Friday

On my drive home from Snowdrop's house, I heard an interview with the Nobel prize winning poet Derek Walcott. He died today, but of course, his poetry very much stays with us.

But what really grabbed me were his words about his homeland, Saint Lucia. He went back again and again and when asked if this was because he felt a special and enduring connection to his country, he answered simply -- no, it's because in writing about it, I never felt that I got it right.

I pulled the car over to the side of the road just so that I could think about what I'd just heard. Of course! I understand.

I think of this on the eve of my departure to Poland -- a place that I visit often and, in my more ambitious writing, spend a huge amount of thought on. And I always wonder -- did I get it right? Typically I sit down and rework the text to make use of new ideas or information that I may have come across. But I never really believe it's done. I revisit it again and again. Not for the editorial changes, but the rewording of the story I mean to tell.


Today was a drippy, perhaps even foggy day and all this made no difference to me or, I dare say to any in my circle of contacts.

Ed and I ate breakfast in the sun room, perhaps because there was no sun. He wanted to know why I had purchased a hand beater for Warsaw. I told him that my ancient one was forever sticking and so it was pointless to lug it overseas (we're talking the hand propelled model, not the electrical one). Predictably, he picked up the ancient one (that thing must be nearly 50 years old), spotted the problem and told me he could it fix it and I could thus send back the new one (which cost all of $9) and wasn't that just great!






Oh, Ed. Sometimes it's nice just to purchase a new egg beater.

Speaking of eggs, all three girls are laying again! Here's the last holdout -- Java. You can see, too, how quickly the landscape is changing in its push toward spring.







I pick up Snowdrop at the usual noon hour and because it is Friday, she and I do not come back to the farmhouse but instead I take her to her home.  (She sings songs most of the stroller ride.)






Her mom is about to come back from work and the little girl will have a good solid afternoon of two doting ones attending to her wonderfulness.






The sweet child is tired. This is not unusual on a Friday. A full week of school and, too, fighting off bugs and colds picked up from her peers -- it takes its toll. Still, she settles in to play in the best way possible. She is total Polish peasant stock!





I say this as a bit of a tease because of course, I claim myself to be made of that tough material. Can't punch me down -- I come from Polish peasant stock!

In fact, Snowdrop is not even 50% Polish. She has a whole chunk of Estonian and Croatian and yes, Irish. And her mom just happened to have this cute little hat and Snowdrop just happened to love what we affectionately call the fish jig and so the afternoon was made pleasant by the confluence of all these things...






Yes, happy Irish and Polish and all-ish to you!






If we really insist on working the ancestry bits and pieces of our own past, we'd probably conclude that we all have a bit of Polish peasant stock in our genetic material. And that from Saint Lucia and Ireland and Syria and Samoa and Scotland and Senegal and all the farthest remote corners of this beautiful planet.

Thursday

Above freezing and still climbing! Oh, it's nice to be trotting along toward spring!

It continues to be so sunny that eating breakfast in the sun room is actually too bright. We retreat to the front room.






And then I have a rather busy morning. I must get the farmhouse and myself ready for a short (they're all short!) trip that will put me on the road (or rather in the sky) beginning Saturday. I'm used to creating lists in my head and stacking things that I mustn't forget. I set aside a few hours to do just that today.

I will be spending most (but not all) of my time in Warsaw and there is a bit of an irony to my preparations for this trip: I had envisioned minimalist packing for my travels to Poland. I have everything I need there. A few changes of clothing and let's be done with it! But in fact, this time my little suitcase will be bulging. I'm taking stuff that I need for my kitchen there. It could be that most of the items are readily available in Warsaw, but I haven't the time nor the desire to spend all of my days there on moving between stores. So for once, I'll send a suitcase through and it wont be light.

At noon, I turn away from travel issues and I go to get Snowdrop, who may very well be wearing her warm winter jacket for the last time this season. Yeah, it is a lovely day!







We take the stroller past the lesser lake and yes, it still has thin ice crusts on a good portion of it, bit it's all rather transient. Right now it's 38F (about 3.5C), but it feels warmer than that. Yes, trotting toward spring!






At the farmette, Snowdrop and I have a greeting committee!











And I suppose we could linger outside for a bit, but the little girl is hungry: for her croissant, and for some music!






(I thought I had convinced her that a pony tail is a useful thing to sport when you are as active as she is. I was wrong.)






One more pre-nap photo:  she's going grocery shopping. She dresses well for the occasion!






I could end with that, but I have three post-nap photos that seem especially sweet and fitting because it is Snowdrop's last visit to the farmhouse for nearly a dozen days. When she wakes up from her nap and I carry her sleepy state down, she asks, as always -- where is ahah?
In the sheep shed, I think.
In the sheep shed?
Do you want me to call him and ask him to come over?
Yes.

