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”.


17 thoughts on “Homecoming at the Rabbit Patch

  1. What a beautiful post. Sometimes the answers come to us in the most unexpected of ways, but just at the right time. Your rabbit patch sounds like a little piece of heaven. 😊

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I’m of the opinion that you see more miracles than most, simply due to the fact that you are at one with nature.
    Your little rabbit patch may be looking a little bedraggled ~ as happens when Mother Nature and being away from home strike at the same time, yet I know you still see the beauty, as you so rightly said “All is well”

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Love your writing!! I always try not to cry when Stephanie goes back after a visit. I try to wait til the plane leaves but the tears begin just thinking she is leaving and won’t be back til November or December. We talk twice a day and I hope she will be back home to stay soon. I live being a mother and being a grandmother is undescribable!!! The grandboys are everything to me. There is always no place like home. Hope to see you soon when you are home and not visiting. Love ya

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Love the way you use words. One can see pictures in your writing. Hope one of your cousins, you wrote about seeing is me. Been making plans for a long time but they never happen!!!! Let me know when you have any extra time so we can talk about everything. Love you!!!

    Liked by 1 person

I love comments

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.