Sunday

Ed is juggling two ideas -- he's still considering a sailing gig toward the end of the month (wont it be cold then? Yes, especially as the boat starts out in the northeast...), and, too, he is determined to find a new hike for us for today. The second is the bigger challenge. If there is a trail within an hour's drive of us, we've done it, of that I am sure. Still, he studies maps as I half hope that he comes up empty. I feel like I can't get enough of just staying close to home. Yesterday's drive to the bakery was about as far as I want to go.

What's with the home love in me right now? Is it the weather?

Can't be. I think it's pretty warm for November. 50-ishF (which is 10-ish C).

(morning walk to barn)

I think it's the farmhouse. I may like spring and summer garden work and porch breakfasts on warm days, but I also truly love the warmth and comfort of our small space, knowing that the winds are howling and the leaves are quickly disappearing outside and yet -- here we are. Snug and happy. I'm not sorry that the farmhouse doesn't have a fireplace -- too many safety issues and environmental question marks in burning wood -- but honestly, I can imagine this place as being like a cabin in the woods. It has the feel of the great outdoors touching it at the doorstep, while all is sweetly warm within, with baking smells and candles glowing and my cinnamon plum tea steeping -- it's just hard to get up and out with that kind of a mindset.

I'm reading an article about biking in the snow in Finland, and about how they lay on the cinnamon into their baked goods in Sweden during the winter, and I wonder -- how do people in warmer climates manage without snow and ice and frosty imprints on their cars in the morning, with icicles forming on sunny winter days? Life is so much richer with the full array of seasonal variations! 

Eventually we eat breakfast, trying out (store bought) persimmons -- Ed's newest growing idea...

Liking it enough to continue with the cultivation plan, though honestly, it feels like a mismatch here. Aren't we the state of apples and pears and cherries? Still, our growing zone permits it, so we'll give it a try. Along with our quince and peaches. We're diversifying!

And then Ed finds a park we have not hiked. Donald County Park. A mere half hour drive. I guess I can handle that...

It's good for me to pull myself up and out. And the park is lovely: lots of inclines, with gentle views onto farmlands and forests, sandstone cliffs and pastures.

I have never once gone on a hike with Ed and regretted it. Every single walk with him is exhilarating: fantastic landscapes to explore, to smell, to master. This one is special in that it is the rare new one for us. 

I loved every bit of it.

And in the evening, guess what resumed after a month's pause: Sunday family dinners!

(Plenty of room on the new couch!)

The young family comes now when it's already dark, which you could say is dismal, but I feel it's just the opposite: they enter a warm house that glows from the inside with light and percolates with the fragrance of their favorite foods. 

I'm changing my mind about November. It may have to relinquish its status as "my least favorite month." But what could possibly replace it? They're all good.

with love...

days like this...

To you, one Ocean day may seem not too dissimilar from another. The morning walk to the barn... it's cold today, it was cold yesterday. Still beautifully golden, with those tiny crab apples dangling in their ornamental fashion, ready for the robins that come by all winter long...

The trip to the bakery to pick up morning treats for me, a loaf of bread for Ed, and croissants to freeze for the kids' after school snack...

Yes, I stop off at the market -- the last one until next April! I pick up some pesto for my daughter and spinach for the farmhouse. And I say goodbye until the new year.

And breakfast -- you've seen farmhouse breakfasts hundreds of times here! The better question is -- when haven't I posted about the unique magic of this morning meal? 

To me, though, this day is singularly different. Okay, I admit it -- every day has a different mood. Maybe a certain tranquility that comes only with gray skies, or an energy radiating from brilliant sunshine. Maybe I will have finalized some travel plans that will make me smile with satisfaction. Or a grandchild will have said something extraordinarily poignant. Or, I'll seethe with frustration at the post-Covid congestion that refuses to budge. Or a planting goal will have been accomplished (although that's always a moving target -- witness the planting of the bulbs which, when finished, only lead to the purchase of more bulbs).

This Saturday, for example, has two unusually delicious moments. The first came as a complete surprise: I got a message from a friend letting me know that she would be driving up to Madison for her son's sporting activity this weekend. She hasn't been here for many years. Would I have time for a coffee?

Would I! 

She is younger than me -- my daughter's age actually. And we used to have a different relationship -- she was my student back in my teaching days. And what a student she was! These were days when I barely kept up with life. New subjects to teach nearly every year, kids still needing my time at home, dinners waiting to be cooked -- it was a race to get to the end of the day without keeling over. For several years, this student -- so much younger than me! not yet a parent herself! -- kept me focused on the quality of my work like no one else at the Law School. She is a great writer and a superb thinker. So many times I kept at it because I knew that if I let something slide, she would see it, and she deserved better from her teachers.

