the power of the sun

We wake up to a snow covered landscape.






You would think I'd be disappointed. It doesn't fit with my mental image of spring.






But the truth is, it's kind of pretty out there. Oh, sure, the cheepers are not happy.






And since they venture out before I sweep the snow away, Peach gets stuck...






... definitely in need of a helping hand!






But when the sun comes out, the snow begins to melt and it feels intensely spring like, even though it's actually hovering just below the freezing point.





We're chugging along here, slowly but with determination. Onwards! Toward the warmer seasons!


At the farmhouse, the little chicks are growing fast. We laughed at the size of the feed back when we brought it home three weeks ago. We're not laughing anymore. It's nearly all gone!

We eat breakfast in the sun room and listen to their chirpy noises.






And in the afternoon, Snowdrop is here. Sometime in the course of her school day she had put on her ballet shoes in anticipation of this afternoon's class. They stayed on.






There is just enough time for a quick Snowdrop story...






... and a lightening quick play...






... and then it's time for class.






They're enacting some butterfly story, but it hardly matters what the plot of it is. Wee little butterflies, moving this way and that -- it's enough to make you smile.





And all the while I think how incredibly lucky I am (we are) that Snowdrop's parents let the little girl open herself up to the world of grandmas and Eds and any number of others who so love this child. In turn, it is so obvious that she lives in a rich world of people who care deeply about her. There isn't a doubt that she is made stronger by their presence in her everyday.

wet and cold

As I write this, it's raining icicles outside. Inch-long picks of ice. I'd take a picture but that would give them free airtime. They don't deserve it. They belong to another season. Woosh! Be gone!

I tell the baby chicks: be glad we're not chasing you out yet! It's a mean world out there! They truly look a little shaken by my words. Perhaps the weather has put an edge to my speech.






Breakfast is deliberately not in the sun room. Why even bother pretending! It's a terrible weather day!





On the upside, isn't it the case that a terrible spring start will make for a warm season's middle? By the law of averages, we need to climb high to make up for this disastrous plummet into a chilly world of ice and wet snow (we're supposed to get that wet snow tonight).

Too, it's delightfully decadent to stay home and do nothing that requires physical effort. Normally, we avoid such horrible laziness, but today, it is a given that the only outdoor time will be time required to get to the car -- first, to vote and then to pick up Snowdrop.

She is prepared! She has her umbrella!






At the farmhouse, we move from one activity to the next, never once giving much thought to the weather outside.


(A Snowdrop story is like a field of daffodils ready to bloom...)






(Giving Pepper a bit of human contact...)






(They're so small and cute, Gaga!)






(Exercise = swinging on the treadmill bar...)






(The baby chicks clamor to get a boost from us so that they can rest at the edge of the box...)






And by evening, the rain and the ice turn to a delicate snow and you just have to shake your head and wonder what's next.






It's a beautiful day -- to be indoors, away from it all.

fighting the disappointment of a non-spring

I don't recall a spring in Madison that came this late (actually it hasn't yet arrived if you judge by the signs of new growth). And though in January I may have appreciated a thermometer reading of just above freezing, in April, I think that's terribly unfair. It doesn't help that last year I was filling flower pots outside by the second week of April. This year, I'll think we're lucky if we can do it by May.

And tomorrow, we're going to be pummeled by snow. Followed by a series of frigid days. That's not what we expect from you, April!

True, we wake up to a bright morning. Breakfast in the sun room, to the sound of chirping voices of the girls in the box.





But then comes the back and forth:

Ed, we really should go out for a walk.
And we have to finish planting the tomatoes. 48 containers planted, 48 to go!
You're right. We should. We have to.

Every half hour we recycle this dialogue, as we continue to sit in front of our reading material, immobilized by the prospect of stepping out into that cold brown landscape.

But by noon, the push to get going becomes urgent. I'm back on schedule with Snowdrop care, and we really do have to finish planting the seeds, and we absolutely should take that walk.

But the day should not look like this! Both of us, bundled in warm outerwear, he stuffs cups with dirt...






... I plant the seeds.







Our walk reveals more of the same winter sluggishness. The park pond, without turtles sunnying and just a few ducks swimming...






The lone crane, wondering why he bothered flying north so soon...






Well, at least at Snowdrop's school the littlest snowdrops are popping up.






And Snowdrop herself is like spring in full bloom!

(No no, you're too big to bounce on my knee!)






