In the Last Days of Summer When Apples Have Fallen

It is now late summer at the rabbit patch.  I haven’t seen fireflies for several nights.  The sun sets a bit earlier day by day and the apples are starting to fall.  Soon, I will not be able to tell the time in this fashion and will resort to clocks that count every minute and urge me to hurry with alarms and flashing lights but until then,  I will gather apples.

Apple trees have marked the last days of summer for as long as I can remember. My grandparents had several that grew along the pasture and next to the garden. Mama and grandmama spent many summer mornings in that garden.  My little sister and I would work with them for a short while, before being banished to the shade of the apple trees. Sometimes, they said it was too hot for us but I suspect now, that they were telling secrets to one another. 

Delores and I did not mind as we had friends in that pasture.  There was a small herd of ponies and a small herd of goats.  There was always a mean cow and in my earliest memories a huge, but kind mule.  Delores and I would throw apples to them for a while. We were only allowed to throw the apples that were going bad.  A “bad apple” was soft and mushy and usually had yellow jackets buzzing around it-so the process was a tricky one.  We made sure that everybody got something in that pasture-and  even if it meant throwing one that should have gone in a pie.  We threw them at each other too on occasion which would break up the soft conversation in the garden.  I still remember the spicy amber smell of the fallen apples, with great fondness.

There was one summer, that the apple trees bore enough fruit to feed three counties. It was good fun at first.  We had apple pie twice a day-and fresh applesauce too.  If we needed a snack, we were handed an apple.  My grandmother used to sometimes say “you get tired of potatoes if you eat them three times a day.”  That phrase came up at the oddest times, I thought, as a child. People would laugh but it made no sense to me.  I started understanding some of what she meant, that summer.  I figured the same could be said of apples.  

One year, a while back the apple trees at the rabbit patch pulled the same stunt.  My other grandmother was living here at that time-and Tres too.  Grandmama had taken a bad fall and was in the bed because of it.  Uncles, aunts and cousins visited the rabbit patch all summer on account of that.  It was wonderful, but busy.  Cooking and laundry had tripled.  My aunt Carolyn who was prone to ramble around the yard and start small fires, noticed the apple trees in all their glory .  She rushed in the kitchen and wanted to know what I was going to do about it.  We neither one believed in wasting anything-but that year, I was willing to do so.  She was horror struck and took to delivering buckets of apples to the kitchen door.  I came in from the clothesline to find my mom and every other woman in the house, peeling apples.  I am quite sure that some of them had not done so for years, but no one wanted to be sinful-so I ended up with enough apples for the winter because of that.

There aren’t too many apples this year at the rabbit patch, but I can not complain.  The apple tree is the only fruit tree that did anything this year.  The peach, fig and pear trees did not participate in summer this year because of  late spring ice.  I will not have apples to put up for winter, but I will have enough for a cobbler and a few pies.

The soft pink apple blossoms of an apple tree herald the spring and the apples themselves declare the late summer.  In the winter, the apple tree bears its’ soul, gracefully,  providing a lovely place for the moon to shine through.  An apple tree is not a “fair weather friend”  but gives year round in one way or another.

 Last night I went out, as always to say good night.  The night air had a slight touch of coolness.  In the sky, I saw the milky way.  This is rarely visible,  so of course  I went out to the field to get the best view.  There were more than a million stars  out and I made a lot of wishes.  The familiar scent of apples in various stages filled the air.   I stood amongst the fallen apples and under a  trail of stars for a good while. . . . and when I was able – I said good night with a grateful heart.


Pimento Cheese at the Rabbit Patch

Pimento cheese is well known in the south, though it’s origin is in New York.  It seems that Georgia started a large canning facility for the sweet red pimentos in the 1920’s and the south took full advantage of that.  All I really know for sure is that the rabbit patch loves it-and pimento cheese is as easy to make as it is to eat.  There are many variations-and you can add what you see fit.  Bacon bits and pickles are commonly used add ins, but we like the basic recipe below-

16 oz. of sharp shredded cheese

8 oz. diced pimentos ( you can lessen or add more as you prefer)

mayonnaise, salt, pepper, garlic-all your preference on quantity

a dash of mustard

This spread is great on crackers for a snack or in a sandwich, it makes a meal.  If there’s a chill in the air , serve it like a grilled cheese-you won’t be sorry.  At one time, before occasions got so fancy, little pimento cheese sandwiches were served at every bridal or baby shower I ever went to-including my own. And beware-store bought is not the same thing.


