Friday - 14th

I think I need to step back and get a grip on organization. Today, I felt like time just ran away.

I blame the weather: just warm enough to work outside.

I blame spinach and tomatoes. We want to plant both. Soon. We need to clear the strip of land behind the barn of weeds. I begin that project today. It takes forever, even with the help of Ed, Dance the cat, and the cheepers.















I blame having to wash the squid with soap. We had a grocery delivery today and it included squid. Snowdrop loves squid with her spaghetti. The squid needed a soap bath. It took forever to then get the bubbles out of the tubes and tentacles.

I blame the fact that I was convinced I had tossed my driver's license out with the trash. It had been in a paper bag. Precautions. Don't ask. And then it was nowhere. How do you replace a driver's license if you're self-isolating? I dumped all trash out of the can (there was a lot) in my search for it. I looked in every possible corner of the farmhouse.

I began to sweat.

Only later did I remember that I had tucked it into a pocket of my purse for safe keeping.

People like me thrive on getting a lot done on automatic pilot. For example, typically, I grocery shop without a list. I know what to put in the cart. It doesn't change a whole lot from week to week. But of course, now everything is newly established. Routines don't work anymore. You have to think your way through the day.

That's a challenge!

Mostly, I blame me. Too loose on the organization. Do better!

(Was there time for breakfast? Yes of course.)






In the afternoon, Snowdrop is with us.






(Playing the memory game once again. He wins. Then she wins, even though to me, it seems that she's hardly paying attention...)






Evening. It is always the quietest time here, at the farmhouse. Perhaps in your home as well? I cook up some salmon burgers and I steam a treasured bunch of fresh asparagus. 

Ed cooks up popcorn. We listen to the sound of the rain outside.

Thursday - 13th

If it wasn't for my granddaughter's birthday this Saturday, I'd be completely lost in terms of calendar dates. Are we still in March? Do you know where in March?

But of course, the garden knows. And the weather gods know. March 26. Not the 13th day of anything, but March 26. Nearly April -- the month when Wisconsin forests and meadows will turn green and the color palette will grow and multiply.

We haven't yet had the big rains, the storms that race across the prairie toward us, the hail, the swell in rivers and streams. But we will. Spring never slides in without a rumble and roar. But when all the noise is done with, we revel in the beauty of a transformed landscape.

Breakfast.






Both kids come to the farmhouse early today. Well, probably not early from the parental perspective!











Perhaps you've wondered if at least these two grandkids are bored with all this time in isolation. I think from the point of view of the one and a half year old, the answer is no. Toddlers can do a repeat play without noticing that it's repetition day in and day out. Sparrow always goes back to arranging his current favorite characters around a plastic table. He will never turn down a chance to draw with markers. Reading his favorite books can drive you nuts, because he'll sit through them again and again, no matter how much you've grown to despise that cow that says moo.

With Snowdrop it's different. She got a great boost, I think, in "playing" with her school friend over FaceTime last night. I hear they lasted almost an hour. More importantly, I think returning to the continuity of that friendship was huge. Something essential for her was preserved.

But the girl can sometimes lose steam in trying to imagine the next game or story in her head. She is happy when I come up with a new book to read. She will draw on most any day.






But inevitably, she will stall. Today she said -- I wish you had... (a certain toy is mentioned, one that is her current favorite at home). I thought this was a good thing. I could tell her that this wouldn't be a good idea (even if I were willing to spend the money for it, which I'm not) and so she had to look beyond that particular favorite. It took her ten minutes, but eventually she plunged into a set up that got her so excited that her dad could not get her to stop when he came to pick them up.

And no, I do not feel compelled to come up with new games, new ideas for play every single day. I feel Snowdrop is taking a good bit of responsibility for making her day a success and this is a good thing.

Still, today, I did suggest that we do something new -- something that both kids have had at school: kid yoga. (Cosmic Kids Yoga on youtube is pretty good, though perhaps too fast moving for a toddler.)












And now comes lunch. Grilled cheese for Sparrow and prosciutto and strawberry jam for Snowdrop. I'm letting their creative juices guide them!






