quiet Sunday

As I wake up at my usual early hour, I think - might there be a pretty sunrise over the snow-covered fields? Should I be up for it? I glance outside. Misty skies at the horizon. Not likely to let the sun do a splashy, colorful entrance. And there isn't a reason to open the coop this early. Will the cheepers even bother leaving the coop, given that it will not get above freezing today and snow has blown in through the barn door?

Still, it's a pretty morning. I'm up and out, taking in the brisk and cold morning.

As I lift the lid to the coop's roost, I see that the cheepers are feeling a bit like shut ins.





They take the leap and quickly retreat into the depths of the barn where, in fact, there is no snow. We're off to a good start.


I go back to the farmhouse and retreat under the quilt. Ed is still snoring. I luxuriate in keeping warm, in not rushing, in dozing, reading, not really caring about time. The consequence of this is that the farmhouse cleaning is off to a very late start. Indeed, I'm not done with it until after the noon hour, but it doesn't matter.

Breakfast  (or is it lunch?) is especially sunny and delicious. The coffee I drink is magnificent (or at least I deem it so). The week ahead is easy and full of opportunity.





Opportunity to do what? Well, after Tuesday, I'll have many days to write. And to revel in how good it is to sit back and sip that coffee and how these quiet times of merely lifting a cup or glass up for a leisurely sip (tea if it's the afternoon, wine in the evening) is such a pleasure because it allows for reflection and a moment of peaceful contentment. 

Which brings me to the topic of Thanksgiving -- a topic that right now has everyone talking. And so I was not surprised to hear a discussion of the pleasures and travails of the Thursday meal on the radio just a day or two ago. The NPR guests (I hadn't paid attention to who they were and it hardly matters) uniformly agreed that they had very mixed feelings about their own family reunions over that holiday meal. They all thought that there was, this year, much to argue about, since world events, plus our own presidential elections have encouraged great polarization and created schisms among family members who, in the best of times, found it difficult to get along.

And this made me wonder: are happy family gatherings really on the decline? Because I always believed that most people anticipated with pleasure these festive family meals, even if there was the proverbial grumpy uncle or difficult to please cousin to contend with. Is it the case that where Congress goes, so goes the American family? That it is increasingly difficult to find peace and compromise, because, what with the various ways in which people can express themselves, that loudness of opinion carries forward to the dinner table, making life miserable for most gathered together for the grandest of grand meals?

Me, I love family gatherings (even if this year Ed and I are on our own on Thanksgiving... but there's Christmas!) and fussing over a meal is, in my view, a grand way to share space with a mix of generations and personalities. But maybe those who feel great anticipation are fewer in number? Reassure me that this is not so!


In the late afternoon, Ed and I are back on the Brooklyn segment of the Ice Age Trail. What a difference a snowfall makes!






I did forget that this week initiated the deer hunting season. Neither he nor I are wearing blaze orange and when we find pools of blood on the trail, we know that we may be just a little too incautious. We come across a pair of deer hunters and I ask them if we should turn back, what with our somber-colored clothing. They assure us that they will not shoot us. We trudge on.






It's incredible how fast the sun goes down once it decides to move toward the horizon. We had started with clear blue skies and lovely afternoon dapples of light on the trail...






... but very quickly, the sun retreated to a lower point.






Another hunter! This time we come face to face with a bit of a lost soul trying to figure out what's public hunting grounds and what's private land. Just don't shoot at us -- I tell him.






We reach a look-out point and now I know we must hurry back. The moon is lovely, the air is still. It was freezing all day, but it's especially cold now that the sun's warmth has retreated for the day.






Just one selfie...






A look out on the wintry farmland...






The sun is so low now...






And then it's gone. Just as we reach the parking space where we left the car.






The drive home is in the November dusk. We pass deer. I want to tell them -- you're the lucky ones. You escaped the hunters.






Lucky. Me too. So lucky to have days like these. So very lucky.

a Saturday where the rules are broken

We knew there would be some snow. But when a winter storm is predicted for the night, you never can tell what you'll find when you wake up. Would it fizzle to nothing? Would we see a snow cover at all? It's actually rare to have substantial snow here before Thanksgiving.

Ah, but this time is different. There are no rules, after all, where storms are concerned. We wake up to beautiful snow.






The crab apple trees sport a lovely layer of white stuff.






The pinwheels don't give up, despite the drifting banks of snow.






My wreath, purchased yesterday and not even properly placed yet, is already covered with it.






I stumble out to my car. Snow-covered. I use a broom to do away with most of the heavy stuff. It's not yet the sunrise hour, but it shouldn't matter -- no one will be watching the sun popping the horizon here today. If the roads are navigable, I want to go out and see this wintry landscape of ours! I'm one of those who will always be thrilled by the first big snowfall.






It'll always look beautiful to me.






I drive toward our Lake Waubesa -- always such a pretty spot...






Though of course, the water hasn't frozen yet. We've barely had a couple of nights with below freezing temperatures!






