put your cookie where your mouth is...

You can tell when we drop down to below freezing: the cheeper water dish has a layer of ice. Time to plug in their heated dish in the coop. And at the farmhouse -- time to load the mouse traps. And time to bake those cookies.

But wait, it's a partly sunny day, no?

(Breakfast...)





Didn't I claim that sunshine on a cold day is lovely and inviting?

Shouldn't we be taking a walk?

Cookies first!






And now the walk. I haven't much time and so we drive over to the nearby county park. I am forever grateful for how close it is to us. A hop and a skip. You have no reason to make excuses. It's there and it's lovely.

Especially on a mostly sunny day.






(Turtles share my love for cold weather sunshine!)





But in the course of the hour we are out, the clouds roll back in. Oh, faintly at first. But thoroughly and completely by the time I head out to pick up Snowdrop at school.





This presents a dilemma. It's cloudy and in the 30sF. (Oh, maybe 3 or 4C). The Bug that had been with me last week is on the retreat, but it's not totally gone. I don't want to take her to the playground.

Is there an alternative? Something modest but exciting?

I have this idea: Ed and I had spotted a handful of sandhill cranes on our way back from the park. The little girl had loved greeting them when they came to the fields across the road from us. Wouldn't she be thrilled if I took her to their new resting place? They're not here for long -- in another several weeks they'll be off for Florida.

Snowdrop, let me show you where your friends are gathering...






I'd like to say she was thrilled.

It is a beautiful sight after all...





But the outing leaves her clinging to me in ways that are not typical for her. Snowdrop isn't a fan of loud noises and we are in the thick of a cacophony of sound. We are near the dog park and the dogs are raising a ruckus.  She clings harder. I like cats, grandma. At home, we have cats. Her grip tightens. When we step into the overgrown fields, a pack of shrill birds flies up to get away from us. A tractor plows the field, three fighter planes zip across the skies just above. I mean, it's a loud world all around us!

Grandma, can we go to the farmhouse?

Indeed! And guess what, little girl? There are freshly baked cookies! Can I interest you in a ginger cookie?






You really appreciate the warm, quiet farmhouse after an outing in search of cranes.

cookies, stuff and flying things

Ed and Snowdrop both love an occasional cookie. To a person like me who loves to bake -- easy or complicated, I'll do both! -- this is not a bad thing. I can please my precious eaters and occasionally nibble on something too. (I've always been a dessert nibbler, preferring to sample this and that, often begging for a piece of someone else's slice rather than sticking with my own dessert.)

Well, not so fast! It turns out that my two precious eaters have preferences! Strong ones at that! Ed will go so far as to fuss about the texture of a chocolate chip cookie! It took a while to find a bakery that bakes these to his liking. And when last week I baked what I thought were delicious cherry/blueberry/chocolate chip oat cookies, his response was -- they're okay, in a non-cookie sort of way. 

Snowdrop, too, has a refined sweet tooth. I can't figure out in which direction it tilts. Chocolate is good, though not too much and not too messy. Gingersnaps win her over. In small amounts. That healthy-ish cookie I baked? Bleh...

When I was flipping through my cookie book, everything looked pleasing to me and potentially not so pleasing to my precious eaters. So I asked Ed -- what kind of cookie do you really like out of all the cookies out there?
You know, I really like even plain old white cookies.
You mean sugar cookies?
Well, I don't know if they're sugar cookies... I'm thinking of the ones I used to get from Schrafft's as a kid, back in New York. [You know Schrafft's? It was a lunch chain, for the shopping ladies of New York City, with a sideline of ice-creams, candies and apparently bland cookies that Ed once liked.]

I'm not in the mood for meeting that standard. I flip some more and settle on ginger cookies.

After breakfast...





... Ed asks: do you want to drive over to the middle of nowhere 32 minutes from here so that I can pick up a printer?
That does not tempt me. Why are you picking up a printer in the middle of nowhere? Craigslist?
That's right. The guy lives south of here and 32 minutes is the halfway point.
And it's worth your time to drive that much for something you could get from a store?
Well, you know...

Yes, I do know. To Ed, we're all overloaded with stuff. Why not help someone offload something he doesn't need, rather than shop for a new machine and let this one go to waste.

