Friday

We are today twenty degrees below where we should be. I am not amused.

Too, last week's kitchen table flowers have come and gone and though my orchids are putting on a spectacular annual bloom, still, I feel this morning that we have no spring threads to hold on to while we tough out today's cold spell.

Which room is breakfast? Ed wants to know.
I give a shrug and he rewards me with an indifferent expression and a half eaten mango pointed toward the morning camera.






This beautiful meal of ours turns sulky today and I blame the weather.

I also blame myself. Where is that honorable cheer? The smile in the face of bad weather or tedious chores? The steadfast and deliberate calm that I espouse so much here, on Ocean?

I know what the problem is: I've been reading too much. Grumpy people with their grumpy blogs, criticizing and shaming everything and everyone who doesn't buy into their worldview... it's all so unpleasant to read and I know it's time for me to go on an Internet diet again.



It is my shopping day and I am pleased to see that tulips are on a $4 per bunch sale. There's a good reason to smile!

Friday also means that I bring Snowdrop to her own home after school. In good weather, this means that I take out her stroller and we walk to her house. But it's only 20F (-6C) and the occasional wind gusts bring tears to your eyes. And yet, Snowdrop is relentless: I want to go on an a'venture, gaga, I want to go on an a'venture!
Okay, we'll walk home and have a wee little adventure.

She seems satisfied with this, but as we approach her house, she starts balking at giving up so soon. So I offer her a choice and, using the clever strategy suggested by a commenter earlier in the week, I ask -- would you like to go to the park down the road, or would you like to go inside where it's nice and warm and where I have a croissant waiting for you? I'm fully aware that yesterday she had both, but today she has to choose. So, park or croissant?

This is her answer:






So much for trickery. I pull up my zipper snugly and remind Snowdrop that unlike her, I do not have a cap on, so this park adventure must be on the brief side.

On the swing, we have the following conversation -- I dare say one of the sweetest ones of the day (though truthfully, I'm choosing to read into it more good than was intended!):

It's cold. I wish I had taken my cap.
I have a cap. And my coat. And my nose. And my fingers. Gaga gas fingers and a nose, and a camera!
I smile at her: I always have my camera, Snowdrop.
You always have your Snowdrop, gaga!


Inside again. Oh, how one appreciates a good furnace after a walk to the park. Snowdrop, of course, is thrilled to find that there is indeed a croissant waiting for her. A bite and a dance:






Meanwhile, I check my computer to make sure the world hasn't imploded in the last few hours (even as later, I resolve to not check it so much during the day, because if the world implodes, finding out sooner rather than later wont make life any better for me or for anyone else). Snowdrop insists then on checking hers.






Kids say a great many disarming things, but I swear, today Snowdrop is on a roll. She tells me she has to bring her penguin to the table.
Bis (her nickname for penguin still occasionally pops up) is sad, she tells me.
Oh, that's too bad...
She turns to the penguin -- it's okay, little penguin, it's okay. She gives him a hug.






My week with the little one -- well, let me correct that, because she tells me repeatedly that she is a big girl now, so with the big little one, ends with a cold spell outside, but the warmest of feelings indoors. How good is that!






(At the end of my time with her -- with mommy home from work, coloring...)

Thursday

Unfortunately, the next few days are going to be just plain cold. This is where you get impatient with the weather. You want outdoor time. Snowdrop wants outdoor time. And here we are again, hovering near freezing: just above it today, just below it the days after.

Now I'm not going to let this spoil my spring thoughts. We are definitely done with winter and the daffodil buds are really getting big. Early spring in Wisconsin teaches you to be patient. To love the sun when it appears unexpectedly for a few hours. To take in a whiff of that damp soil, where so much is going on right now.

Cheepers! Quit scratching my garden!

Breakfast.






Afterwards, I scheme and plan trips for the rest of the calendar year. Seed and plant catalogues and airline and bed and breakfast websites are my friends in the early weeks of March.



