Friday

Well now, the skies have opened up to spring! If yesterday was good, today is very very good! So sunny, that at breakfast, I commented that there's such a thing as too bright! (I didn't mean it. Not when "bright" has been so missing from our weather discourse.)






Fridays are not outdoor work days for us. Ed has his meetings and I have my weekly shopping, but this set schedule doesn't bother me: there is no pressure to accomplish great things at the farmette. I need only enjoy looking out and later, with Snowdrop, going for a walk along the sun drenched blocks of her neighborhood. All the way to the playground.


(She's grateful that I remembered a band for a pony tail: it keeps the hair out of her face on the swing.)






(Always distracted if she hears or sees a child somewhere down the block...)






I let her keep her jacket off, which I know would cause many to squirm as it's only in the mid 50sF (low teens C), but surely the sun gives us the requisite warmth! And the freedom she feels from climbing unencumbered by outerwear is fantastic!






You can only love a day this much if you've put up with months of a Wisconsin winter. We have and so we are entitled! Pure joy!






(A selfie of sorts.)






(At her home, still climbing, this time to take off her shoes. Tussled and windblown, but smiling.)






Friday evening. A recent habit is that my daughter and I pause for a while at the end of the week. To catch up. Exchange stories. Watch the little girl together. Good bye past week, past season. Hello beautiful weather. Hello quiet night. Hello nearly full moon, nearly warm weather, nearly perfect days of spring.

Thursday

That's more like it! An outpouring of happiness for the sunshine that warmed our senses, our soil, our spirits. You tell me if those crocuses look happy or not!

My very first act of the day is to write down all that I have to do outside before the official planting of new flowers begins. (I estimate that the first planting of perennials can be done as early as three weeks from now; I remember when gardeners thought I was pushing it to put stuff in the first week of May... oh, how the weather patterns have changed!)

The list is diverse and long: clean up the beds one last time, weed the strawberry fields, clean up the raspberry bushes, clear the veggie plot, divide the daylilies, patch up the beds where the cheepers have clawed the earth and the tender plants...

(Troublemakers!)





(Ed tells me -- the flower fields look fine! You can't notice the half dozen plants that were taken down!
But I notice. Grrr!
Remember, we've lived without ticks since the cheepers moved in.
But I love each and every flower that grows here! Grrr!
All three hens are laying eggs now, daily!
I already have to fight off other animals!
They're so cute!
Fine. Cute and come spring time -- annoying.)

We eat breakfast in the sun room of course. I mean, really!





After, since it is still rather cool outside, we drive to Farm and Fleet to restock on some essentials. Organic fertilizer. Chicken feed. More seeds. An extra spade.

I have grown immensely fond of our trips to Farm and Fleet. Nearly everything we need to manage the farmette land is there and even though most of it is completely out of my area of familiarity, still, we walk through the aisles, both of us delighted, though I suppose for different reasons.

It doesn't hurt that nearby to this vast store, there is the tiny chocolate shop that has come to be our favorite and today, Ed is insistent that we pick up a box of chocolates.
Maybe you should hold off  and buy them closer to my birthday?
Just consider it your birthday box.
I can't do that!
Fine, get them anyway.

Then, somewhat devilishly: look! a rack of sweet greeting cards!
I see that.
Don't you want to buy one? you know, in anticipation of...
Which one do you want? Maybe this one?
Not the first one you look at! You have to read all of them and choose one that best expresses your feelings.
How about that one?
Really? No!
Then back to this one...

It's a routine we've gone through so often, but clearly not one the sales clerk has heard before because she is laughing uncontrollably at the bluntness of it all.
Here, she says, handing an extra chocolate to Ed. You deserve this reward.
Me, I think she handed the treat to the wrong person!


I start in on some of my garden tidying work, but only for a little while. At noon I'm off to pick up Snowdrop. And on my walk to her schoolhouse door, I spot the small cabbage white -- always the earliest of spring butterflies you'll see in Wisconsin!






Snowdrop and I go out for a walk of course. More flowers to spot, birds to name, signs of spring to take note of. As we come to the train tracks that cross the street of our walk, the gates go down and a rather long freight train thunders in. The hoot is long and loud and she is somewhat appalled by the noise. (I am amused that at the farmhouse she goes straight for her little train set, perhaps to reassure herself that not all trains bellowed at you when moving along the tracks.)







But where is ahah? She munches on her croissant and looks to the sheep shed...






And as always, is delighted when he strolls over. They have their routine. These days, music figures prominently in it.






And later, as Snowdrop naps, my eyes move back to the great outdoors. I close my computer, pack the baby monitor in my pocket and go out to pull a few weeds. Ed comes out of the sheep shed and we work our way through the vast fields that make up the flower beds and fruit patches of the farmette. There is no such thing as too much time spent on pulling weeds out of a wet, spring soil.


Evening. It's nearly time for Snowdrop to go home, but in fact, these hours just before dusk are always grand in the half year of warmer weather. Snowdrop knows this. She wants to be outside.

A few photos from then:


(Cheepers: what do you have for us??)






(Freedom to be!)






