somewhere between bizarre and fantastic

You wouldn't believe the weather!  -- I tell a waking Ed. Look outside -- we're back to snow!

I know it's not unusual to get an inch or two in April, but this is rather unexpected. We were warned: it'll be windy. But look what the winds brought in!






The cheepers are not happy. I try to clear a path for them to the barn. Very slowly they hobble over to its safe shelter.






It isn't really that cold -- just above freezing -- and the flowers are braving this sudden wet stuff well enough, but still, what a difference one passing cloud cover makes!











And then the sun comes out and Ed and I enjoy a leisurely breakfast in the sun room...






... and the cheepers come out of hiding and make their way toward the farmhouse...






I tell Ed -- this will melt in a minute.

And it does, until the next squall.






Followed by a quick melt. But I can already tell it wont last. Nothing today lasts more than a few minutes.






I tell the cheepers -- run! Another one's coming!






They don't need my warning. They move their little feet toward the garage with the speed that is impressive.






I watch this theater of blinding snow and brilliant sunshine from the kitchen, not believing that there could be a next one, but there is a next one...






... and again it melts -- and again there is a next one.






And the one after.






Sometimes I catch the transforming moment, when snow turns to sun, or at least it does so on one portion of the path, though not at another. Snow, sun, wind, snow...  Bizarre! -- I comment to Ed.





Fascinating! -- He responds.


It is today's story. Nothing else measures up.


How do you think of food on a day like this? Well, my shot of espresso is at home. I have no great desire to go out. And here's a happy discovery -- just as I'd given up on milk chocolate, finding it too sweet, I came across this seasonal treat at the store -- a Theo bar at 45% (so milk), with lemon flavor. Delicious!






For dinner? Oh, pizza. Nothing like flipping dough in the air (with all the hazards that this entails) to make you think of sweeter weather days. And yes, that's sunlight streaming into the room. At dinnertime. How about that!

showers or sunshine?

Seeing before me a forecast of a wet day, I pass on this information to Ed who is visibly disappointed. He has distant meetings and on these cooler spring days, he likes nothing more than to ride his old Honda motorbike. Cars bore him. Motorcycles? That's another story.

I'm up early. I tell the chickens to hurry out and catch the worms because later in the day, when the rains come down, they'll be housebound.






And so I am surprised when after breakfast in the sun room (a hoax: there's no sun!)...






... I return from grocery shopping, to see that there is indeed a dapple of sunshine at the farmette. Everything looks grand in April sunshine.






Everything.






Of course, it is April Fool's. I'm Polish. April Fool's was big in my Polish childhood days. People doused each other with water and said all sorts of foolish things, ending it with a shout of Prima Aprilis! -- and of course, some would laugh, some would roll their eyes and some would merely feel wet from a splash of water that was de rigeur, especially among the younger set.

And so I am taking all this showers/rain/sunshine nonsense in stride, as if the weather gods are having their own first of April merriment, while I'm just there for the ride.

And sure enough, a few minutes later, it rains. You don't believe me? True, on April Fool's one must come equipped with evidence. Here you are, evidence:






By then, I am with Snowdrop.Oh, she's fine about playing indoors.






Still, the outdoor world tempts her. (Such a grandma's girl!)






What the heck. They say the rains will take a pause in the late afternoon. Let's go, Snowdrop!

We walk all the way to the preferred coffee shop, though I have some trepidation -- the winds are gusting, the clouds are tough to ignore.







No matter! We're bold! (Let me wrap a blanket around your legs, little one. We must stay warm!)

At the cafe, the air feels so pungent and warm. We turn our back on the finicky April weather and indulge in some superb people watching.






Home again. She's happy, yes, there's that spark that always comes after a walk...






... but I can't let her play long. She will be spending the evening at the farmhouse. We have things to do, chickens to feed!

Can I pick one up, grandma?
You can try...






The winds gust. I show her a field of blooming Siberian Scilla -- a first lesson in learning that most things that bloom at the farmette are, in fact, not safe for consumption. But, oh, to admire them from afar! The gift of spring is to admire the delicacy of those first blooms. And we do. Ever so carefully, we do.






The skies clear by nightfall. Temperatures fall. Ed suggests that Snowdrop and I join him on chasing the cheepers into the coop for the night. We follow him to the coop, but in fact, the hens know when to huddle in for the night. They're already inside. Snowdrop gets to wave a cheery goodnight as we lock their door.
 
The first day of April. Who would not love this month!

Thursday

In an effort to keep things quiet for Ed in the morning, allowing him to catch up on needed sleep, I open the coop for the cheepers, then stay outside and work the yard for a good bit of time.




(a flower bed, from a chicken's vantage point)



You could call it a poor day for gardening -- it's muddy, it's wet and there's a trickle of rain now and then, but I don't mind. Weeds are easy to dig out, wet leaves are pungent with earthy aromas, new growth looks fresh, as if bathed in the wetness of spring.






Eventually, Ed and I eat breakfast in the front room...






... and then I'm off to be with Snowdrop.

If grandmas occasionally have lazy days, I'd say this would be mine. The little one and I watch the rain fall outside and I think to myself that any activity with my granddaughter that does not require being in an upright position this morning would be just fine with me. Luckily, her mood is equally mellow.






You could say we chill together.






At least until she has a nap and I have my own quiet time.


