wild things

Another predawn (and I mean really predawn) start to the day. And a predawn breakfast. It's been many a week since I had a leisurely wake up! I'm thinking -- we both look and feel tired.







Still, there are benefits to being up this early.

(Sunrise on a misty morning.)






(First beams of sunlight hit the crab apple and its steady stream of visitors...)






(The little red apples sparkle from the wet air, the leaves look as gold as bricks of the real stuff from Fort Knox.)






Normally, I like to check our variously positioned mousetraps before Ed leaves for the day. If there's a catch, he gets to ride with the critter to some far away fields. (November is the month where we have a steady parade of these guys, looking for a place to settle in for the cold months.) But I neglected to inspect the trap in the basement and by the time I do check it, Ed's gone. And yes, there are two mice in it. I'm stuck with taking them away.

On the upside, it really is a pretty morning to be driving along country roads!






(By the time I turn around and come back, the sun has done away with the fog.)






Most mornings, I set up shop in the kitchen. My computer faces the garden and I have a pretty view of the changing landscape. Today I glance up and notice another visitor, this one substantially larger than a mouse.






Oh, the signs of the coming of winter! Still no frost though. My annuals are going strong even though it is November.

And it's another beautiful November day! There's no question: I pick up Snowdrop and we head for the little park where she runs with abandon toward the playground.






In some ways, Snowdrop reminds me of Ed: she, like him, likes a challenge! At the playground, she gives short shrift to the swing and shrugs with indifference at all three slides -- she's mastered them all! What's the point?

Ah, but the life guard's chair, perched on a steep ladder? Yeah!





The future life guard of Bernie's Beach!





And how are you going to get down, little one? I expect the often repeated words -- I need help, but instead get her now even more frequently stated -- I can do it!

At home, she should be resting already, but I have to admit, it's hard to interfere and put a stop to the games she invents for herself. (Here -- brushing penguin's hair while riding on a hippo. Why not?)






Later, much later, as we play in her room, I poke into her closet, looking for a jacket for her to wear later this week. She sees me. "Yellow jacket!"  she wants to put it on. "Bunny rabbit on it!" Yes, that's right -- there's a bunny rabbit. She is insistent. "Put it on!"

Why not... Does it make her feel snug? Does a bunny rabbit bring her reassurance in life? Who knows... She is happy. The jacket stays on. For a short while anyway.






Her parents come home... the sun fades... all is calm... All is as it should be.

like Warsaw only different

Today I was reminded that you can wake up to cold, wet November days in many places -- not only in Warsaw.  It is dark and gloomy when we sit down to breakfast, which again is an early affair, as Ed has another day of attending to stuff at work.

He glances over at little red riding hood, Snowdrop's doll from Poland.
So they have that character there too?
Obsessively so. Only she seems to be good friends with wolf in this modern incarnation.






Even on a dark November day, our big old crab apple looks magnificent. There isn't a season when this tree isn't absolutely stunning!







When I pick up Snowdrop, it's raining again. She's equipped with a slicker and some pretty slick boots and she isn't too concerned about getting wet. Indeed, as we come to the farmhouse, she spots the broom and gets right down to work.






... even if the broom is a tad too tall for her.






She is undismayed.





I remind her that I want to get a batch of cookies into the oven. I suppose that seems like a bribe to get her inside, but honestly, the cookies have been on my to do list for a while.

I'm impressed how well she remembers the baking routine. It's been several weeks, after all, since we've done it together. But she knows what to do: which chair to bring to which counter, how to position it, what to mix, what to lick, what to eat (raisins!).

As the cookies bake, she loses herself in play.

Her love for her stuffies knows no bounds. You can always get a grin out of her by reminding her of, say, cow. Or penguin. Or in this case -- black cat.






(I know, I know -- she's sort of all over the place with her attire today. If it were up to her, she'd play in short sleeves, but it really is a chilly day...)






When I put on an over-shirt, she's hoping this means she can go outside.
No, little one. Nap first.






But after her rest, I cannot (or at least I do not want to) hold her back. We do many things outdoors: take a walk, have her work the balance log, collect seed pods. And she does her dance with the cheepers. They spin circles around each other -- they, in the hope of a treat, Snowdrop -- because she wants to believe that they're her friends, which, at some level, they are.






At the farmhouse again. Warming up. Reading the weather book once more.





They say the rains are moving on and out of here. They say there will be sunshine soon. I'm happy about that. And yet, I can't say that Snowdrop and I were worse off today, frolicking in the half drizzle.

Kids force you to take another look at weather: what's poor in your view may be quite fine in theirs and before you know it, it's fine, indeed grand, in yours as well.

home again

There is something unreal always about the first day back from being far away. The clock isn't aligned with your perceptions as to what's what. The cupboards are bare, the farmhouse is crying for a gentle cleaning. You need a few days to come together with your environment.

To add to my feeling of being out of place and out of time, Ed has this week a number of workshops which start early. So that today's breakfast is at 7. That's nearly 3 hours before our usual (we don't rush it).






