Tuesday

By the last days of October, the trees are typically bare. Even the giant maples, blighted in the past few years by a tar spots (a fungal disease), would have shriveled their leaves and dropped them into big piles.

But this year, everything is running just that much later. I've showed off the crab apple, which still has some lovely foliage, even on this next to last day of the month...






And our maples -- much healthier this year! -- are just now turning a delightful gold. With the burning bush burning away in crimson, it all looks rather lovely.






Breakfast is a little hurried as I have shopping to do and Ed has a meeting before him...






And animal care requires a bit more time: Stop Sign, after a two day absence, shows up again, belly decidedly smaller. She is hungry and meows incessantly. Immediately after, she rushes off, presumably to look after her babies, wherever they may be.


In the afternoon, I pick up this babe from school (Oh, how she would protest if she heard me call her that!). As we drive the few minutes to the farmette, she tells me -- I did not have a good day in school today. (She is very in touch with her feelings.) She explains a playground friend situation. I listen, offer some possible strategies for the future, trying hard not to make a big deal of what is likely a small event.

A storm rages as we pull up the farmette driveway.

First order of business at the farmhouse: check out grandma's cookie supply.






I have a question for her -- Snowdrop, I was putting away your toys last night and I see some are missing. Do you know where the rest of the (plastic) carrots are? There should be ten. There are only six.
Maybe ah-ah crawled up into the attic and put them there?

(Later, asking Ed to help fix a broken something or other...)






She launches a story... It again touches on hospitals. She jumps into the role of a nurse. Ed is curious why not a doctor.
She explains, possibly with thoughts of the books about an extended family in Africa that have been the go-to series for her for the last few weeks: I better be a nurse. That is my option. (?!) Or the old dad would be disappointed.  I am amused. She did not worry about disappointing "old teacher" today when she was told to put away her scattered outdoor clothing.






She settles into playing office again. It gets dark early now and of course, after this weekend, it will be darker even earlier.






No matter! We have lights shining brightly on the porch. Lovely little lights for the longer winter nights before us.

Monday

Let it not be said that a small purchase can't give you happiness! I have now looked out at the new, colorful lights on the porch a million times (well, very many) and each time I smile at their utter prettiness. The leaves come down, the light go up. What a sweet mix of seasonal events! (No photos of lights for now: you'll see plenty of those all winter long! But here's one of the majestic crab, in the last days of her golden beauty!)






It is Monday and so my grandson Sparrow comes early to the farmhouse. Actually, you could say that Sparrow is asserting himself in my grandmotherly embrace this week. Hey, don't you want me to play here more often? You do? Great! I'll be here with you Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday too! Parental work demands are severe this week. I can surely help a little more.

Here he is, dressed for an autumnal jog!






Only let's get those shoelaces tied before you take that sprint up the farmette path!

And now let's see if I can coax a smile out of the two men at the breakfast table:






And you, Sparrow?






A morning smile is a regular event for the little guy.

He is a patient boy...  (Okay, Sparrow -- let's get to work on those laces!)


 



... Except when you get him ready to eat, then hold off the bottle in favor of a picture!






It's a pleasant day today. I mean, I've reset my expectations to a late October template.






Snowdrop, my grandgirl, is, as always, very happy to see the both of us at pickup time.






We eek out a few minutes of outdoor play, both outside her school...






... and at the farmette.






(She finds the repeat blooming Phlox and I encourage her to both pick it and smell it. As sweet as honey, no?)






Sparrow, of course, could use a long afternoon nap, but he never sleeps when Snowdrop is back with us. Eventually, toward the end of the day he will get very very tired, but for now, the two of them are a joy to watch...






Toward evening, the kids leave, the sun throws its last rich light on the crab apple.





It's a beautiful world there, just outside our doors. Ah but to save it, enrich it, nurture it for generations to come...

Sunday

So windy, so cold, so close to the feeling that winter is around the corner. I suppose all of November is like that: a constant reminder of what comes next. You think this is chilly? Just you wait!

Feeling rather Novemberish, I sat it out today. Farmhouse stuff. Warm, snuggly farmhouse stuff.

This includes breakfast.






One peek outside... Oh the big crab is losing its leaves so quickly with the wind!

I'm scouting around for Stop Sign who hasn't been around for two days now. I'm guessing she's giving birth to babies somewhere. May they all be safe...





In the afternoon, I press Ed to work with me on our winter lights. We both take this project very, very seriously. It's not that we are driven to decorate for the holidays. Ed surely isn't a holiday kind of guy. But over the years, we have developed this fondness for (a modest amount of) holiday lights. And they must be just so.

We need to replace the porch lights and you would think we are engaged in the illumination of the Eiffel Tower.  These are not bright enough! No, not those either! I would love to include a purple light! This one! Yes, this one! Are you sure? Not sure... Let's check a few more stores....

In the end, as always, we find something we both like. We set up strings of lights around the porch, the door, and the path leading to it. By the time the young family comes to dinner, everything is in place. And I have at least one appreciative little girl here!






Baby Sparrow looks on at this, as on everything else, with eyes wide open.






Oh, babies!






Dinner... new lights in place....






