the last day of winter

The cold season is bidding us a beautiful good bye. It's as if we need that reminder: winter has its very lovely elements. This year, our winter included heaps of snow for skiing, and, too, a bright and sunny transition to spring.

We wake up early. Though maybe I should rephrase that: we go to sleep late, just as some person responds to our ad on Craigslist, where we're selling (separately from the car) 4 wheels with winter tires (they came with the car when I bought it from a guy some 7 years ago). He would like to drive over and take a look. It is 11:30pm. He could be here in a little over an hour (he lives all the way in Beloit). So Ed loads the wheels in a cart, puts it at the end of the driveway and instructs the dude to leave the money under a stone.

Now about our wake up: first, there's the 2:30 wake up for me, where I ask Ed -- did he come for the tires? Ed goes outside, sees the tires still there on the driveway, comes back inside. Nope. It's a no show. I'll put them away tomorrow morning.

A few minutes later, I wake up again, this time to the sound of a car in the driveway. Someone is there, chatting to a bud. A few minutes later they drive away. We do a proverbial shake of the head ("oh that Craigslist!") and go back to sleep.

And a few minutes later, we hear the noise of a car again. We can't really tell what's going on but there is a conversation, and there are flashlights. And then a car pulls away and there is silence.

At dawn, Ed asks the usual bothersome question that you ask when you want someone to be up -- are you awake yet? 

And so I am up, rather early, taking my time with the chicks, with the cats, with the cheepers. But of course, eventually I do go out to check on the tires. And guess what -- they're gone. And the right amount of cash is left under a stone.

Thank you, honest buyer from Beloit! The tires are in good shape and the price was low. May he get good use out of them.

Breakfast, as a sort of "before" shot. Ed decided he needs a haircut and a beard trim. Before I get to the task of taking out his thick hair, I set up a breakfast selfie. (Is it still a selfie if there are two of us and it's timed release?)

And now let's get off the topic of tires and wheels and cars (for a little bit) and face what's really important: today, I come across the very first flower that is blossoming as a result of my planting efforts. Right by the walkway to the farmhouse:

Yes, a Snowdrop. Actually two of them.

Here's a picture of Dance and the two tiny Snowdrops.  

You could say then that this last day of winter belongs to the Snowdrop. The flower and the girl. Because I do get the girl, with all her after-school joy.

The evening? It belongs to Primrose -- not the flower that heralds the next season, but the girl who was born nearly three years ago in the first days of spring. We video chat over supper. Her smile is for the little chicks who come out to greet her with their chirps.

I had put in some solid hours of yard clearing earlier in the day and so I have the deep satisfaction of knowing that we are taking steps toward a season of growth. I can't remember any year of gardening (and I have been at it for a long time, growing perennials all the way back in the 1980s, when I first had a yard where I could plant them), when I've been this excited about the coming of spring and the awakening of a garden. I have to think I'm not the only one who just wants to experience once again the joy of watching a garden explode with life.

Night: guess what? The car finally sells. A guy drives over all the way from Illinois, checks it out, buys it for his girlfriend. Now that's love for you!

And tomorrow? Spring!

wind

While we are on the subject of Ireland, I'm remembering well a hike Ed and I took up Irish hills, oh, nearly 11 years ago. The wind was fierce. I didn't really think it could blow me off the mountain and it certainly would have known better than to mess with puffing Ed off, but it sure felt like I was a mere nothing against its mighty gusts.

Today's winds are blustery as well, but they're small puffs compared to those Irish gales. Besides, we don't live on a high hill, so we wouldn't feel their force here, on the farmette. Still, they made you zip up your jacket extra tight. And they kept me inside. After a morning of errands, postponed from many moons ago, I settle in and refuse Ed's prompt to pick up our work outside.

(Breakfast was in the play room once more, just because...)

In the afternoon I do go out because it's a Snowdrop pick up day. I'm always early at her school -- some twenty minutes early, because the line of pick up cars gets to be very long and I know the little girl is ready and waiting! Today, I got scolded by some teacher person for exiting my car to greet her. The new rule is that she (and all kids called out for the pick up) wait until we pull up past the "white line," which I can only do once the four or five cars before me have moved on. As I wait, watching her and a handful of other kids pace the sidewalk, I think about how hard it is for the teachers to ensure total safety for these kids. And we expect that of them. Inside the school, and now outside as well, with all the threats that come with letting kids merely go off on their own. Safety. But at a price.

 

(At the farmette: sooo windy!)

 

Inside: lots of energy...

 

 

 

spring hyacinths...

and spring chicks.

Snowdrop does ask for some outdoor time -- in the farmette Magic Meadow...

And I'm happy to see her delight in something so small and dirty as stirring up the waters of a muddy puddle!

