the warmth of February: finale

I got ambitious. It happens sometimes -- I feel the rustle and kick of culinary aspiration and I dive into a meal preparation that's (for me at least) over the top. It's almost as if it has to be difficult or it doesn't count. This time it's a brunch and I did give myself time for prep work yesterday. Still, I was up plenty before dawn today to move things along.

I was frying lemon ginger doughnuts at a time when I usually wrestle with myself to get up and unlatch the cheeper coop.






(When I do get to the coop, and I lure the girls outside with some chicken corn; It seems that the hens are gossiping about their fate in life. Well they should! A possum came by this way again last night!)





It's rough being a chicken.


My youngest daughter comes down to help with food preparation. These are the warmest of moments -- having her there to glaze, to chop, to plate the apple cake and then to sit back over a strong coffee and exhale together before the hoards come to the table.






And such grand guests they are! Ed of course, and the two young couples and... ah, guess who's peeking from the corner?






The best eater of them all!






She especially loves the squash pancake and the pepper and feta shakshuka, which, of course, transforms her face into a palate of oranges and reds.






Oh, but it's good to have both daughters and their husbands here today!






Snowdrop would agree. And she has found another sucker who never says no when she stretches her arms out waiting to be held and hugged!






Maybe it's that my younger daughter is closest to her in age -- Snowdrop just worms her way into the warm heart of her aunt. Peas in a pod.






Warm moments -- all of them.


After the house empties and the last scrubbed dish is stacked in the cupboard, I coax  Ed into taking a walk. They say it is warm and yes, the thermometer registers a high upwards of freezing, but the wind is brisk and so we keep to a brisk pace, continuing along the rural roads to the south of the farmette.

Through the forest, around the bend, with the view again toward Hook Lake...





We're thinking surely we'll be alone on this remote road. But no -- a car approaches, very slowly and it pauses as we pass by. A woman rolls down her window and peers out. You're looking for the shrike, aren't you?

I don't think I heard right. A what? Ed shrugs his shoulders, equally puzzled.
The shrike. Aren't you birders?
I smile at that. No, just out for a walk.
Well, look here -- she takes out a fat book. It's been spotted in these parts. I read it yesterday, on the internet. She points to a photo of a black and white bird. The northern shrike.
It's rare to see it here?
She laughs at our ignorance.
Very rare.

As we wish her luck, I say to Ed how interesting it is to simply look for a bird. Not to take its photo, not to do anything but to recognize it and check it off your list.
Ed chuckles. Birdwatchers are like fishermen. So many people pursue their hobby for reason that have nothing to do with their hobby. A quiet walk in the woods, or hours of peace on the lake... it's not always about the fish or the birds.






We return home. Deer pass through the yard, the cheepers have regained their calm and are safely in the coop. The farmette exudes peace.

Time to think about the week ahead. 

the warmth of February, redux

You're thinking -- Ocean has turned into a grandma's reflection on the weather and its impact on the human condition. Not so! Or -- not entirely.

For example, I will note that, in advance of next week frigid temperatures, we're having quite the mild weekend. It's upwards of freezing and that's a very nice thing indeed!

But today's warmth is the kind that comes barreling down from the north, or more precisely northwest, as my daughter and her husband are driving down from the Twin Cities to pay us all a visit.

Right after breakfast (where I think to myself -- Snowdrop is not the only one that needed a hair trim; let me attack the beard of Mr. Claus today!)...






... (and after the beard trim) I begin to make inroads on food preparation for tomorrow's farmhouse brunch. It's not terribly complicated, but my afternoon and evening will be filled with family visits and tomorrow's morning meal will have to be on the early side so that we can send the youngest couple off on their merry way home.

So I peel the squash for the pancakes and I chop up the peppers for the shakshuka and I make the pecan butter and squeeze out the orange juice and get the apples prepped for the cake.

(I have to include a photo or two here: such eye popping color!)












And then I am off to Snowdrop's home, where her greeting always warms the heart.






We wait for the arrival of the aunt and uncle. Well, we don't just wait. Snowdrop paces in her new way -- with hands behind her back, like an old Italian man.






There she goes!






And now the youngest couple is here and Snowdrop is made richer by their presence.






You want a kale chip? Okay!












Late afternoon snack...






Then it's nap time. And in the evening, six adults and one very wee thirteen month old go out to dinner.

(She sits at the head of the table, with her parents at her side.)






We -- aunt, uncle, Ed, myself -- who do not often go out to dinner with the little one -- could not believe her behavior. Her parents ordered a side dish of scallops for her. She ate every last piece. With a few pieces of potato and arugula thrown in for good measure.

Toward the end she was a little dazed from all the good eating.





And though it was really a dinner that was to celebrate last month's birthday of my younger daughter, we couldn't help but admit that Snowdrop grabbed our attention, if only because she wasn't especially attention grabbing. She enjoyed her food and asked for the occasional glance and smile. Nothing more. Nothing less.

the warmth of February

This isn't really a warm month here. We can expect a blast of Arctic air still (Tuesday!). Maybe a storm will pass this way again -- we've not skied enough this year!

