Thursday

I'm in my best on-time-departure behavior: I get up earlier than I need to so that there will be no chance that I should be late or even tightly on schedule, causing unnecessary worry for the young parents. It's an early morning for all of us.

Of course, I'm used to it. Not so much keeping time, but being up with the sun. I do my rounds: admiring the golden colors of autumn...



(one day lily still continues to bloom)


... feeding Isie boy, letting the cheepers out, cleaning their coop, refreshing their food and water, watching the younger girls, to make sure they're enthusiastic about life...






... then and only then returning to the farmhouse...





... where I remind Ed that I need to be out and on my way earlier on Thursdays and so if he is to eat breakfast with me, it has to be now. (If he looks grumpy in the photo below, let me assure you, he's not. Just a saint for coming down, half asleep, not really sure of his bearings, not wanting to disappoint me either.)






Snowdrop wakes up just as I arrive at her house. A bit early for her, but I know she hears the rush outside her room. That's okay -- we have an enchanting, longer morning of play.

The sun comes into her living room differently at this earlier hour and she is taken in by the patterns it makes on the furniture.






Still not fully dry after her bath, she is, nevertheless, ready to plunge into more active play.






Later in the morning, my daughter texts me asking what we've been up to and I tell her, truthfully, everything!

In that early time frame, Snowdrop jumps, crawls, bounces, stands, reads, chews, pounces, crawls some more, listens, bangs, explores nearly everything in her path. Me, I hover and guide and quickly grab to avoid impending crashes and run-ins with furniture, cats, and pretty much everything else that somehow manages to get in the way of her explorations.




(standing on her own; I hover)


There is in there a quiet reading moment (this book, about a hen of all things, is her favorite today)...





... but for the most part, her energy level is too high to allow her to sit still for long.

It is tempting of course, to photograph her constantly, all day long, especially on these days when I am with her all day long. But I refrain from doing that. Ocean, as you well know, isn't a baby blog: it does not chart all her ups and downs, but instead, gives a handful of snapshots documenting, more than anything, how I see her and how she and I navigate our days together.

Still, when the sunlight catches her hair, so that it really does look more strawberry than light brown, I reach for the camera.






When she flashes me a gentle, dimpled smile, I reach for the camera.






And of course, when we go out for a walk and she gives me that look, I reach for the camera.






I ride Rosie the moped home, thinking how beautiful the days are now. Next to us, the farmers are picking flowers for the markets. As always, they offer me some, but I settle for just a photo...






In the evening, I'm with Snowdrop again, this time at the farmhouse. Not for long, but long enough so that when she climbs all over Ed, I reach for the camera.







The day ends late for me. I'm tired, but in a good away. I know Snowdrop was a happy girl today. That really can make a grandma's heart swell.

her first day of their school

Her mother has thought ahead to the first day of school outfit. For herself and for her daughter. Of course, Snowdrop is not going to school this semester (unless you count music classes and those don't begin until next week and anyway, she is a repeat attendee there). And still, it is an important day.

I start my semester-long schedule of Snowdrop care and as I glance at my notes as to where I am to be and at what time, I see I have a relaxed beginning.

Well, relaxed to a degree. I am up early to take care of the cheepers -- giving myself an opportunity to admire the mists that settle over the dips in the fields to our north and to our east.









(a little less shy and with very hearty appetites)


And then we have breakfast on the porch. Work -- it's lurking there, demanding our attention...






All week long we are to have very warm weather -- it's a beautiful way to begin the month of September. Lingering on the porch, looking out at the various ways the morning light dances across my gardens -- all this is rather magical to me and when Ed gets up from the table too quickly, I ask him to linger. He does. And it's grand.






After, I visit with the cheepers, clip a few spent flowers, admire others...






And I'm off to the Snowdrop home, where the young family is, of course, in a hurry to get the first day of school/work off to a good start. 

Here you go, grandma! Here's your Snowdrop!





Be good, and show grandma how you play the guitar!

Well now, a new skill set! Show me, little one...






Oh, the girl is full of energy! And laughter.






Let her loose and she is everywhere, picking and choosing toys to examine, chew, bang.






And why stay with crawling when you can walk on all fours?






Standing is pretty cool too!





Of course, she wears down. I put her down for her morning nap just before noon. Who knew that this would be the time that the practice tornado sirens go off (once a month)? Snowdrop is very distressed. The nap is rudely interrupted.

Never mind. A little more play, a lot of good spoonfuls of apples and broccoli (plus her usual bottled grub) and it's time for a long walk, with the hope that she rests up for me then.






And for some reason, after a few steps, she turns from somewhat tuned out to totally giddy with  delight!






We walk a long way -- to Vilas Park and back. My granddaughter and me. Like a million granddaughters and grandsons out there, cared for by their nannas and grandpaps while their parents work.






(Here, the grandma brought her kitchen work with her -- plucking buds from plants she'd picked. The boy kept calling to us  -- baby baby! but Snowdrop was quite asleep.  I know she would have loved his childlike enthusiasm.)






