Sunday

Such a day. After several weeks of frenzy, sniffles, political drama, I look to this weekend, this Sunday, as giving me an opportunity to regroup, as they say. To find my center. To shake the last sniffle. To move forward.

The weather is most uncooperative for this effort. I limit my outdoor time to moving back and forth between farmhouse and barn.






Breakfast is again very late. So much so, that Ed actually eats something out of hunger, rather than because I called him down for the morning meal.





He and I are definitely not on the same ship today. He's off helping some maker guys install a furnace, I'm cleaning and cooking and taking care of chickens.

In the evening, the young family comes for dinner. Hi, Sparrow!











There is time for some playful stuff after. I'm not sure this is a good thing going forward, but Snowdrop has learned to use my camera and she is giddy with joy when I let her take pictures with it.






I wont post her work here, but it is delightful. The world, as seen through the eyes of a child.

And so we wrap up one week and move on to the next. I'm looking forward to it. I hope you are as well!

going for the gold

It isn't a good day for a stroll around the farmers market. Too cold, too wet, too threatening. Still, as I will myself to get out of bed, I'm remembering that the corn farmers -- the ones who really know how to push the season -- promised one last day of corn today. And it's an exquisite corn: even after five days in the fridge, the flavor is extraordinary. I putz around downstairs, Ed sleeps. I fix breakfast, Ed sleeps. It's 10 a.m., I tell myself. Go now eat later. They'll likely sell out in an hour or so.

I put on my puffy jacket for this one. And gloves. And I take out Rosie the moped and scoot downtown.

I remember the first time I ever rode with Ed on his motorcycle -- it was late October (thirteen years ago!) and it was a cold late afternoon. Ed was so happy to expose me to the joy of riding a motorbike. I was so cold! Every time we went through a valley, I felt like someone had opened the refrigerator on an already cold interior. Today I reminded myself of the old Danish saying -- there is no such thing as weather that's too cold to enjoy; but there is such a thing as being improperly dressed for it. Bundled and zipped tight, I get going.







And it is worth it. Here is the truckload of gold! (Next week they'll flip their tent banner to face the market: instead of fresh corn, they'll be selling the frozen stuff.)






I buy a lot, telling myself I'll do something creative with it this week.

I don't really walk the market. I scoot around at its periphery. Catching sight of our farmer friends from up the road, I pause to pick up a bunch of sunflowers from their stand. Also the last ones this year.






What I did not know then was that Jacques Pepin, chef and cookbook author extraordinaire, was also shopping the Madison market today. Such an odd time for him to come here for market shopping! The truth is that our growing season has come to a close. True, a small handful of farmers will grow foods year round (spinach comes to mind), but mostly, they're done.


At the farm, the cheepers are hovering near the driveway, wondering why I went off without feeding them (they're by the young quince trees which this year did produce the first fruit ever).

Okay okay okay! Follow me!






By the time I am in the farmhouse, Ed is awake. We sit down to breakfast.






You have to really twist my arm to go out again: our sweet, warm farmhouse (painted Caribbean yellow!) is like a comfy blanket on a cold night ...

 



But the fact is, it's only going to get colder. You cannot grow soft!

We hike our favorite trail -- one that was unattractive during the entire summer because of the bugs this year -- the Brooklyn Wildlife Area. It's terribly wet and muddy at the prairie end and the day continues to be cloudy and a bit drab, but despite all this, the walk is beautiful.






I am instantly reminded how gorgeous a forest can be in autumn. Even before the burst of color, it displays enough variety to set your senses spinning.






Around every corner, there is something grand.






On this trail, we always climb up to the viewpoint, where we sit on the bench (put there by the Ice Age trail builders) and take in the landscape around us.






Into the forest once more...






... and out again.






Evening. I clean the corn, freezing some kernels for winter stirfries, saving the remaining cobs for dinners this week.

For the last time this year we have a dinner of corn picked just this morning. It is like a plate of comfort food. I'd say at this moment, we all need some good, warm comfort food.