Evening:  you wont be surprised to hear that I choose to make a hot veggie soup for dinner. On a windy day, in Ireland or in Italy or in Wisconsin, nothing tastes better than a bisque, thick with veggies and cannellini beans, all sprinkled with grated Parmesan.

can I borrow St. Patrick's Day from someone Irish?

Right about now I would like a nice pint of something pubbish, with maybe a little music playing in the background just loudly enough to make me tap along, and perhaps a few very friendly people asking me how the wee lasses and lads in my life are gettin' by.  In other words, some spirited Irish áthas maireachtála (that would be joy of living, in case you're not up on your Irish Gaelic).

Instead, the day is threatening to be a rerun of yesterday. More car issues, this time only with fixing and selling the old one, and more mundane errands (like picking up a new car battery at Walmart), and more drippy cool weather (so no chance of yard work, or a walk in our county park). 

Except it's not really like yesterday because we are that much closer to fine spring weather and we're not threatened by the storms that are ravaging the south, and people are taking precautions so our county COVID hospitalization rates remain a small fraction (like, one seventh) of what they were back in the nightmare fall of last year. 

And, too, breakfast in the play room was lovely...

And our errand run was delightful (made even more so by the incredibly quiet ride of Blue Moon), and though we did not walk, we paused at the side of the road to admire the sole sandhill...

... and the herd of deer almost hidden against the dark backdrop of a still naked forest. (I may as well love them now, because I'll be less enthusiastic about their visits once my spring garden gets going.)

Now, it is true that the grass is greener in Ireland right now. It's always green there. Year round. But, Irish pubs are closed and they will remain closed for the next two months, so the cold pint and the singing is confined to the Irish home. Still, there is every reason to embrace the Irish áthas maireachtála now, even if you're stuck at home. Think about spring. Think about how fine it will feel when we've helped our communities and indeed, communities worldwide to beat back the beastly menace. I'll save my cold pint for that day. (In the meantime -- well, there's always popcorn. And a glass of chilled white Burgundy.)

cars, cars...

The cars are messin' with us. Word must have trickled down that we are not really car people. We have stirred up the wrath and ire of the automobile gods.

Up early. I have an appointment for Blue Moon to get an inspection for the rattle that I'm hearing somewhere up front. First task: clear the car of ice and snow. Gently, because, you know, it's new and I still treat it as if it were a delicate little thing. Too, I clear the old car of ice and snow. Someone is coming to check it out for a possible purchase.

There's just enough snow to make all this a chore, but not enough to, say, go skiing. And the cheepers aren't happy. 

 

 

 

Peach gets stuck in a drift once again and I have to carry her to shelter.

Breakfast. Somewhat hurried because we have all these car appointments.

As I drive Blue Moon up to the dealer's service center, I turn off the radio so that I can hear that annoying rattle again. Except that I don't hear it! What the heck! For two weeks it rattled away and now, on the way to the car doc it stops? Well, maybe it will reproduce itself for the mechanic. I hand over the car, play for him the recording we made of the rattly noise, and drive away in a loaner.

At the farmette, I want to move the old car to the head of the driveway so that the buyer has an easier time checking it out. Except that the battery appears to be dead. So now we have to call the prospective buyer to tell her that the car she is about to purchase wont start. Ed and I want to do this right. He suggests that we replace the battery. We're ready to set out to Walmart automotive center, and then the car starts and all is well and Ed is under the hood again trying to determine what caused it to be not fine twenty minutes ago.  Definitely not the battery. Best guess -- corrosion on the battery terminal. He cleans it up. We wait for the buyer to come. She is late. Very late. She texts: leaving now! And again: be there in twelve minutes! 

She never shows up.

Another call from another person: hello. I hear you're looking to buy a Mazda 2007? No, not buy. Sell. Oh, okay. Click.

 

Late afternoon. The service department, where Blue Moon is being cared for calls me: we drove it for miles. Could not detect rattle anywhere. Sorry!

Is that more than you ever wanted to know about our cars? Well me too! I want to get in one, have it move me, the kids, possibly Ed, or maybe at some future date -- groceries, from point A to point B. Then I want to step out and not give another thought to cars until the next time that I need to move things around. A whole morning spent on attending to cars? Too much!

 

The thermometer climbs to above freezing levels, but not enough to melt the snow. (Tulip, submerged.)

 

 

 

It's not hiking weather, it's not gardening weather. It's stay home and plan your garden and forget about cars weather.

expecting: snow

We all knew the snow would come. We'd been told to expect the worst -- mixed with rain, with ice, wet and heavy. Several inches of the winter horror.

When? -- Ed asks me, as I'm the weather tracker around here.

It'll start in the morning. I'm a tad anxious as I'll have the kids here and I don't want to drive them home in the afternoon in a freezing crazy weather event.

