and then...

Well troops, how is it there in the trenches of Covid-land for you? Are you avoiding the arrows that are flying at you? Are you dodging the punches?

Good for you! (I hear there are some who can still say -- "Covid hasn't touched my family." But I'm not hearing that too often these days.) Keep your masks in place and don't go out anywhere! What? You have to work? You need food? You need childcare? Oh, well, gosh, that's a problem. Keep your fingers crossed then! But don't hold your breath.

We got hit here, in my Wisconsin family. A babysitter with Omicron. She only had contact with Sparrow and Sandpiper, but that was enough. Both kids are now positive. Snowdrop had been with me on that day, and more importantly, she is fully vaccinated. She's negative. So far. But depending on who you ask, you get all sorts of prediction: once one soldier falls, the whole barrack will follow. It's a question of time. That's one prediction. The other? Well, the babysitter was fully vaccinated and boosted. Maybe her load was low. The brothers are thus far asymptomatic. So maybe their load is low. It'll all blow over in a few days. That's another guess.

Ed and I are both vaccinated and boosted, but our booster shots came in September (when they were first approved) and so according to one set of outcomes, we are long past the period where we could proudly say "we wont get it." Chances are we will get it, if and when we are exposed. Just not so severely as to needing to update our wills right now (according to most data on this). 

The question is -- who can we safely see? Certainly not Sparrow or Sandpiper. The other members of the family? They all tested negative on several rounds of testing. But it could be early. And testing is good for a full blown infection and less reliable for early stage infection.

All this to say that everyone on the planet has their hands full with Omicron spread, and we are no exception.

Breakfast, before any positives landed, so leisurely and carefree...

And then POW, KAZOOM! Two kids infected! Now what?

In the end, I decided to play it safe, somewhat. I would still pick up Snowdrop, but I would wear my best KN95 in the car and crack the windows open whenever her protests (Gaga, it's cold!!!) subsided. I would not bring her to the farmhouse. I would pack a book or two and a picnic snack and take her straight to a park to try out her new ice skates.

Hi Snowdrop, I have some good news and bad news, which do you want to hear first?

(Does ANYONE EVER want the good news first? She went for the bad, followed quickly by the good, of which there was plenty: no one is feeling sick, mommy and daddy and you are negative (so far), and guess what -- no one will bug you to play with your brother more in the next few days! She liked that one!

Going ice skating proved to be far more difficult than I thought, given that we're in a town that prides itself as being home to two Olympic skating medalists. My first try was a nearby park where my daughters first learned to skate with me.

No ice there this year. Thanks, Madison.

Next -- I know for a fact that all our big lakes are frozen over (it's been THAT cold!). Why don't we go to the boat ramp at Lake Monona and skate from there?

 

 

What a dumb idea. The ice is horrible by the shore. Horrible. You'd have to be a pro to get past that. I do know that there are better spots to enter the lake, but I dont know where they are and the girl is starting to feel cold and less interested in skating.  (Gaga, look at this gorgeous ice brick!)

I have one more idea! How about the pond by her old preschool? I've skated there once or twice, years ago...

We drive through the old neighborhood where she once lived and this is Snowdrop for you: a girl of big feelings. I miss my old house! -- she tells me, as tears swell in her eyes. What stands out for you that you miss? I don't remember anything, but I miss it! She cracks a smile through her tears.

The pond turns out to be a pretty good place to take a beginner. Not perfect -- the ice is not smooth and there is nothing to hold onto  -- but good. With a bench at the side that's perfect to lace up the skates.

She is wobbly. And though I consider myself to be a very good skater, I'm feeling wobbly too. We wobble together.

She gives up.

She tries again. 

I get my balance back. She hangs onto me with all her might and I'm surprised we dont both fall flat on our backs, but we don't.

(Confidence takes hold: look, I can stand on one foot!)

 

And then there's the hot chocolate and her chips and fruits and a few mini marshmallows too. Always end tough lessons with treats!

I take her home.

We have a bit of a wobbly week before us, with lots of question and few certainties. I'm putting in an order for more mini marshmallows and hot cocoa as we speak.

(Hello, evening farmette visitor!)