And yet, when the sun comes out and when we climb toward the freezing point, my mind shifts. We are no longer in the thick of winter. We're heading out! Onward, toward the next three seasons -- the warmer ones, where Ed and I spend many hours working outdoors.

At least that's my thought process.

It's not a day of great contemplation or much Ocean text. Yes, there was breakfast.






And yes, there were the long shadows on the patches of icy snow that affirmed the sunniness of the the morning hours. But I was in a bit of a rush. Shopping for groceries was slightly at a higher level of care as I have a bigger meal to prepare this weekend. Too, Snowdrop was with us at the farmhouse until her bedtime and so my attention shifted immediately from restocking the fridge to looking after (chasing after?) the little one.

Yes, a book about penguins, Snowdrop! Many many penguins!






All that running makes a girl thirsty!






It's warm enough for us to go out for a walk and I head with her toward the cafe again. I'm afraid I'd rather fallen in love with this winter destination. Yes, Snowdrop likes a crumb of the treat I pick up for Ed, but here she demonstrates that her true love is not for a sugared morsel, but for the children of this world. Once she spotted the boy, she could not take her eyes off of him.






Eventually she nibbled on a blackberry and smiled at anyone who sent a smile her way.






In the evening, at the farmhouse, I gave her bangs a trim. After, she studied the (wooden) passengers and suitcases boarding a plane. Snowdrop has some trips ahead of her this spring and I thought this might be one way of introducing her to the idea of airplanes.






As I gave her a light supper of baked potato (with parmiggiano reggiano!) and cooked carrots and strawberries (she loves all three), I thought about how much she has leaped beyond her baby meals. Is there any adult food that the girl has not tried and liked?





The little one returns home and I have to admit -- I'm as ready for bedtime as she is. I used to laugh at my grandma for going to sleep soon after sunset. Go ahead, Snowdrop: your turn to laugh!

thinking about a rainy day

The skies are a glorious cornflower blue... 


 



... and so it's ironic that I begin the day with musings about rainy days. Of a type.

It's different in Poland, I say to Ed.

This phrase comes up repeatedly in my conversations with him and it does again over breakfast this morning (a meal in the sun room!).





How so?
Well, take the village where my grandparents lived. So there was a neighbor across the road. She took in kids during the summer months. She had a daughter. Well, of course, she's long gone.
Who, the daughter?
No, the woman across the road. We knew her well, because we spent all our summers there.
You knew the daughter?
No, actually the granddaughter, who was from the city of Lodz. 
She wasn't from the village?
No, neither was her mother.
So who lived across the road?
Well, the mother's mother, but that's not the point. The point is that the daughter moved to the village when her mother died.
The one whom you knew? From Lodz?
We didn't know her really, but we knew her daughter, who, by the way, herself has a daughter. Who lives in Sweden.
I'm confused! Who lives in Sweden?
The daughter's daughter and her daughter. Why is this so hard??? 

By now, we're laughing so much that tears stream down the face.
A few sips of coffee, a wipe of an eye, I continue.
Should I use names? Maybe it'll be easier if I use names.
I can't remember Polish names!
Alright, let's start again. The grandma in the village dies, the retired daughter moves to the village house, she has a stroke.
She goes to Sweden, right?
Wrong. She stays in Poland, near the village and is well cared for in the regional facility there. The point is it's still part of the social contract: elder care is not the huge financial drain that it can be in this country. (At least not at this stage of the game.)

It is, of course, a matter of agreement with those who govern: what do you expect to have at various stages of the life cycle? Here, in the States, I think most would like to believe in opportunity. But as you get older and as your chance at opportunity diminishes, you realize that if you've been prudent, you've spent your life saving for your kids' college and once that's done with (and assuming calamity doesn't strike), you have to start worrying about retirement and, too, about long term care -- should you be so unlucky as to need it.

In other words, I am struck by how financially draining are those stages of life (your kids' college, your long term care) that actually have very little to do with your own daily tasks in the healthier years of your life. In a sense, the prudent person, unless she or he is wealthy, should always save (in a volatile market no less!) for the rain rather than for the sunshine.

By choosing to travel as much as I do, I am, no matter what my other frugalities, only somewhat prudent. Perhaps I am still just a tad used to the old Polish way, where you never expected things to go especially right or especially wrong -- you just took one day at a time and did the best you could with that day. So, as I say to Ed this morning -- it's different here. Americans should never quit worrying about the future.   

Sometimes it's good to be an immigrant -- you leave your old country, but never fully. You buy into the new way of life, but you don't forget your lessons. But though you live under the weight of the past, you also carry the hope and the belief in a good future.




And speaking of future, I should now turn to my day with Snowdrop.

Hi, grandma!






She plays with oranges while I make tea.






She doesn't exactly turn quiet just because I want to sit with my cup...






... still, there are moments when I can just hang back and watch.
(Hmmm, does she need another haircut?)






