a day with Primrose, an evening at the farmette

My trips to Chicago have a very agreeable routine to them: a first evening supper at the young couple's home, with both parents, catching up on stuff. A Friday devoted entirely to being with Primrose. And a Saturday of more play with her, followed by a brunch en famille, in one of Chicago's many many wonderful brunch places.

As always, I keep my camera not too far from my side. These photos are my souvenirs, my true mementos of our time together. With Snowdrop and Sparrow, I'll take a few pics and if I'm satisfied that there is at least one good one, I'll put away the camera for the rest of our play. With Primrose, it's different: I want to remember her every expression.

Take this morning, as I feed her  her morning meal. ("Grandma, why are both of my bowls empty??")






Sometimes, her expression is intuited. Here she is, lost in a book...






I can't see your face, little one!
"Well then read the book, grandma!"






(Photo taken by daughter)






Playing with the girl means I have to anticipate the hurdles and pitfalls she faces.  She is an explorer and I make sure that her bravery doesn't get her in trouble. And occasionally, I'll offer a helping hand to get her across the tough spots.






It also means being there to reassure...

("Where did the bunny rabbit go? No, not the one on my dress, the one that belongs in this car!")





And to figure out good paths to better outcomes.

("Found him!")





It's tough being eleven months old!

When she naps, my daughter and I sit down for a mini breakfast. Fruit, with kefir and honey. Kefir is my fourth favorite beverage of all drinks out there! (You can probably guess the others. Yes, the short list includes fizzy water and cafe creme.)





As we sit down for a leisurely chat, I'm offered a golden latte. I've never had one before. My girl whips up almond milk with turmeric, ginger, cinnamon, black pepper, a drop of coconut oil, and honey. A coffee without the coffee! (I'm thinking that at my age, I have a reservoir of so many favorites that I rarely notice new offerings in stores or coffee shops. My daughters are my link to a world that has moved forward, whether or not I've been paying attention.)

And now Primrose wakes...





And we bundle up for our brunch outing.





The young parents have suggested Fat Rice, a place with a cook who whips up Macanese food like you wouldn't believe! He's good! (And has been well recognized for his talents.)

(Arrival: Primrose takes in the colors and the customers.)





(Studying the menu...)





The restaurant is appended to a bakery which puts out a steady supply of pork buns, croissants with kaya jam, and egg tarts.  Primrose is tempted.





Yum!




The flavors are sublime. I order a chewy rice flour, egg, spinach and shiitake stir fry, with spices that are mind blowing -- both subtle and profound.

There are a lot of talented people in Chicago who cook with passion and commitment. Here's a blurb from the Fat Rice website explaining the goals of the kitchen:

Arguably the world’s first fusion cuisine, the Macanese table includes ingredients and techniques from Portugal, India, South-East Asia, Africa, China and other far reaches of the globe that the Portuguese traveled during the Age of Discovery. It is our goal to preserve, protect and aid in the evolution of the Luso-Asian table.

It's a wonderful meal.

("Can we take some of the piglets home?")




("No, not this time.")






The hard part is giving that last hug and saying good bye. Stay happy and healthy!

Next time I'm in Chicago we will be, at least by the calendar page, fully into spring.


At the farmette all is quiet. Deer come in toward dusk, just as I am driving up...

 



New snow had fallen (of course... what a surprise...), some combination of cats came and now disappeared into the dark night. Ed survived without me.
Have a good time, gorgeous?
Yes, yes I did. 
He pops corn, we settle in for an evening together.

Friday with Primrose

It's very odd to get up and not run out to check on the fate of animals living in the wild! Instead, I rely on Ed updates and as always, there is a mix of good and troubling, but I am determined not to let this topic rule my waking hours in March and so I take it in and put it aside.

It's not hard to move on to another preoccupation when you're in a different place and with another grandgirl -- one who is growing by leaps and bounds!






Primrose is moving around upright (I guess "walking" is a good word for it!) She does well if she can grab something, or if you walk along with her and hold her hand.  If I think I'm going to have any sit down time today, I am so very mistaken.

Parents are off to work (one last hug!)...






And I'm off to play.

(Yes, there is a breakfast stuck in there while Primrose is napping.)





I see this little one often enough, but still, I always need at least an hour to feel her pulse again -- kids change that fast at her age!

She is way past the "hold me!" age, at the same time, she needs someone by her side. If you are out of her field of vision, she drops everything and concentrates on making sure that you haven't fallen off the face of the planet.

