Thursday

Oh that sunshine! I like to look out at your radiant presence, even when I do spend the day sequestered inside, typing away!

The cheepers know the bitter cold is a passing thing. I glance up and see Java -- she seems terribly assured, given that she is walking on snow on a chilly March morning.
Where are your buddies, Java?
(If she could talk she would tell me: laying eggs. Yes, we're back in the egg production business again. Except for big Java. Freeloader.)






Breakfast, in the sun room.






I pick up Snowdrop at the usual time, but today I find her outside with a handful of other non nappers. She seems energetic, proudly sporting a baseball cap from her daddy, collecting bits of "nature" as per teacher's suggestion.






But she is tired. I can tell. She's fragile as we pull up to the farmhouse. She doesn't like where I park the car. It's different, it makes her feel even more off-kilter. I say to her that I, as the driver, have to make the parking decisions. I carry her in and, clinging to me, she tells me, with big tears in her eyes, "I don't want to be a mommy now!"
Too much responsibility? Too many weighty decisions to make (such as where to park the car)? I reassure her -- sweet one, you're still a little girl!
She calms down. She snuggles into my shoulders and clarifies -- I don't want to be a mommy or a little girl. I want to be a big girl!

Inside, we read, she revives, narrates her tales...






... with all the gestures and emphases that they deserve...






...But I sense the need for a slower pace. We retreat to books and even a viewing of Peg and Cat (another good PBS kid video, for the uninitiated).






Only toward evening does she settle comfortably into her world of play again.


Sometimes, when Snowdrop and I romp and play and Ed joins us and she is so very happy to have our silly attention, I think -- her world is very lovely indeed. But I'm going through this process of growing up for the third time now -- there was my own, there were my kids, and now I have this grandgirl (to be followed by other grandkids) and by now it doesn't take much to have me remember that it really isn't always easy being a kid.


In the evening Ed and I test the temperature under a heat lamp that he has dug up from his storehouse of bits and rejects. Were we to get chicks next week, we'd have to create a spot for them where it's reliably 90F (32C).
It works!  -- he tells me.
We are going to have to make a decision on this baby chick project. But not today. One step at a time -- that's always the best way to move forward.

just a few words today...

Sunshine and cold air -- that's the recipe for this day. It's fine. It's temporary. It's pretty. Cheepers are ambivalent.






Breakfast is lovely.





And then I write. I have to be done with this project already. No more excuses. I write.


In the afternoon, I pick up a girl who is more than ready for her Wednesday ballet class!











(At the studio...)






(Learning...)











Today, they are reenacting the tale of the twelve little princesses. One young dancer leaves the room crying when a teacher wraps a black cape of the soldier (prince?) around her shoulders. Snowdrop takes it in, then opts for her usual smile of joy.















And in the evening she goes home to celebrate her daddy's birthday and I go home to reheat chili and write. When the weather improves, I'll slow down my efforts to be done with this project. For now I write.

the last big snow

We wake up to wet, heavy, beautiful snow. Indeed, it is the only wet snowfall of the winter. For the first time it's not impossible to roll a snowball!















It stays just a breath above freezing. Still, the cheepers are not happy.

What? Snow again? What is this??






Java is the brave one today. She is determined to make her way up the path.






You bold sweet thing! This is no weather for a chicken! (I pick her up and carry her to the dryness of the garage.)






Breakfast. At the kitchen table, so that we can admire the snow hitting the screen on the porch.






I shovel paths, Ed shovels the driveway. The cheepers appreciate the clearings.






Snowdrop is thrilled to be coming to the farmette after school. Snow play!






(Yes, one pink mitt and one purple mitt. Do you like them, grandma? I picked them!)






But as we came into the farmhouse, ostensibly to put on winter wear, she changed her mind. The warm house, the favorite toys, the snacks, the books -- they trump the snow outside. Perhaps she is making a statement: I'm ready for spring, nothing else will do!






At some point, water play douses her clothes. Snowdrop's dream of wearing pj's is realized!






Clothes dry off on the heating vent.

And now the little one is getting ready to go home. Just one more wild play of ball!






And, with the last few minutes left, she returns to her story.















To be continued. Tomorrow and the next day and the day after.


We have a few cool days ahead. Ah, but what a small price to pay for what comes then!