(Maybe.)






You have to wonder -- when does worry start, for the average, healthy kid, coming from a stable home? Not too soon, I hope. Not too soon.


Afternoon. You know you've been housebound too long when you take many minutes to ponder over whether your grandchild has a gene that allows the tongue to roll (I know, I know -- it's genes and the environment, like so many things in life, but the fact is -- I cannot do it, I could never do it and I know I'll go to my grave not being able to do it).






It's not exactly cornflower blue out there anymore and there is even the occasional flake (it's just below freezing), but it's good enough for us! We walk to the lesser lake.






(I ask her -- where's the lake, Snowdrop? She laughs and points to me. Do one year olds know how to joke?)






On the return, I am tempted again by the coffee shop we pass. She is too, I can tell! I buy a macchiato and a cookie. The cookie is really for Ed, but she is given a crumb (unfortunately for Snowdrop, I'm not the grandma who is likely to spoil her with lots of sweet treats).






Though honestly, she loves the smiling faces around her as much (more?) as the cookie. Not to say that she doesn't like the cookie!






She lets me know that she had a really good time. She is a girl who does not hide her excitement in life.






And that's just such a good thing. Excitement about a cookie, about a smile in the cafe. Whoa -- such a very good thing.

Wednesday slush

Well, it slushed during the night, it slushed during the morning commute -- what kind of a winter storm is it that brings with it the slop but not the glory of a beautiful landscape?

I ask Ed to please release the cheepers. I want to stay cocooned in the dry warmth of the farmhouse as long as I can.

At least through breakfast (which is a tad hurried, because it's Wednesday -- an early Snowdrop day for me). I'm not going to get a grin out of you today, am I? Hey, I don't mind dealing with stubborn photographic subjects!






As I step out and get ready to wipe the wet snow off the car, I do have to say that even in this most unpretty winter wetness, there are scenes of loveliness. You have to really look for it, but they're there.






Snowdrop sleeps in this morning. I'm not surprised. The girl has figured out that with a bit of a stretch, she can turn the light on and off from her crib. Like a teenager, she sneaks in additional play minutes when the world thinks her to be in dreamland. Because she is, on balance, such an excellent sleeper, we can but smile in amusement at her foray into a more adult control of her environment. Somehow she gets the rest she needs. That's all that matters for now.

And reliably, she wakes up with the biggest smile.

Hey, let's get you out of your pj's and into the tub! There's pumpkin and banana on your face!






Initially, I think that since I am wearing a warm sweater, she should do the same.






But I quickly realize that the girl no longer just walks, she positively sprints from one corner of the house to the next. In other words, she's warm, even without the sweater vest.






I listen to the sound of shovels outside. I suppose slush deserves to be moved as well, especially if we're going to return to our freezing temperatures by evening.

What a curious winter this is! Fewer Arctic blasts, fewer great snowfalls -- a winter of nonevents.

Never mind. Ed and I have a fantastic flower project in mind come spring. And in case you don't remember, that's the season that's next in line.

I'll leave you with a photo that picks up on the theme of ignoring that, which you cannot control:





And if you do succeed in putting your focus elsewhere, you're bound to have a fine old day. No matter what the weather or the level of cat indifference.

Tuesday storms

When you retire and you live in the country, your attitude about winter storms changes considerably. A big snow is an adventure. So long as the furnace keeps churning out heat and the lights don't flicker, you throw an extra blanket down on the couch (for show as much as anything), cook up a pot of soup and watch the snowflakes fall.

Unless you're the babysitter for your granddaughter. Back comes the worry: will the roads be clear when I set out? When the young parents set out? Will I get home if they don't plow the rural road we live on right away?

And still, there is a slow motion to it. You are in control of your own time, after all. You can pace yourself. The element of wonder is not diminished.

And so when I wake up to see that the snow, predicted and yet unpredictable (no one can agree if there will be an inch or a foot of the new stuff by day's end), hadn't yet started, I feel just a touch of disappointment.

Never mind. I move the day forward. Breakfast. Just a touch hurried, because I luxuriate in the perfection of the morning too long (the orderly farmhouse, the warm shower, the coffee aromas -- these can't be rushed, until it's so late that they do have to be rushed). Look cheerful! I haven't time for anything else!






And then to Snowdrop's home.

Were I to pull out just a few favorite episodes from my time with her, surely I would have to say that this was the morning for peeking out...






... and hiding. Only to be found.






... which makes her laugh and laugh.






I'd also include what I would call the more thoughtful, contemplative moments.






... oftentimes with her stack of books.






In the late afternoon, I wondered if I would be struggling to get home, what with the snow and the winds, but what snow came down, fizzled to something drearily reminiscent of slush. They say we'll get more of the white stuff tonight, but I'm no longer holding my breath. The storm came and went and at least in Madison, left very little in its wake.

I'll leave you with a photo that ought to sport the title: "if I gave you one of these, would you be my friend?"






It's so cool to see that some will never give up trying to be nice.