Wednesday

Perhaps my enthusiasm was premature. We have before us a slow progression toward better times. Emphasis on slow.

It is a cloudy morning and it feels, therefore, as if we arrested the climb out of the weather doldrums. But it's all in the mind. Not too long ago, I would have been very happy to walk over to the chicken coop in just a fleece. Today, I expected at least a feeble ray of sun and was, therefore, a wee bit put off by the gray skies.

Breakfast in the front room.





And then a rush to Snowdrop's home.

My weather maps say (still using caps, because the change to mixed letters wont come until May 11th) TODAY WILL BE TEN DEGREES WARMER THAN YESTERDAY, but of course, yesterday was sunny and in the forties. A cloudy fifties F is nothing to brag about.

But I refuse to admit defeat and acknowledge that we are not yet dancing with May baskets dangling on our elbows and I dress Snowdrop in something that was definitely intended for spring.






That's overshooting the season alright. Never mind. The girl is so very active and the house is warm.

She is a tease today and looks for ways to make me laugh (or to see me respond with shock, which, to her, is equally entertaining).






But the running theme all morning long is clear: she really wants to go out. I mean really, really wants that.
It has to warm up, Snowdrop. Just wait a little while longer. I distract her with her favorite books...





But, not to get repetitive about this -- she really wants to go out, pointing to my shoes, the outdoors, the closet, her shoes, using every signal in her repertoire to get me to understand what I, in fact, do understand and finally I relent.

She is a bit anxious -- really? You wont change your mind? -- until I lay out our jackets, shoes and tell her to go get her penguin of choice for the ride.






We have a wonderful walk through the neighborhood and we do make it to the more distant coffee shop where I pluck out a few raisins from Grandpa Ed's oatmeal raisin cookie. When a crumb goes down the wrong way, I offer her water, catching myself too late that she is perhaps too young to be navigating a cup by herself. But she is very much a girl who likes to take on the new, the challenging. So the swig is a bit full. So what. A wee wet spot on the sweater. Big deal.






In the afternoon, I keep her sweater on, even inside the house. Tomorrow, there is talk of abundant sunshine. That's so wonderful! But today, the sweater stays on.






I drive home in the late afternoon. The truck farmers to the east of the farmette are working the fields -- clearing, burning, cultivating. It's still doesn't look much like a growing season, but believe me, it is that. Very much so.






What, you think Ocean hasn't shown enough of what's blooming out there? Okay, here's a duo of miniature daffodils. Bunches of them line our driveway. It's a cheerful welcome home.

Tuesday

The string of days before us is like a party chain of colorful decorations -- one better than the next! And today is plenty good already.

In the next few photos, pay attention to the sunshine -- it's the star of the morning!






The daffodils are finally releasing their pent up blooms.






The old farmhouse stands ready to admire the show of color that's sure to come now.






Sunshine! It's all about the sunshine today.






(Including at breakfast time.)






And, too, at Snowdrop's home. Here she is, right after her bath. (The girl is not disinterested in playing with cars.)






(I mean, it's not up there with penguins, but it commands a bit of her attention.)






Oh, but books! There are not enough pages to flip out there! It's best in a lap, with someone reading, but it's okay alone, too.






And of course, there is every single day that joyous run.






In the late afternoon, Snowdrop and I do make it to the closer coffee shop. They tell us it's only 48F (8C) outside and I take a protective wool wrap for the little girl's legs. But she doesn't need it. We're fine! We're so happy to be outside!

(She is blissfully oblivious to the themes to the new artwork on the walls.)






On the walk home we sing loudly. The words don't matter. It's all in the rhythm and the strength of the vocalization. Right, Snowdrop?

what each season brings

I was up late last night counting ants. One per minute or two, out of the kitchen floorboards, making the journey through foundation to basement to kitchen -- with the garbage can being this year's preferred destination. I attack the problem with perseverance. Vinegar and instant removal helps. In the early morning, I see no more and I exhale. They'll be back, searching for nesting sites. The trick is to make this one -- our home -- an unattractive proposition.

When Ed and I first got together and he explained to me his position on the relationship between humans and animals (the unfair privileging of one over the other), I was taken aback by the strength of his convictions. Oh, I have known environmentalists and animal rights persons who are furiously rigid in their life style choices. Ed isn't that -- but his heart is with the animal kingdom, that's for sure and he'll go a long way not to disturb their habitat.

There wont be any potent ant killers at the farmhouse. It'll be me, doing the midnight vigil, with distracting vinegar and spot removal. And hope for an outcome that's agreeable to all.

This morning, as I sit down to answer emails, I see a flock of five large birds come swooping down again. Hawks. They'd been keeping us (well, presumably the cheepers) under observation for a few weeks now and though the hens know to hide when they sense their presence, I am always concerned that they wont catch on fast enough. Those powerful winged creatures shoot down like an arrow from the sky and though we have plenty of trees here to protect the cheepers, until the trees fill in with leaves, the sharp eye of the hawk misses nothing.

