farmette life 6

What way does the wind come? What way does he go?

He rides over the water, and over the snow,

...

But how he will come, and whither he goes,

There never a scholar in England knows.

(Dorothy Wordsworth)

Dorothy Wordsworth -- now there's someone who had a tough like, particularly as measured by 21st century standards (she died in 1855, senile, disabled, not recognized for her talents, but by many accounts a happy woman, living in the home of her famous brother and his family). Our standards, of course, include access to technologies that allow us to give better answers to questions about the wind. 

We know with a fair degree of certainty, for example, that this Thursday, the winds will usher in a record breaking cold. (13F, which is -10.5C. Really!) And where will Ed's sailboat be then? What winds will buffet the hulls of their small craft? I'm back with Ms Wordsworth on that one -- I do not know.

I suppose I should consider this day to be a gentle one. It looks like it may be the warmest of the month (topping us off at 45F, or 7C). When I go out to feed the cats, I'm struck how pretty it still is outside. 

Somehow that bold last rush of autumnal color passed me by this year. We lost it to the winds, the snow, the ridiculously early onset of winter. 

 

 

 

I notice that the kittens, along with Mama Stop Sign, spent the night on the porch. And they are coming out of their hiding spots now, to explore and to do the kitty thing...

Their boisterous play is at once charming and unnerving.

 

We thought we'd be okay with having cats out on the porch for the winter, but watching them now, I'm not so sure. There are the usual kittie grossities (I wont detail them -- you might be having your meal!) And today -- the screen climbing. 

 

 

 

 

 

I go on line and purchase a scratching pole for them. Ed would have built one himself, but, he's rolling with the waves and so I go with the next best thing -- Amazon.

 

Breakfast.

 

 

In the middle of the day, I have an appointment that takes me right by the Arboretum. I give myself a lecture: if this day is too cold for a walk, then I am done for. A real exercise loser. 

I get out of the car and go for a brisk walk. And it's really lovely!

You can still find autumnal color. Not too late!

I do a quick loop through the forest...

... and come out to splendid sunshine. Fleeting, but still, there in time to make the carpet of leaves glitter!

Well now, I feel I said a proper farewell to Fall.

Snowdrop is still under the weather. Her mother is staying home with her. I pick up Sparrow after school and bring him to the farmhouse.

 

(He loves cats. He tries very hard to join the ones on the porch.)

When it's time to take him home, I realize that he and I have to hustle the cheepers first into the coop. It will be too late if I wait until I come back. They'll have climbed the barn walls by then and I wont be able to reach them. 

It's not easy balancing him while filling the feeders and closing up the bunch of girls plus Happy, but we manage!

And as I drop the little guy at home, I see that his big sister is recovering nicely!

Evening at the farmette. Animals fed and accounted for. All but Dance, who's out chasing a wee mouse around the picnic table. 

Sleep well, children, animals, sailors out there. Sleep well and wake up to a splendid new set of adventures tomorrow!

farmette life 5

And the waters leapt,
And the wild winds swept,
And blew out the moon in the sky,
And I laughed with glee,
It was joy to me
As the storm went raging by!
(Paul Laurence Dunbar)

It's pointless to follow weather reports and try to understand what's pounding at the boat with the five sailors out on the Atlantic right now. You could have furious winds and stormy seas in one place and they could be in another. And so I imagined I'd block his voyage entirely from my mind and hear details of it once Ed (one of the five) comes back.

But we live in an age of information. Incomplete, selective information that can be as misleading as anything and yet it can stoke fears within you, as if deliberately, to make you quiver.

And so I come across someone's report of a storm over the Atlantic, with crazy winds and torrential rains pounding France right now. And I read about the storm that's crossing over Florida, moving toward the Carolinas and the Atlantic. And I stumble on stories of the fierce winds that are right now causing so much trouble in the Northeast. And I think -- man oh man, if Ed's not in a stormy point, it must be the only calm place on the whole Atlantic! The guy is surrounded by storms!

Or at least that's the way it appears to me. Are you really laughing with glee as the winds whip your boat crazily over the waves?

I do not understand sailors.


The weather has to be the big story here, in the upper Midwest as well. It's such a cold November! We're not (yet) breaking records, but we are monstrously below average readings for the month. And in the weeks ahead, it's only going to get worse. Winter came the day after Ed left.
 

I go out to feed the cats early, by yesterday's clock. I want to spend a few more minutes with the sheep shed seven, but in fact my efforts to play with them backfire. I pick up the rope Ed left on the floor and wiggle it in front of Dark Blue (the only cat in the bunch that stands out with her Maine Coon hair). She freaks out and leaps for the door, as if forgetting that this is not her exit path, banging her head full force on the glass. The other cats, spooked by the noise, hightail it out of the shed, crowding the cat door in their effort to get out.

