January 4

The head spins: it was this cold yesterday! And bitter cold today! And it will be even colder tomorrow!

How long before we move on to something friendlier? We haven't the snow that Snowdrop would love, at the same time that we have temperatures that are downright threatening.

Numbers. Negative numbers, single digit numbers.

Early morning numbers: I'm up and on my way to check on the cheepers.  No, there's not much snow, but what there is, reflects the joyous moments spent playing in it with Snowdrop. We created these tracks!










Breakfast. I wake Ed and ask him if he really wants to come down this early. I'm speeding this morning. Major grocery shopping. Lots to do.

He comes down. I'm grateful. Orchids blooming away.





The mid day is a bit stressful. Snowdrop has a big head bang at school. She is watched. Parents worry. She seems tired. Might it be because she has missed naps? Or is it the big head bang?

I had just explained to Ed that kids always keep you spinning.

There are medical consultations and discussions. She seems maybe okay. Is she okay?

I pick her up at the usual time: all worries put to rest. She is more than okay. She is chatty, bouncy, sharp, delightful.

I wasn't going to allow for play time outside. I mean, when the high temperature is in single digits -- that's not play weather. But Snowdrop really really  really wants a ride in the sled (with a baby in her lap). Ping! The thermometer registers 10F! (-12C) We have climbed above the cutoff point. Okay, Snowdrop! Away we go!






Later, she picks up her snow shovel and throws the powdery cold stuff on herself and then just laughs and laughs...






It's time to come inside, Snowdrop. It is really cold!

Into the farmhouse. Off with the boots, the snow pants, the jacket, the mitts, the scarf, the hat...

Robust appetite.

Grandpa always shared his cookies with me...





Little one, I need to finish trimming your hair to get you ready for your big day tomorrow.
Grandma, my mom always says, I can do one more thing. So, I  have to feed my babies.

Never argue with a Snowdrop.






This is the last photo I'm posting of this wonderful two year old.

Tomorrow, she turns three.

In the meantime, the temperatures drop, the winds howl and our bout of crazy cold weather continues.

back to school

We're all adjusting: winter vacation is over, Snowdrop returns to school.

Yes, everyone is suddenly rich with their own time. Or at least richer than, say, a day or two ago.

Or, is it that we're not rich at all, but rather we force ourselves back on the treadmill of life. The luxury of a free flow of hours has to be shelved for now. To be continued, during the next school vacation.

All this against a backdrop of bitter cold weather. Suddenly, like it or not, you have to get out there and get going, whatever the weather.

Me, I'm nearly always outside in the early morning anyway. Ed is keeping grad student hours (late to sleep, late to rise) and I'm feeling like someone should be there to greet the cheepers as they leave the coop.





It's a time to take in the farmette, on its own terms.





I have to smile today -- it feels almost balmy when I compare it to the past few days. We're just above 0F! (-18C).  Oh, how you appreciate the gift of just a few extra degrees! (Tomorrow, we're plummeting again.)

Breakfast. By our reliable orchid plants (to the far left) that bloom like crazy every winter.






In the afternoon, on my way to pick up Snowdrop at school, I pass the lesser lake. It's a popular spot for ice fishing and you'll find the huts up even on the coldest days. I've heard that these guys (almost always men) look forward to their winter vigil out on the lake. Do they feel the cold?





Snowdrop: happy to be in school, happy to be picked up as usual, happy to be going to the farmhouse where I promise her at least a handful of minutes on the new Big Girl sled. (The school smartly keeps the kids indoors on these cold days and Snowdrop is just bursting to wear her pink snow pants.)

The sled is big enough for the little one and her baby (and then some)...






But Snowdrop doesn't want to just ride a queenly ride. She wants to do stuff! Conquer the mountain!






Make snow angels! Build snowmen! (Can't be done...) Pull her babe in the Big Girl sled!






But not for long. We both know that this is not the weather for a long outdoor play time.

Inside again, she turns to the delicious prospect of throwing her Playmobil characters into a (tiny) pool. And she asks -- grandma, can we take out the blue pool? She means the wading pool and of course, I tell her it's too cold. But we can put it on the porch... No, too cold there as well.

She returns to her play, where a girl with her name is climbing into the small tub of a pool outside underneath a stately palm.






(Her speciality: making up stories about children and families...)






There is, of course, so much more to the evening after Snowdrop leaves, but I can hardly remember where the hours went. Kids keep you on schedule. When they're gone, schedules fizzle... We eat, write, read. And I think about how great it is that the cold spell will move on and, if we're lucky, a good snow cover will blanket the farmette.

