eating habits (or, wet and nasty, day 3)

Last night I cooked a hasty supper of cheeper eggs and mushrooms, veggies and a salad. As always, I threw a slice of smoked salmon on our plates. It's a standard meal that I fix at least once a week on Snowdrop days. I'm hungry after she leaves and I reach for what's there and waiting in the fridge.

Ed is not a red meat eater, but if you ask him about other food preferences, he'll shrug off the question. Indeed, he has been known to eat lots of things that you or I might consider as worthy of the compost pile. Very stale pizza. Cheese that has fungus on top of the fungus. Hugely dated dairy.

Recently, I've been thinking about our eating habits. We all seem to have strong food preferences. Oh, some of us claim otherwise. Not long ago, friends were visiting for a handful of days. When I asked the usual -- is there anything you don't eat? They hastily responded -- we eat everything! I believed them, until Ed offered up one of his mussels from a plateful of mussels and fries. Oh! Not that! I couldn't eat a mussel! It once made me violently ill. So, not everything.

I, too, used to say "I'll eat anything that's fresh and honest." Grow it, cook it, bake it -- I'll eat it. That was until I was served un rein in a Paris restaurant. That's a kidney in case you don't know your organs in French. The taste of piss was so strong that I could not finish it.

Ed showed his true colors last night as he rejected the slice of smoked salmon. It tastes like iodine! -- he proclaimed. But this particular brand was on sale!  -- I retorted, though once he gave the off taste a label, neither of us could finish it.

We just about never waste food here, at the farmette. I buy what we eat and we eat what I buy. In fact, Ed has been known to take a guest's plate of unfinished foods and finish it up himself (he routinely does that with Snowdrop's dinner, going after any kernel she may have missed on a corn cob, or a stray noodle that may have slipped off her fork). But last night, we put aside the slice of smoked salmon for the cats. It is unquestionably true that everyone has her or his threshold for what they will or will not eat.

The night was miserably wet. Torrential rain pounded our farmhouse. There is significant flooding in south central Wisconsin. But by morning, the weather had settled. When I got up to feed the cats, there was barely a trickle of a rain drop left. It's as if the clouds had wrung all their moisture out, exhausted by the effort.

Everything was so wet, that I decided to feed the cats in the garage. Dance wasn't around, but I've ceased obsessing about a missing cat every now and then. Dance is the glue that holds this bunch together. She'll be back.

I take out the usual cat food and I throw in the bit of smoked salmon. Typically, these guys are ravenous in the morning but today, they're hardly eating. Most of the salmon disappears, some of the cat food is gulped down by the little guys, but a lot of the food is left behind.

What's going on??

As I mull this over, I take out the large broom to sweep up around the garage. The cats are neat, but the chickens mess this space constantly, especially on rainy days when they use the garage for cover. And that's when I see it: bones, fur tufts, and some remains of a large animal head.

I look closely. No, not a cat head. A rabbit head. A large rabbit head. Attached to a large skeleton.

Uff! No wonder the cats are not hungry! I find the shovel and give the poor creature a decent burial.

I ask Ed -- could this be the work of a predator?
What, you think a predator delivered a rabbit to the garage for the cats to enjoy?
But how could our small cats go after a large rabbit??

It's a rhetorical question. Obviously they must have done just that.

The night is full of animal horrors. Of course, why should I regard this as somehow vile. Rabbit, or un lapin if you want, appears not infrequently on the French menu, especially in country restaurants...


Breakfast, of a vegetarian kind, inside.






In the afternoon I pick up Snowdrop. I'm glad I took her to the Dairy Expo yesterday. It's considerably cooler today and we haven't quite gotten used to the autumnal chill yet. (Not that she doesn't ask to go back one more time!) We quickly retreat to the farmhouse for an afternoon of indoor play. (No, she's not cold -- she tells me.)






Spirited, but inside.






It's Wednesday evening, but there's no bike ride for Ed tonight. It's gusty and wet. The cats are antsy, the cheepers are huddled in the coop. It's a good night for takeout Thai. And for staying inside.

stormy weather, day 2

The hiccup of warm sunshine toddled on, to return another time, I hope. Just not today. What miserable weather! Still humid, with the occasional massive downpour and not a small number of thunder clouds. I mean, pure awfulness out there! And no, the plants do not need the extra water. We are saturated. Yesterday, as we walked across the disc gold fields, our feet squished in the wetness of the ground.

Whatever good sides there are to this, they are well disguised. Possibly visible only to retired people who have the ability to adjust their schedules and activities when the weather gods decide to mess with us.

Ed and I are indeed lucky. I feed the cats in the small window of non-rain and then hustle back inside. And when the rains come down, furiously, heavily, unrelentingly, we drive over to Finca and settle in for a decadent breakfast inside, with large windows on three sides of the room showing us the mess out there, reminding us how incredibly fortunate we are to live in a world where you can hide from so many of the world's horrors. (A timed release photo...)