Monday

As I write this, snow, wet and heavy, is creating near whiteout conditions outside. Ed and I are watching a string of documentaries on the fate of Poles who were transported to Siberia in the first years of World War II. It's one of those evenings where there is little room for a big guffaw.

But, you have to climb out of your comfy quilt every now and then. You have to go back in time and revisit events that you once would not have believed were real, even as now, history reveals them to be very real indeed. So we watch and listen.

All this follows a very delightful day. Oh, the weather is colder, grayer, more winter than spring, more menacing than, say, yesterday or the day before. But, it's March after all.

Breakfast is flower-filled.





And after, Ed and I stay put. In the farmhouse, discussing chickens and retreating to our own work projects.

When the time comes to pick up Snowdrop, the wind kicks up and little squalls of ice and icy flakes spatter down from all directions. We hurry inside, bracing against the cold.






It is a day for books...






... for games, for stories...






many stories...





And because there is no chance at all for outside pay, I succumb to her pleadings and take out a pink box (it's pink grandma, it's pink!) full of new older-kid legos. We spend a good hour on assembly. Her patience with the tiny pieces is remarkable!

But inevitably she returns to her stories. And today, Ed is part of her set up.






Her game. Her pretend world of good and bad events, rolled into one long tale of horror and delight.

And after she leaves, driving off into the swirling mass of wind and snow and ice, I reheat the leftovers and Ed and I go through one documentary clip after the next and the one after.

I do hope this cold snap moves on with great speed. We are really, really hungry for spring!

Sunday

Ed asks this morning -- what do you need to do today?
I look outside. It's sunny. It's pretty warm for March. Darn! I cannot stay glued to my computer work. I must spend time outdoors. Oh, the tyranny of fine weather days!

First, though, breakfast, with plenty of daffodils on the table, even if we are a good few weeks away from viewing them outside in the garden...





In the afternoon, Ed and I go to Farm and Fleet. He needs a tube for the tractor mower. He needs shoes. We need chicken food.

We spend  f o r e v e r  in that store. I can't really explain this shopping procrastination. Ed cannot decide, cannot forgo the opportunity to chat with clerks, cannot just fill the cart and move on!

And, too, we both get sidetracked. This is the time when Farm and Fleet announces the imminent arrival of baby chicks for you to buy and care for. Should we add one or two more to our awesome threesome? Why are we even considering this additional burden? Just this morning we spent many minutes frantically looking for Peach who had disappeared for several hours. We finally found her in the barn, stuck behind several hay bales. Who needs the worry??

Finally, in the late afternoon, we're out of the store and out on the Ice Age trails. Just a short hike, but lovely nonetheless.






And in the evening, the young family is with us for dinner. We're feeling celebratory for at least two reasons: this was the week of some good work news for the young couple and too, Snowdrop got a pair of new pink shoes!






We celebrate both. At the new kitchen table, which is long and lovely.






Cake for dessert!






Tomorrow they say we'll have snow. I guess I should be relieved!

the incredible signs of spring

Me, I always looked for flowers. In March -- tiny green shoots first, then buds, then the full face of a crocus or snowdrop.

Too, Spring arrives with daylight savings time, though in recent years this has been complicated, as I have been going through two separate daylight savings jumps - one here, and one a few weeks later in Europe (to be repeated this year).

And now I have another marker -- a beautiful one at that!

But first, there is breakfast. With daffodils. (Grocery stores begin carrying them by the bucket load a good month before they open up their bright faces outside.)







And even earlier, there is farmhouse cleaning: the upstairs today, the downstairs tomorrow. And writing! Don't forget about writing!

Alright. I'm happy to have a clean home (or at least a clean bedroom and bathroom) and I am very happy to finish the editing job on the next one of the (too many) chapters of my Great Writing Project. But it's sunny outside and we're a bunch of degrees above freezing. Many on the east coast would be green with envy. Ed and I need to spend some time outdoors.

We do the easy walk -- on the trails of the newly discovered park segment just up the road. Through a dormant prairie...






... Onto a slip of land jutting out into Lake Waubesa...






(where you will still find a few bold fisher people doing their thing...)






An hour later, we are driving home and this is when spring really hits me in the face full blast. I mean, I knew they was coming, I heard them, I sensed their presence, but seeing is believing, no?
















The sandhill cranes fly away from our state for the three months of winter: they leave in December and come back in March. They are back now.










And that makes me so happy!