(Story telling time)






(See how much Pepper has grown?)






(A moment with her Polish magnets...)






Happy child, happy household!

Evening. Snow tonight, cold spell the rest of the week. I mean, you gotta love the cold if you live here. Just not into April. Can we agree on that? 

Easter

It's funny how the day is a holiday (not for all, but for many) and yet it feels to me so ultra normal as compared to the last dozen.

It's cold and so Ed and I stay mostly indoors. Even as the little chickens (who, at nearly three weeks are not so little anymore) use every feather and ounce of energy to see the world beyond their box.





What are you doing outside your quarters??

Once again we manipulate the sides of the box so they can't readily fly to the edge. We think it'll buy us 24 hours until they figure out this next hurdle.

Breakfast. How normal! In the sun room.






And then I settle into cooking. The meal isn't elaborate, yet it requires time. Today, I have that time.

Hey, at least dessert's easy! I serve a plateful of treats from Warsaw friends, with a few Parisian madelines thrown in for good measure.





(And I am near my computer, clicking to the album of Primrose photos, supplemented by others as the day progresses. She is already four days old today!)

In the afternoon, Ed and I try to motivate ourselves to plant the tomatoes. April first. We must! In eight weeks they should go in the ground. Today is the day to fill the cups with soil and push a tiny seed into each container.

But who wants to work outside when it's so cold out there? What's one more day, right?






We do half of what we need to do and then our fingers get cold. We retreat inside promising ourselves that tomorrow will be warmer (will it?).


In the early evening, the young family comes for Easter dinner.






Snowdrop is in her most playful form...






Full of stories and smiles.










And so we're back in our routines as if nothing has changed. Except that of course, in our minds and hearts, we now have the presence of Primrose. And so nothing is as it was before.

oh, the children in my life!

The wind howled and a cold, almost snow-like rain pounded at everything in sight. In the darkness of a cloudy predawn, I make my way downstairs, greet and feed the little birds, and sit down to a quiet, solitary breakfast. Ed should sleep. I'm the insane one, wanting to get to Chicago as soon as possible.






I have a few parcels, including the "pajak" (that Polish piece of folk art that Karolina wrapped for me in cardboard that threatens to get soggy very quickly) and as I run from the parked car to the bus stop, I have to laugh at how ridiculous I must look -- box flying in the wind, bag dangling with Primrose treats, backpack stuffed with camera, computer, reading material -- all getting awfully wet in the miserable downpour.

How many trips just like this one will I make in the course of my life?

I ride the bus, mentally packing my backpack for future trips: must remember to take ear phones (against passengers who just cannot put down their phones) and always pack an extra sweater, and come to think of it, an umbrella should be in there as well. One that can withstand howling winds.


In Chicago, I pause at the cafe just by the "L" train stop near the young family's home and as I await further instructions, I look around me, now more like a future habitue rather than a visitor just passing through. I like this place.






And now it's time for me to brave that wind, to whisper a thanks to the weather gods who let the rain clouds move on, to walk as quickly as I can, pausing only to purchase some spring color for the young family's home...






... and finally -- to knock on the door and greet Primrose -- she's three days old today!

(The little one has just settled in for a nice snooze...)






She is a calm child and she gives us a solid two hours of holding, hugging, staring, admiring...

(Her parents)






My turn, at last! I wore my softest shirt, so that she could snuggle in it...






Oh, and the pajak made it! Squashed in the Paris metro turnstiles, jostled in overhead bins and under the seat in front on three planes, pummeled by the winds and rains -- it seems none the worse for wear! Hardy Polish peasant stock!






And now comes the other young family, with Snowdrop in tow (sporting a dazzling Easter ribbon, all pink, of course!). It is the girl's first encounter with Primrose. She has talked a lot about this being her very own cousin. She is delighted with the real deal!

She watches...






She then shyly touches...






And finally, after a thorough hand washing, she holds. And Primrose gives a hint of a smile...






(Sisters!)






My two young families! With another babe on the way...






And one more of my new little granddaughter...






It's the first full day home for Primrose. We leave her to her parents and her new surroundings. No bus for me -- I get to ride back with Snowdrop and her parents.

As we listen to a Snowdrop favorite Peg and Cat song about infinite amounts of love, I think -- yes, that's right. Nothing's taken away, even as another person grabbed my heart this week.

I can't stop smiling at the richness of it all.