Friday

I associate decoratively used bright, vibrant colors with southern climates. Coral pink and Caribbean yellow. Spanish red. Moroccan aqua. Greek white and blue. As for northerners? The best I can come up with is pine green against a wall of gray. Women in black dresses, men in somber suits. Winter puffies in black, olive, navy. Charcoal gray roofs against a charcoal gray sky.

Shouldn't it be the other way around? In the south, flowers bloom year-round. All the places I mention -- the Caribbean, the Mediterranean basin -- have more days with sunshine than us northerners do. They've got color everywhere you look! And why do we, up north, hide in the shadows, relegating pink to a little girl's wardrobe or aqua to, well, not much anything.

We're facing a handful of cold and drippy days. All I can think of is bringing in flowers for the kitchen table and putting on the brightest most colorful clothes from my closet.

(Ed thinks about none of this. After breakfast....






... he gets on his motorcycle and, despite the drizzle, scoots of to his techie meetings.)


(The cheepers are less indifferent. Excessively wet feathers, I hear, are uncomfortable for a chicken. They do not secrete the protective oils that duck feathers do.Put a wet duck on a pond -- she'll swim. Put a wet cheeper on a pond -- she'll sink. On the other hand, the feathers protect the hens from feeling cold. So quit complaining, cheepers!)






The farmette, soaked and working on bleak...






With just a few flowers hanging in there...






Is it a surprise that I am very much looking forward to my afternoon with Snowdrop? I need a smiling face and a touch of pink in my life right now!

(Pick up at school)






Since it is wet and cold outside, I have to say no to her requests for playground and a walk. And at the farmhouse, I stick to my guns on the video issue. No, not today. I reach into my cache of special projects. How about building a Lego (small scale) castle from the movie Frozen? Snowdrop hasn't seen the movie but knows it well from playground conversations and songs she's heard on long drives to Chicago. She is excited!

I'm a tad apprehensive. The age range for this particular Lego set is high. Still, if I do most of the building, we can get something credible up and standing, don't you think?

Yeah!






We embark on this deliciously complicated adventure.






We're not even a quarter done when Ed returns from his meetings. I coax him into the project. You're an engineer, for Pete's sake!






We work with the teeny tiny pieces. Ed gets up and tells me I'm better off without his help. Snowdrop encourages him to persevere.






In the end, Ed retreats, I persevere and Snowdrop dances up a storm of stories.

It is a beautiful day to be with my pink loving grandgirl. She knows what's at play. Grab color while you can. Life is too short to stay in its shadows. It's pink, or bust! Or at least go with Moroccan aqua, or Caribbean yellow.

Thursday at the World Dairy Expo

The World Dairy Expo, held annually in Madison, is a huge deal. It draws crowds from 100 countries. Every aspect of the dairy industry is on display. And there are the cows: more than 2300 heads of cattle, from 40 states and from the Canadian provinces. It is a place to learn, to exchange information, to showcase your best, to connect and make inquiries.

No place for a small child, right?

Wrong. This year, not for the first time, I took Snowdrop to the "cow show" (though this year, since she is older, I explained to her that it's more than just a cow show. A Wisconsin child should learn the meaning of dairy early in life!).

First, of course, there is a farmette morning. It's a cold day -- so odd to follow a hot day! -- but the sunshine is brilliant and inviting. Well, just mildly inviting. We eat breakfast, of course, indoors. Ed tells me that an open window and a furnace pumping in warm air are not compatible (I disagree, but quietly, when he's in the other room) and so we have no real connection from our indoor perch to the vast and beautiful world outside.






That world:





And after breakfast, I'm lost to chores and Ed's lost somewhere in the crawlspace of the attic, searching for a roof leak that he cannot find.

Ah, but soon enough it is the afternoon. I pick up an excited Snowdrop and we walk to the World Dairy Expo (which happens to be at the Expo Center -- a short stroll from her school).

It is a terrific set of hours! (Snowdrop is keen on bringing both her brother and her cousin next year!)

A few photos from our afternoon with cows. And dairy. Just a few, I promise!







(There are junior tents as well, where young cow boys and girls compete. Snowdrop tells me that she intends to look after a cow too someday.)






