the weather

Our local news begins with the weather and ends with it. Yes, others have suffered far greater weather catastrophes in recent month, but this one -- the rain that fell here just as my plane landed from Minneapolis last week -- has had quite the impact on our city: we're flooded. Homes, businesses, streets -- submerged and pumping. Costco and Whole Foods -- water logged. The lakes are at levels I'd never seen before. And even if it doesn't rain again (which, by the way, is not the expected forecast), the water levels will only rise. Some of the lakes have not yet crested, even as the major arteries leading from the east side to downtown, are submerged.

I would never have thought that Madison is vulnerable to this kind of assault. We've had large rains before, but this one was eerily different. Certainly the impact has been tremendous.

Here's something else that's eerily different: the farmhouse. Dry (we are on a hill), but very quiet today. The absence of little kids is felt in every nook and corner.

Ed and I eat breakfast in the kitchen. There is a sudden dip in the temperature. I don't really understand it, because it's shooting right back up tomorrow for a toasty hot weekend, but today I felt it was too cold to eat on the porch.






But is it really breakfast when Ed has reduced his morning eating to a single peach, picked from the tree outside? He laughs at me: you eat the same oatmeal-kefir-fruit-honey every single day! It's incredible! You never vary it!
Well now, Mr. free spirit who dibbles and dabbles in this and that and never the same thing for long -- don't most people eat the same breakfast every day? (You tell me, Ocean people -- don't you?) Besides, I mess with it when I travel.

(Outside, the garden is an August disarray. But if you rid yourself of preconceptions, you can find plenty of loveliness. For instance, can you spot at least five yellow flowering plants in this picture? Two types of day lilies, two different false sunflowers and a black-eyed susan. Pure gold!)






(On my way to the grocery store -- one that isn't flooded. Cheepers, why do you cross the driveway just when I'm backing out?)






Later: time to pick up Snowdrop. It's her last day of "summer camp." One photo, because last days of school are just as important as first days of school, right?






At the farmette, I call the cheepers for a piece of leftover pain au chocolat. Their run down the pathway is too funny: they half fly, have waddle at an alarmingly past pace..






Inside, Snowdrop and I play a little, eat even more watermelon, read a book. Then she nudges me: Gaga, you said we could watch a video if it rained.
It's not a big rain right now. Just a tickle.
But can't I watch one anyway?





I have to smile. I was like that once, coaxing and begging for that clip on the screen.

Why not! It's the end of the school year. A beautiful day, where grandkids hover and wait for grandma to turn soft and allow them to watch a video clip (or two) as the dusk is getting ready to set in.

my three farmhouse children

My night goes like this: one little one, after prancing and dancing past her bedtime, settles in and is out by 9:15. An hour too late, but oh well. She had had a long nap. A second little one eats, slurps and gurgles and finally falls asleep by 9:45. The third one falls asleep on the couch shortly after. I finish writing, go upstairs. It's 11:15. I'm ahead of yesterday's schedule by 15 minutes! But wait, a little one is up. Nature calls. All that watermelon! After all, the fruit is 92% water. Finally, everyone's out. I'm out.

At 3:45, my couch sleeping one wakes up and lumbers up to bed. He's no quiet little mouse as he goes through his nighttime routines. I'm awake, listening. Then, when all is quiet again, I will myself to fall back asleep. Some people do this with ease. I was one of them. Three decades ago.

And now, at 5:45, one little one is hungry. Well of course. It's been a while. He's a growing boy. It takes a few tricks to coax him back to sleep. All is quiet again. But it's 6:30! I may as well start in on breakfast.

Everyone is sleeping in today! I'm not jealous. I'll get my time in bed. I'm so happy that they will be well rested. Everyone's take on the day is greatly improved when they have plenty of sleep under their belts.

Except that one little one has to be in school at 8:30. Well, it's summer camp and she can be late.

Finally, just before 8, the littlest one stirs. The two of us go up to wake the rest of the household.






(morning kisses)






I have a farmhouse full of happy children.

Breakfast -- ready. Just flip a few pancakes and we're set!

Two of the kids have a rambunctious time playing with peaches, pancakes and honey.

(peaches, many of them from our own peach tree)






(honey; kids love licking it off their fingers...)












The youngest is feeling left out of the eating action. But is it possible to eat your oatmeal and feed a baby? It is!