The rabbit patch serves this when good friends come by-and it’s always better that way.. . of course, it is great for a picnic too.


* From “The Color of Summer”


The Color of Summer


I will not soon forget the summer.  I have  been on the rabbit patch a bit more than a decade now and have never seen a summer the likes of this one.  Yesterday, the weatherman claimed that this location was the hottest in the state-and I believe it with all my heart. It was reported that it had been 116 degrees with the heat index .  I hope the burrows in the rabbit patch are deep where the earth is cool.

I have spent the best part of the last few days inside.  This is not my habit by nature, but it is as of lately.  I have worked in heat all of my life, but this summer is “a horse of a different color” .  It is quite helpful that my interests are many and vary greatly.  The confinement of the last few days has led me to do the things I usually do in January.  I have been reading and painting old furniture.  An old table and a dresser are now “sitting pretty” with a fresh coat of white paint. I am also working on a wooden tray.  It is white too, but I intend to paint flowers and a rabbit on it-if the heat doesn’t let up, tomorrow.  

I also decided to wash a small collection of glass  that I have.  I find washing pretty pieces of glass quite therapeutic.   Only the summer allows me to spend a Tuesday morning doing such things.   There are only a few pieces and they are in shades  of turquoise, blue, periwinkle and aqua.  There is an old bottle, a bird and even a small antique oil lamp in the collection.  One piece came from Egypt and the piece beside it, from an old barn.  I washed them all and took great satisfaction in the way they sparkled in the sun that spilt  in the window.  The sunshine through the glass made a watery rainbow of blues and greens-this I thought is the color of summer.

The latter days of summer are a good time to wash the heavy linens used in winter.  A clothes line is quite handy for this.  I have a line full of soft blankets now, that were hung in the early morning , when the day was new and the scent of the mimosa filled the air up.  The practice of using a clothes line is fading fast-and with it will go the pleasure of sleeping on line dried sheets.  Hanging clothes out is a peaceful task-and you are liable to solve a problem or say a prayer while doing so.  I have done both.

I will make pimento cheese today .  Summer is an especially good time for that.  It is a simple process and I may think about Christmas while making it.  Cash and Christopher Robin will lay in front of the window fan hoping  that I will cook chicken in some form next-and if I do it will be in the morning, only requiring warming up later. The only exception is if it is fried.  When I was a child, my grandmother and every other woman in the county cooked on summer mornings.  We had a big dinner and a good rest in the middle of the day.  When dinner was over, a table cloth was spread over the entire table til supper when a fresh pan of biscuits and dessert was added to the meal.  We did not have an air conditioner in those days-of course it wasn’t as hot then.  Food was mainly fresh without preservatives also, but we stayed alive anyway.

 I find that sometimes processes  themselves can be of great value.  I have never said a prayer when putting clothes in a dryer.  Soon enough, summer will end and the details of life will increase at the rabbit patch .  Then and always,   I will be glad for the memory of  a Tuesday  morning spent washing little glass objects in shades of blue and seeing the color of summer because of it.



A Midnight Song

Yesterday was  not the day to pick roses or the lovely black-eyed susans that were blooming.  I did not feel the least bit inclined to sit in the shade either.  I found out in the first part of the day when I was hanging sheets on the line,  that the heat was already hateful.  I glanced at the garden and hurried back to the house .  Today was the day for housekeeping, I thought.

 Somehow, I got on a mission to declutter-again.  The older I get, the more I realize the folly of using the home as a closet.  I think back to possessions I have had over the years.  I think of the many things that I paid good money for and I don’t even know where they are now, and don’t even care!    I have never been a trendy person. I am not enticed by “popular at the moment” things.  Still, I have ended up having more than I needed at times.

I collected a box of things to give to a local church for their annual yard sale.  I read some poetry by Keats and then I decided to paint.  I have not done so all summer, so my roses ended up looking like peonies. Painting is like writing.  The picture, like a story unfolds like it has a life all its’ own.  I often feel like I had very little to do with  either effort at the conclusion .. . but I really did want to paint roses this day.  