 

With love...

to ski

You'll grant me that I'm motivated this year. Anyone who goes out when the wind stiffens your face with every gust and the temps never move beyond 8F (-13C), insisting to a skeptical sweetie that it is perfect skiing weather is motivated.

(the tracks in the snow? all made by animals that visit the farmette lands...)

 

 

 

I blame the pandemic. It has shaken us all up for sure and even those of us who are lucky enough to not fall sick with the virus have spent many hours thinking about how much our vision and our plans for the immediate and long term future have fundamentally changed. This is particularly true for us older people. If you are a skier, you have come to understand that with each year, your skiing ambitions must grow tamer and if you are a traveler (and I certainly was that before the pandemic), then you've watched the clock tick as you've stayed stuck in your home. You ski close by and at the same time you long for one, maybe two last ski adventures. Of the type that take you to new places, where the snow is perfect and the forest fills your lungs with sap scented air. And the more you know you can't go anywhere, the more you put all your energies into skiing close by, hoping that maybe you'll get in good form for that big adventure that someday surely will be yours again.

Breakfast first.

But by noon I am ready! Ed pushes back some. The weather, leg stiffness, the icy snow cover -- he tries it all, but in the end he goes along.

And yes, it really is cold out there. Skiing into the wind is like having a thousand needles thrown at your face again and again. And it is icy. There are no classic tracks in the part of the park that we take on for today and your skis lose their forward glide easily on every slant. 

Nonetheless, it is beautiful. Winter sunshine is stunning in its contradiction: if it's a war between the cold air and the sun's warmth, then surely I think the sun handily comes out ahead. You lift your face toward its rays and you feel the world is a happy place after all. 

 

We don't stay out long, but the loop does us good.And leaves us hungry!

In the afternoon, I bake a Galette des Rois. It's a bit late for this French treat that properly belongs to January 6th, but I had this idea that baking puff pastry wrapped around an almond filling would really smell nice on a cold winter afternoon. And it did, even though I did not crimp the dough enough and some of the almond filling ran away.

The rest of the day? Oh, doing some research, just in case the pandemic magically recedes and I am able to travel again this winter. To ski, far away. One can dream!

the new normal

Unquestionably, over the past two years we have learned that there is no new normal. That, of course, has itself become the new normal. But how could that be? A new something that claims the something doesn't exist?

These are the questions that run through your head as you try to figure out new routines in a year that promises to disrupt all of them for you. 

Hey, but the weather is typical January: bright and beautiful. And super cold, but we have learned to ignore that. Two out of three is just fine for us.

Breakfast, cozy, with cozy candle of course.

We are all trying to figure out the new Covid protocols as more people call in sick left and right. No one in my family is sick, but these days this seems to be the exception and I don't think we can expect to get through this Covid wave without some fallen troops, with at least mild symptoms or -- wouldn't it be wonderful -- no symptoms at all. One can hope. But in the meantime, we are gauging possible exposures and until we have it all figured out and confirmed by negative PCR tests, we're putting on hold farmhouse visits. So no Sunday dinner unfortunately. 

Ed and I do manage a hike today. Yes, a hike, not a ski run, not a regular old walk in nearby parks, but a lovely hike in the Brooklyn Wildlife Area. I think we needed the forest and the prairies and the birds and all that golden sunshine to wrap their beautiful cloak around our shoulders and give us a push forward in this tricky month of the new year.

Some photos for you:

And since I have no young family pics to share, I'll break my rule of not bringing in day-old photos and post one of sweet little Juniper in Chicago. I did not take this photo -- my daughter did -- but still, if I were to call her on FaceTime, this is what she would say to me:

With her eyes, of course. You do know that newborns don't speak, right? (She is three weeks old.)

Honestly, I do not know of many families (any people?) who are not having a rough time of it right now. Think how much stronger we'll all be when we're over the hump! With characters the toughness of a diamond! 

In the meantime, the snow sparkles, the air is crisp, winter moves forward, oblivious to it all. Tomorrow, despite the next Arctic blast, I am promising myself a day of winter appreciation! 

