farmette Sunday

Before farmhouse cleaning, before breakfast, before Ed is fully awake, I make my way to the barn. The cheepers are all over me, nudging each other to get as close as possible. It's a miracle that I don't tumble over them. Stay back, cheepers! I don't have anything for you! (Yet.)

Finally, I spot them.





One kitty. Another kitty.





And another. Four in all. The mom, as always, is nowhere to be seen.





I feed them. I feed the cheepers. I check for mice in the basement. It's one of those moments when farmette life really feels like farm life.

Yet it is all a bit of a mystery for us. We have one chicken who lays eggs. The others? Eh, not so much. The cats come and go. The mice? We trap some, the others outsmart us. And still, it all sort of comes together in the end. We manage. The animals seem content.

Cleaning and house scrubbing comes next. And finally, close to noon, there's breakfast.






For the afternoon, Ed found an "outdoor seminar" for us at the Arboretum. It's about conifers (trees that grow cones and have needle-like leaves).

Sure, it's an excuse to take a walk in the Arboretum. But too, Ed and I like learning about all the plants and animals that thrive around us.

I'll never mix up a white pine and a red pine again.





Nor will I look at a juniper berry without remembering that cedars are actually junipers in disguise.





And that fir needles are flat and friendly (their tips dont prick) while pines have needles that roll in your fingers.





I had seen a short news clip about how the next generation of kids is losing its close connection to nature. Children these days know fewer names of birds, trees and flowers.

If I want to be any kind of grandma, it is the one who keeps that connection to nature alive for my grandkids. Snowdrop already knows names of some trees and many flowers. She and I share a secret love of chestnuts and she keeps one in her jacket pocket and I keep its partner in mine.

Kids keep you on your toes. You learn so that they can learn from you.

And that is such a good thing.

(If you're looking for Sunday dinner pics -- no, not today. Holidays and social commitments make for an unusual Sunday for us all.)

Saturday in gentle sunshine

I come downstairs to fix breakfast. I glance out the kitchen window. This is so routine for me! I like to see how the light falls on the barn and sheep shed, especially on a day like this one, where the sun, though not intense, throws the kindest tones on our landscape!

But what's this?






Ed! Ed!! Come down quickly! The kitties are back!

He is instantly awake, downstairs, ready. We're prepared, we have kittie stuff!.

Do they remember? We come with food!






On Thanksgiving, there were five. Today, we count four. Plus mom, though mom is always out and about, hunting, hunting...

Four. Ed sets out bowls for five. They lick them clean, of course.






This is such a tough season for them. One seems to have drippy eyes. Four. Will they stay? Will they be gone soon?






We return to our beloved little farmhouse...






... for breakfast. In the sunshine.






Cheepers on alert. I think it's because they sense the kitties' presence.






In the afternoon, we go to Brooklyn. Not the New York one, the one next to us, with the Ice Age trail cutting through it.






It's a beautiful day to be out in Brooklyn, Wisconsin.






Yes, we still need to wear blaze orange. Guns, dogs -- we hear them. What are you hunting? -- Ed asks one guy getting out of a truck just next to us. Oh, rabbits, pheasant. That kind of stuff -- the hunter answers.

Well, at least they point their rifles low to the ground for that.






At the farmette, we tiptoe back to the barn. Will they be gone? Will we see them again?

They're here. Huddled. Watching us. No longer totally afraid.





There will always be more questions than we're able to answer. We can only hope that all is well. A little food, a little water. Perhaps it's enough. For now.

At the farmhouse, I resume holiday preparations. Menu planning. Ribboning packages. To the sound of music. In the light of the setting sun.

Friday

Early, oh so early. Why not sleep in? I'm retired. Sleeping in is what you do when you're retired.

Too much to do. Clock still set to Europe. Ed is restless. All good reasons to be wide awake.

Breakfast. Unusual, because Ed says -- okay, I'll eat something more than just a bowl of fruit. And, too, it's all early. He has work, I have stuff to do.