One can hope.

and now we are 14

No, silly reader! Not 14F outside! We reached a high of only 9F (-13C).

Well then fourteen what?!

Years old! (Though when you get to be this old, you almost stop counting...)

Fourteen years old? Who?

Ocean, of course. I started publishing daily posts fourteen years ago today.

In recent years, I've never skipped a day. But honestly, putting up posts is child's play now. In the early years, the technology just wasn't there, especially when I strayed from home. I'd knock on doors, enter bars, use phone lines -- oh, the hours I would waste, the things I would do, just to find a daily connection! Ping! Photos uploaded! Ping! Published! Such a relief.

Too, in the early years, keeping a blog was a bit of an oddity. You blog? Why? Why? Why? Then it became passé: you're still blogging?  Now -- well, it's understood. I write Ocean posts. Even my Polish friends have come around to accepting this about me. I write daily. About seemingly inconsequential events that grow big only because I make them so. Which is profound in that it isn't very profound at all. It is life. We all live it, love it, want more of it.

So I write about it.


On a cold cold January day.






With all the warmth in the world found just inside this farmhouse. Over breakfast, for example.






Breakfast with Ed. A smiling Ed. Now that's hard to capture! He does everything to make this photo one of the more challenging ones to take at the start of each day! But today he grins.






I have inconsequential appointments and tasks all morning long. Tsk, tsk, tsk -- all those tasks, hurrying with them so that they will be done, so that I can pick up Snowdrop just after noon.

Normally, I would go to the bakery to stock up on breads and treats before I see Snowdrop, but today I ran out of time and so we set out together, despite the challenge of getting her in and out of a salt-dusted dirty old car and putting her in a seat that needs to be adjusted for all those winter layers.

Madison Sourdough - where I buy Snowdrop's croissants and Ed's cookies (pieces of which then migrate to Snowdrop's little hand) - has a parking lot with murals that I always thought are a beautiful backdrop for a photo of your most precious grandchild.

(She is studying the art...)






(... and finding the little bit of snow to walk in...)






Inside my box of purchases, she finds what is meant to be an Ed cookie.






I promise her a wee piece. Later. She is satisfied. I mean, she's in her pink pants and with her "beautiful scarf." It doesn't take much to bring out a Snowdrop smile.






The smile grows wide as I agree to a sled run at the farmette. 9F is a little disconcerting, but she swears she is warm!






Can I shovel here, grandma?






Finally, inside.  A run to the kitchen...






She knows where I store the cookies.






Mission accomplished.






Are you eating a cookie too, grandpa?






Snowdrop, it's nap time.
But I have to take care of the babies...






There is always a "but I have to..."

After the nap: is grandpa going to close the coop?
Yes... But you should stay inside. It's really cold now.
But I want to go with him!

Guess who wins that round?






Cheepers secure, in the coop.
Can I please go for a ride in the sled? 
Too cold...
Just a short ride?

Guess who wins that round?

She likes to drag her hands in the snow...






Grinning the whole time.

All the way, around the barn, to the welcoming, sparkling, beloved farmhouse.






Fourteen years of trying to find images and words that describe how beautiful it all can be.

Hello, new year

The coldest of all cold days. Insanely cold. Happy cold New Year!

I hurry to look in on the cheepers. Apple, having learned from the old girls to stand on only one foot in cold weather, is there to greet me: where have you been?! We're hungry!






A beautiful world. A beautifully cold world. Happy cold morning to you!






Breakfast. Ed is in his morning mood. But he cracks a smile!






Immediately after, I start in on the evening meal. I hadn't picked a dessert yet. I leaf through cookbook after cookbook. Huckleberry saves me! I have the ingredients! I make petites strawberry galettes. (I highly recommend this fantastic dessert: Sure, it's a bit laborious as you fashion the crust and the berries, but then you stick the whole tray in the freezer and wait until 35 mins before serving, put it in the oven and boom! Delicious.)






My daughter requested a pasta dish. Why invent something new, when this fall, the roasted squash agnolotti worked so well?!





(I do wish my younger girl were here to help form the very delicate stuffed pockets, but then, I always wish that she were with us. It is a mother's perpetual longing...)

(Timed release photo: working the dough through the pastry rollers...)






Rolling and stuffing the pasta takes a while. How much time? I look outside... The sun is setting by the time I'm done.











The young family comes over. Well, it's not a straight shot: there is the problem of starting a car in the bitter cold. No go. Darn this weather! And still, we are the lucky ones -- there is no rush. Eventually everything falls into place. And the little one? Amazingly patient, happy, helpful.