The thought of cooking supper did not cheer me as it usually does-but I did any way with more of the “food bought by the road” from my trip home with Jo Dee and Joehn.  I went out after supper and stayed a very few minutes as the air was hot and heavy as sin.  I sat down to write and realised the battery needed charging on the computer. I plugged it in-and the whole world went dark and silent.  I looked out and could not see “Miss Susie’s light either so I knew the power was out all around me.  All of my tidying up came in handy as I  remembered that I had put a candle on the “morning table”.  I sat , hopefully thinking it would come back on in moments.  The house got hot quickly, so feeling like Florence Nightingale, I walked to the back door  with the candle, looking for fresh air.  There were plenty of stars but little light.  I regretted not picking sticks up earlier.  I stood there admiring  the stars and a breeze stirred up!  It was actually cool and very constant.  I heard Christian playing his guitar and found him on the front porch.  I sat with him and listened to his magic.  The next thing I knew, I was stumbling through the house to get my violin.  We played for a long while on the porch with the cool wind blowing.  It was pitch dark and I had to “get my bearings” straight on the violin. It was quite a good practice for me, I thought, and found myself enjoying it.  Ever so often we would stop and talk.  Christian is my youngest son.  He is a young man now, and I knew to tuck this memory in my heart, for safe keeping.  I was just as disappointed when the lights came back on, as I was when they went out.  We played a while longer.  It was midnight when we finally came in. 

Sometimes, the best part of the day takes its’ own sweet time showing up.  Keats wrote “A thing of beauty is a joy forever”.  I read that today and at midnight,  I found it to be every bit as true  as it sounds-right there on the front porch of the rabbit patch , singing a song at midnight while a cool breeze was blowing.


Over the Rivers and Through the Woods


I came home on Friday evening just in time to see the sun set on the rabbit patch.  The sun was in its’ glory .  It lit the field up for a while before it  slipped behind the pines, and took the day with it.

 “Over the rivers and through the woods ” is a fairly accurate account of the way home, from Elizabeth City.  My car was being repaired so my dear friend Jo Dee and her son, Joehn picked me up.  I was in good company and it made leaving more bearable-still I knew I would need to  go to the quiet garden when I got home, to sort things out.  

I wanted to show Jo Dee all of the charm of Elizabeth City and the beautiful river that runs through it, so we took a drive.  As it turns out, Joehn has an uncanny sense of direction and we never got lost because of it.  He took us places that I didn’t know about!  Joehn is a well mannered young man with a beautiful heart and apparently brilliant too.  When he was a toddler, I remember he knew the names of all the tractors-and the names are complicated and numerous.  We made jokes that he may have to drive us “Miss Daisys” around in the future.  

Jo Dee had seen a roadside stand selling vegetables on the way and wanted to stop.  Joehn, did not.  He did not think it wise to buy food sold by the roadside, by total strangers!  No amount of explaining the process convinced him that it was normal and we laughed about it a lot.  We did stop but Joehn  still thought it was peculiar altogether and I wondered if he would eat the sweet corn she bought.

Cash came out to greet me when we pulled in the drive at the rabbit patch.  He is a happy and forgiving boxer, and I expected that.  Christopher Robin , in the last of his “kitten” days , is a different story.  The last time I had left, he put on airs for days !  We had just got back on good terms, when I left this time.  He came out and watched from a distance as Joehn and Christian unloaded my things.

I found the rabbit patch in good order and praised Kyle and Christian for it.  Christopher Robin had not broken anything.  The grass needed mowing and so I knew what to do on Saturday after my time at the “morning table”.

Saturday dawned and with little coolness.  When the dew dried, I got started mowing.  It takes a good part of the day to mow the rabbit patch.  I do a lot of thinking while I mow.  The rose of sharon bushes are blooming and I noticed that. My aunt Carolyn had given me those seeds when I moved in and had more work to do than imaginable.  I had hastily tossed them in a pot and hoped for the best.  Months later they were transplanted just as carelessly.  I had the house to paint and the barns too.  They grew anyway.  Aunt Carolyn passed a few years back . Her rose of sharons are doing great justice to her memory.  I am ashamed now that I planted them without ceremony, for their value is noteworthy now.