Snowdrop, hurry up, we have to get to school!
But ahah and I have to feed the chickens!

As I wait for them, I take in this beautiful lily against the backdrop of the false sunflower that the bees love so much...






Here they come: as always, she clutches his finger -- her hand so small, his so big.






At school, she tells her teacher all about... everything.





Sparrow sleeps after  two curious days of very little sleep. Babies are so unpredictable.


"Will you put the farm flower in my hair?"






Snowdrop is at school, Sparrow rests. My third child alternates between learning new things and resting.

As I pick Sparrow up and walk around a little with him, I do a selfie, remembering that I did this very selfie with Snowdrop when she was his age. Only back then, there weren't castles and tutus in the background!







"Toys are nice... but where is my sister?"






Time to get Snowdrop. (Grandma, I am reading a book I wrote to my friends.)






At the farmette, Sparrow dozes in his car seat. Ed asks -- Snowdrop, you want to pick an apple from the old apple tree?

We have an ancient orchard that produces its fair share of ancient varieties of apples and pears. After you've been spoiled on honey crisps, you stop hankering for an apple out of the ancient orchard. Unless you're Ed.






He shows her how he can reach nearly any apple on the tree.
You see? I can pick this one. Do you want it?
How about the one next to it that's a little more pink?











Hi, Sparrow!






And in the late afternoon, the parents come to pick their kids up.


 


And now I am left with only one! And really, he's kind of tall, so not actually a child at all.

After the farmhouse grows really quiet, I think about two things: the first -- just four words uttered by a teacher at the school. You are so lucky! -- she said this today, not for the first time. My second thought is about how much Ed loves a good challenge. I do know that I heaped my plate a little full this past week. The travel, the kids, the garden. Indeed, you could argue that the summer has been like a double dinner portion. Which is perhaps why I'll remember it so fondly: that crazy time when I wanted to do it all. How wonderful it was. How lucky I am that I could plunge into it and emerge feeling like I still have a lot of oomph in me.

Ed, should we build a front deck? Or maybe cut down a few more trees? After I come back from Chicago and before I go on my next trip maybe?
Let's go to the farmers market and get some corn.
 

farmhouse days

Children are not ours, in that we do not own them, dictate their futures, determine their fate. They are their own soulful beings. Vulnerable at a young age, to be sure, but with a future that is completely theirs. Still, if you care for them at a young age, you sort of wish you could hop skip over a handful of decades, just for a brief moment, so that you can see their take on life say fifty years from now. I remember thinking of this when my girls were small, but then also intuiting that someday I will want to have them back at their young age for just a short while, to play again, to rid them of all the anxieties of adulthood and put them back into a world of pure childhood.

Both Sparrow and Snowdrop are visiting at the farmhouse for a few days and so I have time to think not only about the now - the game to play, the stuffie to wave in front of the babe's face - but also about their adulthood and how to help them get to a best possible place so that they can feel contentment in their life, despite the knocks and bruises they'll encounter.

These are all fleeting thoughts. I haven't the luxury of much down time right now and, too, I am feeling the tiredness from my Iceland trip, compounded by the unpredictability of a very young babe's sleep cycle.

But tiredness is never a big issue when days are this sunny and beautiful!

I have a couple of breakfast pics - ones that bring home the idea that this really is a hugely important meal in the life of a grownup, but also a child.

This one you might title: "Sparrow dabbles in oatmeal, peaches and blueberries. Snowdrop thinks that this is the funniest thing ever."










And now it's time for me to take the little girl to school.
But I have to feed the chickens with ahah!
Alright, but do it quickly!






Did someone say "feed??"






As we arrive in school, she is too tempted by her lunch. Out comes the cheese sandwich.
Save some for later!
But I'm hungry!





Sparrow tags along. The fate of the youngest child is that she or he always does have to tag along. School shows, music recitals, ball games. Places to cheer the older family hero. Today -- to drop big sister off at school.

But back at the farmhouse he has my undivided attention.

Little guy, do you want to try out Snowdrop's favorite seat on the couch? (You can't easily do that when she is here -- it's "her" spot.)






Let's bring out all your play mat toys and examine them before your sister gets home (she cannot resist his toys!)






There are some advantages to being the youngest kid in the family.






Guess who has no time to do garden work?
Guess what -- it doesn't matter.