("I want to pull the wagon!")






(What I notice is the sunshine. And the joy. And the sunshine...)






Spring. Beautiful, radiant, promise  filled spring.

Wednesday

I know Wisconsin's weather issues pale by comparison to other states' weather issues right now, but darn it, there were fat flakes of wet snow mixed in with dollops of wet rain today, so I speak from the perspective of a person who craves something just a little more springlike. We've been deprived too long!






Snowdrop's school had outdoor recess anyway, since, as the teacher explained to me -- it's Wisconsin, they're used to it.

I agree with her and Snowdrop herself is unruffled by inclement weather. So much so, that when I tell her we would not be taking the stroller out, she protests with some vigor. No, there is absolutely no way in heaven that I am going to go for a walk in wet, nearly snowy wet weather. The thermometer says 42F -- or about 5C -- but I don't buy it. It feels cold. And did I mention fat flakes of something resembling snow?

It is not terribly hard to redirect the girl toward another adventure -- a trip to Trader Joe's. As you can see, she is easily pleased. (She goes shopping regularly with her mommy, but Trader Joe's is not part of their grocery line up, so going there with me is always a treat: it's the place with the cheapest flowers in town, plus yummy nuts for a little girl to snack on and good bubbly wine for gaga to stuff into the shopping cart for the evening. Win win.)







But after we are done, she isn't ready to call it quits.
Can we go to another store, gaga?

No problem! We're right next to Wild Child -- a clothing store that has been around since my girls were tiny. I'm thinking it may be fun to poke in and look around.

Oh, Snowdrop thinks it's plenty fun! They have a horse to ride, for one thing.






I really am in my "spend no money" mode right now, but the owner of the store remembers me from way back and, too, he seems so in need of business, handing me his online shopping information and reminding me that if I ever have any questions about any of the items, I can call their number and always speak to a human being -- a not so veiled reference to the bigger players out there selling apparel --  and so I cave and buy a dress with elephants all over it (Snowdrop chose it) -- which is the kind of stuff you're likely to find there. Personally, I preferred the one with bananas, but Snowdrop was absolutely certain that elephants trumped fruit.

We walk back to the car in the wet rain.







And this amount of walking is just about perfect, in my view. You get wet without getting soaked.






And you appreciate the warmth of the car and even more so, the warmth of the farmhouse when you get home. With a croissant waiting for the little one and a bowl of mango and berries and a stack of favorite books -- heaven!

Tuesday

We are a greedy bunch. There is that rudimentary wish we always seem to have for something just a tad (or maybe not even just a tad) bigger, better than what we have now.

Perhaps this is what drives discovery. It's behind the entrepreneurial spirit, no? Didn't we find that without the prospects of promotion or a bootstrap to lift you up from wherever you're stuck in life, your incentive to work long and hard wavers?

Ed, of course, is the anomaly. He works for the love of the job. He wants no improvements in his daily life. He would be happy even if he never acquired another object or took another trip trip to some distant place. He looks for the cheapest computer, the oldest car. His motorcycle is more than thirty rusty years old.





I'm more complicated. Buying a pretty dress (or book or toy) for Snowdrop tickles me no end. I love my long trips and am thrilled when I am handed an upgrade on an airplane. I can never have too many flowers to plant. I don't want to buy new stuff just for the sake of having new stuff, but when my now ten year old car came with heated seats, I was so pleased! And when my eight year old Apple laptop bites the dust and even Ed can't fix it anymore, I'll probably save up to get another Apple.

But the worst sign of my lust for the slight improvement over what is before me is, I think, my attitude toward weather.

I do not think it's warm enough for April 4th. I know that last year at this time, we were already planning excursions to the greenhouse to fill my pots with annuals (which provide the ongoing color by the farmhouse even as perennials bloom and fade). Today I called my favorite annuals greenhouse (Kopke's) to find out when they'd be open for the season and the friendly person there told me -- well, you can come for a special preview next week, but I wouldn't rush to plant anything beyond pansies because it's too cold.

Well said: it's too cold!

(You can tell by the crocus plants that they're not happy with the absence of warming sunshine...)






Yet what I have to admit is that it's not that bad! Indeed, two weeks ago, a day like this one would have been a godsend! True, not a lot of sunlight, but pretty in its own way!

(This, across the road from the farmette...)






The morning rain meant that Snowdrop was in her raincoat and boots, which is a good thing as the school kids spent some time playing in the puddles and the mud. The rains have abetted for now and so I pull the stroller out of the car and she and I set out for an adventure.

She is hungry. A snack stop seems appropriate.

("What is this??" -- she asks, as we pass the pointing finger.
"It's showing us where the entrance is to the coffee shop" -- I explain.)






(From the point of view of a two year old, there is a lot of waiting in life. Snowdrop is quite good at waiting.)






(Later, at the farmette, the rains have moved on, to the delight of the cheepers, who never fail to greet us as we get out of the car.)






(What're you doing ahah?
Cutting something with a sharp knife. 
It's a pencil?
No, it's a knife...)






(Can I play my guitar?
Yes, Snowdrop, you can strum "your" guitar...)