At the farmette, we've been slackers in terms of winterizing the cheepers' living quarters and so even before breakfast, we pick up the coop (with the hens inside -- no one wanted to step out into the white ground!) and move it into the barn, surrounding it on three sides with straw bales. The cheepers seem relieved. We restock their food supply and clear a path for them, though to our knowledge, they never leave the coop today.


As I walk back to the farmhouse to fix breakfast, I pause to admire the now quite different view.






It's beautifully warm inside, but I've been running around as if it were autumn out there. Hot shower first!

And now for a good breakfast.






And then it strikes me that Snowdrop should have a sled and she should have it soon, because if our last Wisconsin winter were to be any marker of our snowfalls, we may not have many weeks where she can enjoy it.

 I study toddler sleds on Amazon. Ed is shaking his head. Why buy new, when some good soul wants to get rid of the old? We turn to Craigs list and sure enough a dad wants to offload the sled his son never grew to love. One time I took him out in it and it flipped and he never would go in it again!

It's perfect. Just Snowdrop's size (the sled is for a toddler, but she is a very big girl). Snowdrop's mommy suggests the two of us take her out in it in the late afternoon and I'm thrilled to tag along!

But first, Ed and I have a ski date. Oh, how I love these quick spins on the trails just up the road from us!






This time, it's as if fall and winter were put in a blender and after a few robust turns, out came this day. The wind is brisk and the temperatures remain below freezing, but it's thrilling to be out on skis again.






The skies are blue now, but not for long: the sun is sinking and the shadows grow long.





Oh, but it's so good to be skiing again!

And then I hastily drop Ed off at the farmhouse and drive over to Snowdrop's home. Her mommy has purchased some warm shoes for the girl. She tries them on. Perfect fit!






On goes the snowsuit. Typically she is not thrilled to be dressed for the cold outdoors, but she is patient this time. Maybe she knows that a first snowfall is special?






We take two sleds -- her mom has an adult toboggan and of course, I have this child's sled. We put her in it and her mom pulls her along (I pull the toboggan). The light is so beautiful now!






Snowdrop's mom is enthusiastic about the outing and this makes all the difference to the little girl. She even occasionally cracks a smile!






We're at the top of the small hill. The views are tremendous! (Though it looks like you could go straight into the lake from here. Rest assured -- you cannot.)






Her mom tests the run herself first. Good. Nice and slow. I pick up the girl from her sweet wee sled...






... and put her in the lap of her mom. Down they go. And one more time!





I can't say they flew with Olympic speed. And an attempt to show Snowdrop how to do a snow angel is less successful. Still, without a doubt it was a beautiful outing. For all of us.

I drive home so deeply satisfied.

Pausing to admire the last of a sunset...






... and of course the moon, rising so beautifully just to the east of us.

the week ends with Friday

There surely were twists and turns to the week, but here we are, on Friday, still trudging on, and the sun rises, and the season moves forward, and it feels mighty lucky to be part of it all right now.

Ed is in deep sleep at the time the cheepers should be let out, so I hustle on outside leaving him to dream on...






But being up at dawn has its rewards.






Breakfast is in the sun room.






The angle is different, because I want to include the ever faithful Christmas cactus -- a gift from Ed in our first year together, when he still thought he had to occasionally bring me a flower. The funny thing is that it always blooms ahead of schedule, as if to remind me that things needn't be right on target to be beautiful.






I have an afternoon with Snowdrop and it's especially wonderful because it's the end of a tougher week, but, too, my time with the little girl is quickly going to undergo some transformations. She is a busy girl this weekend and I'll not see her until next week. And not for long then either. Her first Thanksgiving will be in Chicago and so I'll have to make do with taking a moment to be thankful with her on Tuesday.

All this to say that the days with Snowdrop no longer feel like routine. They are unique and grand. Each one stands alone in its wonderfulness.

And so, after my weekly grocery shopping (where I briefly felt the surge of nostalgia for the decades when the full Thanksgiving meal was on my shoulders), I am with Snowdrop.











The granddaughter of all granddaughters, except if I ever have another granddaughter!












With her full palate of smiles, climbs, hoists, "ats" and playful twists and turns.






In the late late afternoon, her mommy and I very much want to take her out for a walk. And we do. The temps are now in their thirties and the wind doesn't make that feel all that good. Does the little girl love it? Well, let's just say she is wonderfully stoic about it.






The night comes early.


 


I leave just as the first snow flakes start to fall. It really is cold outside. But, forgive the cliche, so warm inside.

bounce back on Thursday

Of course, you almost never appreciate feeling well (or almost well) as much as you do immediately after feeling lousy. The sun doesn't shine outside, it positively glitters!

We eat breakfast in the sun room.





Let me explain that expression of his: it's an air kiss, which I sometimes get in these morning photos, though more common is an attempt to foil my photo taking with gestures that he knows just wont do! You cannot say that Ed is not a tease.