I coax them all back with cat treats.

I don't know about cat memory, but I'm fairly sure they still have an image of me carrying Yo-Yo out last night. Dance has a huge amount of trust in me, but even she scampered out when Dark Blue crashed into the door.

Breakfast, cas, on the couch.






I do have some good porch news. I know! We're in need of good animal stories! Stop Sign finally brought her three kittens today and though one seems to be shivering a bit, they appear fine; they eat ten cats' worth of cat food. And then snuggle on the heating pad I'd put into their "lair." At least for a few minutes. After that, Stop Sign leads them out again, to hide wherever it is that they're hiding these days. Unfortunately, I'm fairly sure it's across the road.






Things are not so perfect with the grandkids. Snowdrop is under the weather and I insist that "Sunday dinner at the farmhouse" be moved to Sunday dinner at their house.

Before heading out with my pots and pans, I look in on the shed cats.

What's this? Really? You killed and dragged in a squirrel??  Perhaps I should have left the hunter to his prey, but it seemed likely that much of the fur would either be scattered around the shed or regurgitated in some gross fashion. It takes trickery and treats to distract the bunch, but I manage. I pick up the dead animal and bury her behind the garage. Who knew that I'd be taking on the role of an undertaker this week! Oh, cats! Can't you just chase away the mice and be done with it??

(I'll spear you the photo of the poor squirrel.)







Evening. Time to feed everyone under my care. The cheepers. Done. The shed cats. Done. Big Mama and her babies, who are back on the porch. What's this? You're playing with something. What is it? Oh my. A dead mouse. Well, at least you are earning your keep. This is the first time that we're entering November without a single mouse sighting in the farmhouse. Still, I'm sure there will be the remains to clean up. My life right now is dealing with the remains.

And one more lot to feed, a lovely one at that: the young family.  Not at the farmhouse but  at their place.

Snowdrop rests, Sparrow, prancing about...






Dinner. Snowdrop is reviving. (I'm hungry, gaga! My stomach is feeling so hollow!)





It's a superb ending to a not too easy weekend.

All ready for the week ahead. Bring on the adventures! The ones without the ocean spray and sweeping winds!

farmette life 4

A life on the ocean wave,
A home on the rolling deep,
Where the scattered waters rave,
And the winds their revels keep!
Like an eagle caged, I pine
On this dull, unchanging shore:
Oh, give me the flashing brine,
The spray and the tempest roar!
...
The land is no longer in view,
The clouds have begun to frown;
But with a stout vessel and crew,
We'll say, Let the storm come down!
And the song of our hearts shall be,
While the winds and the waters rave,
A home on the rolling sea!
A life on the ocean wave!
(Epes Sargent)


Did you know that some sailors enjoy riding a storm out at sea? Oh, they'll want to avoid the killer hurricane, but a good storm is intoxicating! Epes Sargent, the 19th century poet (and son of a ship master) certainly thought so. And so does Ed.

If you're sailing from Virginia to Puerto Rico, your course is going to take you as far east as Bermuda. You'll then swing south, catching a favorable wind that'll (eventually) put you on the island. I asked -- what if there isn't a favorable wind? The answer is tricky: there's enough fuel on the boat to give you a motor assist for up to about two days. That's not enough to bring you to any shore if you're out on the Atlantic. So you have to wait out there on the open ocean waters.

I can understand the love of a good wind, but I cannot understand the love of a good storm. Perhaps it's an old man's marlin -- the fish that so challenged (and tortured) the fisherman in Hemingway's novel. For most of us, putting yourself to that kind of a test becomes less important as we grow older. For Ed, age is irrelevant.

He tells me that there is a brief window of a good wind this weekend. They'll sail out this afternoon.


My morning on the farmette is far more predictable. Cats, chickens, plants. They all get my attention today.






The day is cool -- maybe ten or even twenty degrees below normal. I have to ignore the cold and move ahead with farmette clean up. Texturing the flower fields for winter will really shape the visuals for me for the next five months. I spend a good amount of time snipping.

And only then do I sit down to breakfast.






Unfortunately, afterwards, I lose interest in working outside. It's just too cold. Gardening gloves did not protect my hands from the chill. Without sunshine, the work seems dreary rather than meditative. I stay within the warmth of the farmhouse and think hygge thoughts.

And I turn to another project. I had this idea that while Ed was away, I'd work on eliminating more than 20% of things in the farmhouse. It's a noble goal. Imagine the purity of life in a simple (even sterile) environment! But it's tough going. I have moved three times in the last fourteen years and each time I purged possessions. Snowdrop has more books here than I do now. My closet holds two seasons' (cold and hot) worth of essentials. Were I moving to a nursing home, I'd ditch the kitchen stuff, but so far, I'm still cooking and often for a large-ish crowd.

