Celebration...

 Every other Saturday, we have "family supper." It's a time to share a meal and touch base, keeping up with what is going down. Our daughter, her husband, and two wee daughters join us. Afterwards, the Owlet spends the night with us.

 Neighbor/friend Cheryl usually takes a seat at the table, along with Scott, our buddy for the last 20 years. It's generally a casual affair but includes some good chatting and laughs. Last night we invited my friend Megan and her new beau. Then Scott asked if his mom could come, too. We love her and were happy to have her at the table. Then Fields, who lives in North Carolina but has a winter job two hours from here at a resort, asked if she could come hang out. So, we had nine adults, a toddler, and an infant at the table. It was loud and crowded and delightful.

I cooked some spicy Mexican-inspired shredded chicken and some queso dip. Chris grilled steak and a pile of peppers and onions. Megan brought cilantro lime rice. Scott made his famous salsa. Cheryl brought a pineapple upside-down cake. Evans made some excellent slaw.  Fields arrived just in time to help me cook the tortillas. It is a job best accomplished with four hands. I rolled the disks, and Fields tossed them in a screaming hot cast iron skillet. We watched them puff, then she flipped them and stacked them in a bowl covered with a damp towel. We tucked them into a just-warm oven. 

At the crowded table, we passed platters of meat and vegetables, tortillas, and toppings. Everyone filled their plates. There was a lot of chatter and some quiet lulls when people ate happily. After dessert (which was delicious!), there was a whiskey tasting for those who liked the stuff. I do not. I held the baby, played with the Owlet, and listened happily to the cadence and rhythm of conversation as the tasters enjoyed experimenting with sips from the amazing variety of bottles. 

The Owlet was tired of socializing by nine and said, "Brush teeth. Read book." She announced a firm  "bye" to her mama and papa and scrambled upstairs. It amazes me how she embraces the Saturday routine. We had a story, a few songs, and some excellent snuggles, and then she slept until dawn, when her eyes flew open. "Wake up! Bacon!" She understands the best elements of a Sunday morning. 

Today was a quiet, lazy day. The whole weekend was an observance of family, food, and fun. A celebration of the finest kind. 

Breath taking...

 Bald Eagles have been making themselves visible lately. I see them perched in the barren hardwood trees across the road from my vantage point where I work. They catch my attention by swooping into the field and back up to their perch. Their stark white heads and tails are incandescent and unmistakable. 

 When I am out doing chores, the air is so cold it makes my teeth ache, I often hear them cry. In movies and on television, they rarely use sound effects that are actual eagle calls when they show eagles. To some, their voice does not sound as majestic as they think it should, so they substitute the cry of the red-tailed hawk.   I disagree with those people. The high-pitched piping tone is a sound born of water and air, unforgettable once you know it.

                                                                                    iStock photo Ray Hennessy
My visiting daughter said, "There's a dead animal over there." It was in a spot I couldn't see well from my seat. When I looked, I saw a flock of crows and a dark smudge interrupting the snow. When I had a break in the day, I put Bravo on a leash, stuffed my feet into boots, and went to investigate. The snow wasn't deep, only four inches or so, with a thin crust of ice over the top, unblemished, reflecting the late afternoon light up so brightly I wished I had sunglasses on. Bravo was delighted with our impromptu adventure, crunching through the snow and smelling all the smells. He froze when he got the first scent of the dead deer ahead. 

It was a good-sized doe; not much was left of her except her head, hide, and long, delicate legs. The rest had been hollowed out like a shell, the rib bones half-eaten. Coyotes, eagles and other birds had feasted upon her. It made me glad that I choose to lock the goats up tight inside their Cozy at night. As sad as it was to see the remnants of this doe, it would break my heart if it were one of my chubby, spoiled goats. 

A fine car drove past my house twice, three times, then parked near the end of my driveway. A young couple got out with a camera and long lens, a rig that cost four times what I paid for my first vehicle. I could see by their movements how excited they were to see the eagles; they stayed and watched for a long time, doubtless taking hundreds of pictures. 

As a child in the sixties, DDT nearly decimated the Bald Eagle population in New England. I checked Rachel Carson's Silent Spring out of the library and read it tucked in my bed one summer night while trucks trundled down our little street spraying for mosquitos. I inhaled that fog while I learned about the decimation of songbirds and the thin eggshells of the birds of prey. My tender heart ached.

