Monday, Thanksgiving week

I tried to put myself in the mind set of "doing ahead" for the Thanksgiving meal.  Cake can be done two days in advance? I'll do it! Squash peeled day before? I'm on it!

But in the end, I'm not on it at all. Instead, I spend a good thirty minutes in the morning studying oven thermometers on Amazon, rejecting them all in the end and accomplishing in that time nothing.

Well, that's okay! It's only Monday!

A sunny and cold day. Perfect for a breakfast in the sun room.






I go out to inspect what needs to be done in the yard (not today, just in the near future) and then Ed joins me and we fall to work and clear the yard of the thousands of seed pots. We didn't intend to do that, we just fell into the rhythm of work. And it is a lovely (if cold) day for it.






But what to do with the piles and piles of seed pods? Our compost heaps -- all four of them -- are brimming with yard and kitchen waste. There isn't room for huge additions!

I have an idea: I'll pick up Snowdrop from school (so far so good!)...






... and we'll do a bonfire of seed pods at the farmette!

Ed's agreeable. There isn't much of a breeze. It's a safe day to burn the yard waste that just can't be mulched down.

I wonder how Snowdrop will react to a bonfire: to my knowledge, she has never seen one. Perhaps never even read about one.



We're home! Ed comes out and lights the pile of pods, mixed with dried leaves. Snowdrop's reaction? Just watch:





She wants none of it. At first. It's just too off the wall crazy, no? The snap and crackle of it -- so beautiful to my ears, filled with images of youthful campfires in Poland -- they just seem utterly strange.

But... ah-ah is there. And I'm smiling and admiring its beauty, and slowly, she takes another look.






Realizing that we raked stuff into the blaze, she insists on being part of the team. Here she is, asking Ed -- ah-ah, Snowdrop helps rake? Ah-ah needs help?






Sure, little girl. You sit here and keep an eye on things.
And she does. Fascinated.






For a long while.

Then, for a few more minutes, from another safe vantage point...






Yeah! She has mastered another new experience. She is a happy little girl!






The cheepers take note.

I think the fire discombobulates them somewhat because for no reason, they start a fight. (Henny is always a victim, but this time, so is Java.) Usually, I let them work it out, but today I am annoyed at their bullying tactics. I chase the culprits around a bit just to get them off their pedestal. Ed says I'm disrupting the ways of the hens. I roll my eyes.

The girls settle down in (temporary) harmony.






Snowdrop has a few minutes of quiet play indoors...





... and then she naps.


... Only to wake up to great energy and exuberance. Play in ah-ah and gaga's room!






Bring bagel to ah ah and gaga's room! Eat it! Have gaga take photo in the mirror there!






Of course, her exuberance is shared by all of us.






Now, tomorrow is crucial: I make progress on the Thanksgiving meal or we sink! I'm betting on progress. Always!

Sunday

I look outside at dawn: the sky is again so very beautiful! Should I wake Snowdrop for it? No, of course not. The colors will fade quickly and more importantly -- the girl needs her sleep. On the other hand, she's likely to rise soon enough. Should I nudge her?

I let her be.

I tiptoe downstairs and go outside to let the cheepers out. The sky may be less brilliantly orange and red now, but it is no less beautiful!






In fact, Snowdrop has a late (by farmhouse standards) wakeup: after 8.  And we have a leisurely beginning to the day. Ed is still asleep. Snowdrop and I leave him to his dozy state and go downstairs to push the day forward.

One morning task for me is to check the mousetraps. Boom! One is loaded.

When Ed does wake up, I tell him that his first task is to take the mouse (still in the trap) to the distant fields. I shop Snowdrop the little critter -- she's quite taken by it. Yes, cute -- I tell her. But it belongs in the fields, not in the farmhouse.

She watches as Ed takes the motorbike out to cart the little mouse several miles away from here.





It's weird how easily mice find their way back. In fact, Ed and I listened to a show on NPR where the news person was trying to ask all the right questions to determine how and why pigeons can always find their way home. I wonder if this is something mice and pigeons share: the ability to figure out where they are in space and time.  No one knows how they do it, but they indeed do it, again and again.

It's all very impressive.


We play then...






Ah-ah joins us, she is delighted...






And then Snowdrop gets breakfast number 2 and Ed gets breakfast number 1 -- pancakes. (I bring to the table my own beloved oatmeal, which I douse generously with fruit and honey.)   Snowdrop shows off her most perfect smile as she turns to Ed: Ah ah, I need more maple syrup! And then she turns to me: ga ga, I need more honey. And we go back and forth like this for a while, until she is certain that she has had her fill of everything.