(Yeah!)






(Can ahah play the guitar?
I don't think so.
Can ahah draw with us?
Sure.)

This is an ongoing favorite: the three of us gather around my desk and draw on post-its.






Nap time, Snowdrop.
I need to read one more book!
Okay, just one more.






Toward evening, we see a flicker of sunlight. That's all fine and well, but tomorrow will be even colder (40sF) and the rain is to be with us again. I know I am spoiled, but come on, April! Do give us some of those days of lovely sunshine. For the sake of the poor crocuses. For the sake of the nearly blooming daffodils. For the sake of all creatures great and small. I shall be satisfied then, you'll see!

Snowdrop pulls me outside. One small flicker of sunlight. It's enough.

Monday

It looks like we are in for lots of April showers in the next few weeks. That's not necessarily a bad thing for our gardens. For our psyche? Well, I keep thinking that I would not have been a good candidate for life in the Pacific northwest. I'd prefer a good number of sunny days in between those that bring the needed rain.

But, there's little to complain about now. Everything is growing! True, the sun room offers a space for breakfast that's hasn't those gorgeous streaks of sunlight, but it's bright enough!






Outside, the willow is budding heavily and the grass is no longer that winter shade of brown.






And Snowdrop? She is so excited to be heading out after school on a neighborhood flower hunt!






We find some! (Siberian squill!)






Snowdrop is wearing a jacket that reflects her family's affection for the Dodgers baseball team. When I note it (upon picking her up), she tells me --"I'm a dodgers fan..." We all chuckle and perhaps for this reason she feels compelled to explain: "My daddy's a dodgers fan!"

(At the farmette, she examines our work on the strawberry plants...)






Inside: the croissant moment...






Then the dance -- polka, followed by highland jigs. Ed is exposing her to a wide range of folk tunes!






Finally, there is her rediscovery of the guitar.






She wants to be left alone with it, but of course, I can't do that. Not now, not in this fragile fashion.






No matter. She is smiling. I am smiling.






And the rain comes down and you know, this makes the girl even more happy! We step outside and she is instantly wet and drippy - and delighting in it all.

An April love song. Look for it this month. It's there.

once again, on happiness

I was reminded today that we have entered a month of poetry. I hadn't remembered that April, in addition to bringing good weather, flowers, the farmers market, my birthday, and Earth Day, brings, too, a reverence for poems.

I listened to a discussion of Carl Sandburg's work, especially from the collection "Chicago Poems." It was the tail end of the radio program and so I didn't hear the names of the referenced poems, but I think surely this one must have been read and in any case, you may enjoy it, so I'll reprint it for you:

Happiness

I asked the professors who teach the meaning of life to tell me what is happiness.
And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands of men.
They all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though I was trying to fool with them
And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along the Desplaines river
And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with their women and children and a keg of beer and an accordion. The radio commenter -- some poetry guru whose name I do not remember -- speculated if, in fact, the kind of happiness Sandburg wrote of is missing these days: the barrels of beer, accordion playing, by the river, with families gathered to enjoy a warm summer evening together. His colleague reflected that he'd seen something similar by the river where he lives, only it wasn't Hungarians but Mexicans and it wasn't an accordion but a guitar. Everything else mimicked the Sandburg scene perfectly. The first radio guy asked -- is it that the immigrants brought with them this ability to find happiness in this way? Have we lost something in our isolated and cynical view of our world? Well, I don't know that we lost it. Many of us still think that gatherings of family and friends, where there is food, gaiety, perhaps several generations in the mix, preferably (but not necessarily) outdoors, are right up there in our happiness storage shed. Or am I just speaking now like the immigrant that I am?  Happiness -- here's one little person's take on it: utter giddiness comes from waking up on a Sunday morning at the farmhouse, bouncing out all smiles and giggles, running to pull out the kiddie tub (because the big shower wont do just yet)... Happiness -- having that first bite of breakfast... ... then soaking in that baby tub (even though you're way past that age), then helping grandma cook up pancakes for a second breakfast -- this one with everyone. Yum! Take in every last bit of maple syrup! Did you eat all your fruit, ahah? Happiness is woven into the outdoors. It's found in believing that one of the chickens will finally let you pet her. So close! If not, well then you can share a croissant together anyway. (While the big black hen sits on her roost and waits for that egg to pop out.) The day isn't sunny and we could wish for slightly warmer temperatures I suppose, but I'm stuck on the idea that maybe it's not necessary. As a gentle rain comes down, Ed and I transplant strawberries and fill twenty-eight pots with emerging berry bushes, with the hope that they'll actually gives us the berries, rather than handing them over to all the other animals that live here, on the farmette. Too, we clear the asparagus bed, and dig up weeds that have taken over the flower field by the sheep shed. Evening comes and I go back to my earlier thoughts about Sandburg's poem. A crowd with their women and children. Food and maybe music. By a river. Or maybe even just around a kitchen table. (Stealing mushrooms...) (Getting him to read her a story of her choice...) Perhaps this is why she loves the polka clips so much... The accordion!