As I willed myself to sleep last night, I thought about this seasonal challenge at the farmette. No sooner had we gotten the mouse population under control and boom! Here we are, addressing the late winter onslaught of box elder and Japanese beetles. I'd do a beetle round up several times a day and still they came. That is, until last week, when they dwindled to almost nothing. To be replaced now by the spring ants, searching for their nesting site.

Catch and release (except for the beetles, which I -- but not Ed -- shamelessly destroyed).  And face the next adaptation and delineation of boundaries.


Oh, but the sunshine is with us again and so my thoughts quickly run to its glorious brilliance!

Breakfast in the sun room.





And then Snowdrop comes to the farmette for the day. I'll post a few extra photos today, even though you already see quite a bit more here on farmhouse Mondays, simply because the farmette is so the epicenter of my world, that photographing comings and goings here (of people, of seasons, of chickens!) properly reflects my preoccupations.  Why even more today? The day is just so pretty! Cool still, but with an abundance of warm sun rays. And I am thrilled to report that Snowdrop loves being outdoors, so much so that you could not doubt that she is this Ocean author's granddaughter.

Here's a photo album of at least the first half of our day:


First activity when she arrives -- feed the cheepers some bread. Let's make it more of a challenge and place the bread on the bench! (Of course, they will jump for it.)






Grandpa Ed comes out... the girl's all smiles.






We walk back to the farmhouse -- Snowdrop of course likes to give the pinwheels a good twirl.






We're all going to be here playing together? Good! -- she loves it when there are at least two other people in a room...






Ed's munching on a late morning snack of leftovers.
She wants one... he says with hesitation. (It's shrimp and asparagus.)
It's close enough to her lunch. Sure, you can share.

Shrimp! Yum!






I've been told this about her: she'll pick a shrimp over a french fry anytime.






Yes, she loves asparagus too.






Okay, little one. Let grandpa Ed eat. I put on a Raffi record to distract her. She does her signature dance -- a rhythmic bounce to the music.






Then, impressively, she stacks her penguin stacking rings. (I say impressively, because the ordering of the pieces is weirdly complicated for a little kid toy. I often cheat and look at the sketch on the bottom to figure out which ring comes next. It's not about the size!)






We get a phone call from the tree chopping service. They want to dump another load of chips! Well fine, though we should really make more room for it. Ed goes out to spread some, Snowdrop bums a ride in his wheelbarrow.






I want to show her the emerging daffodils, but she is too distracted by guess what (cluck cluck)...






Ed comments -- they just follow you everywhere.
Yes, I know.







In the afternoon, my deep desire to stay calm in life is tested, but in the end salvaged by someone who knows only how to stay placid, even when faced with mounting frustration.

It is a silly thing, really: we're all switching car seats for Snowdrop -- she has outgrown her baby one! The next seat will carry her until she is 65 pounds (wow!).

The chair arrives just as Snowdrop is waking from her nap. Well that's not good. Especially since she is waking up a bit of a grump (it's rare, but it happens). I juggle her, trying to read the instructions, pulling straps, flipping cushions, wanting so hard to understand the difference between this belt and the other...

Ed!

He comes, we both watch the youtube instructions. He reads the booklet, calls the company, all in that calm voice of his that always brings me down from a potential spin into a world of petty frustration. And as we go out to install it in the car, the girl wants nothing more than to get down and run around with the chickens, even if it does take them all to the road (no, no, no Snowdrop, that is not a place where I can let you run free!).

Snowdrop is frustrated with the new restrictions ("no no no Snowdrop, not the road") and yet - I'm calm now and very quickly, so is she.

Funny how calmness rubs off and leaks onto the souls of others.

The seat is in, the girl is comfortable in its accommodating larger size, the sun continues to shine as if there's no stopping it now.

April is such a fantastic month!

Sunday

I look up at the early morning sky, split evenly between threatening and promising and throw out this question -- are we done already? Have you had your interminable pout and tantrum? Can we proceed to the gorgeousness of a warm spring?






Of course, the sky takes this opportunity to dump something on the ground -- for a few minutes. Then it looks okay again. For a while.

 (The daffodils stubbornly refuse to show their colorful faces until they get some honest sunshine, even as the day lilies continue their upward surge.)





I suppose if given the choice, I would pick what we had this year -- a wonderful early early spring and a somewhat cold and wet period thereafter. You're so sick of winter by March that you appreciate the sudden and unexpected pleasure of feeling warm and buoyant. Too, this period is only a clean up stage in yard work. It's too early to plant or even divide anything. If it has to be cool and wet -- early April is a good time for it.