On the floor again, playing...






She will build the tallest tower and never give up hope that the building will hold sturdy.






When the time comes for us to get moving, I tell her -- Snowdrop, we have to go now and pick up mommmy...
She listens, then turns to Ed and explains to him: Go to pick up mommy. She pauses, then explains: mommy fell down.

Outside, she gives a spirited run...






... then heads for the car.






In the afternoon, the air remains cold. The temperature probably did come back up from below freezing, but just barely. The cheepers' water dish remains icy and I have to refresh it from the kitchen's warm water tap. I throw some seeds. They come running!





Still, Ed and I want to go out for a walk. we've been itching to hike again on the familiar nearby stretch of the Ice Age Trail.

It's a lovely ride out into the country.


 


 and we're happy to have before us a walk in the forest.






But we're not prepared. I'd forgotten that the deer hunting season began yesterday. Within ten minutes, we come across four hunters, rifles ready. The last one reprimands us -- don't you known the hunting season is on? Wear blaze orange!

I wonder if they shoot at anything that moves (and does not wear blaze orange). We retreat, though nor immediately. There's a view to take in from here!






(More hunters. In blaze orange.)






After some thirty minutes, we turn back and drive home.






In the evening, the young family is here for dinner and Snowdrop is immensely joyful once more.  (Here she is showing off the moves that we think are part of her school yoga routines.)






How sweet it is to end the weekend this way!






All is calm. I'm not yet working the big Thanksgiving meal thorough my head. That will start... tomorrow! Definitely tomorrow!

Saturday

First words out of my mouth today have to be these: it's damn cold outside! Not even darn cold. Damn cold! The huge temperature drop, the fierce wind -- all of it conspired to be, well, November-ish.

I have enough to do indoors that I should not mind, but in fact I do mind, because there are suddenly outdoor chores piling up as well. The wind caused the lotus tree to drop those foot long seedpods en masse and so the flower beds are once again peppered with them. They should be cleared out. And there are fallen branches. And leaves -- we don't really rake, but jeez, some of those dry leaf piles are getting mighty large! We should move things around  some.

And yet, after breakfast...






... we do none of that. We settle down to computer work. Not even kind and gentle computer reading, but yukky "I've put this off for too long" kind of work. I do go outside for a little bit...





... but my hands freeze quickly and I retreat to the kitchen table for the rest of the afternoon.

The only excursion for us is a trip to Walmart and that just seals the fate of this day because you should never, if you can avoid it, go to Walmart on Saturday afternoon. The whole world is there, and the shopping carts are full, and fixing tires takes too long, and the shoes Ed wanted to get for himself dont have a tag so just skip it, let's stick with the bubbly water and chocolate bars which you cant get anywhere else and run!


Ah, but there is pleasure tonight, because Snowdrop is here for an overnight and of course, she is the one that makes you forget about the banal and mundane because nothing about her is banal and mundane.

(Arrival)






(Energetic!)






(The pizza peel as a bongo drum)






(I can't believe she ate the whole thing...)





Her bed time approaches. She asks for the "Eiffel Tower book"-- the one I put together about her trip to Paris last spring -- and we read it... more than once.

Sleep well, bonne nuit, little one! Tomorrow will be as full and beautiful as can be!

Friday

The sunrise is crazy beautiful!





I almost do not mind being up early for it.

But breakfast is rushed. It's Friday. Errand day. All packed into a very busy morning.






But I'm on time for Snowdrop pick up (though one less favorable traffic light and I'd be in trouble...)!






There is one word that perfectly describes this afternoon: windy!






I mean, really windy! Initially, the little one doesn't mind.






But when we venture out on the rural roads (her choice), the gusts are fierce. She doesn't protest when we turn around and head for the shelter of the farmhouse.

And yes, it's time to bake cookies again!






Equally important -- it is peaceful and warm inside. Perfect for teaching yourself how to make little people sit in Duplo chairs.






As she naps, I watch the weather turn: from summer warm to blustery cold.






So we stay inside afterwards. She colors (oh! is she contemplating a left hand drawing mode?)






She plays with her Duplo characters: chicken finds comfort at the top of the barn.






And she is oh so happy when ah ah comes back.  They play with the Duplo characters... I swear, Ed loses layers of crusty adulthood when he is with her.