When I pick up Snowdrop, there isn't a doubt that adventuring is on her mind again. I had stopped by the bakery to buy a croissant for her. And I am grateful that this is the hour when the sun makes its brief appearance. Croissant and swing -- that's just sheer joy for the little one!






At the farmhouse, we do things that do not include dancing. Yes we do, I'm sure of it! Here's a photo of her eating "mango tango" -- wait, that has a dance nickname in this household!






So it really is all about dance today, eh?






When she hears Ed at the door, she is bouncy with giggles and invitations: want to dance ahah? Want to dance with us?






She notices that he, as always, is barefooted and indeed, in shorts. Seconds later she has pulled off her own socks and pulled up her leggings.






Snowdrop wants so much to experiment and try out what she views as adult privileges!

Ed feels she should learn to polka. It's her heritage! He plays a few clips on youtube and yes, the girl is interested, but to her, dance is very much freestyle and without rules. She'll include her animal friends. She'll dance with a bowl, with a slipper even. So long as she decides who, when and how.





I suppose in there lies a life metaphor: we want the world on our own terms. We imitate, we try things on for size, and then in the end, we create something that is uniquely our own.


[After her nap, she cooks.
No, you don't cook in my kitchen gaga. She watches me hover. Be careful, gaga! It's very hot! Don't burn your finger gag! I look concerned. Don't worry gag!
The girl has empathy. The girl worries. The girl reaches for the perfect cooking experience. So beautiful. So Snowdrop!]






Night. I have to cook up cheeper eggs. Two of the hens are laying almost daily. That's a lot of eggs.

Roast a potato, mix up a salad, add some cheese. Farmhouse stuff. Our kind of fast food.

Wednesday

The last time I witnessed winds this strong on brilliant winter days (nonstop, one day after the next) was in Provence, with Ed, many years ago. I never thought that the Midwest was mistral territory, but we are in the second day of raging winds and sunny skies and so I have those Provencal images -- of pigs going crazy and hair standing on end (le vent qui rend fou -- the wind that drives you mad!).

We listen to it howling outside...






When I step out of the car at Snowdrop's school, I get punched with such a strong gust, that I tell myself this is not stroller weather. I'm hoping I can distract the little girl with this gorgeous sight (crocuses always pop up in the city a week or so earlier than at the farmette).





But Snowdrop is determined. When she sees me, she runs over with great excitement -- hi gaga hi gaga hi gaga! Let's go a'venturing!

And it really feels like an adventure to walk those neighborhood blocks while the winds hits us in the face or beats us on the back. However, to give me credit, I come prepared! A hair tie for a pony tail to keep the hair out of her face and a cap to keep her snug in case she decides she is up for the playground (which, as you perhaps have noticed, is by a lake, causing the winds to be that much stronger).

But first, a stop at the coffee shop. I am thrilled to see so much color on the walls! A brilliant idea to have these vibrant paintings on display in March!

(Snowdrop initially is distracted by the view to the lake outside...)






(When asked which painting she likes best, she picks the most color-filled canvas.)






And she is undeterred. I want to go to the playground! 
Okay, Snowdrop. Just don't get blown away! 
The girl really does love that swing.






For the car ride back to the farmette I had taken off her warm jacket (it is sunny, the car is too warm for it). When I unload her, I tell her to run to the farmhouse. But she sees Ed by the barn and she runs to him instead.

A piece of barn roofing is hanging on for dear life and Ed is about to fix it. She loves the ladder, though she is herself too cautious to climb even the lowest rungs.






We admire the fresh eggs in the barn instead. Thank you, Henny, thank you Scotch.






Which brings me to the subject of this morning's discussion.
Ed had asked: should we get some guinea hens?
Whaaat?
Listen to this... And he reads me some glowing paragraphs about the hens on the Mother Jones website.
I am both incredulous and fascinated.

