Kindness all around...

 When my daughter was expecting her first child, there was a tsunami of gifts. They came from friends and family, from neighbors, and arrived in astonishing numbers from our customers. That baby was so well welcomed; it was humbling. 

The same has been true for the new wee one. For weeks before her birth, and now, five weeks after her arrival, sweet presents keep rolling in. We are awash in gratitude. 

Today, a familiar vehicle pulled up outside. It belonged to a favorite customer, and I was alarmed because his name was not on the calendar. I feared I had made a mistake and neglected to write down an appointment. He came to the door and smiled when he saw Rachel, who had popped in to visit. "I came to see you," he said. And handed her two beautiful wooden spoons. "I carved these for your little girls," he said. "From wood on our property." 

"I'll be making them bowls to go with them," he said. The wood is lovely and perfectly smooth. Rachel and I turned them over and over in our hands, admiring the grain and the finish and the marvelous creativity and care that went into each one. 

The daily news reports are bleak and make me worry for the world. But then there are tiny baby clothes in bright packages, dear books, warm cards, warmer blankets and quilts, festive hair bows. And spoons, hand carved with deep care. And kindness. 

Kids and sweetness...

 

There is something about goat kids. Most people find them undeniably attractive. Personally, I find them to be enchanting. This picture is of my goat, Plenty, when she was a kid. (Thanks to Rock Bottom Farm for letting me use their photo.) 

Right after Christmas, we took Plenty and Happy to the farm where we bought them so they could have romantic rendezvous with some attractive young bucks. Because. We want kids. We also want milk, which comes along with kids, but mostly? We want hopping, bopping, leaping, twisting, soft, sweet-smelling, and adorable baby goats. We want to watch them and cuddle them and laugh about them. They are joy on tiny hooves. 

Since it was very cold when we drove them to the farm, the most patient and generous son in love in the world let us borrow his Prius to transport them so they wouldn't get a chill in the back of the truck. The problem with putting goats in a car is that they are not housebroken. Or car broken. Let me be blunt. They poop. And pee. Though in this case, they only pooped, which is good because goats poop tidy little pellets that are pretty easy to clean up. Pee is never easy. 

The goats were perfectly cozy in the back of the car and rode like the ladies that they are, except for the aforementioned pooping. I regret I wasn't fast enough to catch a photo of a lady passenger of a car that drove past us as she hung out the window with her jaw dropped, looking at goats in the car. 

Once we arrived at the farm, we convinced the girls to walk up the driveway, past the barn, to a gate where we popped them through so they could join the herd. 

This picture is inside the barn. We actually put them into a big pasture. I just wanted you to understand that there are quite a few goats. This is just some of them. The day we dropped them off, the quite a few goats hung back, cautiously watching to see what we were about. The very large guard dog placed its vast body between us and his herd. The farmer opened the gate and popped Plenty through it. Instantly, one of the goats in the herd ran to her. "Oh," said the farmer. "That is  your goat's mother." The two goats had last seen each other over two years ago. She then hustled Happy through the gate. Again, one goat from the cautious herd broke rank and ran to see Happy. "Oh," said the farmer. "That is your goat's daughter." 

We were all rather touched by the sweetness of the goats recognizing their family member and quickly welcoming them in. The farmer reported that the mothers and daughters all hung out with one another, eating and resting side by side during their stay. 

We brought the girls home yesterday (again in the generously loaned car, so they got to stay toasty.) There was some head-butting and jostling once they arrived, but everyone has settled down. I'm glad the girls are back; I missed their whimsical little faces. 

Now, we will sit back and happily anticipate kids in June.  And more sweetness. We can't get enough of either.

Here's the scoop...

 A year or so ago my sweet husband shared a memory with me. It was about an object from his childhood. An ice cream scoop to be specific. He remembered his mother dishing up ice cream with it for him. He said it was flat, like a paddle, with a sturdy, unbendable handle. 

I called his sisters in Mississippi and asked them about it. They remembered it and described it a little more clearly to me, but they didn't know what had happened to it. 

I looked online and found one or two that I thought might be what he was remembering, but I wasn't sure, so I never ordered one. I thought about it from time to time, but we continued to scoop our ice cream with a dinner spoon. It was sad. 

The other day, a package arrived from my sister-in-law. A beautiful quilt she had lovingly sewn for the new baby. When I called to tell her it had been safely delivered, she said, "There is something in there for Chris. You will know it when you see it." I dug around in the box and gasped when I retrieved a bubble wrap encased something. I knew what it was instantly and shrieked a little. "We were cleaning out a drawer and found it." She told me. 

My husband called on his way home from work. "Need anything from town?" he asked. "Could you grab some ice cream?" 

After supper, we headed for the kitchen to dish up the ice cream. I told him I had a surprise and... 

handed him the scoop. His eyes opened wide. "It was JUST like THAT!" he said. I told him, "It was EXACTLY like that! Your sister sent it to you. This was your mother's." He was delighted. "If you found me one like this, I would have been so happy. But to have the actual one that was my mom's is so special. I'm going to be serving up ice cream for my grandbabies with this!"

We scooped up the ice cream, and it worked a treat. 

Cozy days...

 Winter in Maine offers some weather that makes people who live in warmer climates wonder what we are thinking to live here. We all learn to appreciate cozy moments. Even the animals. 

The goat's uneaten breakfast made a snug spot in the sun for Click. He rolled and purred and enjoyed himself. Though there was a bitter cold wind, his fur was warm when I stopped to give him some love. 

The goats have a perfectly comfortable house that blocks the wind and boasts deep, dry bedding, but they enjoyed a nap on an island of hay surrounded by snow and ice. Their winter coats are amazingly thick, and they don't seem to mind the cold at all. 

We keep the wood stove fed with dry hardwood, and the little dogs take advantage of it. 

Chris brings me flowers every week in the winter. When the world outside is cold and white, it makes me happy to see something springy inside our snug house.

                                      

It is early February, and this years groundhog predicts an early spring. I have heard a few birds tentatively try out a springtime song. I rather enjoy the cozy days of winter, but admit that I look forward to spring with giddy anticipation.