"There's still time for play, isn't there? I'm selling things. Would you like to buy a mouse? A phone?"





A phone, if you insist. But honestly, I need nothing more today.

Sleep well, sweet grandkids, mine, yours, and all others. How I wish you could all sleep well!

for the birds

Ed tells me -- I have to use pliers on your hair. There's no other way.
Maybe I should just cut it off. Will you love me with a crew haircut?
Of course. But let's try the pliers.

I had gone out to feed the animals. Ed was sleeping in, the day was gray but not unpleasant. Robins darted for crab apples, fighting off their kin, as if there was only enough for one of them.


 



So many of our feathered friends are territorial!






I pause to do some more garden pruning. It's good to do it in fits and starts. To not waste a whole day on it. To pull and clip for an hour, then move on.

Hitchhiker seeds. You know them? You look down and out of nowhere, several dozen tiny clawed seeds are now all over you sock. There's a lot to watch out for. We  have, for example, nasty burdock seeds, but they're the size of a dime. You really need to walk with your eyes closed to miss them. But Virginia stickseed is something else: the seeds form on thin stalks. They're numerous and their lethal. I've been attacked in the past, most often when I am pruning the raspberries. But occasionally they migrate into the flower beds and today I just did not see them until it was too late. Way too late.

They are on my socks. They are on my sweat pants. They are on my bulky cotton sweater (all terrible clothes to wear when you're weeding, for exactly this reason). And worst of all, they are in my hair. If you bend down to clip and your hair dances near a stickseed plant -- bang! You are done for.

Typically patience and I mean supreme patience will get you far: you can maneuver out one seed at a time, wiggling, pinching, grasping, pulling. But this time I had unwittingly let my hair dance around the clump of seeds. Less than a quarter inch in diameter, they are coated with prickles that stick.

I try to patiently get them out. Nothing. Ed attempts to untangle the mess. Nope. A shower with lots of cream rinse? I can almost hear them laughing at me.

Finally, Ed looks to youtube for help. Pliers. Squeeze them tight, hair shaft and all, pulverize them, then remove the bits left behind.

One hour later we're done.

Breakfast is very, very late.





In the afternoon it drizzles. I could really gripe about that, since we are at the end of October and I feel the season has sped ahead and I haven't had my fill of it at all. But there is a pause in the rain and in that pause, I suggest Ed and I head out to Owen Woods.

This compact but beautiful conservation park is perhaps Madison's most underappreciated natural wonder. And it is absolutely at its best toward the very end of October. The diversity in flora is dizzying and when you take an hour's hike, weaving your way through woods, across the prairie, skirting the birch grove or the oak savanna, you can see it all!

I'm going to post seven photos from our walk. The colors here are as they were for us today.





































I began this post with birds in our crab apple, I'll end with that as well. Our young girls have always been terrific flyers. Here they are, checking out what all the robin fuss is about:






Nothing much, girls. Just an autumnal day with exquisite fall ornamentation, that's all.

last Friday of October

If your child goes to school in Madison, Wisconsin, she or he will be home from school the last Friday of October. Teachers convene, have workshops, and I have to think -- take a deep breath after the charged first months of the new school year.

Snowdrop's school follows this practice and so today, the little girl's farmette time is a little different: a little earlier, a little longer, a little more playful.

It means, though, that I have to put on the motor to get Friday stuff done on time. Breakfast, for example, is lovely, but I'm not sure Ed is fully awake for it.






The day is gray, but on the upside, it offers us just a few more of those precious degrees of warmth.






Enough to feel better about being outside. (Or, maybe I'm finally getting my winter feathers!) When Snowdrop appears, I offer her outdoor play and she pounces! Here we are, cleaning up the red wagon.






Spotless and ready for her babies. She wants to take them to the wood chip pile.






(You just have to admire that last day lily. Autumn? Nearly November? Pshaw...)






And now the princess of wood chip-landia has made her ascent!
(You sure you don't want to roll up your sleeves? No, gaga, no thank you!)






She is the drop of color in an increasingly barren landscape.






There is so much that grabs her fancy! Today, she explores her secret house underneath the pines...






Spotting Ed, who continues his work on the felled tree, she coaxes him inside. He can't possibly crawl in, but they manage to wiggle their way between the branches.






How to coax her back indoors... oh, I have tricks up my sleeve! Today I become the total grandmother: we're going to be baking pumpkin spice cupcakes. With pink frosting. I hadn't baked with Snowdrop for a while and so I am in for many surprises. She can easily be given responsibilities now.






In goes a cheeper egg!






Scoop the batter into the tins...





And wait.

Time for the toothpick test!





Clean!

Soon enough, ready to eat.






I don't have to spell out what we do with the rest of the afternoon. Oh, there are the books, yes of course. There are, too, the stories. Imaginative play, sometimes with me taking part (grandma, can you play Anna Hibiscus? I'll be the parrot). But oftentimes, she asks to be left alone (I am in my office and will be bringing home lots of money). And sometimes, she just needs help with a wardrobe adjustment....





... and the story unfolds and I sit back once more.


The evening is quiet. There is a trace of cinnamon in the air. The last Friday of October ends, as so many of our days end -- on a calm note. Reflective, with a smile.