What's the draw? Well, guinea hens lay eggs, sure -- smaller ones than chicken eggs, but what really makes them an outstanding farm bird is that they eat bugs. Box elder beetles, Japanese beetles, ticks, all kinds of pesky bugs. (We have at the moment our annual influx of box elder beetles in the farmhouse and they are terribly annoying and of course, the Japanese beetles destroyed our grapes last year, so the temptation is great.)

Of course, every farm animal comes with a price tag and it's not one that's measured in dollars.
Guinea hens are loud. Some say they pester the chickens. And whereas chickens seem to know instinctively the boundaries of your piece of land, guinea fowl can roam. Indeed, they can and do fly. Right into your neighbor's yard (and may I remind you that we may be getting many new neighbors this spring to the north of us). And, as one commenter wrote: they are one stupid animal.

Still, might there be a real benefit to having them around? We're tossing this around, though perhaps with less force than the winds that are turning things upside down outside.

But in the farmhouse, all is warm, all is calm and Snowdrop spends many minutes doing here what she seems to love so much -- drinking her pretend tea.






In my view, Snowdrop is very tied to the rhythm of a day. Her mood changes as we move through it. After a nap, she takes a while to come around to her previous energy levels. This is the time when she most loves listening to story books and this is the time when she eventually makes her way back to her toy characters, which she arranges in endless configurations. And yes, there is always a story that accompanies these arrangements. Snowdrop is a born story teller.





As the sun moves toward the horizon, the winds die down. There is a sudden quiet that is both unexpected and peaceful. I think to myself -- why would we add noisy guinea hens to this quiet landscape?

I suppose the answer is obvious: for no reason except that there are hens out there that could find happiness here.

Ah, life! You can't really predict what will happen if you follow one imperative and ignore another. Maybe for the most basic decisions, we should just flip a coin.

Tuesday

If you have a blog, say one that you've been writing daily for more than a dozen years, you may be tempted to occasionally look back on posts from long ago (don't you think that  some 10 years qualifies as long ago? I was 53 then and am 63 now -- woosh! that's a lifetime!).

I did that last night. Not for historic reasons but because I was a tiny bit interested in how the tone of my writing has changed.

It has. Greatly. I need only flip through any and all posts written in the summer of 2005 to prove my point. (It was a charged period in my life.)

I write about this because it struck me how a blog of this sort can demonstrate that we do evolve. That we're not doomed to stay crazy if we go through a crazy period in our lives (or staid if we choose a unadventurous path for a while). Isn't that reassuring?

Now back to the topic of the weather!

Windy, not too cold and most noticeably -- sunny! Here's a solid truth: I love blue skies intensely because of the fact that sometimes they are not blue. And so today, their crisp blueness are cause for joy (whereas if I lived in a place like Sorede -- 300 days of sunshine each year! -- I'd say ho hum).







Breakfast in the sun room. I was determined to cut Ed out of the photo! Chop chop -- no Ed!






I pick up Snowdrop from school and I am really prepared for an adventure! No coffee shop visit for us -- I went to a bakery earlier and purchased a snack for a picnic. She is in high spirits! And why shouldn't she be? Snowdrops are in their most beautiful phase right now!






But it is windy. Really windy. We go to the park. She tries valiantly to eat her bit of croissant while in the swing, but the hair just flies into her face. I pin it back a bit with a clip (that's all I could find in my purse). She touches it every now and then to see if it's there.We've moved a long way from the time where she would just pull it out!











Sky so blue... lake so deeply blue... a lone sea gull. Sea guw, gaga! That's a sea guw! (My, does the girl have good vision!)






We walk to her home then. Fish jig, gaga! Play the fish jig! Ask nicely! Please!!

She dances with her hole spirit.






Late afternoon. The girl naps. Her mom comes home to finish preparations for what is for them a special day -- her daddy's birthday. When Snowdrop wakes up, there's a cake in the oven and there are balloons everywhere! Is she excited? Is she?!






















I leave the young family to their celebrations.

Day is done. But oh, that sunshine! It lingers with me... So beautiful... So warming of the spirit.

