farmette life 9

Years go, dreams go, and youth goes too,
The world's heart breaks beneath its wars,
All things are changed, save in the east
The faithful beauty of the stars.
(Sara Teasdale)

I have before me a sunny day, bookmarked by clear, starlit nights. Ed used to say that a cloudless night sky at sea is magnificent! There is nothing that stands between you and the stars.

I do not doubt it. But our comparisons are feeble. Do either of us venture out into the forest on crispy clear winter nights? Or do we merely look up on our brisk walk from car to house to sheep shed to barn and think "nice!" and then quickly move on to return to the comfort of a warm house?

My morning check of the thermometer shows that it's at 15F (that's close to -10C). After that, I no longer can read it because the lively kittens have knocked over the base of it on the porch. They also trampled over and inadvertently turned off their own heating pad. Good goin' little guys.







(The shed cats are at the door to greet me every morning; Dark Blue looks a little wild here! She's actually a very pretty cat)






Despite the chill, it's pretty outside. Sunshine is always your friend on wintry days. It reminds you of all that you otherwise neglect to consider in this season of short days and long cold nights.






As I clean up the shed, I want to scold the cats (a pointless exercise, but it makes me feel good) for bringing in the occasional rodent. But then of course, I see the upside of their feline presence: it is the first November at the farmhouse where I have seen no traces of mice! For us, that's huge. Mice are destructive, bacteria laden, hard to catch critters. Eleven cats are keeping them away from our home. I am grateful.

And I am glad that, for the most part, the cats are not birders. I have not seen a decrease in the bird population at the farmette and though the cats do like to spy on all things that take flight, in the end, they seem to prefer going after mice, chipmunks and squirrels.

(when the morning sun hits the crab apple just so, the colors are exquisite!)













Breakfast.






Sometime in midday, I learn that Snowdrop is once again under the weather. Her mom takes her home. That means I pick up only Sparrow at school -- something that puzzles him greatly. It's funny -- when she is in the room, he tries to match her forceful presence. He stands up for himself! But when she is not there, he is at loose ends. I need to remind him of the possibilities.

(he did water play at school, which necessitated in a change of clothing; I pick up a little jail bird today!)






(Sparrow loves to build Duplo towers... from the bottom down!)






(go get your boots! time to get going!)





I bring him home in the early evening, staying for a while to visit with the sick girl and her mom.

And only then do I turn my attention to grocery shopping for the week. It's late. But I have no time for it tomorrow or the next day. And so I try to imagine what I will be cooking next week, weaving through the aisles too tired and hungry to really care. Food. In cart. Pay. Go home. To animals and finally, at some beastly late hour -- to cheeper eggs for supper and a quiet evening on the couch, thinking about starlit skies from the warm safety of the indoors, as the thermometer does its nightly plunge into territories I would prefer not to explore.

farmette life 8

Don't go far off, not even for a day,
because I don't know how to say it - a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in
an empty station when the trains are
parked off somewhere else, asleep.
(Pablo Neruda)

As I wake up to snow, to cold, to cats everywhere, meowing to be fed, messing with our porch, clamoring to be first, as I push the snow off the walkway, glance over at the car with wipers frozen to the windshield, as I sit back down and consider where I should eat breakfast -- table? couch? -- it strikes me that it feels like I've been alone on the farmette for a very very long time.

How ridiculous! -- you'll say. Day 8 and you're complaining? So many people live with distance, in isolation for periods far in excess of that!

Nonetheless, I look out the bedroom window this morning...






... and I turn up the furnace, because it feels cold and I walk downstairs with a sigh. There's lots to do.

The porch cats first. I see that Stop Sign likes her new elevated resting spot!


 



She sees me. The meowing begins. She wants food. The shed cats are up by the house too. They join in the meowing.

I have to smile at the absurdity of it all. If you had said to me even a couple of years ago that I'd be caring for 11 cats, I would have retorted -- you've got the wrong person! That's never going to be me! No pets, no cats!

Yet here I am.

Next, let's deal with the shed cats. The herd accompanies me down the path, making sure I don't, by chance, stray...







Clean, clear, feed, retreat. Back to the porch to also clean and clear up the bowls. The little ones are off for their morning constitutional. It's a good moment to tidy up. There's always a mess in one place or the next. Today, there's a dead squirrel, head missing, lying in repose on the warming pad inside their lair. Honestly guys? You think that's good snuggling material??

I think -- this has been a very long week.


Breakfast.






I have to think the early winter caught these guys by surprise. Typically robins migrate to Georgia, Texas, Florida, or Mexico in November, but this is a brutal November!






Well, they've picked over most of the little apples. Now go! Before the deep freeze comes tomorrow!






I pick up happy kids. Sparrow is showing off his increasing stability...






And we nearly always find Snowdrop working hard on an art project.






At the farmhouse, there is the ever present challenge of finding a common play ground. Today, it seemed easy.






(Sparrow, thrilled to be doing art at the art table with Snowdrop.)











At the end of the day I turn on an Olivia  (the short video about an audacious and spunky pig) -- Snowdrop regards this as the penultimate treat. Sparrow agrees.

Happy campers, both of them!





In the evening, the snow begins to fall once again. What are you going to do but shrug your shoulders, take out the pot of chicken soup and remind the cats to be careful out there, in the wintry lands.

farmette life 7

I am in love with Ocean
lifting her thousands of white hats
in the chop of the storm,
or lying smooth and blue, the
loveliest bed in the world.
(Mary Oliver)

Could it be that Ed's ocean sail will be less of a meteorological adventure than my solo November days at the farmette? Of course, I don't really know what he is facing right now (and may it be only modestly adventurous!), but I do know that yesterday's predictions for Wisconsin have been tossed aside and what's coming our way is much more dire. Snow tomorrow -- there's that, but honestly, that's peanuts compared to what follows. By Thursday night we'll be down to 11F (-12C) and by the beginning of next week we'll sink even lower -- to 7F (-14C). Scanning the charts for the next several weeks, I see only one brief moment when we'll rise above freezing. That's just nuts!

In fact though, despite the bitter cold blast, the "loveliest bed in the world" still is the one in your own home, especially with the furnace humming away comfortably, keeping you toasty cozy, even on the coldest days. I remind myself that people manage to stay productive, happy and calm in far colder climes than ours.

Still, the onset of the Arctic air poses some challenges. I quickly purchase another heated bowl for the porch cats. And I throw extra shavings into the coop. Too, the cheepers will need more food now that scratching the ground is yielding little.

Small stuff, right? Sure, but I feel I need to be careful. In these frigid days and night, the farmette animals need a helping hand.

(Morning: feeding the animals. Cats do like to climb...)






(Breakfast)






(out the window: morning birds...)






In the afternoon, I pick up the kids, both in school again. Sparrow first. When he sees me approaching, he is on top of it! Over to the cubby, get out the lunch box, take off slippers, reach for the boots.






We then pick up Snowdrop (in the building next door). She is always so proud of her brother. Always happy to show him something of her world.






(At the farmhouse: mini pizza snack...)






(Animal shadows on the wall...)






(out the window: evening birds...)






Evening... Waiting for the snow, the cold, watchfully waiting to see where this unusual month will take us.

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.