And then after she graduated and moved for a while to Denmark, we became friends. She is that kind of a person -- she knows how to span decades and find common ground. 

So we met for coffee, at Oasis Cafe...

And honestly, it could have lasted way into the late afternoon, because she is that wise and that fun to talk to. A rare gift of modesty, humor, and smarts. You walk away thinking -- the next generation is so much more centered and broad-thinking than we ever were! How good is that!

My second outstanding moment came shortly after, when I dared myself to finally take the bike out again for a ride and walk with Ed. Covid had slapped me down. Was it perhaps time to get up and get moving again? The weather cooperated. The sun came out. We are on our way!

Was it easy? Well, initially yes. I pedaled as if Covid never made its way to the farmette. It was a glorious ride!

(here: behind Ed, who always beats me on the downhill)

The walk, too, was good. Straight into the sunshine. How could you lose?

The ride to the lake was still fine...

The return trip was a bit of a drag. I'm not surprised: the last time I rode the bike was the day before I tested positive for Rebound. One bug can really zap your strength so that you have to climb back up again to where you were before. 

I wont obsess about the movement rings again, but I have to say, I was glad that today I closed them once more. First time in two weeks. 

So no, not a day like the others. Singularly rewarding and very beautiful.

Friday

Sometimes I read an interview with some famous or maybe just half famous person and I think to myself -- I'd like to be just a little more like that in life. Irreverent. Truthful about my inadequacies. Open about my passions. Free in my search for poetry in life. 

This is exactly how I felt in reading the interview with British actress (and incredible star of the crime drama that ripped my heart -- Unforgotten), Nicola Walker. I still cannot forgive the story writers for the last episode of the series -- it demolished my inner peace for weeks on end! But the actress herself (whom I imagine to have the personality of Cassie Stuart, the character she played in Unforgotten, if only because I like Cassie so much!) seems both thoughtful and unabashedly honest. The kind of person you strive to be yourself in the finer moments when you're not blundering along tripping up at every turn.

I thought about quirky personalities and people who find pleasure in being funny or at least in being around others who are funny as I walked at sunrise to feed the animals.

And I thought about it some more over breakfast with Ed (who is even less funny than I am, but who also leans toward laughter as opposed to grumbling his way through life).

I always think that it's not too late to add some spice into your modus operandi. You do not have to be boring (unless being boring brings you pleasure -- a good enough reason to stick with what's there!), nor predictable. So long as you can formulate a sentence in your head, you have the power to flip your day, your train of thought, your conversational habits. Now that winter's nearly here, what better time to give some attention to what goes on inside your soul! 

And now it's time to put aside idle musing and get down to work: several dozen daffodils need to go in. Now!

And when I finish planting, guess what I do! (Hint -- I've got visions of spring on my mind...) 

I go inside and use my special discount code and buy five dozen more bulbs. They're on sale! Of course they are -- we are in the very last days of the fall planting season. It's the same old story -- when I walk through the flower fields, I am reminded of how vast they are. How much potential they have. How exhilarating it is to see the first daffodil tips emerge. 

Thus I'm not done with garden work yet. And still, I am satisfied. I am almost done. My work for this year is (nearly) complete.

In the afternoon, the kids are here once more. 

(with school book fair acquisitions)

Since this is Friday, the day is a little crazy with their schedules: violin for the boy, ballet for the girl.

We zip through all that has to happen before we set out for the lessons. (Lots of food must be eaten! Fruits, croissants, tomatoes, muffins and yes, even potato chips. They have voracious appetites after school.) Books read, towers built. It's not the sanest way to end the week, but then again, I'm happy that they are engaged in their extras. 

It's dark by the time I drive home. This will be the case until March now: drop off by the light of the moon! There's something very serene about driving when the light has just faded. To then enter a warm house, to exhale with your sweetie over dinner, over a show. A proper ending to a full week.

Thursday

To work already! Get those bulbs in! This is my running mantra this morning. Because really, if not this week, then when...

It's a tiny bit warmer today. I notice that on my walk to the barn.

Still, when you put yourself into slow-down mode, as I did due to Covid, it's very hard to wind up those gears again. I was so active before Covid rebound! I am so slow since that fateful second round! My doc said what I already knew -- this is not long Covid. It may feel long and it may feel Covidish, but this is not the dreaded LC. It's recovery. Covid is out of my system, but the battered respiratory tract hasn't fully healed yet. So, I've been moving at a snail's pace. My worry is that at some point I will have adapted to this crawl, and I will have lost my movement goals, and I will become one of those old people who basically never gets up or out, and has tea delivered to her table because she is too weak (or full of self pity) to get it herself.