Until then, with love...

the birthday continues

It's hard to plan a birthday for a seven year old in these Covid years. But it's not impossible. You can keep to reasonable mitigation protocols, even if you live up north and (unless you're a polar bear) outdoor celebrations are not an option. You can make it as safe as a day in school. Masks, distancing when possible, good ventilation. Vaccinated kids, vaccinated parents. 

Today Snowdrop finally has a birthday party. Most of the girls from her class came. There was a theme -- of self care, of relaxation, of a bit of fun. There are party people out there that will bring in props that you can borrow and use in the safety of your own home. In my eyes, it was a party of release and pent up exuberance.

All this in the afternoon of course.

Breakfast comes first for me. Always. It's the weekend of the last sweet bread slices!

 

And no, there's no skiing for Ed and me. Not today. Shortly after lunch I go to my daughter's house to see if anyone needed help with the set up.

Oh! everything is ready!

 

 

(Sparrow is impressed)

(There's a place to relax your skin, relax your toes and feet, and to finish things off -- string some tiny beads and take a bracelet home. Snowdrop checks things out before her guests arrive.)

Guests arrive. The excitement is palpable. Here's one guest you know very well, who is pretty excited about being included.

Of course, there is also the more traditional part: of cupcakes and fruits, of candles and wishes.

What struck me throughout is how much pent up joy these girls had. Of being on this weekend afternoon with school friends, of dancing (oh, how they danced!), of having lived through these strange times, where school and life required such hugely unusual adaptations. And yet, they got through it and now finally, maybe maybe they can safely play together again. 

Two years, ripped from their young lives, but maybe not totally ripped, because I would bet anything that they feel stronger and closer to each other for having gone through this very messy period together, well, sometimes remotely and always with all these mitigation measures, but together nonetheless.

And Sandpiper? He slept through most everything!

the negatives

It was -6F (-21C) outside when I got out of bed this morning and not much warmer than that when I went to feed the animals.

In the farmhouse kitchen, somewhere in the background, the weather man was reading off wind chills in various Wisconsin communities and listening to those reports made me shiver, so I turned off the radio. I'd feel better about -35F (or -37C) if it were short-lived, but the thing is, next week promises to be even colder, so there are no bragging rights slapped onto this day when readings are merely in the lower negatives (F).

My ancient clunky parka that has soldiered with me through the coldest weather for several decades gave up the ship today. Ed and I have struggled with repairing the zipper several times and this morning it merely said -- no more. I bite the bullet and search the sales for a replacement.This is the time to find a deal and I do! 75% off.

I had been reading an essay (by Patchett) about doing a year of no buying of anything at all except for dire essentials and I wondered whether a warm jacket for negative temperatures and super negative wind chills would be considered a dire essential.  I mean, I could simply not go out and not ski...

And yet, ski we do, even on days like this.

That is, after a warm breakfast (back to oatmeal and back to chasing Dance to Ed's side of the table).

When we go to our local park (where there are zero other skiers), the zipper of my ancient parka is half open. I had considered taping it shut with duct tape, but, the sun is out and I have my warmest scarf, so I let it go. A bit of a mistake there. New jacket cannot come soon enough. I'm glad I did not sign in for a year of no buying (even if my sale jacket only came in an eye popping blushing red, which I have to say will look piercingly sharp with my pink sweatpants).  

 

(runaway ski!) 

 

(empty trails...)

 

I pick up Snowdrop as usual and we read as usual and she gobbles up a huge bowl of fruit and all this makes me very happy.

(well, the walk from the car to the farmhouse isn't too long...)

(She's really into these Polly Pocket sets. Endless new story possibilities!)

 

And so ends the first week of January. No one in the family is sick yet, we have had plenty of sunshine, and not a small amount of skiing. I'm definitely crossing my fingers for more of the same!!

 

Thursday

The wind, making its way toward us from the far reaches of the Arctic, was so biting that my eyes watered and I was sure the puddles of tears were right at the cusp of freezing. I've never seen frozen eye lids before. It would be a first.

And still we skied.

There was a weak glimmer of sunshine, but mostly there were gusts of snow. Tiny flakes that felt more like ice dust, adding the thinnest of layers of fresh snow to the ungroomed paths. Deserted paths. No one was in our county park (right side) today.

