Four months and six days after the last time - it snowed.
But, who's counting? Right?
While the girls have spent a lot of time outside mucking around, Hoss sits inside and does this:
This boy can eat. Period.
"Who you makin' fun of?"
Big Boy has life figured out and can pretty much run this show from his high chair. We all just work for him, anyway.
Notice the grey hue in all these photos? It's a color we know too well.
After three days of snow, wet, and muck my girls have been singing Christmas carols at the top of their lungs and I quietly weep into my coffee.
Truly though, Alberta is a fine place to live and our summer is quite lovely. It generally falls mid week - between a Monday and a Thursday.We love those three gentle days.
While the sunlight has enveloped that beautiful hue, combines are circling the fields, and apples are being processed, us northern folks are shakin' in our boots.
There are big, fat flakes in the near forecast. While temperatures are warm now, we know what's coming. Bare legs today, possible snow boots this week.
You would think the earth is near extinction, though, as you hear bits of conversation around these parts.
"Get outside and play! It's going to snow soon and you won't be able to ride your bike so easily!"
"Do you want to come over for a campfire? We should enjoy one of our last nice days."
"We went out to Sheerness to let the kids muck in the water, you know it's all going to be over soon."
Oh, you goofs! Sure, it'll snow, but it will warm up again. Don't let Environment Canada's potty mouth bring you down. Enjoy what's here today. Get outside! Soak in the rays and don't let it get away.
I bet you think I have great stories of the all the things I have been up to this summer. You know the typical blog stuff: do-it-yourself projects, tutorials, and recipes. A little bit of wow all typed up onto one page. Maybe even a post about a holly-day or two.
Alas, read on, Sisters.
I have been busy doing perfectly normal things, like laying in the middle of a pasture taking photos of giant storm clouds rolling through.
Do you find it at all odd, that I might run down the lane with a camera, in the wind and impending doom? No one nearby but my dear old hound dog? Do you see a hint of crazy in these photos? Remember, this is Alberta, we do like to talk weather here.
I looked around while the smell of rain settled in my nose and thought about the bales out east that caught fire because of lightning striking out of the sky. I realized I was probably the tallest thing out in that prairie grass and thought it might be best if I hit the ground. No, these pictures weren't taken at a different angle for dramatic effect, they were taken with survival in mind.
Thank you to those of you who sent a note my way to check in on me. I hope to be back to my irregular posting soon.
I want to remember. More than anything, I want to remember the sun stretched out, turning the snow cotton candy pink and the wonder of small eyes blinking it in to their souls. I want to remember the tiny bundle, under four big, fluffy blankets in the stroller. Oh, to feel that warmth on my hand, lifting the flap, checking his cheeks, and seeing his little lips sucking on that soother - a blue and black plaid hood framing his wee face. I want to recall the sticks that were so cheerfully collected for a fire when 'springtime comes.' I want to see those little gloves, that zip all the way up to their elbows, digging in the snow 'like badgers.' Please, oh please, don't let me forget, standing with my three children, in a landscape cloaked with snow, watching the sun put itself to sleep, while at the same time we watched the big, fat moon rise high. Crisp air, big sky, and the crunch of our feet in the white. Discussions of coyote and deer tracks and the wild possibility of what a big white hare's feet might look like in the snow, bury themselves into my mind. More than I want to remember, I want them to remember. If their minds are too small to recall the details of our everyday, please let these three little people know a kinship with the wild outdoors and a deep love of family. Let the good of these days be sewn into their hearts.
I think that there should be special cameras made for folks who reside in the north. Where is the setting you turn it to when you look out and let a holler rip because you are blinded by white? My two year old informed me today that her "eyes were breaking" as the sunlight glinted off the snow and knocked her one straight in the peepers. Next to the big 'A' for auto, 'M' for manual, I wish there was a 'C' for cold. I don't think any kind of photo can convey the cold in a proper manner. Unless you feel yourself reaching for a hot cup of coffee, to pour on your toes, then you aren't catching what I'm laying down. A friend wanted me to send pictures of the blizzard that reigned down on Saturday. Oy veh! Don't you know I can't see across the yard for the swirling snow? How does the rule of thirds apply to an entire canvas painted in white?
"Let's drive around and see how much snow they got at such & such place," said every farmer in the country. "A drift? It's minus twenty five? I drive a dodge! We haven't been out for a month, but today is a great day to visit neighbours!'
The best bet is to wait until the day after the onslaught. Sure, what's a bit of ice fog to slow a picture taker down? What, you can't see half a mile down the road? Neither can I! Let's hope that the neighbour doesn't hit the crazy momma standing out in the middle of the road snapping photos to let you in on the beauty of the great white north. This is why I wear neon pink muck boots, gentle readers.