Okay, perhaps I exaggerate, but still, the bulbs must go in!

I'll get to it after breakfast. And breakfast takes a long time because I had purchased some persimmon fruits and Ed and I are about to add persimmon trees to our newest orchard, so we study and analyze these fruits to get a feel for what we're getting into.

And now comes the time to bundle up and take out the shovel.

Hours later: I feel proud. All tulips went in (which, unfortunately, is food for all the animals that love my tulips!). All the Spanish bluebells went in. All the allium went in. Half the daffodils went in. Not bad for a someone who lacked motivation just three hours ago!

No time to gloat. Off to pick up the kids!

I have to say, the breaks in my childcare this past month on the one hand were good for the kids, in that they are tickled to be back at the farmhouse. On the other hand, it's as if we have to find that groove once again. On the first two days, I saw that competition flare up (despite the fact that I have forbidden such competition!): who gets to tell a story from the day first, and for how long and with what permissible interruptions. This then slides into who gets to the door first (absolutely no racing -- I say. They race, with the qualification -- it's not a race! I just got here first, that's all!), who washes hands at the kitchen sink before the other, and who feels sadly ignored or slighted. I was wondering how long it would take them to get back into a good rhythm. 

Not long at all. By today's pick-up, they were as calm and content as two doves in a silo nest. (We actually do have two doves living in the silo.)

There will be days where chaos will make a comeback, but it never lasts. These kids are on the same page in wanting to do right by their parents, by me, and therefore, ultimately, by each other.

Evening -- no adjustments needed here. Ed and I slide into our time together as if there were no breaks, no interruptions. With plenty of appreciation for the warm comfort of an evening at home. 

November 1st

Happy November! I say this knowing full well that this is not my favorite month of the year. Not much chance of winter snow yet, darker days, twinges of guilt about outdoor work not yet finished. What's there to love??

Well now, I wake up to a gently sunny morning. The crab tree is in its last days of golden glory. 

It's so darn cold outside and yet I stand there for a good many minutes watching the robins fight each other for the crab apples.

Maybe they're not fighting. Maybe jockeying for the plumpest one, showing off, playing with the energy accumulated during the summer months!

I go over to the bakery. For the smell of fresh croissants and the restocking of the bakery bin at the farmhouse. 

For the cinnamon roll that I have for breakfast. Hurry up, Ed! I'm hungry!

I know I need to plant bulbs, but I also need to make changes to next year's travel plans. Airfare sales allow me to cancel and rebook flights. And modify dates. It's all so complicated but Ed laughs at the very idea that this is a burden for me. You love messing with travel plans! -- he tells me. He is not incorrect.

I do put in some bulbs. Not many, but some. I'm still taking it easy with physical work. (How many times have I closed my movement rings since Covid rebound? Zero times. How quickly I've fallen!) And that's okay. In November, taking it easy is permissible. Indeed, it's required!

And then I pick up the kids. They had a good Halloween and I am glad. So much could have crumbled with bugs, viruses, delays -- all of it. October 31st is never a reliable date for anything! But this year, all grandkids had a grand time. And that's just so sweetly wonderful.

Toward evening: time to pick up the youngest guy -- always such a joyous moment for all three kids!

The day ends in the way it usually does for us, here at the farmhouse -- on the couch. No distancing necessary anymore (though honestly, the Covid remnants are still here to be a bother, but not a big bother!). Ed comments -- this house is so perfect for us. Yes it is. For the two of us, for visiting kids, for the cats that come and then run away the moment a child enters. For the warmth, the quiet, the place to feel happy and loved.

Halloween

In some conversation about Halloween, I noted to Snowdrop that she'll likely stop trick-or-treating in another handful of years. Maybe by age 12... I offer as a possibility. She's dumbfounded. Why would anyone want to stop trick-or-treating? Why indeed... Maybe because it's cold outside on October 31st in south central Wisconsin?!

I remember when my kids were small and they'd finished their rounds -- first with me, then eventually just with friends, they'd sit at the kitchen table and go through their loot, offering up trades of dubious merit, especially with younger sibs (I'll give you two whole Hershey's kisses for just one of your boring KitKats!),  and I'd open the door to stragglers -- the older kids, with pillow cases instead of cute plastic pumpkins. Costumes that were little more than a sheet or a plastic spooky face. Trick-or-treat! -- they'd shout, grab and run to the next house. Somehow that felt wrong, though I can't really think why. After all, they liked a sugar rush as much as their younger counterparts. 