Saturdays are the eve of Sunday dinners, so I planned a good dinner  while I mowed.  I am going to cook food sold by the road.  Mama and daddy are coming and I am glad of that.  

It is getting to be “late summer” and just weeks before I go back to work.  I thought about that too.  I still have cousins to see and Rae’s little grandson-and Janet’s new house!  There are roses to be painted on a barn door!  It seems a calendar can act like a clock at times, making you feel the need to rush. Not one clock works in my house now, so I am never late for anything-but a calendar does not require batteries and keeps a record of time  whether I like it or not.  Sometimes, you  “can’t win for losing”.

I have great plans of making the last part of summer count.  There are important things I need to do, so I can be comforted  when the nights of winter fall early. Things like sitting under the mimosa tree and smelling its’ pink, feathery blossoms -and listening to  the sound of the world singing on a summer night. I will watch the rabbits stealing the fallen apples when the first star comes out and I will sit in the shade of an old tree for a good long while and write about how wonderful it is to live life on a rabbit patch.


Rabbits and Roses in the Moonshine


There is something about moonshine-something magical, something enchanting-something beautiful that nothing else can claim.  When the moonshine falls on roses, it will make you glad to see it and if there is a rabbit under the rosebush-well,  you are in “high cotton”.

Yesterday , even the morning was a miserable affair.  I found out early, while hanging diapers on a line, that I would not be strolling by the river for a good while.  It was a disappointment, as I would be leaving the next day, so I decided, I will walk in moonlight and that consoled me.


Jenny, wanted to fix supper for a friend , a few doors down.  We started rambling through the kitchen to come up with a menu.  We found just enough of everything we needed-down to the last bit of sugar-3/4 of a cup to make ice-cream, for dessert.  Every time, we thought something couldn’t be done, we would find the missing ingredient.  It was almost peculiar . Jenny  brought up all of the nice things her friend had done for her, while we cooked.  She took great pains to make every dish just right.  We packed the food in a basket, making sure the fresh bread was at the top. She carried the ice cream and took off at a quick pace, so it would’t melt.  I watched her and realised how glad I was at that moment.  Children give us many reasons to feel “proud” of them.  They excel in some fashion and Jenny has done her fair share of that.  I will not list her virtues, but they are many.  She is devoted to her husband Will and their Lyla -that alone is so touching and does wonders for my spirit, but as I saw her carrying that basket to her friend, a peace came over me.  I felt as proud as a mom has a right to-and if Lyla hadn’t been crying for her mommy, the entire time-I would have cried too at the beauty of that moment.

Lyla and I took out the trimmings from some vegetables for the rabbits.  We watched them come out to eat.  The rabbits in Elizabeth City are social for wild rabbits.  Some one had just told us that he had seen a mother rabbit nursing her bunnies in his yard!  Lyla could get pretty close to the ones we were feeding. When  the sun was making slanted shadows,  we  set out in search of the moon.  

We walked down to the river and counted rabbits the whole way.  A cool breeze was blowing by the time Jenny joined us and so we walked for a long time.  We kept looking for the moon over the river til finally darkness started falling-and Lyla started fussing.  We headed for home.  I was in disbelief that we couldn’t find the moon!  I had heard it was extraordinary the night before-and I set great store by such things.  

 The stars were appearing right before my eyes and I was taking notice of that when Jenny’s house came into view.  Jenny took Lyla in and I went out in the backyard.  Over the top of an old oak, I saw the moon rising.  Soon  there was moonshine falling on the roses and some young rabbits playing beneath them.   The house that sheltered my daughter and her family, was quiet and the moonshine fell over it, too.

   I stood in the night and considered the day .  It was good, I remembered  and my heart was grateful – most especially for the Hand that casts the moonshine on roses, rabbits and the people I love.


While the Wild Geese Were Swimming

July was a bit kinder yesterday morning.  Lyla and I got an early start and set out on our familiar route by the river. We walked under old trees that shade the yards of old houses.  The houses boast of the charm that belongs to yesterday. They are numerous and seem to unite to paint a lovely portrait .