In the early evening, Ed and I take a short walk. Just to the wetlands across the road from where we live.






We all need to walk. I know that. And I take deep breaths of air that smells of damp earth and a composting wood pile. The beautiful smells of early spring. So typical of... March 26th. It is March 26th, isn't it?

Wednesday - 12th

There is an ongoing dance between clouds and sunshine this week and thus far, the clouds are winning. But, at least there is a dance. And even if the clouds seem all powerful, you and I know that their time will come and go. Sunny days are inevitable. You just have to be patient.

In the morning hours, after breakfast...


 



... I listen to broadcasts and interviews, read updates on New York, then put aside news reading in favor of FaceTime with Primrose in Chicago. We chase snakes and talk about favorite animals. I hear all about a favorite book and I show her farmhouse kitties and of course, the ever handsome Happy, who poses nicely for her. (Happy is always a little confused by my presence. He knows I bring food, but otherwise he hasn't quite placed me in his limited world of hens and predators. Still, we like him quite a bit. He is handsome, nonthreatening, and his crow is constant and magnificent!)






I join her (remotely) for lunch, grateful to the core for the piece of technology that allows me to do this.


In the afternoon, Snowdrop comes to the farmhouse...






... for a bit of quiet time while her brother naps at home. I suggest we play Memory. You know: the goal is to find matching pairs of cards.






It is clear as anything that I am terrible at this game. If allowed no breaks, Snowdrop would probably tie with Ed for the winners' circle. But, since it is her first game, we cut her some slack (her worst vice: to reveal to others what she knows to be a match). She is thrilled.






And in the evening, I cook up a big pot of chili. This should be our staple right now. We have a lot of tomatoes and onions and I have finally been able to up the supply of kidney beans. To all the grocery store workers and food suppliers -- thank you. You're doing a tremendous job.


With love.

Tuesday -- 11th

I thought today -- never has so much depended on us simply staying put...

But of course, just because we're staying home, doesn't mean that we're idle. I have saved tabs of all the wonderful things people have suggested for your periods of isolation! You can take a course on the Science of Well-being, offered free, by a Yale prof. You could bake (though I understand AP flour is scarce and I have not been able to get my hands on yeast at all). You could walk through museums on line. Listen to your favorite musician doing their bit by posting informal performances on youtube. I mean, the list is endless.

I haven't been able to get to any of it and I am sure that working parents haven't either. The day just disappears into thin air.

Breakfast. Just a few berries and a lot more apple.






As I drive to my daughter's (through the long corridor connecting her isolated home to our isolated home) to help with the kids, I struggled to come up with an explanation as to why I am going to be (just a few minutes) late. Is it the animal feeding routines? The reading of news stories? I have no answer.

At her house, the kids were eager to show me their favorite thises and thats. I'm rarely there and so it is tremendously helpful for me to see what they love about their own turf. The favorite books, chosen by someone other than me (Snowdrop's favorite was the Story of Jackie Robinson, Sparrow was a little more random, pulling off one book after the next, just because). Their favorite toys. And so on.


















I came home after lunch. Again, where did the afternoon go? On trying to figure out a needed delivery to my mom? On preparing for Primrose's birthday, coming up this weekend (it will be a remote celebration, but special to the core!)?

A little time went for a walk in our county park. This particular trail never has anyone on it and it's becoming a favorite for us: prairie, forest, with Lake Waubesa just to the east. A totally unfrozen lake, with bobbing coots, a sure sign of spring!






Since our range of movement is so limited, you'd think we'd get bored with the same trail. In years past, we'd be impatient with it. So brown still! Where's the new growth?






But today, we have such different expectations! Just being outside, in a quiet space is heavenly. The weather? Magnificent, for its March ordinariness. Warmer than February, with a promise of even warmer days ahead.






(the other familiar bird that signals spring -- the sandhill crane)






Dinner? Egg time again! Our girls are really churning out the eggs. No, Ed. We should not hatch more chickens. Absolutely not. Nope. Just our five, with Happy, the Rooster. And a bunch of cats. (Here's Dance, our "feral" mama, coaxing Ed for a little rub behind the ears.)

