I know! Carry her down on my hip and bring her back up in the basket!






She is only mildly amused.

Okay, okay, okay! You can have your beloved time in the jumparoo!






And before the morning nap -- a quiet moment with a book. I'd like to report that she is reading the story about a bunny to her very own bunny rabbit, but in truth, she is studying both, trying to figure out how each might make it into her mouth.






In the afternoon, we again have tasks before us. The first and perhaps the most important is the wrapping of oddly shaped presents.





It's my daughter's (and Snowdrop's mommy's) birthday today and though she is away for a wedding, we're surely thinking of her!

Happy Birthday, mommy! (this from Snowdrop.)


I do take the little babe out for an adventure toward the end of the afternoon and I suppose it is truly that: we hit the trails of our local Lake Farm County Park. The upside? Well, Ed and I work this park inside out, especially in the winter, as it's only five minutes from the farmette and it has excellent quick skiing -- when there's snow. It's time Snowdrop got to know this favorite local spot of ours.

The downside? Some walking trails are closed for reasons not known to me. And it's not exactly stroller territory. Lots of ruts and rocks to navigate. And there are bugs to chase away.

But, it's a lovely walk nonetheless. Snowdrop is curious -- from a populated mall to this? All these trees! So many!






We come to Lake Waubesa where these two are teaching their grandson to fish.






Snowdrop and I join them for a few minutes. The boy is learning to cast. The grandma is working her smart phone. The grandpa is concentrating on getting the boy comfortable with the reel. It's a lovely scene. Snowdrop is enraptured.


We return home to the farmette. We water the flower tubs, she and I, we play too -- in a quieter way, because the evening calls for that.


One last very late walk through the gardens. I can tell we've turned the corner. The peak -- July -- is behind us. You look now for gentler combinations of blooms.






The tones are warmest at this time of the day.





It is, in many ways, the garden's most sacred hour.


Snowdrop is too young to make use of the swing-back chairs on the porch, but I tell her they're there, waiting for her.






Okay, just one wee taste of a future porch moment...






And we go inside, where I bounce her on my stomach and sing songs that are repetitive and nonsensical and she laughs and laughs...







Oh, Snowdrop!