But the cold... oh, that Halloween cold!

This morning, indeed, we wake up to snow.

Not mountains of it. Just a dusting. I'd say a pretty dusting...

Except for the fact that it is snow and there is trick-or-treating tonight...

Breakfast, full of the Danish hygge that November calls forth. (I know it's not November, but it feels like November!)

Ed loyally pushes aside the quilt that keeps him company on the couch and joins me at the breakfast table.

I would love to stay at the farmhouse and hygge my way through the morning, but I have appointments, never ending appointments and so my morning is a little chopped up and when I come back I rush to bake the blueberry muffins that will fill up tummies quickly this afternoon.

And then it is time to pick up the kids.

It's not a normal farmhouse afternoon. We can't have that on Halloween. The kids have trick-or-treating dates and so I have to get them to their home where they get ready for the Big Night Out.

The question is -- will they wear their mitts? I can predict! Sparrow -- absolutely for sure yes. Snowdrop -- her fingers would first have to turn to icicles. Which they may in this weather! (In truth, a wet Halloween is far worse than a cold one. I speak from experience.)

Here they are: Pete the Cat, the Huntress, and a digger!

And they are off. Separately, with combinations of friends and parents.

I'm at home again, with Ed. We have a beautiful, quiet evening watching a PBS murder mystery. No trick-or-treaters come to the farmhouse ever. We're too remote. It's just us and the bats in the barn and the occasional owl that hoots at night. 

with love...

Monday

It was the most imperfect, expensive, beautiful, anticipated, delightful, worrisome trip! What was meant to be a small weekend getaway to a warm and new for Snowdrop place, turned out to be something akin to a run across a half frozen lake, with thin ice threatening to suck you in if you weren't careful. When we landed last night in Madison, my first thought was -- I'm so glad Snowdrop loved this adventure. My second -- I'm so glad we made it and that nothing unraveled for us!

I'm still not over Covid. Although according to the CDC guidelines, I have been safe to reenter for more than five days and safe to even shed precautions as of last night, I'm like you'd be after a bad cold -- still pulling out the tissues every now and then, still hackin' away occasionally. Remember the honey store I visited in Paris a few weeks ago? Their honey-lemon hard candy pulled me through my travels! Never was a spontaneous purchase so welcome, so beloved! Thank you, bees of Provence or Savoie or wherever you collected that fantastic sweet stuff! You saved me from sounding far sicker than I really was!

And so now I am back. For the first normal Monday of October 2023. 

After the tension of the past weeks -- will I get over this on time? can I protect her from it? does she have some other virus? will the Disney meetup work for her? -- I told myself that on my first day back, I will do nothing. Or at least I will expect of myself nothing. At all. Bulbs to plant? La di da... Let them marinate in the autumnal juices of our mud room! Bike to winterize? Ha! It's not winter yet! Movement circles to close? Forget that, baby! I'm not getting sucked into that game again! Nothing expected of myself. Just nothing.

Predictably, the morning is low on content. I shooed Ed out of the farmhouse for the night, since I was just on the border of my last "precautions" day, but by this morning, I rather arbitrarily proclaimed myself to be done with being a Covid storage center. And so after my walk to the barn...

Ed came over for breakfast...

Which was absolutely lovely. 

We're having a cold front pass through today and tomorrow. Many parents are very excited at having to head out tomorrow with their kids at night, as the thermometer plunges below freezing, just to add a gut punch to the challenge of walking up and down the streets of the city to collect candy (because surely their kids dont get enough of that each day). I am glad that the trick-or-treating days are long behind me! Who says aging confers no benefits?!

And in the afternoon I pick up a Snowdrop, who must surely be tired, but who has enough spunk in her to carry her through a full day despite our late night arrival. There is a bit of confusion because post-school Monday is when Sparrow spends time with his dad, except that dad's car wont start, so we do some scrambling, delivering, and jump starting. Sparrow has only one concern: will this prevent him from getting his rightful share of after-school cookies?? Kids think very intense thoughts about cookies. In fact, I'll go so far as to say that kids think intense thoughts about things we regard as trivial, and parents think intense thoughts about things grandparents regard as trivial. We let go of inconsequential worries as we grow older. Another good reason to love senior years!

Snowdrop and I read at the farmhouse. Back to our Vanderbeekers in Harlem books! Back to a bowl of fruits for her and a reheated croissant. 

It all seems so normal! I am hungry for that right now! Normal. Uncluttered and calm. Following our routines, watching the seasonal changes, appreciating the tranquility of the last days of October. It is, to me, a perfect way to end this colorful month of autumn.

And the evening? with Ed, on the couch.

with so much love...