And finally, there's the weather. Ah, the weather! In Poland, it had acted up, as if in a tantrum. Days that weren't supposed to be wet and cold in Warsaw were just that. Today in Madison? Sunny, with a ridiculously unseasonal  high of 70F (that's 21C... 21C!!!).






Here's a flower that's confused and perplexed: my German Iris, reblooming with gusto, as if it were spring.






It's just gorgeous outside!

On my drive to do grocery shopping, I see the early morning mists slather the landscape...





Beautiful!

I'm at the store just after it opens. Everything is on early dial right now. Things will settle down, though not today.


Then I pick up Snowdrop.

She is as the weather is -- exceptionally upbeat.

It's unusual for me to come in at the tail end of her lunch, but things are running late at school and so I do. I watch her eat, then rinse and put away her utensils, plates, glass, wash and dry her hands. It's so impressive! No one prods her or tells her the routines. She does it all flawlessly anyway.





She and I walk to the coffee shop. She is a flurry of words. Hi this, hi that. Repeating everything I tell her.  
Snowdrop, do you see the squirrel eating the pumpkin? 
Squirrel eats pumpkin! -- she says in utter delight.

Cookie bite on the deck outside the coffee shop...






Oh! It's so beautiful today! November 1st? Really?






Snowdrop is exuberant. I mean, really so.






She goes down to the playground beach and throws fistfuls of sand, as if in a dance.











And now it's time to go home, to the farmhouse.

She's thrilled to see flowers still in bloom.






She runs then to be inside...






And gives her stuffies a hug that's deeper than I'd ever seen before.






She's delighted with her red riding hood from Krakow and her red riding hood bag from Warsaw...






And she loves loves loves her new Polish coloring book!






And the trees outside shine their brilliant gold...






After her nap, Snowdrop delves into a pb&j sandwich...






... and then shows off her confidence in building: this is her tower. I offered no assistance.






When I suggest outdoor play -- she rewards me with perpetual smiles. Here we are -- playing drums with sticks.






... while the lavender blooms and blooms...






And when I suggest we clear the great yard of big seed pods, she is so happy to help, until she discovers the even better activity of racing up and down the path.






... and balancing on the landscape timbers.





So this is our day. My day. Her day. Is it yours? Did you have a brilliant sky? A sun that set you spinning? A chance to soak in the gloriousness of the season?

I hope so.

Ah, but it's incredible to be home on a day when everything is simply perfect.

returning

To sleep at 1:30, up at 3:45 for a cab at 4. For the first time since I can remember (ever?), I did not wake up without the aid of my alarm.

I was a tad nervous about relying on a cab without having a cell phone to back me up (or a hotel clerk to do it for me). I never do cabs unless there is absolutely no possibility of using public transportation. At that hour, there wasn't another way. I checked all the stove burners, shrugged at the linen napkins spread everywhere (I washed them, but they did not dry on time), locked up the apartment (with a smile at the pleasure of returning soon to it) and went downstairs.

Warsaw is quiet at this hour, but it is not without life. A man walks his dog, a car speeds toward the river and yes, there's my cab, waiting for me.






At night, the ride to the airport lasts exactly 18 minutes (ha! match that, Paris!). My driver listens to the news where talk of changes in taxation dominates (Polish politics are brutally divisive right now so I avoid commenting on what I'm hearing) and then he turns down the volume and his curiosity takes over.
Where are you going, Germany?
No, Amsterdam actually.
I would have let it go at that, but it feels dishonest. As a stopover. Then to the U.S.
I have a friend who moved there a dozen years ago, he tells me. On the sly. The wife joined him by coming in through Mexico! Their second daughter was born there so she is a citizen. But they're doing ok -- construction jobs, house cleaning -- that kind of thing.
We talk a little about the weather there, the weather here and as I get ready to leave (it really is a short ride!) he says -- you know, despite your living over there (cat's out of the bag), you speak perfect Polish! No accent at all. A hesitation sometimes, but really I couldn't tell!

Well now, how things have changed! When I used to go to Poland just once a year, my American accent was spreading into every corner of my speech. But writing to Pani Karolina daily and coming to Poland so often now has changed that in conversation, I am back on track!

The first flight is on time (ah, it's going to be a cloudy day again in Warsaw)...






... and indeed, I land in misty Amsterdam early. (So pretty to see the countryside lightly covered over with a gauzy blanket of fog!)






I'm tempted by the huge displays of various tulip bulbs in stores (it's Holland after all!) but I hold back. I want to be done with gardening for the year. I need a pause.

My first unhealthy breakfast of this trip (at the airport)...






... then off I go and 9 hours later, I am in Minneapolis, and finally -- Madison.

Exactly halfway between the airport and the farmette stands Snowdrop's home. Would you be able to go by without stopping to say hello? I certainly couldn't do it. The reward? A surprised and  exuberant little girl who seems to have grown in leaps and bounds in the last week!











It's incredible that the day started at Tamka (the street of my Warsaw apartment) and ended with Snowdrop. Two distant worlds, joined in one day.

Ed and I drive up to the farmette. I see that the trees and flowers have all entered into their late fall stage. Except for one plant -- but that's tomorrow's story!