Monday - 10th

All good sources tell us that this will be a tough week, so let's exhale a little here, on Ocean.

First, let me show you what we woke up to:






It was amazingly pretty. So fine and delicate, like powdered sugar on a landscape that needed some sweetening. And of course, I knew it would melt soon.

We are having a very gentle spring. The temps are right on target, the nights are mild.

Ed and I are preparing to plant our tomato seeds. Talk about being stubbornly persistent! Last year we created a tomato bed that was absolutely perfect but for the sunshine factor. We gambled by putting it in a spot that did not get a full 6 hours of sun and we got very few tomatoes for our efforts. This year, we're going to do it right! (It should be noted that I say this every year.)

Once again we banter over which seeds to plant: Ed wants to use old seeds. I want new ones. It's a problem when you buy a handful of packets each year. You wont use all of them. There are just too many in each little envelope. We plant 100 tomatoes and still have dozens of seeds to spare.

(Ed, over breakfast, with the accumulated packets of leftover seeds which he carefully puts away each year...)





But dearest one, I already ordered new ones! He rolls his eyes at that. So unnecessary... I roll his eyes at his ancient collection. There are new varieties to try! The old ones are just as good.

In the end, we will plant both. And we'll never know which ones did better, because we don't keep track of which seeds came from which packets. Next year, we'll have this discussion all over again. There is comfort in repeating one's gentle skirmishes!


The kids come to the farmette in the morning today. I sense a greater relaxation -- it's as if they are getting used to their days being turned upside down.

They play as they often do -- side by side.






(He builds structures, she constructs sets; here, the characters bought tickets and now are enjoying a play.)






And we read (finding books of interest to both is not hard. Without him, she listens to Charlotte's Web and All-of-a-kind Family; with him, she adores Bernstein Bears or Katie Morag)...






(Both love playing with flap books)






And they eat lunch...






(Even though Sparrow polished off a bowlful of cheddar broccoli puffs beforehand; a gaga indulgence...)






And don't forget about artwork! Snowdrop does a "surprise" picture for Ed. Of a boat, of course!






And then I take them home. Or, as I like to say, to their set of rooms at the end of the long corridor that separates them from us.


Toward evening I finish clearing the flower beds. I can't say it's an immaculate job, but it's a good enough job. If I did nothing else (except for chasing the cheepers away from the tender young roots and shoots!)...

(Happy, with Peach, Henny and Tomato. We got three eggs today. Thank you, girls!)






(Don't forget about Pepper!)






... the beds will be fine and ready for April planting.


Supper? Oh, there are always leftovers after a Sunday family dinner. Crunchy chicken, steamed spinach, and a few bits of pasta that the kids left behind.

Evenings at home: do you love them as much as we do? Do you exhale after too full a day? Did you start in on War and Peace? (It's Ann Patchett's recommendation for isolation: you read it, 14 pages a day, you finish it and the pandemic is over and you'll have read War and Peace!) Do you fall asleep on the couch? Oh, that couch never felt so comfy and good! Ed, will you pop some popcorn?
Of course, gorgeous.

Sunday - 9th

In one of his story telling moments (they don't come often), Ed tells me about a place in Florida where you can park your boat for the season without too much worry about hurricane damage. (His friend is sailing toward it as we speak, eager to park his boat and return home.) There is a beautiful orange grove right by it -- he tells me, recalling his own travels there. With watch peacocks roaming the premises. And then : do you think we should get a pair of peacocks?

I look at him, trying to determine if he is serious. You can never really be sure.
They're aggressive! -- I remind him.
But so beautiful!.
Eh... once you've seen them roaming the parks (as they do in Warsaw), you've had your fill.

I don't know why spring puts us in the mood for this kind of talk. Last week he seriously suggested that we let one of the chickens hatch an egg. Happy has been chasing the girls a lot lately. Their eggs are likely to be all fertilized.

I said no.

Breakfast is very late. Our mornings are so full! Made fuller by increased time online, by reading, by writing to friends.