The rains pass and my desire to get up and get going grows strong again. And for a short interlude, the skies are less angry looking. Snowdrop and I are off!

But not for long. I see some menacing rain clouds hovering just to the west. We pause at the closer coffee shop. If the rains come down, we can wait it out here. And that would be just fine. Snowdrop shares this love of mine -- people watching.






Over a (coffee and a) cookie, but the cookie I swear is just an excuse.






Indeed, if you put together all the crumbs she has had in the course of one month, they still would not add up to a whole cookie.






The point is to nibble slowly and watch the world go by.






Just like her grandma, the little girl loves to go out, but she also loves then to come back home, where you can be yourself (newest love: walking on all fours, perhaps imitating an animal?)...






... and do what your heart dictates, be it hugging a penguin, or studying for time on end books about pliers and wrenches.






It's evening now. Time to put away the cheepers -- that's Ed's job. But I like going out with him, if only to make fun of the job itself, which is no job at all, because, as he'll tell you -- he's got them trained.

Scotch and Java are in the coop. Butter is on the fence. Henny is -- yes, laugh if you want -- in a tree. This, apparently, is the norm.





Ed approaches. Butter, as if on call, rises, walks the length of the fence, then jumps down and goes inside the coop. Ed mumbles -- your turn -- and Henny flies down and follows suit. The door is latched, the job is done.

That's all you do?
He grins. Trained.
You can't train chickens!

Or can you you? Perhaps "train" is the wrong word. Encourage. Teach.  Support.


The coop grows quiet. We walk back to the farmhouse listening to the sounds of the night. At this time of the year, even with the fading light, it's all so very beautiful.

patience

A pouty morning soon turns into a wet morning, with rumbles and thunderous grumbles reminding us that everything comes in a package: sunny days are mixed in with rainy days and you have to be equally cheerful about the rainy ones because really, we need plenty of both to make our gardens grow.

(And the winning clump of daffodils to show the first set of blooms is this one!)






We eat breakfast in the front room...






... and then, very quickly, I'm off to be with Snowdrop.

She is just waking up and so I have the pleasant task of feeding her breakfast and watching her play for a few minutes before her bath (hence the astronaut pj's).






I'd been thinking recently how intense her play can get. In the photo above, she is playing with penguin nesting dolls. She has always loved the nesting doll idea, but this one is most perfect because of the animal under consideration and because they're fairly easy to take apart.

The putting together is trickier. There are four dolls, but since each is composed of two parts, there are really some 28 combinations of joining parts together (and that's before you include the second step of pairing multiples of the pieces). I swear she tries them all. She is so determined to figure out how it all works! And what is most remarkable is that she does not get frustrated when it doesn't fall into place. (Me on the other hand -- I can hardly stand it. Several times I can't hold back -- I nudge her to the piece that fits, but she doesn't want my help and she continues to soldier on on her own.)

Alright. Bath time, running around time -- a good mooded girl is with us today. What does it matter that it's a rainy day? Inside, there's so much to do!






So much!






Like any kid, she is active in a number of ways, but what again astonishes me no end is how at a certain point, she'll apply herself to a task and then spend long long minutes working through it. Here's one more example: she picked up a small cook book off of her mommy's shelf. I'd never seen it before -- it looks old. Perhaps a gift from a past satisfied user? In any case, it's small. Snowdrop wants to master turning the pages one by one.






Not in a clump, not just a few, but all of them, one by one.






All the while showing no exasperation. If it doesn't quite come out right, she goes back and does it again. There is no frown, no disgruntlement. Merely quiet determination.






I cannot tell how long she sat doing this, but I can say this -- she showed unbelievable patience for the job (me -- less so; again I reached to hold down something for her and again she gently picked up my hand and moved it away).






So are we born with patience? I know Ed has it in vast quantities. But in Snowdrop's case it surely isn't learned. Do some of us (most of us?) lose it over time? I've not seen Snowdrop be frustrated with failure yet. Will she not know frustration in the way that I know it?

She continues her task standing up...






Finally, she is done. Off and running.






In the afternoon, the rain comes in gusts and sprinkles. I propose an outing to the store. You tell Snowdrop we're going somewhere that requires shoes and a jackets and she is on it!

We make our way to Trader Joe's for life's essentials: flowers, nuts, chocolate and a bottle of wine. The checkout guy teases her about the wine and when she looks a little uncertain, he offers her a bunch of stickers with flowers on them. This is the first time I've seen her be bribed with stickers and I consider it a real rite of passage.

We're just across the street from a cafe she and I like and so we stop by for an espresso (for me) and a scone (for Ed, but she gets a nibble). She is mesmerized. Not by the scone (though she likes her crumb just fine) but by a baby at another table.






She cannot get enough of that scene where the mom and dad attend to some work, but also to the kid who by my estimation is exactly half Snowdrop's age.






But when we pass by the table and the sweet dad tries to engage her, she turns shy, as if it's too much to enter a world where she was once the observer but now is expected to be an active participant.


And finally, I swing by a house where I pick up our week's supply of CSA spinach. It's raining again but Snowdrop and I don't mind. Besides, there's a reward at the end of the road: I let her sample a leaf of our winter indulgence.






Yes, she likes it as much as that crumb of scone.

We go home singing in the car the whole way. (That is -- I sing and she babbles. But I swear, she tries to be part of the same song!)