Spring is so close, I can practically smell it. The Man and I walked the farm today; discussing property lines, possible building sites, and drainage issues. It was a riveting conversation, believe you me. One that I have no doubt, would have held no interest to anyone but us. Sam couldn’t have cared less. I gave him my house keys to play with and he was a happy boy. During our walk, I stopped a few times to take pictures of a few blooming plants, namely the daffodils (I love that you can see the tiny yellow farmhouse in the background) and the forsythia. Because we bought the property in December, most of the flora has gone unidentified by their new owners (us). Now that spring is coming, the plants are showing their true colors (ha!) and slowly becoming recognizable. The forsythia (a gorgeous flowering yellow bush) is growing along the side of the house; had I known that I already had a giant forsythia, I would not have had The Man plant two new ones on either side of the barn. Oh well, you can never have too many forsythia, I always say…
(I love that word. For-si-thee-ya…say that three times fast.)
I think that’s what makes the anticipation of this particular Spring season so much fun. I don’t know what’s going to grow, or where it’s going to grow. This farm is over 100 years old, and there’s layers upon layers of growth that have remained dormant since we became the owners. I’m so excited to see what other people in the past have planted and to see how the land looks after everything has bloomed. Yay for Spring.
The past two weeks have been awful, health-wise. Valentine’s day started out wonderfully: my husband spent the day at the farm, while Baby and I spent the day playing inside (it was raining).
The Man came home early and surprised me with a luxurious fuzzy red robe by Natori. (Isn’t it a perfect red color?!) I presented him with new work gloves. All was well. Or so we thought…
What started out as any other day turned into the worst 24 stomach virus that either one of us had ever experienced. This was immediately followed by a week long head and chest cold caught by yours truly. Yesterday, Baby developed a serious case of the sniffles. It’s like we can’t win, man.
So anyway, photos are sparse, but I spent this self-imposed quarantine playing with Instagram and trying to learn Photoshop. It’s not easy. It’s downright confusing. I’m going to have to take a class or something. I’ve been pinning online tutorials like crazy onto Pinterest. I just need to find time to actually read them.
I also bought this gorgeous purple polish by Essie. It makes me think of Spring.
Here’s wishing everyone a healthy and disease-free week!
This past December we took a trip to Texas, to visit my husband’s father and his family. His father’s father, Grandpa Howard, was visiting from New York. We decided to take a photo of four generations of Wander boys.
It got me thinking: how many people have the privilege of growing up around past generations of their families? Back in the day when it was common to live in multi-generational homes, I don’t think this photo would have meant as much to me as it does now. But we only see most of our family once or twice a year.
The way Sam and his Great-Grandpa Howard are looking at each other…I just melt