School's over for the day. We go for a very brief walk to the park, but it's not grabbing the little girl. Too windy. Too many prickly seeds in the sand. The water level is too high at the lake. We do not linger.





At home, Ed is feeding Stop Sign. Nothing is more exciting to Snowdrop than giving him a helping hand in these chores. (The cheepers are sure she has something for them. Snowdrop is always a bit apprehensive when they hover. Well she might be. They are only half her size.)






At the farmhouse, Sparrow and Snowdrop find a world of play that somehow is not bothered by their age difference.






"I am a bridge, he is the river!"






Evening is quieter. Ed is off biking. The kids pick up on the stillness of the house. Even though he's not a big talker, Ed's presence fills the room when he is here.

Snowdrop and I eat pizza on the porch.





Several hours later Ed comes back.  
You ready to put away the chickens with me?
Yes!!

Flashlights glowing, they set out.
 





Ed is never very hungry after strenuous exercise. He'll eat his way through a big piece of fruit -- that's all. Tonight he has a partner in crime: the two of them devour the whole watermelon. I'd like to believe he ate most of it, but I'm not sure that's the case.






Night time. I hurry through chores and tidying jobs. Snowdrop sleeps, Sparrow settles down as well, Ed drifts off on the couch.

Everyone is tired but happy. Is there a better way to end a farmhouse "vacation?" I truly don't think so.

               

torrents of water

It was the biggest rainfall in Madison's history. Flood waters poured out of nowhere all evening long and continue to cause disruptions and turmoil now, ten hours after the last raindrop fell from the sky.

Ed the sailor came back just before midnight. It took a good many hours for us to review the last month and to reconnect. Before dawn, we fell asleep, exhausted but content.

In the morning, we survey the damage. We are on a hill so you'd never know there was a record setting rain! The cheepers are happy, Stop Sign is complaining that he wants more food. The flowers? Well, it's August. What can you expect! You gotta love abundance in disarray!






(A few lilies remain. I trim them in appreciation, for a season well lived!)






Ed is on a sailor's schedule: eat meals when the weather and conditions permit, not when the clock says it's breakfast time. I threaten to disenfranchise him from my morning routine! Each post does not have to have a photo of this meal. I am still capable of changing things around here, on Ocean!

Or am I?





A day for me begins with as beautiful a breakfast as you can muster. It just does.


The next three days have long been on the books as a farmhouse vacation for Snowdrop and Sparrow. It's the little guy's first set of overnights here and though he is rather chill about it...





...Snowdrop is extremely excited "to show him around."

I pick her up at school and I offer some adventure possibilities, but really, she just wants to come to the farmhouse and watch Sparrow navigate this place as only a two month old can. But first, an inspection of the tomatoes. Accompanied by Tomato. Who, by the way, has been nibbling on the tomatoes.






(Running after Henny, who will never let anyone catch up with her!)






("Can we play store? I'm selling magazines!")






("Is my sister home??)







Dinnertime: A hodgepodge of Snowdrop favorites.






So happy to have Ed home again!






Snowdrop and Sparrow. They roll in and out of play encounters. He's into her, she's into him, then -- just focused on just his toys. Something distracts her. He listens to the sound of her all over the room. Finally he wants someone to pay attention to him. She does. With vigor. Perhaps too much vigor. Or maybe just right? He is her friend. She is his friend.






It's dark now. Ed goes out to put away the cheepers. A real sign that he is home! She insists on going out with him. They come back waving their flashlights, pretending that the moon followed them indoors.







Bed time. Prolonged, too late, but of course I'm just getting the hang of putting the two of them down. Snowdrop, I can't carry you, I have to carry Sparrow.
Really?
Well, let me try...






Good night sweet children of the world. Good night, their parents. Good night Ed.


And so it seems like I quickly picked up the routines and pace of the weeks gone by, no? Does a trip far away really change you?

I can't speak for humanity, but for me, it does. Being amidst people who live with different allegiances, different traditions, different histories is so crucially important to me. As I get older, I get more cautious in my orbit: I no longer plan trips to places that are so different from my own that I feel myself to be lost. That belonged to a different decade. Still, when I go away, when I cross borders, I stop expecting the people around me to be as they are back home.  Forty-eight hours in Iceland may not have been much, but as always with these trips, it pushed me forward. And that's such a good thing.