He drives off, I set up my mise en place. Nothing makes me more content than to have all my ingredients before me, at attention, awaiting instruction.





Half an hour later, I get a call.
It's me. I'm using someone's cell phone. The guy didn't call?
No...
He didn't show up. Okay, I'm coming home. 

As he hangs up, I ponder this a while. They spent a good ten minutes agreeing on a meet-up place. Why wouldn't the seller show up?
I glance at the clock.

Oh-oh... time change. Forgot! Ooops.

I cannot call. Ed, the guy without stuff, is also the only person on the planet who doesn't have a cell phone.

I go back to making my cookie dough.

Eventually, Ed shows up, learns of his mistake, says a couple of words like "damn" and after many apologies to the seller and many more minutes of driving, the two meet up and the sale goes through.

Ed returns with his printer. I suppose out of the weariness of the day he asks -- you want to go out and play disc golf?

I don't really want to go out and play disc golf. The course is closed for the season (the disc catchers have been removed) and so we will have to figure out how to create "goals." Too, the young family is coming for dinner and I haven't even begun preparations for that, to say nothing of the unbaked cookies that are ready in the fridge for their oven moment. And of course it's November. Cold. Dark. (See previous post.)

Still, Ed looks like he is in need of disc golf.

We set out to the closed course. On the upside, we are alone. No one else thinks to play disc golf when the season has ended.

And on the upper of upsides, we are enthralled!

Because it's nearly dusk, the birds begin their evening sweep and holler. Small birds, large birds. Geese and sandhill cranes. They all give the signal, then take off.

Of course, it's the sandhill cranes that catch our eye. And there are many many sandhills before us!





Their dance, their at once eerie and melodic call, their grace  -- they're so mesmerizing!

Eventually, they take off...






And that's equally beautiful!






Have a grand flight to your night time resting place!





(Eventually, their sound is replaced by the sound of an airplane or two -- we are on the flight path for flights coming in from the east coast. I know that my daughter, who has been away working in DC, is on one of those planes. I wave.)

Ed and I continue our game and it is actually a very wonderful game. I haven't quite shaken The Bug, but it feels great to be outdoors despite its peskiness.


Shortly after, the young family comes over for Sunday dinner.






We sit down, I smile. Another week, another Sunday.

slow Saturday

I'd recently come across this Emily Dickinson quote -- "November always seemed to me the Norway of the year." There is a bit of a back story to it, but no matter. Enough that she'd never been to Norway, but apparently harbored images that coincided well with this month, or at least as it presented itself to her in New England. (Dickinson stayed pretty close to her Amherst home all her life, leaving New England only once -- on a trip to Washington DC and Philadelphia.)

For me (as possibly for Dickinson), November does appear shady and dark (though my one trip to Norway was in June, so Norway does not spring to mind). Days that end too soon and start too late. This is curious, as January surely has as little light (in fact, overall less light), but in my mind, January is cold and bright and November is wet and dark.

Today, the month lives up to its image. Were I feeling fully recovered from The Bug, I'd suggest a forest walk, though you have to love gunfire to hike woodsy trails in Wisconsin in November, so perhaps I'd stay with the parks in the area where at least wearing blaze orange is unnecessary.

The air is wet and (at least at the farmette) woodsy. But I do nothing with it. After breakfast...






...I move slowly. Sort of at the speed of the cheepers.






To the grocery store and home again, where I cook a pot of soup for dinner. If I had to give my own characterization to this month, I'd say November is the soup month of the year. A thick soup with dark things swimming in it. One that's good for The Bug you're likely to catch right about now, even as the stores fill with cranberries and pecans and you're reminded that you really should be putting in your bid for a perfect turkey.






Soup. Tell me who doesn't love soup in November! Followed by a piece of chocolate. Dark, brooding. Maybe with toffee and salt bits in it. And if you are a Scotsperson -- a sip of the smokiest, peatiest of peaty Scotches. 

bright days

When the sun comes out after a spell of gray days, the heart just soars! Oh, there are people in Sorede or California that'll boast of nearly daily sunshine. But that then becomes their wallpaper, no? If you wake up to it each and every day, aren't you missing something? Much as I groan at clouds, wind and rain, it is an indulgent groan. The kind you have for your grandkids when they misbehave, knowing that you love 'em to pieces anyway and by the by, aren't they the cutest little devils?  The damp forest canopies, mossy earth, mushroom clumps, wet leaves -- heavenly fragrances! And you know that in a few days there'll be that glorious sunshine! And your heart will soar!