So, indoor pics today?  With Snowdrop at the farmhouse? Nothing that asks us to be out and about, right?

Well...

I pick up a bouncy girl at school. The storms had kept the kids inside all day and so perhaps I should not be surprised when she asks me right away -- gaga, can we go to the cow show??

Ah, the cow show. Others would perhaps refer to it as the World Dairy Expo. It's big! It's the elite of the elite cow shows, it's a place where leaders in the dairy industry showcase their innovations. It's so... Wisconsin! I've been taking Snowdrop to it since she was less than a year old. (We've missed only one, when she was two years old and I was out of the country.) At first it was because I was curious about it and eventually -- well, it's really close to her school and so it tempts us!

And it tempts her today.

Snowdrop, there is a threat of rain. Should we wait until maybe... Thursday?
Pleeeeease!

We're lucky. The storms stall. The rain holds off. The cow show it is!






I can mark the progress of her growth by how we go about visiting this mega exposition. This year, there surely is the fun stuff...











But there is, too, a more careful observation of the cow competitions. (Here are 4-year olds, as presented by young people. You'll wonder why they're facing "the wrong way." They're not: it's all in the udders! We learn about this as we listen to the judge extol the virtues of the winning cow's milking machinery!)






(As before, Snowdrop likes to watch from the top.)






There's stuff she remembers from last year: the cow toys, the ice cream...











And the friendly guy who pulls a little train with a tractor to move the young and the old around the huge campus. (On a Tuesday afternoon, there are few people who are not in some way involved with the dairy industry. People are extraordinarily nice to Snowdrop, thinking, perhaps, that she is one of the next generation of dairy farmers...)







(... like these guys!)






Flooding and heavy storm warnings remain in effect for tonight. In other words, we're not done with this stuff.  One can hope the cows aren't frightened by all that's passing through our city tonight. Ah, well: they're mostly Wisconsin cows, aren't they? Hardy stuff. Used to the crazy weather of the Upper Midwest.

a reversal of fortunes

Well what a glorious retreat from the predicted rains and storms! We wake to a day that announces brilliance: prepare yourselves, it's going to be a good one! The weather gods have relented.

This confuses us all. The mindset for glory isn't there. We planned on a slow moving inside day!

(Here's a surprise: every single photo I take today is taken outdoors!)





I feed the cats and go back to bed to mull things over. Ed snores, oblivious to the gift outside.

I go out again. Hey, where is everybody? Not a cat in sight. No chickens either.

I make my way to the barn. Well, now -- they've gone on an adventure. I haven't ever seen them spend time in the barn. Certainly not as a pack, yet here they are, nine cats, acting like real barn cats!. I take some photos. Remember this space, kitties -- there will come a time when you will like it here. (Ed and I are worrying about winter: how do you offer warmth to nine outdoor cats? We struggled with this last year when there were just three.)











The chickens are in the thick of their own dusty adventure.






Cats and hens, rooster and kitties, all acting as if summer is with us once more.


Breakfast? Oh, on the porch for sure! It's just heavenly out there today!






We tell ourselves that this cannot be a farmhouse day. Whatever we do, it better be outside.











At noon, we take out the bikes once more and pedal over to the disc golf course.

(en route)





It's not all triumphant exuberance. Somehow my bike veers too close to the edge of the road. I overcompensate. Ed is biking next to me. I crash into him.

He bears the brunt of the fall on his arm and leg. Me, I soften the fall by tumbling onto him before bouncing off with my head on the pavement. It's the second time in my adult biking days that the helmet saves me from trouble. We stay still, dazed for a minute, then get up, inspect the damage and pedal on, me apologizing the rest of the ride over (and then some).

We weren't going to play a full game, but we need the period of calm recovery. The barefoot ramble. The look out onto the fields and fauna.

It's a good game, followed by a good ride back.

And then I hurry off to pick up Snowdrop, who is, for the first time in months, not wearing her rubber shoes. (Instead: boots, from Target. $11. Just like my friend's! -- She tells me proudly. Clearly said friend also shops at Target.)






Yes, we go to the playground by the lake. Of course we do!











She gets wet.






And who cares! It's warm enough for it.






Happiness is a surprise of this kind: sunshine and a chance to play outside without limits, without reservations.






The warm weather will be fizzle away tomorrow. But hey, it surely lifted us up today! Thank you! We are grateful.

it's what's inside that counts, day 1

An unusual weather pattern will flirt with us this week. Cool, the hot then cool, stormy, gray, wet. It will be the kind of week where you must test your ability to find color indoors. Typically, that's not hard to do. We have great wealth in our warm kitchen, comfy couch, a child or two passing through. And so I'll avoid groaning about all that isn't outdoors. Let's bring it all inside and find stuff to enjoy there.