I fill a bag of stuff that is only marginally useful and let it go at that, calculating that in the past week, I may well have handed over 1% of stuff to Goodwill. Perhaps tomorrow I'll chase down the remaining 19.

This is when I realize I need some people noise in my day. I'm fine with being alone, but a whole day of quiet is a bit much. Cats and chickens don't count.

I get in the car and head to Finca, where the crowds are lively and the snack is tasty.






Earlier, I read an article suggesting that we all need to find time to be alone with our thoughts. I had to smile at that. Most retired people have plenty of time to be alone with their thoughts. But I find that solitude has a different effect on different people. Ed is sailing with four other guys, but he would be equally happy sailing alone and indeed, his longest boat trip was solo. Me, I belong to that subset that needs a balance of quiet and noise. A few hours of work in the garden may be lovely, but after a while, I'll come in and bother Ed. I know many of you are like that: it seems oxymoronic, but we need stimuli to stay calm. Hearing people helps us think clearly.

And now comes evening.


 


Animal care first. Dance, who oddly has been hanging out in the garage all evening, follows me to the shed. Other cats join us in this parade at dusk. Hold on, kitties. Cheepers first. Into  the coop you go! Okay, cats, now it's your turn!

The six teenagers and Dance are hungry. They're also a little antsy. I'm thinking -- maybe I should hang out with them more. And then, in glancing around the sheep shed to see if everything is in order or if they've dislodged one thing or another, I see her. Yo-Yo, on the floor, utterly still.

I'm stunned. Yes, she's been gone nearly a week, but one always has the hope that a missing cat will come back. They get lost, they find their way again.

She found her way alright. Clearly sick, maybe from the cold, the snow, the lack of food, she came home to die. Still warm, but lifeless.

Oh, Ed, where are you?! Out at sea, where I can't even call you to let you know, so that we can share in the sadness of this moment! You played with her endlessly!

Well, I have to attend to it. The cats watch me as I transport Yo-Yo in a container outside. Dance, the most perfect cat mom I know paces inside the shed.

Yo-Yo gets a proper burial. Next to her brother, Little Gray. There is Moonlight Serenade. There are flowers, indoor flowers, because nothing is blooming outside anymore.

I'm so so sorry, little one.


 


Still later: I cook chicken rice soup (gratis Bon Appetit). I must have food for the week. No more frozen cardboard pizzas. I think about Ed, out on the ocean. He has waited a long time to return to that "flashing brine!" Still, may the ocean stay calm for him. Let the intoxication come from a perfect, starlit sky and a moon throwing beams down to guide the boat at night.

farmette life 3

We know what risks all landsmen run,
From noblemen to tailors;
Then, Bill, let us thank Providence 
That you and I are sailors.
(Charles Dibdin)

Ed has always said that being out on a boat is far less dangerous than driving to work, to school, to the grocery store. He is full of statistical proof, which I know is bogus, since if you put all those people who are out in cars onto boats on the ocean, the accidents would mount and far surpass what we now see on highways. At least that's my view.

Still, it's impressive to listen to all the preparations that are taking place just to sail a little catamaran out into the Atlantic -- a trip I would not take if you paid me, even very large sums of money.

Some of us are born to sail, others are born to stay on shore.

It's another busy day, but at least the weather is not wrestling with me today. The night was freezing, but we do climb out of that frosty air by noon. It looks almost pleasant, even in the early morning, no?






Tending to the animals requires some guesswork. The sheep shed cats are rather predictable. One or two may not show up for breakfast, but by evening, they'll all be there, clamoring for some grub.






The porch scene is a little more complicated. Another stray (The Orange Cat) showed up last night, then disappeared. That means that if I leave food out for Stop Sign and her kittens, the stranger might feel invited to dine there in her stead. I've put out a warming pad into the pet carrier, hoping to entice Stop Sign's little babies here for the night, but the snowstorm seems to have scared them away. Who knows where they are right now.

The cheepers are laying less now and I worry less about them. They still look miserable walking through the snow...






... but they know they have a safe spot in the barn. Yesterday, most of them never left the coop.

The day flies by quickly.  Breakfast...






Farmette chores, followed by weekly grocery shopping, followed by the visit with little Snowdrop.






We read a lot of Ramona chapters, nearing the end of the series. It's another milestone -- we've moved past Ramona. I feel her childhood is suddenly on a very fast track. That's the way it is with kids -- one day you're counting the minutes til their nap, the next, you wish you were just embarking on the first Ramona book.

(full disclosure: she is not holding a Ramona book in this picture!)






Toward evening, I take Snowdrop home and as it's Friday, I step out with her mom for a quick glass of wine and a review of the weeks gone by. It's a very welcome moment away from the farmhouse.