Food shopping. I go to my favorite grocery store and ask: can I reserve a bunch of endive for Christmas? I got a very quizzical look on that one, but hey, I want to braise endive and the availability of this beloved (by me) veggie is typically sketchy.

Afternoon: time to pick up Snowdrop. I enter the classroom. Everywhere there are little tykes sleeping and there's Snowdrop, parading up and down the room in bare feet, a little bit at loose ends.  Another no nap day for her. She must be so tired. Snowdrop is a girl who needs lots of sleep to keep those sails billowing forward.

Well, okay. We will keep to a tame schedule. 

(No coat again. By choice. Hey, it's 31F! -- just a tiny bit below freezing!)





At the farmhouse now. We have left school but now we are playing school. Her babies are the students. I think I am, in her mind, that too. This is music class. Snowdrop has a nice, strong voice!






Yes she does!






And a good bang, with her entire soul into it.






As always, the holidays just sort of creep up on us. Quickly, magically.






I think about this as Snowdrop leaves, the restaurant up the highway delivers sushi and Ed comes back from a day at work. The day is aglow. Preholiday, December, Friday at the farmette aglow.

Thursday

We've had winters like this before: cold, snowless. I can't pretend that they're a favorite. I like snow! But I also do appreciate the sunshine that has popped in fairly regularly for us. A sunny cold day feels a lot warmer than a gray, less cold day.

Today, we wake up to sunshine. Well, one of us wakes up. We really are keeping rather different sleeping schedules this season...





By noon, we've reached our peak for the day: 25F (-4C). Nonetheless, we both are anxious to get moving. Cold weather can turn you into a couch potato pretty quickly.

We aren't ambitious: a one hour spin through our local county park is perfect!

It's a lovely park -- trees, prairies, lakefront -- all just a couple of miles up the road. We go there often. Too often perhaps. (Why drive further when this landscape is so pleasing?) Yet it's always just a little different. Two weeks ago, for instance, we watched turtles sunbathe on the logs spilling into this pond. Today, the waters are frozen solid.





And the big lake to the east (Lake Waubesa) looks to be a sheet of ice as well. We note an ice fisherman setting up shop. How does he know it's safe?






We're in that early winter phase when the ice hasn't much snow cover. It's quite beautiful actually.





In places where the creek flows into the lake, there are, of course, soft spots. This is where the ducks and geese hang out.





Yes, it's a gorgeous day to be in south central Wisconsin!

And soon after, I'm picking up Snowdrop. I urge her to move quickly: she is at the moment without jacket (it's too confining to be strapped into her car seat in a bulky winter coat). Hurry, little one! Get in the car!






At the farmhouse, she attacks her usual favorites which, these days, include a rousing song fest -- all of us playing instruments in rough accompaniment to her boisterous singing.





(A pause to try on a decorative Christmas stocking. It fits!)






I do sense that she is on the tired side of normal. (A second day in a row without a school nap.)

Tired, but not unhappy.






I share a little of that: I'm still somewhat on Europe time, falling asleep way too early each evening. Or is it that in winter, we all long to turn in soon after the sun sets? On the shortest day of the year, that sunset will be at 4:26 p.m. (but the sun rise will be later). Today, it set at 4:23 making it technically the shortest afternoon. We're getting there -- that wonderful moment when we flip the switch and the days start getting longer!

In the meantime, I'm hiding in the caves with the bears. Good night, good night! And let's dream about a good snow cover, so that Snowdrop (so aptly named!) and I can build a big fat snowman.

Wednesday

It's a bit early to be up, but hey, I'm still one foot in Europe's time zones.  Too, if Ed always comes upstairs to sleep later than me, I'm always downstairs before him. This is my time to straighten things up and move the day forward.

I fix breakfast.





And after, he works and I work, even as we share farmhouse space (it really is a small farmhouse) and so we step in and out of each other's work/project issues. All morning long. Side by side, with an occasional comment, or word of encouragement.