We have had snow on the ground for awhile now. I hadn't put much thought into it until I saw various photos of places south of the border showing off brilliant colours of leaves on the ground, or people talking about wearing chunky sweaters and boots, all this pumpkin latte blah, blah. Yes, I like the chunky sweaters too, just please give me a winter parka over top and I think there might be some leaves under the drifts that dollop the landscape like whipped cream. Pumpkin lattes? Puh-lease. Black coffee and maple syrup (straight from the tree.)
Despite my arms burning with chillblains, I better open them wide and welcome winter in. Eight months of the year is too long to be grumpy about something, so today I'll choose to look out the window and remark how the sight of sparkling white is about the prettiest one I've seen. Heaven knows the Littles will mimic whatever dear ol' ma says, and cuss words don't appeal to me much from the mouth of a child. Come on in, Winter! We won't fuss and whine like a two year old.
I am a little concerned. During nap time yesterday I kept flying down to the burn pit. My legs couldn't seem to carry me quickly enough as I tried to haul as much rubbish out of this house before any of the children could see me throwing out precious scraps of paper, pine cones, or any other tiny piece of garbage they may have collected. I've started referring to their reaction as "the wrath." Up in Sister's room there are tiny piles of semi precious items. We put up apples this week and the big lids that came off the apple boxes seemed to catch her fancy and sure enough they are upstairs hiding in the corner of her room. There are approximately one zillion tiny plastic bags with tiny precious things in them and each and every night I sneak in there and haul them out. The problem is, she notices everything that I throw out. She will go to the bathroom and I'll quickly toss stuff, all the while formulating my answer to her questions and now I spend most of my time simply evading her inquiries. "Momma, where is that special piece of pretty pink ribbon I found yesterday on the floor in Wal-Mart? Remember that other time two years ago when I found the shiny purple ribbon on the floor *insert any nasty, dirty and disgusting place you can think of." "Taylin! Look at the hawk out the window!" Am I a bad mom? The only benefit in having real life mini hoarders living in my house is they can easily spend hours outside with a pail in hand 'collecting' things for 'decorating'. For my lazy bones, non shopping frugal ways this has definitely helped in my fall feathering. Folks, we like to just bring the outdoors in! Forget the Pottery Barn fancy tablecloth and Pier One doo dads, a simple bowl full of pine cones and some ratty ol' leave will do us just fine. We don't even Pinterest those ol' pine cones up with glitter and white spray paint, no m'am, they are just fine as the good Lord intended them to look. The best part is, it can all be collected by tiny hands and can save oodles of moolah. It's true, simply put, my shopping skills are, shall we say, lacking? I don't really love perusing the aisles and don't overly want to part with twenty bucks on a plastic pumpkin, so we keep things simple. I'm not the girl who knows what the heck you are talking about when you mention pumpkin spice lattes, I'm more the apple crisp with coffee - fall kind of girl. So, yes, let's gather outside junk to bring bugs and dust inside. I think I know where Scout got her hoarding tendencies from and why Tuffy likes to stop and proclaim the beauty in every. single. rock, stick, and leaf out there. Two hours to walk to the truck? Sure! Why not! Who cares if Old Man Winter is brushing our face with his windy fingers and we can feel his presence in the early morning frost - 'cause we found that glorious pine cone and whipped out the cutters to pull down branches. We are loving fall.
Wheat kernels with candles, in a mason jar, and some scrappy fabric & twine. This takes four seconds to put together and no brain power. My kind of style.
Forgive the horrible picture. It's how I roll. Trust me, these mirrors are not that dirty! This picture is going to drive me crazy. I want to get my little cloth for cleaning my glasses and just scrub the computer screen. Right now.
The main point of the photo is to show Grandma Myrna what I did with the window sills from the old chicken coop. A similar one went down to my sis, only in a distressed white that a four year old helped paint.
Back in the day when water was free, the hallways in our little school would literally come alive at half past ten in the morning and the sound was deafening! Not only was there laughter and chatter, but a monotoned, "swish, swish, swish" floated through the air like a sound machine set to white noise.
"Come on, walk to momma! That ol' snowdrift ain't nothin, come on, little lady! Momma put spikes on your boots, nothin' to worry about that bit of ice for!"