We eat breakfast in the kitchen. It seems cozier.

The kids come. No snow yet.

When did you say it would start?

Any minute now.

Snowdrop and Sparrow continue to be delighted by the chicks. That's a good thing, because the chick cuteness is not going to last long. The first three weeks they're precious and adorable. Then follows the adolescence period as they try to secure their freedom and are hard to catch. By the second month, you begin to have deep regrets about having turned your home into a hen house. But for now -- all cuteness all the time.

(So long as we are at the art table...)

It's a remote learning school day, which means that Snowdrop has to check in with her class several times...

Afterwards, she plays vigorously. 

 

 

 

Oops! I hear a thud. The little girl trips and tumbles right into the coffee table. She's understandably upset.

Nasty coffee table! -- I say the usual "grandma is on your side" stuff.

It wasn't the coffee table's fault. I tripped on the strap of a handbag. She points to my purse on the floor.

Nasty handbag!

No, it's not the handbag's fault! It was just being a handbag. Someone put it there. It's the fault of whoever put it there.  

She snuggles forgivingly. I take out the pizza for lunch.

 

We look outside. Nothing yet.

Lunch ends, school ends, we play some more and now it is time to take them home. I have their snow pants, their warmest jackets. Still -- there's no snow. No rain, no ice storm.

I am so grateful.

The first flakes fall as we leave the farmette. And by the time I am returning home, the farmette lands are blanketed in snow.

Evening. It's still snowing. Or sleeting. Or something. Still, it's just a March thing. It happens. And here's a bit of color for you careening through my evening:

Not bad for a day that portended weather troubles. Not bad at all!

Sunday - year two, day one

I gave a number to this day as well -- day one of the second year of social/commercial/travel etc etc isolation, but that's the last you'll hear of the numbers. I don't have any great insights as to where we'll be in terms of the pandemic two days or two months from now, but I suspect that we'll bounce around a bit for a while longer, even as the hope is that we'll reach a safe harbor sooner rather than later. But numbering those days of waiting seems tedious and dull and downright unnecessary, so I'm moving on to give other labels to days that lie ahead. For example, tomorrow, expect something like: "too much snow!" in the title line.

Today the wind picked up and the clouds rolled in, but we stayed well above freezing and so once again Ed and I want to return to outdoor work.

After breakfast, of course.

There was a bit of worry because I could not find Peach, the oldest of the remaining four free ranging cheepers. What with owls hooting at night, and coyotes prowling around, and the ever present possum, I felt sure we had another casualty. So the big surprise was to see the old girl emerge from the dark cavernous corner of the garage. Poking around revealed a rather pretty nest with several eggs in it. Clearly Peach has decided to set up egg shop on her own here. 

 

Okay, chickens accounted for. To work! We've made tremendous progress. I can't move around or divide perennials just yet, but we have cleared most of the beds -- new and old. Honestly, I think we've done the greatest chunk of it. I feel so pleased with our rush to get it done that I get ambitious and propose to Ed that we create yet another flower field all the way by the barn. It's not a crazy idea. Really it's not. True, no one and I mean no one ever goes there (except for us and occasionally the kids), but we have pulled a lot of weeds out of that sunny spot and if I dont plant flowers there, then we'll have to keep hacking away at the weeds because by midsummer, they really take over any bit of land that is not otherwise occupied. So, another little field to add to my master plan for the farmette lands.

 

Today is, of course, family dinner night and it's cold enough for me to be glad that I have to put the shovel down. And for once, I try not to lose it. (Putting down gardening tools in forgotten places is a constant problem. I have yet to locate the clippers I momentarily put aside yesterday...)

 

Dinner is in daylight! I've been reading all the complaints about our move to daylight savings time, but I just cannot jump on that bandwagon. I love the added hour of evening brightness!

The kids want to paint. Well why not...

Eventually I do get dinner on the table. 

But not right away. I've grown out of the habit of rushing. One slow step at a time. 

With love...

Saturday - 365th

And so we come full circle: one year ago, Ed and I called it quits on social life, on store visits, on cafes and restaurants. We locked ourselves up in the farmhouse and waited. When I look back on the post from that last day of (relative) free movement, I see words like "do our bit" and "flatten the curve." I remember thinking this would go on for two months. Then -- until summer. Then -- until fall. Then I stopped predicting and focused on making something of these days of self-imposed lock down.

365 days later, we still want to "do our bit." We are both lucky enough to be ancient and therefore vaccinated, but many of the people we care about are not. So we stick with our same old routines: our social life is played out on Zoom, we skip going to the store, or to cafes, or to restaurants. And of course, I'm still not traveling.