Too, she uses every opportunity to pull herself up and get going. This is tricky stuff: she can't tell what will topple and what will hold steady. That's grandma's job.

 ("Grandma, I'm wearing new shoes!")






We explore her basket of toys. (These rings spin their way down! Sort of amazing.)






But honestly, Primrose rarely sits still for long. At this moment, it's all about locomotion. She is a child on the go!






A happy girl, she takes great pleasure in small things and is not easily upset. One fall has her scurry into my arms for comfort, but otherwise, she is all curious gazes and has quite the range of vocalizations and utterances. She can be serious and soulful, but in that belly there sure is a fistful of laughter! (She thinks being spun around in her push wagon is very funny.)






(Quiet time before the afternoon nap...)






(Yes, there'll always be a pseudo-selfie on a time release!)







I do miss my outside time with her. Looking out, it seems not warm, but not cold either. Right around freezing. That seems okay for a walk with a girl who has Wisconsin blood in her! We head out.






 The goal is to time our outing with the return of her mom. Intercepting her as she gets off the commuter train has always been a lovely ritual. But of course, it had been a summer ritual. If her mom missed one train or stayed a bit later and caught another, Primrose and I would wait it out in the  park.

Today, after a few blocks, I realize that a long walk is not the best idea. It's maybe a degree below freezing, but toward dusk and with a Chicago breeze, this can feel pretty cold. At the park, I do let her have a minute in the swing, which she loves ("way up high in the sky..."), but very quickly, I call it quits. It just feels too nippy out there.






Just as I am snapping her back in the stroller, I get a text that mom will be arriving within twenty minutes. That's too long to wait outside. Is there any commercial venue that could house us for a quarter of an hour? I peek into a bar. No... Too many steps to climb with a stroller. There's just one more place -- oh, what do you know! It's a dog boarding/grooming/supplies shop! Maybe they have cat food...

Hi, can I buy a can of your best kitten food? You see, I live on this farm, except we aren't farmers, but there are these kittens... 
Primrose listens, clearly puzzled by this whole adventure.






The shop is closing up soon, but the sweet owner/groomer/dog caregiver lets us stay as he tidies up. Besides, Ziggy, the barking spaniel still needs to be picked up by the owner.
How many dogs do you have here for the day?
Today we had seven. There was a lot of dog energy! But, they all know each other, so it was fine. Here, your little one needs a tissue.
I dab on Primrose's nose then look for a garbage bin.
I'll take it. No, no problem. I pick up dog poop all day long, I can certainly handle a used tissue.

We chat some, about dogs, owners, about feral cats of course. And then the twenty minutes are up. I thank him, Primrose waves goodbye to loud Ziggy and we go out again to great, beloved mom.





In the evening, after Primrose is back in her crib, protesting only slightly the end of a day of play, I toss a supper together for myself and push the young couple out the door. What good is a grandma's visit if the kids can't take a pause from their routines! Me, I pour a glass of wine, pile up a stack of ginger snaps and retreat to the new mystery novel that I started on the bus ride here and expect to finish on the bus ride back tomorrow.

Thursday

The last day of February. I cannot say that this has been an unexciting month, even though the excitement has sometimes been of the panic-and-worry type. Worry about the weather. Worry about the animals. Worry that spring is still too far away.

Looking back, I must complain that once more, we missed a chance at a picture perfect winter. The snow came, but I can think of only one day when it was perfect: good snow for play, plenty of sunshine to lure you outside. The ice storms and the cold were intimidating and now that we're nearing the season's end, I will admit to looking forward to the day when it all melts.

(The snowman survived it all, though most of his olive mouth was eaten by deer and his carrot nose has fallen to the ground. No one bothers to stick it back inside. He's so icy-brittle that you'd have to really work hard to get it in there.)






I go out early to feed the animals and am again disappointed to see no one in the garage. I feed the cheepers, leave some dry food out in case the cats come back and head back to the farmhouse. On the super-upside, for once I don't have to chip away at any ice on the path leading to the farmhouse door. No new snow, no new ice. How lovely!





Ed and I talk about the cats. Why am I so in love with them? Generally, I'm not drawn to cats. They always seem so unaffectionate. I understand that this is their unique trait: they are independent. I get that people love them unconditionally. But if you asked me to again consider bringing a cat into the house, I would say -- no way, not a chance.

And yet, this little cat family is special. Stop Sign has a history with us and when she had her little ones, we were very happy. To get them safely to adulthood seemed like a fair goal.