Monday

A misty cloudy sultry day. Not warm, but warmer. Not sunny but wind filled. What can you make of it? What can you do with it?

We talk about our plans for this week. Ed is playing hard-to-get with my morning photo and so I move my camera away from his presence and focus on the flowers. It's the kind of day when you need to focus on whatever flowers you may have inside. (He then of course places himself right in the thick of things. As Snowdrop would say -- oh that ahah!)






It seems that we have finally caught an opossum in the barn. But is this the predator that has been stalking the coop? Who knows. I do note that the cheepers are much more content to hang around the barn today. As if they feel safer now. (Except for Java, who wanders over to the farmhouse and then complains bitterly that the other girls didn't tag along. I pick her up in her befuddled lonely state and carry her back to the barn.)






I'm not quite sure how to treat the afternoon with Snowdrop. It's warm, damp, windy... I give her some choices and let her take the lead.
We can go to the bakery, or to the coffee shop, or to the playground, or for a walk, or we can go adventuring! What would you like?
She hesitates. Too many choices perhaps... Let me try again.
Coffee shop? A walk?
No! Venturing!

Oh, how well I remember our adventuring when she was way younger! We would explore the world! And so we do just that today: we explore. We hunt flowers (finding the occasional snowdrop). We analyze yard decorations. We watch the children climb the school buses parked by the big elementary school.

We end up by the distant coffee shop and by now she is ready for a snack. I take a photo of us on a self timer because I notice that by coincidence, we are both wearing plaid shirts. Rare for her and rare for me!







At home, Ed takes over the camera, offering more evidence that the world can be bright and colorful and plaid, even on a sultry March day. Is it coincidence that Snowdrop runs toward the stack of recently read books and picks out the one about a girl who loves her plaid shirt?







We read it three times!






She is full of good cheer today and she really pushes nap time to its outer limits. Well, what's more important -- music or rest??






Eventually, to her dismay, nap wins. And I'll leave you with a post nap photo, because it's sleepy and sweet and gentle. All that I think is so good about this day.

Sunday

Well, you can't be grumpy at the weather when a little one wakes you up with a spirited "hi gaga, where are you gaga?"

That full-blown joy in waking up to a new day stays with Snowdrop and it rubs off on anyone whose path she crosses.

In the morning, it is my path.

From wake up (remember? ...she overnighted at the farmhouse) we go straight to breakfast. She shows off how she can feed herself now. Pumpkin and bananas and a cup of yogurt are her standards.
















A bath (which takes forever because she loves it so) and then we are ready for breakfast number two. With Ed.

Ahah! Come down ahah!






Oh, she's into breakfast part two. But she is also into arranging the various birds and chicks that I have collected over the years.






Afterwards, Ed retreats to the sheep shed to do some work. I am to take Snowdrop back to her home, but I linger. She is in such a good mood and I want to hang on to her spirit just a little bit longer. (I should note that being happy is her default state of mind, disrupted only when she is not well or when she is overcoming some developmental hurdle.)

What are you doing, Snowdrop?
Taking my dog for a walk.
(Ah. You don't have a dog. But hey, let not the small details of life hold you back.)






She wants to sing. She wants to dance. She is all music and smiles.






But it is time to go home. (Don't ask about the odd dress situation. It's not that cold and I run out of spare tights.)






In the afternoon I finally get Ed to agree to a short hike. He picks a nearby segment of the Ice Age Trail. We do not expect a pretty walk, but we are surprised: not by the landscape so much but by the beautiful sky which seems determined to create pockets of blue just for our walk.






(Through the forest)






(Across the prairie...)






(And again, the sky...)






Evening. The young family is here for dinner.

Hi Snowdrop!











And again there is music, there is dancing and there are the quiet moments. Here's the little one probably destroying some design of Ed's on his computer. He would never complain.






You cannot see much in the sky tonight. No matter. We need't see a beautiful galaxy to know that it is there. And yes, there is a moon hidden behind the puffy clouds and, too, all those specs of light that shine brightly on all our lives.