But there is a lot that we are doing and at this time of the year (spring!), our basket of goodies is filling rapidly. I could well have started the post with another significant marker for this day: it's when we'll spring forward with daylight savings time! Ed scoffs at it: what's the difference, he'll say, just to be contrary. But for me and perhaps for you, it's huge, especially after a dark fall and a dark winter (where the word "dark" has too many ominous connotations). Imagine: more light in the evening, more warm light, more sunlight, more outdoor time -- it all bundles together into one package of wonderfulness.

 

Let me roll back to the day's beginning: breakfast.

And this time, we waste not a minute. Right after, Ed and I head back to the yard, clearing, clipping, pulling, digging. Initially it's a little cool, but the sun is out and we work hard, so I am down to a sweater. 

We pause in our work when my daughter arrives with the two kids. Since they, too, are staying home all these days, we thought it would spice up the weekend a little if we brought them all over here, to the farmette, just for a change of scene.

h

(checking in with the chicks)

(reading, playing...)

There's plenty of sunshine and the kids are happy to spend some time outside, playing in the "magic meadow." This time, Sparrow joins Snowdrop in making "announcements" from the front steps.

We're told we can choose roles to play. I always choose being an "everythinger." You don't know what that is? According to Snowdrop, it's a person who can choose to do any and everything.

(she is explaining to him the beauty of the Christmas tree forest across the road...)

The young family leaves shortly after lunch and Ed and I return to our outdoor work. My Fitbit is going nuts with excitement. So many steps! So much activity!

And here's a reward: it's always exciting when I spot the first farmette bloom. Predictably, it's by the south facing wall. For real, a little blue one. Alpine Squill.

It gives you hope, doesn't it?

With love...

Friday - 364th

With the threat of "wintry mix" by Monday hanging over us, we are super motivated to get out into the yard. We have lots to do.

After breakfast of course.

On the one hand, I tell myself that taking it slowly should be fine. I have five and a half weeks before the local perennial nursery opens with my first order of new flowers. Five and a half weeks to dig up the weeds, to transplant all that I want to move. Five and half weeks to develop a plan for what goes where.

On the other hand, I'm thinking: only five and a half weeks?? Where some days may be full of a wintry mix?? 

Put on the work gloves and get going!

(This is our focus right now: the spaces around the sheep shed, a.k.a. flower field number 10 a, b and c.)

Even though we are not yet in the official growing season, those of us who plant bulbs in the fall are by now rewarded with signs of new growth. No matter what the weather in the next few weeks, we're not going to slow down these guys!

Again we stay out a long time and again we make good progress.

 

And once more, in the afternoon, I pick up the little hedgehog at school and bring her to the farmhouse.

A big snack means revitalized energies. 

("Can we play with the chicks first?")

A rereading of a favorite book and now the creative juices are flowing fast and I lose the little girl to her stories. First in Lego land, then in a special place that she had created on the window sill for a few Polish and Peruvian characters, a Degas figurine, a special stone from Wales and some fake tulips from Holland. A place that she returns to again and again. A place that I find so fascinating that I'm even willing to keep cutting back the geranium plants that inevitably invade her set up.

And soon after, we leave so that I can drive the girl home. No? Not yet? Okay, just a few minutes in the magic meadow. How well I remember from snowy winter days the announcement delivered from the new entrance platform before the play began...

Evening. Fishy supper, a return to a Netflix sort of funny show, and in the last hours -- my thoughts drift back to the flower fields. Weird how that works: I am 3.5 pages away from the end of my writing project, but I do not pick it up, because my brain cells have switched to a focus on spring and the coming of the growing season.

Thursday - 363rd

It's fine and well to tell yourself on day one that you will work cleaning and clearing the flower fields every single day for an hour or more until the end of April, it's another thing altogether to go outside on day two, feel the wind, look up at the clouds, and proceed with your plan.

First, let's eat breakfast. That's a grand excuse to stay indoors.

Then -- let's wait a while. Maybe it will warm up.

But in the end, I stay with my resolve. Those new plants will need homes worthy of their (future) magnificence. The job of clearing space has to be done. Let's get to it!

 

We put in more than "just" one or two hours worth of work! At this rate, we may be done ahead of April's end.

 

 

 

By early afternoon, I have a good excuse to call it quits. Since it is Thursday, I'm off to pick up Snowdrop at school.

I'm so proud to see her coming out with a big grin. The transitions from a fun preschool to no school, to remote school, to this social-distanced-masked-please-dont-talk-to-anyone-and-that's-just-one-of-a-million-COVID-rules school has not been easy. But she comes out smiling every time. I can see it in her eyes.

(energetic at the farmhouse)

(Drawing a post-it note for my fridge while Unie watches...)

(Happy... and color matched with my flowers!)

Evening. Ed has long ago fallen asleep next to me on the couch. The little chicks are doing a quiet little sing song. It's time for me to call it a day. So that I will have the energy to tackle tomorrow's weeds.