I was well into my thirties and living in the mid-south before I saw an eagle flying free at Reelfoot Lake in Tennessee. Now, back in New England, I see them regularly, sometimes perched on a tree on our property or swooping over our meadow. It takes my breath away every time. 

Wild weather...

 Our local coastal community has been bludgeoned by storms in the past week. Terrible damage to roads, homes, commercial buildings, and boats that will cost fortunes to repair. I worried about the suffering people and property damage while the wind shrieked around our house. We did not have any damage here besides a bit of water in the basement. We are thankful. 

While the weather raged outside, inside an Amaryllis bulb a friend didn't want has been in riotous bloom. It's a pale buttercream color, and it's lovely to have something growing while it is so cold outside. 

The temperatures are supposed to plummet this coming week, so we took advantage of today's clear skies to clean out the animal houses. It is important that the chickens and goats have dry bedding, especially when it is very cold. It may seem silly, but the animals all look pleased when they return from the pasture to their tidy homes. 

In our home this morning we were awaked before dawn by the Owlet, who we had here for a spend-the-night. "Wake up, Pop-Pop," her little voice piped. "Wake up. Make food." He did as requested. She followed him to the kitchen with three of her current favorite books and plunked down on the rug I bought specifically with her in mind to await her breakfast.

I went out into the bitter wind to feed and water the animals, warmed by this cozy scene while I did my chores. Despite the devastating storms, there is much to be grateful for. 

Worth the wait...

 I was absolutely sure that the new grandbaby would arrive before its December 28th due date. Second babies often do, and I was convinced this one would, too. I was wrong. The due date came. Then it went. As did six more days. I was on edge; the waiting was hard. 

On January 4th, my daughter called, "I think today is the day," she said, and she was right. I was at work grooming. In no time at all, I heard a ding on my phone telling me I had a message, and there was a photo of my precious daughter with a rosy newborn on her chest. "It's a girl," the caption said. I'm not naturally a crier, but I stood at the grooming tub and sobbed. I cried with relief that all was well and joy at welcoming a new granddaughter. 

By the next day, they were home in their cozy house. We had kept the Owlet with us while they were in the hospital, and when we took her home, she busied herself around the living room, casting shy glimpses at her mama holding the wee babe. Finally, she climbed up beside her mother and gently opened the blanket covering her sister. She took in the tiny toes, the wee waving hands, the cap of dark hair, and the minuscule face with a look of total wonder. Then she snuggled into her mother's arms. And just like that, the baby was calmly welcomed into the fold. 

My daughter's husband arranged to take eight weeks off to celebrate the arrival. He has been cooking, cleaning, and doting on his family, making everything run smoothly. I popped in tonight after work. My daughter, the baby, and the Owlet were cuddled up on the sofa. There was a charcuterie board with lots of goodies cut just the right size for a toddler to enjoy. A moment later, my son-in-love delivered each of us fancy drinks. Tall ones for Rachel and me, a wee one for the toddler. Crushed mint, limes, seltzer, and a wedge of pineapple. There was even a little one for the Owlet.  We had snacks and sips, and I cuddled the baby and kissed her fragrant cheeks. Soft music was playing, and we had a jolly chat while we watched the Owlet play and the baby (who I think I shall refer to as The Cygnet) kick, blink, yawn, and stretch. It was magical. 

A healthy new family member to love. She was worth the wait. 

Finale...

 

We ended the year quietly, just as we began it, together at home. It's our favorite place to be. 

For me, the year's high points include getting a new knee. I am a little more skeptical about modern medicine than some people, but oh! how grateful I am to walk pain-free. The recovery was not much fun, but I got through it thanks to Chris's excellent nursing care, Rachel's running the grooming business, and an incredible physical therapist.  The improvement in my life is a new wonder to me every day. 

I surpassed my goal of reading fifty books by three and wrote and published many articles. I practiced being a "Lovie" by enjoying every second with the Owlet. Well, almost every second. Some of her two-year-old tantrums are a little trying. I was proud of the quality of grooming we put out daily, had many laughs with my daughter while we worked, and made some excellent memories with our lovely customers. 

Chris and I celebrated 39 sweet years of marriage with a lot of gratitude. We know how lucky we are and don't take a day for granted. 

This morning we started off the new year in a unique way. We took two of our goats back to the farm where we bought them so they could have a romantic liaison with a buck. It seemed fitting to start the year with the hope of new life, and nothing is livelier than a bunch of tiny baby goats flouncing around the place. 

As we open the new calendar to a fresh, blank page, we happily anticipate the wonders that will unfold.