Second point: that jacket. Purchased at Farm & Fleet, of course. It serves as an all season indoor sweater and apparently it's sufficiently versatile to make do for a cool summer eve and for the dead of winter -- for cross country skiing, for example. Last week, Ed realized that a wash was in order and the thing shrunk (to say nothing of the rip that I see on the elbow). I suggested a replacement was in order. He showed me instead how he intends to stretch it out again. He is a stellar example of a person who does not believe in consumerism.

But, no time for Ed related musings. I'm off early to be with Snowdrop and since I really do feel much better (albeit a tad worn down), I agreed to a full day with the girl (as had been originally scheduled for today).

Let's start with a few giggles as the girl wakes up. Me, I'm laughing at her p.js. She's laughing because I'm rolling her around on the floor.






Well, maybe not only because of that. She just woke up in a delightful mood.






It's art class day and today's project involves trees. Snowdrop's artistic spirit hasn't quite yet been ignited by the class, but she learns so much and does things she just would never do at home and so there is no question in my mind that the class is hugely worthwhile.

A tree, Snowdrop! We're working on a tree. The green paint can be the grass!






Leaves of fall, little one!






And it's interesting for me as well. The first day had a few stand-in grandmas in attendance, but these days there are only mommies, nannies and me. And so I listen to this younger generation of parents chatting and I am just so intrigued by how different styles of parenting can be!

For example, I grew up in a pretty traditional, European type care-giving environment (the first three years of my life I lived with my grandparents in the Polish countryside and thereafter, I was in an all-day nursery school in Warsaw until I was ready for school). There was a code of conduct. I didn't like milk soup, but it was standard breakfast fare and if I didn't eat it in nursery school (and I often didn't eat it -- I really disliked it!), I would have to wait for the next meal to fill up on something else. Pretty traditional ways of dealing with a child's whims and inclinations, I dare say still practiced in many places on the other side of the ocean.

I was amazed in art class how quite a few parents/sitters proceed with their charges by giving choice. The kid always gets to decide: "do you want to put on an art smock? No? Okay, no art smock today." I am so surprised. The toddler has no clue as to the consequences of this. No art smock means mommy/sitter will have to navigate a very messed up kid all the way home. Perhaps these children are precocious and can keep their car seats/strollers clean and may even be savvy enough to scrub their own clothes at the age of two once they get home, but I doubt it.

And it continues. "Time to go home! Do you know what you would like for lunch?" Seriously? This is so strange to me! And I have to wonder, did this absence of choice in my life -- did it make me more repressed, less expressive, more constrained, less innovative, more within the box, less adventurous? Of course, having decided to leave my home country and move to America at age 18, and there earn my own keep as an au pair, I always thought I was plenty adventurous, but imagine! Had I more choice in my early years, perhaps I wouldn't have stopped at New York! Maybe I would have sailed on to Bali!

I think that it's good for me to see other ways and methods of working with children. It reinforces my belief that there are as many styles as there are parents in this world and maybe you can learn something by watching another do things in a unique and interesting fashion. Even though I can tell you right now that it would take a bit of convincing to get me to believe that a toddler should decide what he or she should eat for lunch.


At home, a second bath is definitely in order (when will I learn to skip the morning one on art class day!). After that, we practice stuff. Standing, walking, that kind of thing...






Snowdrop hasn't taken her first independent (without support) steps yet, but we do agree that she has said her first word that is not just an utterance, but represents a cognitive realization that what she says has meaning.  Here's a hint of what it is:





Her past babbling of mama and dada and nana we think may have been rather random, but her "at" (for "cat") we think is quite deliberate.


In the late afternoon, she and I pick up grandpa Ed at the farmette and head out again to our Thursday indoor farmers market. Past fields of gold...






Yes, she loves Farmer John's cheese samples. I take a photo of her munching away, in front of our local Greek guy whose family makes olive oil back in the old country. We go through a lot of his oil (called Paeleon) and fussy as I am about olive oils, I do truly recommend his. (And I feel quite a bit of compassion for Greek people these days, especially since so many have themselves shown not a small amount of compassion toward those in more desperate circumstances.)






The little one also admires the potatoes. She was very tempted to try one right then and there (she's not part Polish for nothing), but I told her she'd have to wait for me to cook it. Wait for Sunday dinner, Snowdrop!






At the farmhouse, she is, as always, happy to come back to her familiar world of toys -- ones she doesn't see on a daily basis, but remembers with delight each time we are here.

She always pays a respectful visit to my collection of vinyl.






And grandpa Ed is a toy of sorts... (Grandpa, that jacket has to go!)






... and there's the newcomer -- the pinwheel.






Snowdrop has had such a full day -- and so have I. I offer her comfy blankies and stuffies to rest with until her parents come, but she will have none of that. Her place of greatest relaxation is uniquely her own -- the ever familiar, bouncy jumparoo. Put in front of NPR's Around the Farm Table (a show about the small farms of our state) -- heaven!





Whenever you have an unusually large set of Snowdrop photos (i.e. on days when I spend most of my waking hours with her), you can assume, correctly, that it was indeed a wonderful day.