The winds continue to howl. There'll be frost. There'll be winter. There'll be tough stories on the news. There'll be tough news from friends (we had our share of those this week).

And then there'll be days like this, when Snowdrop looks up with earnest eyes and asks nothing more than to help her place a character in a chair. And when you deliver, she'll give you the biggest smile.

Thursday

There's much to be done at home now. For the last three years, the family Thanksgiving took place in Chicago, while Ed and I ate Chinese food one year, Japanese the next and Indian last year. But this time the complicated holiday family gathering schedule was resolved differently and Thanksgiving -- with my daughters and their families -- is coming back to the farmhouse. So there's stuff to be done!

I know people begin their holiday cooking many days in advance. That's not going to happen here. I can't think that far ahead. For one thing, Snowdrop is a farmhouse guest this weekend and, too, there's a Sunday family dinner to think about. But getting the house ready for the holiday and the Thanksgiving menu finalized takes time and I surely should be focused on this right now...

... except that today, we're to have near record highs, plenty of sunshine and gentle winds that belong more to early September than to late November.

And so shortly after breakfast...






... Ed and I throw down out chores and projects and escape to our nearby county park for a walk on this most glorious of days.

We love the park for its closeness (less than five minutes by car) and for its good cross country skiing. In the summer, it's less welcoming because the mosquitoes really favor the nearby boggy terrain. But today -- oh, it is just perfect!






I tell Ed we must commemorate this day of short sleeves and lovely blue skies with a selfie. He knows to look my way. He sometimes forgets to keep his eyes open as he snaps.







I pick up Snowdrop just as the day is at its warmest and sunniest. But I go easy here. I've learned my lesson about expecting too much during this time where she really should be settling down for a nap.  We walk a little by her school...






...listen to the train nearby, look at the last of the flowers...






... and then we zip back to the farmette, where I let her take the lead. Today she asks to feed the chickens (and her loud cry "cheepers!" really brings them running!)...






... and she wants to spend time playing in the leaves...






... and picking remaining flowers. A deep frost is coming this weekend. There is no point in saving them now.







We're in the front flower bed and this gives her a chance to watch the occasional car speed by. Today she is thrilled to see a big piece of farming machinery thunder along, with the farmer waving to us from his great heights. But she's also happy just to see the occasional school bus or truck.






And now she's had her fill and is ready for a few musical prenap minutes back at the farmhouse.






And then, finally, some much needed downtime with her bises (penguins) upstairs.

When she wakes, the bises come down with her and I watch as she engages in a spirited race around the farmhouse.






Not infrequently, Ed is on the phone when the little girl is playing at the farmhouse. I tell her he has work to do and she is pretty good at leaving hm alone as he retreats to the sun room to conduct his affairs. Today, he is not only on the phone, but, too, immediately afterwards, he retreats to the sheep shed to work on one aspect or another of his machining project.

Perhaps one of the most smile inducing moments of the day comes when he leaves and she picks up her old play "telephone." As I watch her act out her own mini drama, I'm impressed at how exact she is at imitating what she sees around her. Do kids really grasp this much from what we think happens over and beyond their sensibilities? No one taught her how to work the phone. How to conduct a conversation. About the resulting back and forth. And yet, here she is, imitating it all so perfectly:






She is a real chatter box this way and when I listen to her, I am so impressed that I take note of her words for posterity I suppose, exactly as she speaks them:

Hi, this is (Snowdrop) talking. Ah ah is in sheep shed working there.






For emphasis, she hastens to the porch door from where she can see the sheep shed and repeats her earnest bit of news.






And then she puts down the "phone" and asks to go out to see if indeed ah ah is in the sheep shed.

He never ever minds an interruption by the little one. At the sheep shed, very quickly she scrambles onto his lap and makes the letters fly on his computer screen. The machine to the side -- his recent invention that has so occupied his waking hours? She is a bit intimidated by it. The computer feels safer.







She is, in general, curious about his work space and I show her that there is a chair near his desk -- one where I sat for many many hours in the days when I didn't live at the farmette, but would visit on the weekend. She is thrilled to climb up and down and onto the foot rest, proclaiming it all to be "Snowdrop's black chair."






I usher the little girl outside then and we explore the great outdoors.  Our magnificent find: a couple of Henny's feathers just outside the coop.






Add to it a dandelion puff and her cup runneth over.






As does mine. It really isn't hard to find peace and joy just by stepping outside for a minute or two. If you need lessons on how to do it -- ask Snowdrop. She's a pro at it.