There is a long stretch of the walk that affords a grand view of the Pasquotank River, thanks to the forethought of the residents decades before.  There is a little bridge in a curve and yesterday wild geese were swimming by it.  We stopped to watch them for a good long while.  I was careful not to speak as her gaze was steadfast, and she was content.  The geese seemed in on it, as they glided around without any chatter either.  For a while, the world and its’ chaos  had no bearing on us.  I think such moments could help heal a lot of what ails us.  It is hard to feel harshly, while you are watching wild geese swim by.

On the way back,  I kept smelling something faintly sweet in the slight breeze.  I kept looking around and eventually noticed that every time I took account,  I was in the midst of crepe myrtles.  I have known about these trees all of my life, and never considered them fragrant-I have been wrong.  Of course we took to smelling the flowers on the low branches.  The white variety has the most scent.  It smells like clean cotton with a bit of sweetness.  The lavender is a close second and then the darker pinks are very faint.   It was a good thing to know, I thought-a beautiful thing to learn, really.

The sun grew bolder, so we headed home thinking about things like   wild geese swimming  and the way the crepe myrtles sweeten the breeze.

Today my youngest sister, Connie, has a birthday!  I am eleven years older, so Connie was like a living doll to me when she was born.  She was an especially pretty child, too.  I loved her dearly though she told secrets about boys, I thought were cute and took bubble baths with my expensive shampoos that promised to change my life. I think, that I quit playing  with dolls when Connie was born. Though they behaved in a nicer manner-the dolls could not compare to my little sister, whom I was sure for at least a  short while , was heaven sent. Now, I know for sure she is.

My friend, Rae is a very new grandmother!  As it turns out,  her little grandson will share my sisters’ special day.  It is nice to think that Rae and I may take strolls together in the near future, with our grandchildren.

It is half past the summer anyway you look at it.  The bunnies born in  the spring move swiftly now.  Young squirrels  leap with ease in trees-quite fearlessly and young birds are learning to use their wings.  Tomatoes are turning red and black-eyed susans are blooming.  The summer is at its’ peak so the mockingbirds sing  songs of glory for it.. and a baby was born- while the wild geese were swimming.  The beauty of summer is endless.


The Lovely Purpose of a Honeybee


A bit over a year ago, I became known as “Honeybee” to a very small, but important segment of the population. Lyla was born in April and is my first grandchild.  This week finds me in Elizabeth City-a very large rabbit patch-and Lyla’s hometown.

Lyla was born on an Easter Sunday morning. While staying with her mom, that April, I noticed that Elizabeth City was a beautiful town, with a tremendous amount of culture-and it is full of rabbits.   I have spent a good deal of time here, since that Easter Sunday and a bit over a year later, I find Elizabeth City as charming as ever- and still full of rabbits.

I became known as “Honeybee” because of a silly rhyme I made up. Lyla laughed some of her first laughs over the nonsense and I became her honeybee because of it.  

The business of being a honeybee is a  lovely one and I take it very seriously.  Thank Goodness I am not in it alone as there are plenty of people to love Lyla and they all come bearing gifts-beautiful gifts, at that.

July is not the best time for strolling.  Today we waited til there was no shine left in the sun and it was cooler-but there were bugs of all sorts that had waited as well.  We didn’t stay out long, but we did hear a mockingbird.  We saw pink clouds and smelled freshly cut grass, too.

My friend Rae, is waiting for her first grandchild-any minute now.  I remembered waiting for Lyla.  The first time I held her, I felt overwhelmed with gratitude.  I hoped I would be a good grandmother, but I was quite unsure of how to proceed.  I never let on, but I was nervous.  It is common for a new parent to be nervous-but it never occurred to me that becoming a grandmother would be.

I wondered what in the world I was supposed to do for her in the big scheme of things.  What would I have to contribute to this precious child?  As it turns out, I decided she deserved the best and set out to consider what that meant.  I thought about it while I was hanging diapers out, so Lyla and her mom could take a nap.  I considered it while a good supper simmered and would be ready when her dad came home from work.  I thought about it when she and I were sitting in the cool shade of a magnolia and again when we strolled by the river and heard it sing a lazy song.