Sometimes, out of reluctance, we push off going out until later, much later in the day, but I couldn't do that this time because it's my Snowdrop day and so it's ski in the (late) morning or not at all. Rather unenthusiastically we go out. And it just goes to show you that something can appear distasteful (skiing in Arctic temperatures) until you actually do it and then you realize it's actually thrilling and very beautiful.

All this after breakfast of course. I swear it's my last day for the panettone! (Oh! I'm going to miss it!)

And after animal care. 

(Tuxie, with her thick coat looks comfortable out there...)

(Dance has a thick winter coat as well. Still, she looks more comfortable here: )

My afternoon is with the now seven-year-old Snowdrop. Yes, it's way below freezing (we're in single digits F most of the day, so well below -12C).   Yes, she always leaves her jacket in the car.

She asks me -- what was the weather like in Poland? -- Not much different, I tell her. Though that's not completely true -- Poland temperatures don't stay this low in the winter, yet the moisture in the air is brutal. It feels colder. Days are significantly shorter too, and that doesn't help.  And yet I never thought of winter as being especially difficult to get through. There wasn't a Florida or a Caribbean to run away to. We were all in the cold miserable boat of central European winter weather together. What we dreamed of was getting to the mountains to ski. To take the best of what winter has to offer.

(I'd say she and I spent 80% of our time on that couch with books today. She would have gone for more, but I suggested we diversify.)

And very quickly it's evening, and I take her home and turn my mind to making supper at the farmhouse. 

Did you ever notice how quickly the month of January speeds past us? You've barely finished dotting the i on your new year's resolves and pfft! It's February and you feel you've already lost valuable time in garden planning. Is it really time to start leafing through day lily catalogues? Yes it is. Remarkable!

 

Wednesday

To my friends in the southern climes, feel yourselves to be lucky! Our local paper headline this morning reads: Arctic front will bring snow, high winds, bitter cold to Wisconsin on Wednesday. And the next line?  After a storm system delivers high winds and snow to Wisconsin on Wednesday, two waves of below-zero cold will follow. And they mean below 0F, so for you Celsius speaking people, that would be below -18C. 

Ahhh, winter!

(On my walk to the barn, I spot a bunch of Snowbirds, aka dark-eyed Juncos. Am I right on the identification?)

 (Breakfast? Still stuck on the panettone!)

You'd think I'd shudder at the idea of spending much time outside? Well, maybe a little, but firmly imprinted in my head is a February trip Ed and I took to Quebec. It was cold, icy cold. A snowstorm came and went, another one followed. You'd hardly notice the difference, everything was covered with snow before and after. The St Lawrence river had ice bricks clogging the waterway and when we took the ferry across, the sound of ice crushing and crunching to make room for the boat was mesmerizing. We drove through a blizzard and we rejoiced when a piercing sun came out the next day (melting nothing). I would repeat that trip ten times over if Ed were a traveler still. It was magnificent!

It's a little less magnificent to go out on the trails today (windy!), and besides, I have a cake to bake. THis one:

It is my oldest granddaughter's seventh birthday. She and Juniper are the flag bearers -- the oldest and the youngest. We love our middle guys to pieces, but we look with extra surprise when the oldest reaches a milestone (today, Snowdrop picked up a letter from my sister, written in hasty cursive, and read it quickly and effortlessly to us), and we look with extra tenderness as the youngest gives us one of those sleepy newborn smiles -- "did you catch that? So beautiful!"

 

The young family came for an evening celebration at the farmhouse.

Snowdrop wore the t-shirt decorated for her by her classmates (it's a thing in this particular 1st grade room) and was absolutely giddy over everything and anything having to do with this day.

(I'm winter sports oriented this year, aren't I...)

(Sandpiper takes it all in...)

 

(There's a lot to take in!)

Snowdrop got to choose the dinner menu and she insisted on both her favorites -- spaghetti and crunchy chicken. I could do that blindfolded by now.

(Pause before dessert)

 

Little ones have a real talent for effortlessly finding joy in the most trivial details of their day. Giggles spread like crazy bees let loose in a flower field. And we laugh with them, and it is suddenly very easy to remember what it was like to be.... well, seven!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy birthday Snowdrop. Happy happy birthday.

 

 

 

 

 

 

With so much love...