Sunday

It snowed again last night. I take out the shovel and get to work. Do I mind? Not at all.






The cheepers -- that's a different story. For some inexplicable reason, they forged through the deep, still unshoveled snow early in the morning to the safety of the garage. There they stayed until I told them they absolutely positively have to head back to the barn. Henny, typically skittish and fearful, is our most courageous hen when it comes to braving the deep drifts of snow.






The remaining two -- Java and Peach -- got stuck.






I tried to urge them forward, but they didn't seem to get the word "forward." In the end, I scooped them up (they would never allow this in better weather days) and carried them back to the barn.

Babies!







Breakfast. Not sunny outside, but cheerful inside.







I spend the morning attending to farmhouse chores, but our afternoon is spent outdoors. The sun is out, the temps are below freezing, but not ridiculously below freezing. We go back to do volunteer work on the Brooklyn Wildlife segment of the Ice Age Trail.  We aren't creating a new prairie this time, but we're over-seeding an existing prairie. Here's the stretch of land -- so beautiful today!  A half dozen of us walk the land sowing seeds.






The snow is deep -- up to my knees or worse. Of course it is! It's been snowing! Ed tucks my pants over the boots. Wise move. The pants will get icy wet, but the boots will stay dry.






We love this piece of land. It's 22 minutes by car from the farmette and I swear we could hike it blindfolded. But why do that when the views are always so gorgeous!






And now it is evening and the young family is at the farmhouse for dinner. Many might shake their heads at this habit I've had of offering predinner munchies before we sit down to the evening meal. Olives, maybe some beets, a slice of cheese.  The components have varied over the decades, but the snack has always been there. In the past, the kids would bring their homework to the kitchen table and nibble as I prepared the rest of the meal.

But it spoils the appetite! -- you'll say.

Maybe. So you have to keep an eye on things. More crackers? No, how about a few more olives instead? Okay! (This from Snowdrop who does love olives.)






And finally dinner.  Happy is the grandma who can put fresh and honest food before her family!






Snowdrop is in grand spirits today!






She and Ed are excused from the table as the rest of us linger...






Back for dessert. Cookies, a yogurt bar.
Can I have both?






Yeah, the more we get together, together, together, the more we get together the happier we'll be.

You are so right, Snowdrop!

a pause

The cold snap persists. We're happy with the snow, but less eager to sprint to the ski trails. We need a day's pause.

The chickens -- well, they don't know what to think and who to believe. They were fooled by sunshine this morning and they traipsed (oh so slowly) to the garage in search of company (and interesting food). Once there, they could not muster up the interest to head back. I had to coax. And coax. And coax.





Breakfast -- in the sun room, though the presence of sunlight is a little tentative today.






I had invited Snowdrop for a farmhouse visit over the midday hours today. The young family can use the time and I can only benefit from the little girl's voluminous grins.











(So much imagination in every minute of play!)





Since she is with me at noon, I suggest that she and I go out to lunch. Oh, nothing extraordinary, except that for me it really is special because she and I rarely eat lunch together. We go to a place I do associate with her -- the Madison Sourdough Bakery and Cafe, where I routinely pick up croissants for the girl and cookies for Ed.  It's a thirteen minute drive from the farmhouse, but I think of it as my neighborhood place. I know them, they know me. It's a comfort zone.

You'll recognize perhaps the walk from the parking lot to the Bakery entrance. Past these beautifully photogenic murals.

(Why is she not wearing a jacket? It's 15F (-10C) outside. Go ahead, ask her.
I'm not cold!)






Snowdrop is on a scrambled eggs kick and we start with that.






But she is unquestionably excited by the dessert: a macaron, dipped in chocolate for a special Valentine's Day treat.






On our way out I distract her long enough to slip on her jacket.
Snowdrop, you are not dressed for a side step into deep snow!






Her babe does flips...





Her grandma urges them to get in the car! (No cap, no gloves...)


The girl is back home now and I'm settling into a comfortable reclining position, book in hand, next to an Ed who is watching a documentary on his laptop about peasant revolts in the 14th century.

It's predictable, all of it, isn't it? You would think so, except that to me, it's all such a surprise. As if it could have gone that way and yet, here we are, moving forward, healthy, happy, hopeful.

snow

They said -- "snow." We got snow.  Another half foot fell overnight. The pretty face of winter is with us now.

(I know you can't tell from this farmette photo that it's deeper. Trust me -- it's deeper.)






A happy breakfast.





Snowdrop's school is closed today. Not because of the snow -- it was one of those planned inservice closings. I offered to play with Snowdrop while parents put in some work hours.

I'm at her house once again and perhaps predictably, she begins with offering (play) food for her babes and for gaga. I love this pose and her facial expression here, because it completely reminds me of the way my grandma would stand and survey the table, wanting to make sure there was plenty for all of us.






Play ice cream ends our meal.





And of course, the great outdoors beckons! It is cold, but on the upside, it's warmer than the really cold days we've had this season. We attack the snow on the deck!