By early afternoon, I am out to pick up Snowdrop. Big fat flakes fall all around me, but the snow isn't really sticking.  I needed to stop at the post office on my way to her school and I imagined the line would be long. It isn't long. I am out of there in two minutes and so at Snowdrop's school I have time to sit in the car, listen to the classical music station and exhale. (I do not enter in advance of the set pick up time because this is supposed to be her nap hour and I don't want to interfere with that.)

I look up as I note a young child, accompanied by a teacher, going from one entrance door to another. The child is obviously carrying something. Fat snow flakes are coming down hard now. They must have been out on a quick errand. Wait! Is that Snowdrop??






The pigtails transform the girl! I hardly recognize her. Oh, let's face it -- she is growing up!






I quickly follow her in. She is ever hopeful. Can we please play outside?





It is so unpleasantly cold! Just below freezing, gray, with that occasional flurry to really make the point that we are in the thick of winter.

Okay, Snowdrop, but just for two minutes!

Of course, it's never just two minutes. Not when there's a slide and a swing...






Later, at the farmhouse, we listen to the Muppets songs from the Christmas Carol  (this is at the moment her holiday favorite). But if I thought she'd be rearing to go after the wrapped packages by the tree -- I was wrong. She admires them for a minute...






... then returns to her animated play.

In the evening, Ed heads out to close the coop for the cheepers. I want to go too! 





... And back inside again.

She tells us that she does like the new couch...






I can see the attraction: it offers an easy climb!





She spies her pajamas and does a very realistic rendition of a yawn. Grandma, I'm tired. I need to put on my pajamas...

Of course she's not tired at all, just in love with her play, her discoveries, her own take on life!





Winter cold outside. Snowdrop warm inside. And happy grins all around.

Tuesday quiet

In the late afternoon, Ed looks over at my mess of paper, boxes, tape and ribbon and asks -- do you enjoy this Christmas wrapping?

Funny guy.

It's a super cold day. Unusually so. (Our high is 20F, or about -7C.) I have no interest in going out. Well, not beyond the trek to the barn to say hi to the cheepers.





And after, it's all about staying put in the farmhouse.

Wait, what about Snowdrop? -- you ask. She is a busy girl: she has a cookie decorating date after school and so I am on my own today.

And so immediately after breakfast...





... I set out to warp presents.

And it takes forever and this is good, because I never before felt that I had "forever" to get it all done.





So, do I like wrapping? In my view, it's one of those things that you do to move more important things forward. And at least for me, it's worth the effort.

Now, when Snowdrop comes here tomorrow, will she be able to keep her sticky fingers away from the pile of gifts?

I'll let you know tomorrow!

home

A light dusting of snow lightens the winter landscape. Ed and I would love more than a light dusting, but we're happy to see even this little snow on the farmette land. (The cheepers do not share our enthusiasm for it, but they do sense that I am home again; when I look out the kitchen window, I see them stepping gingerly toward the farmhouse -- something they did not do in the week I was away.)

Here you go, girls -- bread. (Don't they look like they're gossiping?)






Breakfast. Oh, how good it is to sit across the table in this way again!





I ask my daughter if there are any special Snowdrop pick up instructions. No, she tells me, but Snowdrop did ask if I would be there this afternoon and when told I would be, she exclaimed -- "oh my gosh! My grandma is back from Warsaw and Paris!" There is nothing cuter than a two year old who begins her excited sentence with "oh my gosh!"

By the time I head out for her, the snow comes down again. Briefly, thickly, beautifully.





Snowdrop greets me in her best sweet voice: you're back, grandma, you're back!

At the farmhouse, she is excited at the announcement of surprises. Finger puppets from my sister...






Some baby paraphernalia for her dolls...





It all makes her so happy!





We resume our afternoon routines. We play, she plays, we read, she eats... There is nothing unusual about any of it and yet, after a few days' absence, it all feels rather magical!

Snowdrop's mom comes a little earlier, to catch up with me, to read her a story or two (this one obviously had a disconcerting story line)...






Dinner, writing, and that deep craving for sleep that comes from jet lag. I have to smile: I've come to grips with many an inconvenience in my years of travel... I will not give in to jetlag!

Stay awake, Nina, stay awake!

Not gonna happen.