But listen! The second half of April begins next Saturday and the Flower Factory, for decades now my faithful supplier of perennials, opens its doors then. And well it might! We are promised sunshine and warm air for this truly grand event.

In other words, I'm asked today to be patient. To ignore that pouting sky that throws down stuff on and off all day long. To work side by side with Ed when things settle down up there (the usual: we clear, throw chips, weed etc, with the active participation of the cheepers, whose scratching habit is ferocious right now). And occasionally to retreat and work on sprucing up the inside of the farmhouse (including rearranging furniture to accommodate the arrival of the small chairs and table for Snowdrop).

These then are the rhythms of this Sunday. (After a leisurely breakfast in the front room, with Ed gazing at the flower bed we installed this past week.)







An afternoon coffee break, recorded here because it brings color to an otherwise gray day...






And then very quickly, it's evening and Snowdrop arrives with her mom for Sunday dinner at the farmhouse.





I almost don't get the dinner plated. The girl wants to be involved!

Fine. Here's a bowl. And a spatula. Mix!






Am I doing a good job??






Dinner is  ready. Time to cut the bread. In the alternative, let's put Snowdrop in charge of the bread.






Snowdrop loves baguettes!






Dinner's fine too.






One last photo. Three generations. Missing is my younger girl. We'll get her in here soon enough!

Saturday

When I moved to the farmhouse now five years ago, I decided, with Ed's hard encouragement, to adhere to minimalist principles. Downsize yet again. Buy (almost) nothing new. Make do.

And it worked. The furniture I had was just fine. True, the kitchen table that Ed threw in doesn't expand and large family meals have required an awkward combination of several tables strung together to look like ... several tables strung together and yes, for various showers and family celebrations some people were without comfy chairs to sit on, but basically, we've done well. Inspired by this success, I continue to downsize. My library collection is one fourth what it once was. Useless kitchen gadgets (sometimes but rarely missed) have done well on Craigslist. In the alternative, Goodwill is just 3.1 miles away.

I like to think we add flowers outside, but nothing inside.

Then along came Snowdrop.

The crib. Of course she needed a crib! And a high chair. And a changing table. And so on. I'd forgotten how children swallow stuff and they grow, too, so that yesterday's stuff is put aside for the next one, should there be a next one, and the next incarnation of stuff makes its way into the house.

I try to keep it simple. But the fact is, if a child spends a lot of time in your house, you'll want to make it a good place for her to be.

Today I announced that Snowdrop really will need a small table and a chair. Ed groans at this. Let's look at Craigslist! We do that. I don't like anything.
How about if I built her a picnic table with benches?
Nice of you, but it wont look good.
How about if you pull up a wee chair to the coffee table?

I laugh at that. Our so called coffee table is a whopping 24 by 24 inches. It serves as a resting place for Ed's computer, his stack of unread mail and a dining table come suppertime for the two of us. The image of fitting in Snowdrop's crayons and paper is kind of funny.

We rearrange things to make room for the wee table and chairs. The farmhouse is small, but it will take on another piece of "stuff." Ed shakes his head. Minimalism, diminished yet again! In exchange, I promise to give up another shelf of books and the walker Snowdrop rejected long ago.

We are determined to live an uncluttered life.


But this does not hold true for our great outdoors!

True, we wake up yet again to a hard frost -- near record lows -- but I know this will be the last one and so I walk out at sunrise with a bounce to my step.

Besides, it's going to be sunny! Sunshine makes up for the cold.

(From behind the willow...)






(It's cold, Java... I know, Henny.)






(This better be the last of it!)






We eat breakfast in the sun room.






And then we work outdoors. Oh, do we work! It never warms up beyond the upper thirties F (no more than 4C), but I shed everything, down to a light sweater.

We pull weeds, we unload wood chips and we expand (that's right, expand) the new flower bed that will run along the front of the property. For the first time, I will be growing plants that aren't just for us to see (all our other flower fields are within the farmette courtyard, so unless you come up to the end of our driveway, you would not know they are there).

I don't have many photos. It's dirty work and the camera deserves a respite inside. Just this one, of, well, nothing, really. Ed is rebuilding my bean trellis. I'm pulling weeds.






But it's a magnificent day and Ed had to listen to me say more than once -- isn't life grand?
To which he'll respond -- Yes gorgeous, in the most non-emotive voice he can muster.


A brief coffee and cookie break (just at home)...





And then we continue.

It's after six when we finally throw down the pitchfork, the rake, the clipping shears. And of course, this was the day I was to cook something other than the simple, the straightforward.

Well fine. Roll up the sleeves and get to it. With a special thanks to Yotam Ottolenghi, whose recipe (from Plenty More) I follow, using eggs from our girls.






It's a Parmesan cauliflower cake...

(Before it goes in...)






(After it comes out...)






Late supper. Long day. Beautiful day. Flower beds waiting now. In all their readiness.