It's an unusual Friday for us. Yes, there's breakfast in the sun room and that's very very normal. (The iris that I cut down on the eve of our first frost have now exploded into enormous branches of yellow blooms.)






But rather than doing the weekly grocery trudge, I flip things for us: shop tomorrow -- a rainy day, they say -- walk today.

And so in the late morning, Ed and I set out for Owen Woods. And that in itself is grand: I have finally conquered that terrible horrible bug that I have been fighting all week. Off the couch and into the woods!






It is a dazzling walk. Yes, I was dazzled here before, earlier this week. But of course, every walk is different and every glance reveals new brilliance.

















When we return to the farm, Ed loads a cart of wood chips for me and I trim the front flower border with this much needed bit of ground cover.

Afterwards, I'm ready to rest on that couch again (I know I am doing too much too soon), except that it is time to pick up Snowdrop (who herself has not napped, so that makes two sluggers now...).

She is on her teacher's lap, by the cubbies, listening to a story...





Weatherwise, the afternoon is a tad strange: cold, but calm... no rain but almost no sunshine. I'm torn as to outdoor time. I'm low on stamina and I'm guessing the little one is tired as well.

But in fact, we both rally. Of the choices I give her, she immediately opts for a long trek to the distant coffee shop. She had remembered its existence yesterday and had wanted to walk there then, but the rain foiled her plans.

So today we walk. (I bring along her baby cap and mitts as I await the arrival of this year's stuff; the fit and look are a little off, but the warmth is a godsend...)





...All the way to the distant coffee shop, where I order for her a cup of hot chocolate -- something she loves in theory more than in practice (terrific for a grandma who wants to please, but doesn't want to over-sugar the child).






We then walk back to the old familiar turf of the playground, chatting as one does on these November walks...

(a sample)
Grandma, what does ahah call you?
Gorgeous.
Why?
I suppose he thinks I'm beautiful...
You're not beautiful! You're grandma!







It's nearly evening when we finally retreat to the farmhouse. (The arrival of a new book has her excited! It's the third in a series of new beloveds -- all three are about a girl named Maple and her sister Willow. Between this series and her goto favorite, the Seven Silly Eaters, Snowdrop can be kept happy for a long time, even if Gaga has hardly any voice left at the end of the day...)





But there's one easy way to get her to stop begging for more reading -- suggest a game of school, where she is the teacher.

I would like some fruits for snack...
But grandma, the fruits are for the teachers. See? The fruit basket is now empty!







Such a week! Really, such a tough but exciting and lovely week!

when is the moon not a moon?

To a two year old, a moon has a real physical presence. She sees it when she is taken to the car at night. She sees it in story books, where it can take crescent shapes or shine down in full disc form. Sometimes she sees it in broad daylight. There is a moon out there, she knows that.

Yesterday, when I was driving her to the farmhouse, Snowdrop asked from her perch in the back seat of the car -- grandma, is that a moon??

Well she may wonder! It was one of those gray days where occasionally the cloud cover thins a little, revealing a sun that is mostly, but not entirely hidden from view.

I explained to her in great detail why it isn't the moon at all and in so doing, I was so reminded of an exchange I had with an old friend, back in the days when my wee older daughter first saw a very bright moon.... outside an airplane window. I spent many words explaining the universe to her then. My friend, who herself had at least three times as many kids as I did, laughed: with the first one, you explain the wonders of the galaxy. With the later ones, you point and and say "moon" and move on.

I think grandmas may well be of help here. To us, each child (and the one after and the one before) is like a unique gift of fresh experiences and vibrant young life. You want to know about the moon? Wow! I'm so happy you asked...


Today, as I look out at the sky and I see again that sun behind the clouds, I think of Snowdrop's puzzled question. It's a sun, of course. But eerily moonlike in its presentation.






When I am not traveling, Ed and I always eat breakfast together. Always. I'm sure you think I over-insist on this. I mean, give the guy a break already! Do you always wake up at the same time?? (The answer is no, but I will wait for breakfast, even if on some days, that wait can be long...)

Today, we did not eat breakfast together.