I clear the front street facing flower bed in the afternoon. In working there, I notice not a small number of cars going by (about two or three each minute, which is a lot for a rural road). Perhaps coming back from shopping trips? Maybe from a hike in the forest? You have to wonder how people's Sundays have changed...

Our Sunday, however, stays shockingly the same right now, which may well be a sing of how self contained we really are even in normal times. Outside work done, I come in to fix dinner for the young family. They are still in total isolation and so are we (I have to insert this repeatedly, for those readers who do not track Ocean daily: I don't want anyone to think that I support gatherings of any kind. I do not. Ours works only because both our households have cut off physical contact with the outside world).

Dinner is always very kid centered and that's a good thing! We can talk about their issues (no, Sparrow, you cannot have more cheese puffs before dinner), and only occasionally revert back to our issues.

(plate in hand, ready to eat...)
















After dinner, we go out for a little stroll in the yard.






It's cold. Everyone feels that nip in the air.





Still, it's good to be outside. We talk about building an obstacle course (Snowdrop's idea) when the weather warms up. About making a "tree house." About the fruits that may someday grow on the young orchard trees.


The young family leaves. I clear the kitchen and think how much I miss my other young family. And how grateful I am that we have good ways to talk, even though I wish so much we could talk in person.

Saturday - 8th, or a day in the life of Happy, the rooster

As I worked hard in the farmette gardens today, I came to the conclusion that changes are in order.

For example, exuberant joy has to be put on hold for now.

Yes, there are buds and tips everywhere...





Any day now, we will see the first daffodils. With April, we will have a riot of greens, yellows, blues. A gardener works toward that goal. Now is an exciting time to be a flower grower!

But one doesn't garden with an empty head. You dream, muse, make your plans for the coming weeks. You think about the beauty of the planet we live on.

This is very hard to do when the planet finds itself in a state of chaos. Joy doesn't sprout just because there is beauty and sunshine and spring is in full swing. It isn't like a daylily about to explode, just because the season calls for it. Joy requires the right conditions and I'd say we'd all agree that today's conditions are suboptimal. When you read letters from friends who have children and grandchildren in Italy, when you understand the stress young families are under -- well, you can't put that aside and giggle with glee.

What to do, what to do?

I'm thinking our focus should be on compassion and hope. If we do our bit -- you and I both, because we need near perfect compliance -- there is hope. If we read about the fear in others, their sorrow, their loss -- we have to churn out all the compassion within us and look for ways to let them know that we are by their side, albeit at a distance.

With this in mind, I am tweaking and rethinking the tone of Ocean. My writing has to be honest, but it also has to offer something that is maybe helpful to those who are struggling (with isolation, with anxiety, with uncertainty). Ocean has always had to balance acknowledging the realities of life with seeking out a day's finer moments. There is in all of us a desire to experience something more luminous than a brown landscape at the end of a long winter (so to speak).  I promise you that I am working hard to find that balance and to write about it.

Another change going forward: I'm shutting off comments. I've meant to do this long ago, because mine is not a blog that demands an immediate response. Most of you have switched to personal email anyway and I think it's far better that way. Some of you have been corresponding with me for years! I've loved these remote friendships!

We are evolving, seeking new ways to find happiness, to smile, to think about love.

(Happy the rooster in the morning sun)






Wait, does everything have to change?!

No indeed. Ed and I still sit down to breakfast, even as our bowls of fruit are less full and, unless the garden explodes in the next few days (it will not, because it's Wisconsin!), the kitchen table will sport bunches of flowers I purchased several years ago in Giverny rather than the fresh ones you've been seeing from the grocery store.






It is a gorgeous (if cool) day! Plenty of sunshine. I begin the laborious job of clearing the yard of last year's growth, so that the new stuff can fill the spaces.

(Happy and the cheepers follow my every move)






(Hey, emerging rhubarb!)






(Chickens in my pots. Flower pots.)






Dinner? Oh, that's the same as well! Leftover soup! On the downside, we burned some chestnuts. Ed felt bad for suggesting that they can be roasted in the microwave. They cannot be done that way. Believe me.