When we see a flower, we stop everytime to smell it. I sing beautiful songs to her and she listens-and I recite rhymes full of nonsense and  she laughs.  As it turns out, I realise that I am telling her about the things that I love and maybe that is what it means to be a “Honeybee”.  In one way or another, we are all telling each other about the things we love.

I finally know that listening to a mockingbird in the twilight of a July evening is a lovely thing and worth sharing. I am glad that becoming a “honeybee” helped me remember. First chance I get, I am telling Rae.


One Summer Morning

Many summer mornings at the rabbit patch pass in an ordinary fashion.  This past Friday morning did not-and I am  noticing a trend. Another lovely thing happened that I had nothing to do with.

A dear friend was coming to spend some time with me-and that was planned. Jo Dee is the kind of friend that I can visit with under any circumstances.  I can have coffee with her and be wearing pajamas or washing dishes, as we talk.  We do not put on airs with one another as there is no need for that.  Our hearts are open books, so secrets do not hinder us.  

Jo Dee and I have several mutual friends that we share the same kind of open heart policy with.  Rae, that feeds the birds, is one of them.  On this Friday, Rae wanted company, so I grabbed some left overs and packed them up to take along as Rae feeds the birds, but her cupboards are bare-Rae is alive because of ice-cream.  

Rae was still in pajamas when we got there.  I like that about her.  We commenced to visiting in the comfortable way that old friends do.  We had been there just a short while when another “bird of a feather” called .  Janet was coming through town and would stop by shortly- and she was bringing chicken. This morning had turned in to an occasion!. . . and I realised, it happens every year.  

There is no rhyme or reason to it-but it happens like clockwork every summer on some ordinary morning without devising a plan.  I have pictures from several years back when it seemed a “fluke”.  I named the first one, “One Summer Morning”.

Janet arrived and it was the “icing on our cake”. . . and she had  the chicken!    We considered a picnic, and then remembered it was July.  We ate inside, instead.  There was enough left for Rae to have supper though I knew she would eat ice cream anyway.

After lunch, we sat in Rae’s den and talked a while.  It is hard to explain the beauty of friendships that have spanned decades and of the kinds of conversations that can be shared because of it . Our children grew up. Rae and I have buried husbands.  Janet and Jo Dee have buried parents.  Jobs have changed and houses have come and gone-well, a lot has happened, and it still does.  We have stood the test of time and it makes all the difference.  It is good to say-we have never argued either.  I think it may be that” honesty is the best policy” after all .  

Jo Dee and I stepped out on the porch.  July was still hot- I noticed the phlox that was blooming in spite of it.  Phlox is one steadfast warrior in the garden.  It is dependable and manages to show up happily, whether you tend it or not.  I have some at the rabbit patch. I intend to plant phlox wherever I go from here-because it reminded me of my deep affection for all things constant-such things as friendships that are never fair-weather and show up in July, dependably.


The Woods are Full of Flowers

13692641_291013544579488_3636954721674307433_nThe woods, I call  the rabbit patch, are full of flowers now.   I have seen them.  All sorts of things are blooming . I have long suspected that those woods were enchanted-and  as it turns out, I was right.  The evidence is scattered along the edge of the young woods, where the yard begins- and all along the path that runs through it. 

I knew about the irises.  When I came here, ten years ago, the woods were spilling into the yard.  A big tree had fallen a long time before me and been left, which encouraged an under growth to claim that area. I wanted to see the barns that had been hidden for a long time in those woods.  It was a day in May and the irises were blooming.   I could see large clumps of them behind the fallen tree.  In the fall, I started cleaning up the thorn vines and all else, that I considered out of bounds, but I left the irises as they were.  

A few years later,  A butterfly bush showed up along the edge of the rabbit patch.  I have several around the farmhouse.  We had a hurricane that year and I figured the wind had planted that seed.  It stands at least twelve feet tall now. It is quite fragrant and the butterflies flock there all summer.

A year or so ago, I saw the lantana’s bright clusters of yellow, orange and pink blooming just down the way from the butterfly bush. I have lantana planted in the corner of the yard, three acres away from that spot.  Maybe, a bird  in great haste, had dropped an autumn berry from mine,  I thought-right there where the flower is growing-and I was glad for it.