I sit her on the couch, give her the last bit of croissant and the flowers (from Giverny!) which have recently grabbed her fancy...






I call him. He comes. She smiles her big disarming smile (which, admittedly, is not a rare occurrence).

Then comes the request. Want to read me a book, ahah?






He does. She snuggles in.





Ed tells her -- I'm going to miss you next week.
She doesn't understand that. But she understands the warmth, the feeling of closeness -- the farmhouse that keeps her safe and loved until she can return home.

Wednesday

So far so good. We're on schedule for a warmup. And today, by late afternoon, we actually break the freezing point (just by one or two degrees, but that's more than a dozen degrees better than yesterday)! And the sun! Oh, that sunshine!

Breakfast in the sun room and yes, Ed is in shorts.






The cheepers are thrilled to find solid ground once more.






Before picking up Snowdrop, I go to the bakery (Madison Sourdough) and though I am not French in my buying habits (I buy Snowdrop's croissants for two and sometimes even three days in advance. Shh! Don't tell anyone!), I am by now a familiar face. Today the breads look especially lovely and though I do not buy any, a photo is warranted.






I swing by the lesser lake just to see the state of the ice cover. Yes, there's a crust, but it's obviously nothing to worry about. It will surely disappear by the weekend. For now, one can admire the lovely patterns it creates on the water.






Okay: Snowdrop time. There isn't a doubt in the little girl's mind that this is adventure weather! And I am so buoyed by the upswing in the temperatures that I brazenly tell her to leave her snow pants behind. I am convinced we are done with them for this school year!





But we do not stay out long. If you walk with your balk to the sun, it doesn't feel at all like spring. We must be patient: tomorrow we'll be out of this arctic territory. We'll save the longer walks for the months ahead.



At the farmhouse, Snowdrop settles in to play. I pull back her hair to keep it off her face and she delights in swinging her pony tail so that it slaps her on the face.

(She insists on doing the sweeping after I bring out the dust pan to pick up croissant crumbs.)

Ed has a work meeting later in the afternoon and so he makes a point of coming over now. She would miss him if he didn't show up for at least a few minutes of play.






I thought she'd go right to her tea set -- feeding him cakes and tea is still very much a favorite these days -- and she does head that way (so much sunshine!)...






... but then she remembers that the other day, Ed showed her a youtube clip of polka dancing.

Want to play polka music ahah? -- she asks him. That's my (partly) Polish granddaughter!






They go at it together. (Ed asks -- what are the steps to this thing? I have to laugh. It's not as if he is a dancer at heart! Could he really pull off a polka?)






Snowdrop notices he is barefoot. Off come her socks.
Little one, he's putting his socks on to go out now.
She is unconvinced. They both continue to dance, socks in hand.






And so now we look forward. To the good days. The warm days (or at least warmer days).

(Except for Snowdrop. She doesn't look forward. She just likes whatever is before her. In the array of stuff, she finds her own essentials to happiness.)






There is a children's book about the coming of spring where Kevin Henkes, the author (and our local famous writer), notes that toward the end of spring we all can't wait for summer, but I don't agree with that. I think for people living in Wisconsin, the most joyous transition happens now -- when the snow finally melts and the flowers start to show their long hidden faces. Surely this change toward spring is nothing short of magical.  It's worth living in the north just to experience it.

chicken promises

If you were to give me this day say in January, I would be quite happy with it. There is snow on the ground -- a lovely snow at that. (So many animals visit the farmette each night...)






The sun is out. It's cold, but not extremely so. Single digits at wakeup, but it'll climb to just below freezing by afternoon. January weather.

Except that it's March 14th.

The cheepers, ever the hopeful girls, set out as a pack to traverse Ed's path to the garage. It's not snow-free, but at least their dinosaur paws are not buried in the white stuff.






I watch then do this and, feeling sorry for them,  I dash out, without jacket, in my slippers to greet the girls with bread and warm water. And I make them this promise: you wont feel so cold again for a whole ten months! I promise!

Are you listening, weather gods? I do not like to break chicken promises!



Breakfast is in the sun room.






All that sunshine -- it's warm when it streams into your home, but it's not so warm when I step outside to pick up Snowdrop, noting that at noon, it's a mere 20F (-6C).

I know she'll ask for a walk again. Should I go along? Or should I tell her that this is the very very last day of bitter cold for a good ten months and so let's just forgo the neighborhood adventure one more time?

It's a no brainer. She is all bundled and ready when I arrive. I tell her the stroller is set and waiting for us on the sidewalk. She is delighted! (Putting on your own winter gear means that you don't always get the boots right...)






It's not a long walk. I had parked the car by the coffee shop and we had a lovely fifteen minutes admiring the snow for (I hope) one last time this season.