Bib overall ski pants, winter jackets, mitts, and all sorts of flashy toques were pulled on, the thought of Fox and Goose alive in our minds. I'm not sure how our fifteen minute recesses were not solely taken up with the prep for going out in wintertime weather. With the majority of our school days spent playing on a swing set dusted in white and the little hill on the south end full of crazy carpets, our mommas around here have to start training young. Coaching to pull on that full winter apparel in the shortest amount of time possible with the least amount of fussing, should just about come in a pamphlet from Public Health in Alberta. We know hardcore encouraging phrases are yelled out, "MAKE SURE YOU'VE USED THE POTTY!" "Come on, you CAN move in those snow pants!" Soon digress to muttered, "now where in the blue blazes are your mittens?"
Oh yeah! Diggin' extra fast--more arm muscle!
Now if I was a bettin' woman, I'd be pulling out my wallet, because I know any other mother from the north can take one peek at these photos and know the mess in the back porch that follows a morning like this. All the Grandma's say the same things, "Oh, they'll sleep so well after some fresh air!" And all harried young mom's silently chuckle at the truth we know-the hot chocolate after only brings the wildness up fourteen notches. Don't be fooled that our skills on the hockey rink come freely, the muscles in our babies legs are being worked from the time a soother still hangs out of their mouth. Mommas' set their marshmallows with legs outside and tell them to run to the barn. With a "get set, go!" we know that this is a finer workout than any treadmill. Coupled with a few treks back up the hill after a toboggan ride down, I'm wondering why Jillian Michaels makes all the cash? I'm just going to start filming the kids and selling a pair of ski pants to go along with my workout video. Ski Pants Power Routine-no big deal.
Dear Woofie,
Thank you for looking after the children. I will chuck a bone outside later as payment for your kindness.
Cheyenne
While rosy cheeks were tucked into bed tonight, I was grateful for where we live, the here, and the now. Here's to winter and all it's glory. Love it! These are your moments.
Some parts of the earth are governed by weather. Birthdays fall during calving and weddings are planned around harvest. Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter don't mean much. Rain gauge's, the blistering sun, and a chinook arch are a bit more weighty. The coffee shop full of the mood of farmer's hinge on weather. I've come to realize more and more our seasons here, however they are measured, are to be treasured. As much as I hold the days that will soon know only a short amount of sun at arm's length, I know each one is a gift! We can't complain about the snowfall and in the same breath be grateful for the day we are here. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, more and more I'm taking cues from the little rotter's that patrol around this house. Seeing snowfall was about as exciting as gracing the gates of Disneyworld.
"It snowed lots and lots! Let's go out there! Let's make tracks, throw snowballs, make snow bears....COME ON, Momma." So, the pulling out of snow pants, boots and coats left a huge mess in my back entrance. It was almost photo worthy, but at the same time I didn't want to immortalize that look. Four seconds of, "Could you please find a pair of mittens?" resulted in a huge bin of winter gear being emptied.
Petie, you are given the name of Auntie. You have saved tiny ears for two seasons now.
Now, join me, this year, instead of being fearful of the weather that's encroaching, embrace it. Every moment you want to get your back up about it, I know I will have many, utter your hallelujah song. Notice the tiny snowflakes, the frost on the glass and take note of the joy in the three year old down the road. Momma's make your first batch of play dough, and neighbour ladies, make a strong cup and sit down to your sewing machine. This is your season, the one you are given today and bow your heart to the grace of the gift. I'm working on it.
The sun beatin' down turns the red paint to orange
And rusty old patches of steel
There's no farmer songs on that car radio
Just cowboys, truck drivers and pain
Well this is my way to say thanks for the meal
And I hope there's no shortage of rain
Straw hats and old dirty hankies
Moppin' a face like a shoe
Thanks for the meal here's a song that is real
From a kid from the city to you
The combines gang up, take most of the bread
Things just ain't like they used to be
Though your kids are out after the American dream
And they're workin in big factories
Now If I come on by, when you're out in the sun
Can I wave at you just like a friend
These days when everyone's taking so much
There's somebody giving back in
Straw hats and old dirty hankies
Moppin' a face like a shoe
Thanks for the meal here's a song that is real
From a kid from the city to you
-Murray Mclauchlan-Canadian singer, songwriter
On the Canadian prairies, the typical acre of wheat can produce enough every season to slap down 1650 loaves of bread on your kitchen table. While that figure is startling, you can imagine how many children will enjoy their PB & J because of the neighbour boys.
While you are leisurely eating your toast in the morning, remember those light's from the combine that you saw late last night. With 75 000 farmers in western Canada producing cereal crops, a lot of bellies are being filled.
This harvest is your meal.
Repost this song and thank a farmer for the tireless hours, science, and commitment to excellence that are being put forth in their practice.