There is a large bed of purple loosestrife.  It is considered invasive, so most folks won’t have it.  It blooms in August with purple spikes, and it is greedy,  but I mow the path weekly and mine is behaving nicely.  This showed up by the irises a while back.

I was mowing the day before yesterday and was admiring the entrance to the path forged long ago.  I had never planned on it-but it is charming, I always think.  What a shock to see little lavender blossoms all around me and standing several feet tall!   While I was away, for a few weeks, The french mulberry had taken over a good portion of the rabbit patch!  What a beautiful predicament!  In the fall, bright fuschia berries will replace the meek blossoms and as pretty as I find the flowers, I know the berries will have a striking affect.  The berries are edible and it made me glad to know the birds and the rabbit patch community will eat well in September when the apples are long gone.  The more I looked, the more I saw. The woods were full of flowers and it was lovely. 

I have toiled in my yard at least a thousand hours since moving here- planting and civilizing the grounds.  I have spent a fair amount of grocery money too. I tend the yard year round in some form-and to me it is pretty.  It is a wonder to me that the woods are full of flowers.  It was not my hand that planted  them.  I did not bring water to them or pull the weeds beneath them.  This  garden wasn’t planted by man.  The One who planted this garden may have used the wind , careless birds or a kingdom of fairies-by whatever means it came about, the rabbit patch makes July a better time, for the woods are full of flowers .  I have seen the way they grow and my heart is grateful- for the way of the wild and the butterflies too.


While Gathering Lilies

13654179_290069538007222_5120785084256495408_n The heat of July is not showing the least bit of mercy on the rabbit patch.  It takes all the fun out of gardening and hanging sheets on the line, too.  I will not be planning a picnic any time soon.  

A storm passed through here, the other night.  I spent some of my day picking up branches.  I am convinced there is not a pine cone left on any pine in my yard or the neighbors’ pines either.  I used them to start a burn pile, as they are good for that.  The air was  still,  so it was an easy fire to tend.  I usually burn debris when the sun goes down, but July is full of mosquitoes, in the evenings.

 Pine cones are prickly  and they hurt like barbed wire to pick up .   I stepped in fire ants while carrying scratchy sticks to the fire.  It is hard to be cheerful under such conditions.  Even the song birds were quiet- and I missed them.  

People that know me, often comment on my positive disposition.  On this day, no one would have recognized me.  The magic of the shooting star  seen the other night, had worn off completely in that heat.  I had finally made it to the front yard where it is shady .   I saw a lone blossom on the gardenia bush. The fragrance hung heavily in the humid air, and I was encouraged by it.  As I made my way around the big porch,  I saw another pretty sight.  The bed of tiger lilies were in full bloom.  There were more of them this year, than in any year past and they reminded me of little tangerines.  They came from my mom.  She had gotten them from her mom and my heart softened remembering that.  My grandmother died suddenly in July many years ago.  I was just ten years old .  She was another mother to me and her death remains one of the most hurtful things in my life.  Christian asked me a while back, if I still missed her.  When he did, I cried.  Now, today and over forty years later,  a corner of my yard remembers her too.   

I decided to cut a few to add to the vase of day lilies on the kitchen table.  While I was gathering lilies,  I remembered some words, that have been showing up a lot  in some sort of fashion, for a few weeks now.  That happens to me frequently. They are from  the “Sermon on the Mount”-“Consider the lilies”.  I have always taken great comfort from those verses.   This day was no different.

I have been thinking way too hard lately about some things .  I have not come up with any solutions.  I don’t think I have too. The lilies reminded me of that.  They came in abundance and set the yard a-flame, to say so.  A false sense of power is every bit as intoxicating as if it was real- and I had been under the influence.  

Then and there, in the hateful heat of July, I commenced to seeing a beautiful future for myself. I walked back to the burn pile, by the barren peach tree and told it, better times are coming,  for I have seen them. 

When I went out that evening, to say good night to the rabbit patch, there was a thick haze hiding the stars.  I knew they were there, but couldn’t have proved it at that moment.  It made no difference to me, that I couldn’t.