Eventually I head home. For supper, I microwave the leftovers from yesterday's frozen pizza. That was a mistake. It's bad enough that in my tiredness, I succumbed to frozen pizza last night, but reheating that trashy meal was positively stupid. I'm sure whatever meal the men on a boat had tonight was better than that. Tomorrow, I shall improve!

farmette life 2

... But give to me the snoring breeze
And white waves heaving high--
And white waves heaving high, my boys,
The good ship tight and free;
The world of waters is our home,
And merry men are we.
(Allan Cunningham)

The crew of four plus the captain gather in Virginia. They listen to weather reports and review the possibilities. They attend to the preparations.

Meanwhile, back in Wisconsin, the weather plays devilish tricks on us, dumping another load of snow overnight. First time's a charm, second time -- well, it's getting to be a chore. Halloween is not supposed to look like this!






(rare splash of color...)











Breakfast, alone.






What's beautiful out there? Well, this...






Leaves out front -- covered.






Trees across the road -- weighed down.






Cheepers? Unhappy.






We get close to a half a foot of snow. A record amount for October.

I have this crazy idea that if I take out the bobsled, hauling the kids and their gear to the farmhouse will be easier.

It isn't.

(Snowdrop teaches Sparrow how to chill during the ride...)






Inside, he likes things with wheels...






She likes building places for people to inhabit...





Hey, it's time to head out to dance class!

The snow, the cold, that's all tough enough. Add to it the ballet class gear, the Halloween paraphernalia and you've got a load. Still, there are the gorgeous moments. We alight at Hilldale -- the home of Snowdrop's Storybook Ballet. Hilldale -- the place of her ballet -- is itself sponsoring a trick-or-treat set of hours.

Costume time! (Snowdrop's hand is in the costume she is wearing...)






 Both kids are ready for it. Mom too!






The dance class follows.






I would have guessed that after this full day, Snowdrop would have opted to stay home tonight. But no!






Later, as I drive home, I see how bright the night can be once clouds clear away.


At home, the animals are antsy. When I go in, a cat follows, right to the porch door, to peer inside the kitchen. Hey, wait! Who are you and who taught you to use the cat door?? (An orange cat, heretofore unseen by any of us.)

And now it's quiet. I stick a pizza into the oven and wait for it to warm up. I tell Ed about all our adventures which, in my opinion, far exceed his, out there on the Virginia coast.

farmette life 1

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.
(John Masefield)

Sometime in the middle of the night, Ed came upstairs, all packed and ready to lay down for a fleeting rest. We didn't sleep. We'd just learned that the sailing date had been pushed forward by several days due to inhospitable winds and so in essence, if Ed stays with the crew and the boat, he'll be gone longer than we had first expected.

A few minutes after 5 a.m., I drive him to the airport.

I'm not really hoping that he'll show up in Norfolk Virginia, take stock of the boat and crew, and turn around and come back. I want him to do this sail. He needs new stories of being out at sea. He needs to think himself to be a guy capable of the fiercest adventure. Still, it is no secret that I am not at all loving the idea of managing the farmette on my own in his absence. I'm no stranger to being alone. I traveled half the world without a companion. But the farmette is our joint project and sitting here in the farmhouse watching the last leaves tumble down as bits of snow cling stubbornly to the branches of the crab, the maple, the birch, I can't help but think that November is destined to be as dreary as they come and without the blessed comfort of evenings on the couch next to a guy who rightly claims he makes the best popcorn in the world.

I do have projects for the month and I start in early. Before dawn. I mean, what else are you going to do in an empty house that's too gloomy right now, despite the twinkling lights Ed hung along the path to it yesterday evening. Tidy, fix, finish -- there's much to do here and I'd be wise to get to it. Ed is a distraction. A welcome distraction, but a distraction nonetheless and I'm sure I'm the same for him. Perhaps I can benefit from being horribly undistracted.

Breakfast, same, but very different.






A look outside...






The animals are as usual full of their own comings and goings. Stop Sign and the kitties are missing, the other seven though are waiting for their grub. I let the cheepers out and fill up their food dishes as well. They aren't so good at foraging in the colder months. Clean the coop, check the water, return home, clean the house, light a candle, purely for the sweetness of that flame.


In the afternoon, I pick up the joyful twosome. These guys! (The drill is that I get him, then we both go to pick up her...)







As we drive up to the farmhouse, there is this tug to run out and hit the maple leaves that are just beginning to come down.  Snowdrop is craving a jump in dry leaves. But you can't quite get that right now. The leaves are not yet fully down, the ones that are down are cold and wet. Still, we give it a go!
















Inside again, Snowdrop wants books. Lots of them. That's not quite fair to Sparrow, who already puts up with a good bit of reading even if it is above his pay grade. So we tango around the possibilities. Read a little, play a little, learn a little, watch a little. We cover it all.











And then the kids leave and I tend to the animals and reheat some supper foods and burn the popcorn.

One day down, an unknown number to go!