Snowdrop wanted to go to the play ground, but I told her it was closed due to the snow. We did go to the neighboring lesser lake and that was the toughest part: the wind was harsh. One minute of it was too much. (A new layer of ice is forming on the lake! Yech!)






We were both happy by then to retreat into the sun drenched car and head for the farmette.

The excuse for the absence of hat and mitts now? Oh, it's just a few steps to the door...






... I mean, look how Ed navigates the path from sheep shed to farmhouse!






Inside -- oh, there's a lot of dancing. And I know you have seen a lot of photos of Snowdrop dancing, but hey, we are still suffering the return of winter and a joyful exuberance is a much needed antidote to what's taking place outside.

(Today -- with puppets...)






(... with ahah...)






(... and any number of other combinations.)






Post nap... Nearly evening. It's the relaxed part of the day... We read, we color...






... and always, there is the love of sitting at her table and dishing out pretend foods.











Such a day!

Evening, Ed and I go out on a dinner date. I've been anxious to try La Kitchenette -- it just opened last fall and it's the kind of cafe-bar-brasserie that makes you think of all the wonderful suppers and lunches you had in your travels through France.






Understandably so: Virginie Ok, the woman who took over and is both owner and chef is in fact French. Parisian. And the place is just so evocative! With buckwheat crepes, croques and tartines, stewed chicken and yes, boeuf bourguignon, with lovely wines by the glass and just a few perfect bistro type desserts to tempt your sweet yearnings, La Kitchenette is just grand.






I only wish it were within walking distance. Next to a flower shop perhaps? Or a bakery? Oh! Did I forget that Madison Sourdough, where I routinely buy croissants for Snowdrop, is just across the street? And flowers... well, spring is around the bend. There will be flowers everywhere. I promise!

Monday

If I were to draw out a theme from this day, I'd say I have been surrounded by a bunch of not so happy campers.

It snowed last night and indeed, it's still snowing. Not quite the blizzard others may be experiencing, but we will have a good half a foot of snow by the time it moves on. Yes, there will surely be a quick melt by the weekend. But hey, there is the "here and now!" No one is interested in more snow in the middle of March.

Most assuredly, this is bad news for the cheepers. They each, in their own time, made the trek from the barn to the garage. Who knows why. In the dead of winter, they rarely come out of the barn, but I suppose their chicken memories had them thinking about all the worms and sprouts they'd been foraging for the past several weeks. Maybe they thought if they could just handle the journey to the garage, all this cold white stuff would go away and the beautiful, rich, moist ground would swell with tasty treats for them again. So they took a deep breath and began their terrible march.






And then they huddled in the garage for the rest of the day. No magic wand took the snow away. Their dinosaur feet were cold. Incapable of managing the sudden coming of winter.

(Here are our sweet chickens, down to three, bonded by a deep desire to survive and feel part of a flock. A family of sorts. A band of sisters!)






At breakfast, Ed tells me that he really truly has to do his taxes. He's been saying this for days, but we are two days shy of his deadline, so I think he really truly must mean it.






Snowdrop, too, is less than excited by what the snowstorm has dumped on us. When I pick her up at school, she is bundled up in all her snow regalia. She is excited. She wants action!

But when I tell her that it is truly impossible, impracticable, and inadvisable to be pushing forth in a stroller in search of adventure, her sweet happy face crumbles.  Big fat tears spill onto her cold cheeks.
It's just too cold and snowy, little girl.
But I want an a'venture! With the stroller!

I would give her the world of course, but today I have to give her this unwelcome news: you cannot always get that what your heart craves.

At the farmhouse, she finds solace and happiness in going straight to her comfy play of putting the gaga character into the wheelchair and having ahah push the infirm gaga this way and that way.






Snowdrop finds happiness easily. The croissant snack thrills her, the tea set -- well, you know that it has as much healing power as a round of yoga for the sweet girl...






(Pretend sipping, pretend eating...)






Add to it a ball game with ahah (it's all apples and oranges!)...






...A few books,  and then her utterly joyous dancing (the "fish jig" is in constant competition with Abba's "dancing queen") and the day is made perfect again, the snow outside notwithstanding.






Nap is done. She asks for music. I'm about to turn on her favorites, but she shakes her head (she's good at adding emphasis to her words). No, I want zy'phone.

Okay, Snowdrop.






Dusk. I tell Ed that it would be a wonderful service to the cheepers if he could just shovel a way home for them. (I'd do it myself, but Snowdrop is still with us.) To keep their dinosaur paws from freezing over.
All the way to the barn? -- he asks.
It will take you five minutes. And it will make them so happy.

It does: five minutes. So happy.






It's a reminder for us, no? There are so many things that we can do for another living creature that would take so little time and would mean so much.

Late into the night we watch youtube clips on raising chicks. We're still considering guinea hens. Perhaps making the cheepers happy has gone to our heads.