And so when I step outside in the morning and am greeted by silence, I'm disappointed.

Ed grins -- you sure are attached to them.
You want to have them in the house, don't you?
I did not say that. I know you hate all those cat hairs.
I'm sure they would be at loose ends inside anyway!
Probably true...

It's not clear that you could domesticate these guys: they are one foot into our lives, but honestly, if they disappeared one day and we never saw them again, I would not be totally surprised. (I would be crushed, but not surprised.)

I look out at our rural road. It's not exactly busy, but cars do zip by every couple of minutes. Such a danger to these cats, who never look left or right before crossing!

I just want them to be safe.
You want them to be here, in the garage.

He is right.

Minutes later, I see the two little guys! Here's Dance, sauntering in. And Jacket is with her.






And they are ravenously hungry, especially Jacket who probably has not eaten for two days. Still, Dance, the smaller one, is the lead girl. Jacket has learned that Dance gets first dibs. If he wants to eat, he has to work the Step-and-Dine (which she avoids). And he does. And they eat every last bit of food.






Breakfast for us too. Finally.






Happiness is seeing the two little guys together again. (But where is Stop Sign?? Always the worry...)






In the early afternoon, the picture, from my perspective, becomes complete. I look out the kitchen window and boom! There they all are, playing.











I make the hundredth trip outside, this time to greet Stop Sign and to load up the dish with food for her.  I'm happy to see her filling out now - she was such a scrawny girl! Too, the little guys are growing! Dance, the smallest, looks older than her sweet two months.





And so you could say that the month ends on a high note. Even Whiskers makes an afternoon appearance. The animals that have made us (well, me) panic and wring our hands all month are fed and at peace. We've gotten better at meeting their needs, but of course, we are only one small piece of their complicated existence. For now, I'm relieved that tomorrow starts a new month -- one that will surely give us better weather and also give these farmette cats (dare I call them that?) another boost into a stronger life.


In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop.


 



She is, unfortunately, not here for long. We barely have time to finish a book, to start a new game....







 ... and then I have to hand her over to her dad.

I have a bus to catch. You know my route! Car to bus, then the L train, then a walk through familiar blocks ...





... to Primrose's home. Time to check in with the 11 month old girl! And of course, with her parents.

(I leave plenty of instructions on cat care with Ed. As if I knew even a fraction of what he knows about looking after cats! And now I turn away from February, from cats and cheepers and icy paths that lead to creaky barns, and give my full attention to the young family living in Chicago, where, by the way, I see not a speck of snow or ice.)

Wednesday

This month will go down for me as the month, where I tried to understand the comings and goings of four cats: all living in the wild, one (Stop Sign) being quite comfortable mixing and mingling with us here, at the farmette, two being her offspring, and finally the fourth -- the newcomer, rather transient still, but appearing to rely now on some food from us.

I can't say that I feel any more confident about predicting their movements now than I was a month ago.

And so this morning, I am no longer surprised by who is in the garage and who is not. I am not surprised that one hour later, that configuration changes. And I wont be surprised if everything changes, several times, or not at all as the day progresses.

I can only hope that the cats, all four, know how to keep themselves safe. We can help them with food and discouraging predators. But the rest -- well, they move according to their own compass.

This morning (a cold one!)...

 



... at first there were none, then, for a long time, there was only one (Dance)...






... then there was another (Stop Sign)...


 



... then, by late afternoon, there were none once more. Jacket did not appear. Neither did Whiskers. Footprints in fresh snow tell us that no sure footed predator came around in the day or night.

I'm out, I'm in, I'm out again. I shovel, I scrape, I feed. Ed says (over breakfast)...





... I can't keep up with them in the way you do. They're going to have to manage on less oversight when you're gone!

But of course, my spring travel is a couple of weeks away. Who knows what we will have here then! And the cheepers! What are we going to do with the cheepers once the snow melts and they demand a release?

The mind spins as we cycle through our animal quandaries.

And so it's really great to put it all aside and focus on my afternoon with Snowdrop.

 (leaving school...)






(dancing up a storm...)






(if it's Wednesday...)






(an Olivia book at Storybook Ballet? Well that's good news for this little Olivia fan...)






(cant quite remember where in the story Olivia sports an umbrella, but Snowdrop is mighty pleased to have this prop...)


 


And afterwards? Several more trips to the garage, keeping an eye out, even as all is quiet and the temps keep on falling. Is March here yet??