Today, I plan to mow.  Daddy fixed my lawn mower again as I lost some important part last time.  He fixed the neighbor’s too, as I had borrowed it to finish up and managed to tear that one up , as well.  It is supposed to be hot again.  July is like that. I plan to make some mint tea.  If I drink it in front of a window fan, it will act like a tonic and defend me against July.  

I will not attempt great thoughts today, but instead will remember  that we are closer to Christmas, than we were and I plan to memorize the passage that begins, “Consider the Lilies. . . ” as well.



Homecoming at the Rabbit Patch


I was quiet on the way back from Wilmington.  Lyla was fast asleep and when Jenny and I did talk, our voices were hushed.  I have never ended a visit with my children without a few sentimental tears.  For years, I have waved and smiled-said cheerful things-and when they were out of sight, cried like a baby!  It is a ridiculous habit and I realize that. I am making good progress though.

In spite of a gloomy departure, I did look forward to seeing my younger sons-and Cash and Christopher Robin-and the rabbit patch, itself.  I took great pains to remind myself that going home was a joyful event-and it was. I tried not to think about  saying good-bye to Jenny and Lyla and took great comfort that they are but an hour away.  Thank goodness, I can make that drive easily.  

As usual, the animals were the first to greet me. Cash, my boxer, is as sentimental as I am.  He put on quite a show, jumping around and spinning.  Christopher Robin, however, looked on from a distance.  He seemed a bit disgusted that Cash would forgive me so readily for my abandonment.  I wondered what he had broken, while I was away.  He was still giving me the “cold shoulder” hours later when I poured him a small bowl of cream, though he drank it in a greedy fashion. He did not even say thank you, either.


Kyle and Christian had survived my leaving.  They had not starved as I had feared and they had kept the house quite tidy.  They are the last of my “little men” and I had missed them. While, I was away, I stored up great thoughts to talk to them about, the first chance I get.

Not long after settling in, I took a walk around the rabbit patch.  Rain had fallen often and the garden is in poor shape.  A storm, the night before, littered the grounds with all sorts of debris and as usual, my lilies were blooming but were laying over.  The wind does this every year and I am used to it. My rose of Sharons are in full bloom and the quiet garden is especially somber as the roses seem on a holiday of their own.  Kyle had mowed, but had not finished.  The apples are scarce this year and small-and the pear tree shows no sign that it is a pear tree.  The same can be said of the young fig trees.  The ice of late spring put a halt to preserving fruit this year. The ginger lilies are a favorite of mine and look good for the wear and tear of the odd weather this year.  Mine bloom in August and when they do-the neighbors know about it as they perfume the air with a sweetness that only the ginger lily can claim.

I had a bit of trouble sleeping and so I went out a second time-I often do , to say good night to the rabbit patch and the world, in general.  I think feeling a lot of sad and a lot of happy all in one day had taken its’ toll.  There were a million stars out and I could see every one of them.  Only the country affords this view. I stood in starlight for a long while.  I started asking hard questions as I looked up at the wonder overhead.  I felt ashamed that the peace and strength that the ocean had given me was already faltering. I felt fickle.  I realised that the ocean had not given me any answers , but instead such a great sense of peace, that I no longer had questions. At that moment, a star streaked across the sky.  

This really happened.  I am not a fiction writer, I assure you.  I am a human with more faults than I care to count, but the Source of my writing is pure and generous and does not lie.  I have heard that some people have never seen a miracle and others see them everyday.  I guess it all depends on what one deems a miracle. 

I woke up feeling restored and I am having coffee in a china cup , at the “morning table”.  Christopher Robin is as grumpy as he was last night, so the shooting star did not effect him in the least.  The sunlight seems muted coming in the old farmhouse windows. The only sound is the slight breeze blowing through the sycamores and a few song birds  in the distant patch of young woods.  Sunday dinner will be later today.  I plan to fry chicken and green tomatoes- and make another cucumber salad.  If I can scrape up enough apples, we will have a cobbler.  I will gather some lilies  for a vase  and celebrate my homecoming in that simple rabbit patch way- and  I will remember to be thankful for the millions of stars I saw last night- and most especially for the one that flew across the sky and told me plainly and in a divine nature that “All is well”.