(Rediscovering her toys at the farmhouse...)






The agnolotti are finished off in browned butter and sage...






Finally, beautiful, wonderful dinner.






Yes, I like lot of cheese on my pasta!






Dessert.






And we're done. Oh, but what a beautiful day it has been!






One day down, 364 to go! Happy sailing!

New Year's Eve

Well, good bye 2017. Good riddance, you say? Are you sure? You're here to utter the words, so something must be going right!

My year -- no need to review it. It's all here, on Ocean. But I'll say this much: the calamities were few and far between. We grieved for the bad fortunes plaguing so many on this planet, but we mostly escaped facing bad fortunes at home. We're all still kicking around and being our same old selves. Family, friends  mattered a lot and they gave us countless beautiful moments. In other words, 2017 was joyous and noble. I can only hope that for you it was likewise.

Now, let's focus on 2018. (Oh, is it a different year tomorrow? -- Ed would say, just to emphasize that this calendar keeping is inconsequential and silly.)

For us (perhaps for the whole collective us), looking ahead, what matters most is good health. Good health of the young families and their soon to be born babies. Good health for the aging among us. Good health for our sweet friends. And so on.  Stay healthy, all you readers too, you hear?!


Do I stay up to cheer on the first minutes of the New Year? Do I resolve to improve? To write more, move more, stay calm, stay focused, be helpful, be good? Well, don't we always strive to be better than we were yesterday?

Still, it is the coming of the New Year, with capital letters, and so I treat it with special attention and care.

First, I thoroughly clean the farmhouse (Ed helps) and finish rearranging Snowdrop's play space (Ed does an eye roll here). The tree comes down (sigh... it still smelled nice, after a month of sitting in the corner, by the stairs). I do my annual budget where all the numbers in my books have to agree with those in my accounts. And finally, close to noon, we eat breakfast.






Did I mention how cold it is outdoors?





Well, I needn't bother. It's the national story these days. Half the country is suffering temperatures that properly belong to the Arctic circle. We are lucky: our furnace works well and sunshine pours in from the east, then south, then west. We offer no complaints. (We also stay inside. Ed throws out a few possible outings, I shoot down all of them.)

There was a time when celebrating the New Year on the eve of its arrival was so important! We'd travel to New York for that ball drop (it was as freezing then as it is now), we ate our best restaurant meal of the year on this night, we did dinner parties, and eventually took trips to celebrate the coming of the New Year in distant places. So important!

I can't remember why it mattered: was it a need to prolong the gaiety that Christmas reeled in and that then abruptly ended? Was it just an excuse to be frivolous, less focused on the daily grind and more on the playful aspects of our lives? Was it staring down the winter cold?

Now, of course, Ed and I stay home. We do what we love best: sitting on the new-ish couch, reading, perhaps catching a show or a movie on the big screen before us.

And yet, vestiges of that old me remain. Some celebration is in order! Toward evening, I go the young family's home...

(Sunset, as viewed across the road from the farmette... goodbye 2017!)






The moon, not quite full, but plenty beautiful, rises just to the east of their home...






Snowdrop is in snuggly mode, that's for sure.





The girl knows nothing of the old year, or the new year. Her count is only of her own years and that count  ("I'm two years old!") has been holding steady now for 360 days.

(Grandma, can I have some water in a glass? Of course... which glass do you want? That one! -- she points to a margarita glass in the cupboard.)






(She finds snow boots. Can I wear them? It's too cold to go outside, but we can pretend to build a snow castle inside...)






It's time to leave. The young family starts in on their own dinner.






Chop the artichoke, Snowdrop! 
Okay!






I head back home. Hi farmhouse. Hi Ed.





For supper, I cook what I cooked last year -- lobster tails (tiny and inexpensive, once frozen -- hardly the fresh whole lobster you'd get by ordering from Maine, delivered by Fed Ex, with dazed but live lobsters ready to crawl out onto your kitchen counter, but still delicious!). This year, in addition to the salad, I add corn on the cob (another travesty, considering the fresh from the fields corn we ate all August long). And potatoes (now we're talking fresh and oh so very honest).

(The lobster tails are so tiny that I threw in a third one to share...)







My wish is that I'll be sitting here on December 31, 2018, writing as I do now: with a heap of good health and good luck behind us and another year of farmette life, with plenty of family moments, and not too few opportunities to connect with distant friends. Travel would be the cherry on top. And yes, Snowdrop and I -- we do like cherries!

Happy New Year to all of you!

With warm hugs from super cold Wisconsin, and love,
Nina