Snowdrop loves most things about snow -- including its taste. I try to think if there's a reason to act alarmed as she stuffs fresh flakes into her mouth. Snowdrop, no, that's not a great idea! Yum! Oh, Snowdrop!






We slap together a snowman of sorts, but it's not easy. It's just too cold and the snow is powdery. Even a snowball is a challenge. Here's our attempt at a snow palace. Snowdrop and her baby are enjoying a royal rest inside!






A snack after snow play is important, delicious, satisfying, memorable. On this day it's pain au chocolat.
 





And then I leave to continue with the usual Friday duties: make sure that the car has gas, and that the fridge has food for the week.


Home. The sun is out, the skies are blue. Shall we ski?

(Note that our snowman just grows and grows!)






By the time we head out to our local county park, the shadows are beautifully long. We try the upper trails and find them to be completely untouched! We blaze pathways, spewing powder and filling our boots with snow...






... all the way to Ed's favorite tree. Selfie!





... then across the snow covered prairie to pick up the trail again.






It would be hard to imagine a more beautiful day!

jump

Ed dragged in very late last night. The volley ball game was long and tiring. Too few people showed up. Were you okay anyway? (He'd been having a good season thus far.)

I'm the old guy there.

So?

I can't jump as high anymore.

Old people can't jump?

Nope. Go ahead, try it.

I do.

How was that?

Not so high.

It felt high!
It wan't high.

We do a google search on how high, on the average, a person in her/his sixties can expect to jump. Would you believe it -- there appear to be no immediately available data on those past 59. Well now! Not too late to improve! We watch a youtube on how to give height to your jumps.


In the morning, I wait for the phone call. None comes. Snowdrop is fine and in school!

A big sigh of relief!

I go out to deal with the silly cheepers. Well, perhaps not so silly: Henny has started laying every now and then. (She is the only one of the three, so we're grateful!)

It's cold again, but there is sunshine! I look out over the farmette: so many tracks, not one of them our own. Deer, groundhog, rabbits and who knows what else...






Breakfast, bursting with sunshine!






And skiing at noon at our local county park. Blue skies and for the first time this season -- the trail is groomed and ready!






We zig zag, taking this turn and then the next... (Such pretty colors!)





Lovely. How lucky we are to live so close to a park!

Immediately after -- I pick up Snowdrop. It's not that she is immediately full of giggles. She hasn't napped. She is tired. But if you find an excuse to laugh, inevitably she will join you. She can't help herself. Worries slip away. The giggle slips out and now it's full blown guffaws.






Which last and last...






Yes, she is her old boisterous, ridiculously funny and fun loving self.





Wouldn't it be wonderful if we were done with the bugs and the Arctic blasts for the year?


As for jumping -- I'll go back to my piddly saunters later. For now, excuse me, but I have some Olympic figure skaters to watch. The Winter Olympics have begun.

fly fishing

A cold day, with a new dusting of snow. It's not a morning where you want to linger outside. A quick walk to the barn to tend to the cheepers and that's it.





I don't have to go out again for a while. Or do I?

I get that early morning phone call that can only mean one thing: Snowdrop's down again. I offer to go to her home after breakfast so that the parents can attend to at least the most pressing work business.



Over the morning meal...





... Ed talks about fishing with his dad.
I liked going out with him on the boat to fish. Flounder. We'd be fishing for flounder. Often times we wouldn't get any. And in fact, I'd prefer that. It didn't make me happy to catch the fish. I just liked being out there with him, fishing.
Me, I love Ed's recollections of time with his father, though I feel this particular musing is heading somewhere.
Indeed: you should write this on your blog: shopping for a dining table is like fishing with my dad for flounder.

From this, he spins into fishing tales. Did you know that trolling differs from fly fishing? Actually I know next to nothing about fishing. Last time I tried to catch a fish was when I was right around Snowdrop's age and I cast about the pond by my grandparents's village home with a butterfly net. I think I netted and released a tadpole or two. Now, Ed is suggesting that we watch a youtube on fly fishing.

This is how time simply disappears when I am with Ed.


When I get to Snowdrop's home, she is rallying again! It's such a relief!

She has her medical kit close at hand. I bring over her farmhouse baby. She checks her baby's health.






All good. What now, grandma?






We run through many books and games, but what really gets her going is the idea that she should dance. (It's her inspiration, likely tied to the fact that she knows she has to skip her Storybook Ballet class today.)






Seeing that smile on a grandgirl who was so dragged down by a bug just a few hours ago makes this grandma's heart swell!






(She picked up from a book that dancers do Arabesques. Okay!)






(As in her Storybook Ballet class, we end with a story. This time, she does the reading. I, in my own "light dance wear" -- undershirts are a winter staple for me -- listen.)






(Then, one more check, to make sure we're all well...)






... and I return home.

(From the cheepers: where have you been???! They're so demanding of attention on days when they're cooped up in the barn!)






In the late afternoon, Ed and I hop over to the local park for a quick ski run. I mean, there's enough snow and there is a patch of blue in the sky. What more could you ask for?!





Evening. I think about fly fishing. I think it reminds me of flower tending: long periods of silent work, alone, working in cooperation with that what nature allows.