(This grandma bravely lets her charge go in the lake... Would I let Snowdrop get wet? Yes!)






Back at her home, the day moves forward. Snowdrop is trusting, watching so that I don't go too far...

And then it's evening and her parents return and I go back to the cheepers and Isie boy and, after his bike ride -- a tired Ed.

And tomorrow, I am lucky enough to cycle through it all again.

farmhouse Tuesday

I had a choice today:  use the few free morning hours on drafting a sketch of an Ocean post, or polishing some changed paragraphs in my Great Writing Project.

I chose the latter.

Over the years, working on writing projects never took priority. I already indulge my writing fancy here, on Ocean. Unlike people who really are brilliant at this craft, I do not live to produce the next series of sentences or pages. I did think that retirement would bring more opportunities to write, but when Snowdrop was born, I was thrilled to shift my attention to her care (as determined by her young parents). It's not that I no longer had a desire to write, it's just that she trumped it all. I believed then and I believe now that the time I spend with her is far more important than the time I spend on improving sentences in my Great Writing Project.

But this morning, before Snowdrop was scheduled to come to the farmhouse (if it's Tuesday...) I had a bit of time and I decided to move ahead with the editing of my manuscript and as a result, I left Ocean writing til the evening.

Well that's never a good idea! By the time we finish our dinner (home made pizza tonight!) and I clear the dishes and we munch on a bunch of chocolate squares and I pour myself a second glass of wine, I am as near to being asleep without actually being asleep as you can get. And so you get no text from this day. Just photos. Which, in the case of this Tuesday, moves the Ocean story along just fine!




















































Only this last photo requires an explanation. We are about to set out on a walk: my daughter, Snowdrop and I. Only, my daughter gets a bit teary eyed. Tomorrow, her work obligations take away most of the flexibility that she has managed to retain in the past months. The semester begins and her attention has to shift toward the classroom.  And so she looks on at Snowdrop and goes through that hard reckoning that most every parent confronts: how is it that I can leave you now, when you are so darn engaging and grand and just about all that I ever wanted in life?

Me, I'm old enough to have lived through numerous such "letting go" moments with my children and yet I am touched at the poignancy of them all now, as I watch her embark on her own path of balances and accommodations.

That's all. The night has set in. Rest: it's time to rest.

back to raspberries and asparagus

I admit that this summer has been without pauses. Much of the blame rests with the unexpected shift in Ed's schedule. I did not help matters by including three summer travel adventures this year and by being content (hungry?) to spend many hours with Snowdrop.

Honestly, I liked the pace and for the most part, stayed above water! I feel we accomplished a lot. We learned a tremendous amount and we grew more patient when the days didn't always turn out the way we may have hoped.

When things get crazy around the farmette, what does suffer is the land. Not my flower fields -- I keep an eye on those and do spot weeding and pruning as best as I can. I should have transplanted more and I probably wasn't aggressive enough in the side beds, but for the most part, they're doing very well.






What we neglect are things that we can't immediately see. The grass doesn't get mowed regularly. The orchard didn't get pruned. The grapes are crazily branching out in a very unprofessional manner. The tomatoes? Well, we're picking a lot, nearly every day, as every year...






But they have to grow in chaos because we've stopped tending to the bed a long time ago.

All that is not too important. By next year, the veggie patch will be moved, we'll plant again, the cycle will repeat itself.

Where our lackadaisical manner really has a cumulative negative impact is in long term projects that we start with great visions and aspirations and then we let run away from under our control in subsequent years.

We worked so hard to clean up the raspberry beds the past two years! It takes only one summer for them to get weedy and overgrown again. The same with the asparagus bed which, after all, is a many year investment.

All this to say that after breakfast...






... Ed goes off to work and I attack the raspberries and asparagus. And so my arms are scratched, my back is stretched to the max, my hands pick up a few tough calluses.

But at least I will be able to say that we did not lose our grip on the berry canes and the asparagus stalks this year.


In other farmette news, the two new girls, Oprie and Apple are still huddling together and keeping close to the coop. Which is a good thing. The two big girls pretty much ignore the newcommers. I expect as the new ones get bigger and gain confidence, they'll tag along with Butter and Scotch. For now, Oprie and Apple have each other. And me. I do check on them constantly -- from misty sunrise...











... to dusk.


In the afternoon, I'm back at the house of Snowdrop. Does she wonder -- where has everyone gone? Ah well. The cats remain. Are they her friends?






She thinks so. And I don't think she's wrong.






I resume the mush feedings. Since she is wearing a Helsinki dress, I reach as well for the Helsinki bib.






Snowdrop is enthusiastic, eager, messy and playful. In other words, she eats about as much as she did before: just a few spoonfuls.


She is, as before, energetic, adventurous and very curious. She requires constant oversight!












And finally, one more photo. From our traditional walk around the little lake. The photo shows, I think,  that even fast growing Snowdrop remains our own girl -- the one we know and love.






Good night! We all need a good rest tonight. Sweet sweet dreams to all.