The morning is a happy example of lots of good stuff: Snowdrop is here for a sleepover. She wakes just as I finish feeding the cats.






Immediately she ropes me into a game, a story, a make believe delight.






Followed by pancakes.






Later, after Snowdrop leaves, I do what Ed does every single day and what I almost never have done -- I fall asleep on the couch. Just for a little while, but let me tell you -- I needed that!


In the evening, the young family is here for dinner. It's a wonderful meal -- first one that puts us back in the kitchen, first one that feels really autumnal. And of course, the kids are growing in leaps, so that there's great pleasure in watching them broaden their horizons. Here's Sparrow discovering (and loving) Snowdrop's doll house.






Typically she protests his disruption of any of her setups, but tonight, she is too absorbed in a book (with Ed) to notice.






Dinner.
















After the meal, there is a moment of outdoor time. Not for everyone -- just Ed and Snowdrop, to put away the cheepers.






(Others practice walking at home.)





At home: that's the key, isn't it? Look in, look around, exhale. At home.

Saturday

We wake to a decidedly cool morning. I put on an extra bulky sweater as I go out to feed the cats. In fact, it's such a change from our warm sunny days that I wonder if my daughter and Snowdrop will want to do our usual Saturday trip to the farmers market downtown. (A quick exchange of messages reassures me that we're on!)

Breakfast, in the kitchen. It's late, but I swear, Ed could easily have stayed in bed for another several hours. It's the kind of day where reading under a warm blanket or quilt feels so good!







It's a week of market changes. Just a little here and there, but still, a definite movement toward closure (we have only a month of outdoor markets left here in Madison). For instance, the booth where we typically pick up a croissant or two to munch on has moved indoors. It's as if our blood, typically hardy and ready to take on even a fierce Arctic blast, hasn't yet been "winterized." We all feel cold, even though objectively, it's not that cold.






Outside again -- this is the last week of Door County peaches. Once they're gone, our only market fruits will be apples and pears and the occasional melons.






Flowers -- they're beautiful right now, in their final week of glory. Snowdrop picks this bouquet. I want to take a head on picture, but she tells me -- gaga, I'm at an age where I don't like pictures with flowers!

We compromise.






I buy corn. Possibly for the last time. And more tomatoes. Another whole crate, at $1 a pound. For winter freezing. And arugula, and radishes -- somehow my bags fill!

(Snowdrop gets her favorites, including curds and a maple sugar sucker.)






And all the while, you just can't ignore the change in temperature. Snowdrop, who initially shrugged off any need for a jacket, looks longingly at my bulky sweater. Sure, little girl. Anytime.






In the evening, Snowdrop is at the farmhouse again, this time for a sleepover. It's been a while! As she gets older, the focus is so different! It's not just about playing anymore. We eat pizza (and veggies, because I'm the kind of gogs who never fails to push veggies), we read books, we watch a movie. Grown up things! Well, with a four year old's twist!
















I throw one last look outside. The clouds make for a dark night. There is once more a threat of heavy rains. But even if we had a clear sky, it would be dark out there.  It's the night of the New Moon -- a time when you cannot see even a sliver of moonlight with just the naked eye. It's quiet, the air is crisp, and so deliciously autumnal!

Friday

We aren't stuck in a Groundhog Day repetition of sunshine and loveliness. Today is drizzly and damp: perfect for all the stuff that must be done at the end of the week. (In addition to the stuff that must be done every day, like animal care!)

I cast an eye toward the garden, if only to acknowledge the flowers that make a brief comeback now. I've shown you the occasional blooming day lily. There is, too, the reblooming phlox.






And the crazily exuberant nasturtium, climbing every which way.






All this is very lovely, even on gray, wet days. In several weeks, I'll have to get my hands dirty and clear the yard and plant the bulbs (yes, the ones that I put in with hope, only to have them devoured by deer in the spring) and do all that needs to be done in preparation for winter. But not just yet. September and early October are resting months for this gardener!






Breakfast is in the kitchen. I doubt this will change. Mornings will stay cool, I'm sure of it.






The young family has some stuff to do with the little girl and so I have no Snowdrop with me this afternoon. Still, I take in a few minutes with her and with Sparrow, because Friday is a day of catch up with my daughter. I stop by her house and we head out for a few minutes of quiet chatting, away from routines and pulls and tugs from the world around us.

(A picture of Sparrow, because you haven't seen him much in recent weeks...)






If this day seems slow moving and without pizzazz, I'm going to say -- and that's a good thing! Looking ahead toward October, November, December (I'm not even thinking about 2020!) -- I see a lot going on. Slow moving days are going to be a rare thing for me. And so it feels super luxurious to move pensively rather than hurriedly. Oh, I wouldn't trade happy tumult for anything, but it's best when there are pauses. On this drippy Friday, I take a solid pause.