(Hold that tail!)






(I learn later that you're not really supposed to ride these cows. Hurry up, just do it! -- the nearby guard tells us.)






A hit: the purple cow gift shop. All those cows!






Another hit: the ice cream parlor. I tell Snowdrop -- I only have cash for yours. The portions are huge. I figure I'll finish all that she cannot possibly consume herself. A guy before me overhears. Oh please, I insist on buying you yours.

We eat a lot of ice cream.






We pass a John Deere stand. Toys, souvenirs, you name it. Snowdrop insists that it is her dream to own one of the many models. I want to say -- forget it. You got a cow. Then comes the guilt -- oh, so you're okay about buying her a girlie stuffie but not a plastic tractor? And you wonder why she has no interest in heavy machinery? (I'll let you guess how that back and forth ended.)






Finally, at the big arena. She wants to get down really close. We do that.






Then she wants to climb up to the highest places, to look on from afar. We do that as well.






She loves it all.






While the cow show moves on.






And others prepare for their turn. (If you've never seen grown men (or women)  fuss over over every hair on their cow's tail, you should at some point in your life visit a cow show. Or at least a county fair.)






This year (as opposed to previous years where she was really taken aback by the sheer size of these animals) Snowdrop is completely comfortable moving among the stalls of the "barns."






Indeed, it's hard to pull her away. But, the lure of play is a good one. In the late late afternoon, we're back at the farmhouse.






... where Snowdrop immediately dives into one of her many ongoing imaginative games.





I retreat to the sidelines. I feel confident that dairy expos, along with hoof trimming tools and milking machines are part of her vocabulary going forward.

Wednesday in Chicago

One day. One day in Paris, one day on the English Channel, one wet cold day in October, one day to take it all in, one day to make something of it.

One day with Primrose.

I wake up early in the home of the Chicago young family, but the little babe wakes up even earlier. I find her un-stacking rings with her mommy as I make my way to the living room. I saw her a month ago and all I can say is that a lot has changed in that time. So you're sitting now, eh? How about that!







Parents are off to work. Primrose stays home today to play with me. It's going to be a strangely hot day (indeed, in Chicago, the temps will climb all the way to 86F, or 30C and Madison isn't that far behind). Windy and very hot. Only today. Not yesterday, not tomorrow. We dress accordingly.

(Why is the marble hiding?)






Initially, Primrose is freshly puzzled by the flashing camera. It takes her a few minutes to remember that this grandma really likes to play with that little machine!






When she naps, I eat breakfast.






You could say that during a good part of the day, one of us is eating. And this is new, too: Primrose, in a high chair, eating mush.






And here's something old and so very endearing: Primrose remains a great stroller adventurer!






It's so very warm (as it was when I was here all those summer weeks), that I get this strange feeling of time standing still, even as Primrose galloped forward in her development!

Because the air is so balmy, so infinitely breezy and inviting (I'm remembering October 1st, which was quite the opposite), I take the little one on a longer walk. Ultimately, we wind up at a spot she and I seem to return to again and again -- Milk and Honey Cafe.






Primrose smells the foods around her. I know she does. (Here comes that camera game again!)






Is that ever a disappointed face when she finds out that only grandma gets to eat?!






As we walk back to her home, I look for signs of autumn. Still just a dusting of spent leaves...






...And only the occasional blushing maple branch.






And now we're home again, eating (and I mean real stuff, not just the new toy)...






... and showing me how much she has shot up to a whole 'nother level (I do have a hand out, just in case she needs the support, but I can almost feel her scoffing at this unnecessary little precaution). "Hey world, I'm standing!"






One day, one good day. Familiar, different, deeply satisfying, very full. As in the past, at the end of it, Primrose and I head out to intercept her mom as she comes home from work.






The little girl's delight is just so grand to watch!

And with that heavy sigh that always surfaces when it's time to go, I leave them to their play.






It's evening now and if I walk very very fast and if the L train isn't poky, I'll catch the 7pm bus to Madison, where Ed I'm sure will be happy to pop me some corn, no matter what the hour of my return.