I'm not superstitious. It was a fine day anyway. But, Ed had to be at work quite early and I had my appointments to attend to and so we air kissed and hurried to our respective morning obligations.

My breakfast was late, small, and alone. (Well, nearly alone!)






In November, weather sets the day. But this day sent too many mixed messages: warmer than yesterday (by just a handful of degrees, but when you're talking about small numbers, a handful can be a lot), a promise of some rain, but then maybe not, or maybe yes? I can't make plans!






I know that there are better ways to spend one's time on a cold and iffy November day (like, for example, working to finish my Great Writing Project), nonetheless, I fritter the morning on studying kid clothes for summer wear online.

When I show up to pick up Snowdrop, they tell me that she is still napping and they have decided to leave her to her sleep.

It's a really nice school that will bend things just a smidge to accommodate the child. I sit out by her cubby, waiting for her to wake up.



When finally she is up and ready to go, I see that there is enough of a decent weather vibe, that I can offer her a stroll to the park playground again. And this makes her very happy.

(Pushing her pretend children on the swing...)






But, inevitably, the drops of rain do come down and so I hustle her back to the car.






And eventually to the farmhouse (where she makes a pot of hot soup for the whole lot of us!)






Drippy days, cheerful child, long stories, no moon, warm soup. When packaged together, they form a quite beautiful day.

hi, November...

November in Wisconsin tests your love for the great outdoors. Once more I wake up thinking -- the less time I spend outside today, the better. Gray, damp, cold. Bleh.

It's hard to explain to the little girl why an after school romp in the playground may not be worth our while. Sure, for the past several days she hasn't wanted to linger there. But walking to the park has been so much our routine for the past seven months that switching things around requires some aforethought and preplanning.

First, breakfast. A mini breakfast. No one is hungry. The inactivity, the hovering sniffles, the physical lethargy -- are all starting to have an effect...





I suggest to Ed that he come with me for the Snowdrop pick up. That would be an exciting change of pace for her. Unfortunately, ever since remote work connections have entered into his life, he is far more tied to a schedule of meetings and planned conversations.

I'm on my own.

And still, when I finally head out to her school, Snowdrop greets me with such joy, so many hugs and smiles that I can tell our afternoon on this cold and dreary day will be just fine.

I tell her the plan: the library, then Paul's Coffee shop to pick up some pickles for Ed. She is on board!

Paul's:
















the library:






Home.

At home, we play school. These days, we always play school.






Outside, it's nearly dark. The rain is coming down without hesitation. Ed says -- I have to put the cheepers away. She says -- Please, can I come?

They go out. They're gone for a long time.

Later, he tells me she insists on climbing wood chip piles, closing cheeper coops and sweeping up pathways, rain to the contrary...











Kids know how to deal with November. Me, I'm learning.

chilly day for trick-or-treeters

They say it hasn't been this cold in Madison on Halloween since oh, some twenty years ago -- meaning, before any of today's trick-or-treaters were even born. We're at 34F (just 1C) when the kids set out at dusk. Brrr!

The cold of this day kept me inside all morning.

Breakfast...





...Followed by long hours of occupied couches: we have two in the farmhouse. Ed sprawled on the longer couch (which is just a tad too short to support his long frame) and I sprawled on the shorter one (which is just a tad too short to support my overage frame) and we both succumbed to a bit of indulgent rest time, losing ourselves in our books and various readings.

Cold as it is right now, I don't believe the farmette ever felt the deep freeze of this past weekend. A few of my annuals are still showing off their colors. You wouldn't see that after a hard frost.





And still, it is chilly.

When I pick up Snowdrop, she runs to the door to get going on our adventure. I call her back for her jacket. She tells me -- grandma, it's hot outside!
No way, Snowdrop. No way.






She is, however, insanely proud of her hair bow and so she remains hatless. Perhaps for this reason, she is willing to call it quits after just a handful of minutes on the playground.





(At the farmhouse, stealing a cookie...)






At some point, she tells me that her bow is clipped in the wrong place. Here, on top of head, grandma! 
Okay...






Her parents come, ready to take her out for trick-or-treating...





I ask later on if it went well.
Of course it did! Two years old, but happy to run up to a home and ask for candy!

With several sweaters filling her cookie monster suit, I don't think she ever noticed that it was barely above freezing!