Monday

Ed claims that the weather forecasters always exaggerate the bad news. If they tell you the likelihood is that it wont rain and then it rains, people get mad. But if they say -- looks like it's going to come down hard and then it only drizzles or, better yet, stays dry -- people feel grateful.

Perhaps I should feel good about the fact that we reached 39F today instead of the promised 37F, but frankly, after yesterday's perfection, today just feels like a very huge step backward. Little steps back -- I'll accept, but today's leap is just too brutal.

We eat breakfast in the kitchen, because this room gives forth a feeling of comfort that you crave on colder mornings. There's something about having a stove and a pantry next to you that makes you feel like the world will be a brilliant place once more. Just give it some time.






I do go outside, of course. But I run through the morning cheeper chores quickly. With a pause and a grateful nod to the few daffodils that are starting to bloom.






Snowdrop is at the farmhouse today and I'm not at all convinced that playing outside is a grand idea, but she insists, pulling my jacket toward me and pointing herself toward the door.






I try to distract her with a toy she has been favoring lately...






...but it's not use. She wants the great outdoors, even if it's not so great at the moment.

Well okay -- let's just feed the cheepers.






Grandpa Ed comes out to join us, forgetting that the temps warrant a jacket.






Okay, little one. We gave them bread. We gave them seeds. We played "guess which one is Java?" It's time to head back to the farmhouse.

Snowdrop's mommy taught her to walk holding an adult hand and I so appreciate this new demonstration of companionship!






The cheepers, forever looking for a handout, chase us back to the farmhouse.






Forget it girls! You're on your own. Snowdrop and I are going inside to play!






In the afternoon, the little girl and I set out to do errands. First stop -- Paul's cafe, to replenish our supply of pickles.

It's rare that I run into Paul there these days -- typically, he's busy rolling out pelmeni at his enormously successful downtown eatery. But today, he's at the cafe and we spend a wonderful set of minutes catching up. Snowdrop is momentarily shy, but she always senses a friend. She finds one here, at the cafe.






It's only a few steps from here to the library and we linger there, picking books off the shelf and playing with the puzzles that the library has acquired for children her age.

Perhaps I don't mention this often enough, but it strikes me how rich she and children of this community are in terms of having access to this beautiful world of art and literature.  The picture books in the library overwhelm me with their choice and variety. The surroundings are gorgeous. The air is so warm -- making the temperatures outside irrelevant. Sigh... 

Snowdrop doesn't want to leave, but she is a bit run down these days and so I insist on a return home where she can replenish her energies and rest up for the week ahead.


Me, I go back to the farmhouse and  cook up eggs for supper. Only two hens are laying right now, but even so, we have too many eggs. Time to make a meal of them. Thank you cheepers!

Sunday

I expect it will be mid May by the time we get another day like this. Mostly sunny, breezy and a whopping afternoon temperature of 68F (that's 20C). And in case you're not convinced of the total craziness of our weather this week, we're told that tomorrow, we're not going to get beyond 38F (that would be 3C).

How do you proceed when everything is suddenly so intense?

Today -- it's easy. After a thorough farmhouse wash (including upstairs windows), we eat a quick, sunny breakfast...





... and go outside. And that's where I stay until it is time to cook dinner for the young family.

A whole day outside... Do I put my feet up and listen to the willow branches heave and sway in the wind? Do I sip lemonade on the porch and think how wonderful it is to have summer in April? Do I salute the sun and ease into a downdog or warrior pose before a cheeper audience?

No I do not. I work all day long with the intensity I feel as I witness the garden, the beloved garden emerge after a long winter rest.

Fortuitously, two of the tree trimming companies we work with were looking to offload full trucks of wood chips this past week and so we have a huge pile of chips to distribute. Huge.

We heave cartload after cartload of chips to fix old flower beds and yes, we extend them, and, too, we create brand new ones as well.

You can never have too many flowers.

Working with wood chips -- yes, there's that. In addition to the clipping, digging, pulling and tugging all day long. The cheepers watch, sometimes participating in their own way, sometimes resting under bushes as they like to do in the middle of a summer afternoon.






Oh, what a day it is! There aren't many photos for you. Only crocuses and the first daffodils have displayed their best spring faces.






But to me, every perennial clump, even if still only a few inches tall, represented a future, a promise.





I work around them all with loving care and grand anticipation.

Such a brilliant day it is -- absolutely brilliant!






Dinner is a simple affair -- pasta. But I hear no complaints! Indeed, I have a willing assistant who is very good with the big stirring spoon.






And even better at slurping.






Down to the last spaghetti noodle.






Clap your hands! Such a beautiful day... Clap your hands!

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.