The cover of this book is quite appropriate for what lies inside.  Chasing Jubal, by Bill Thompson is a story about the journey of Jubal Simpson, a young boy growing up in the rural south, in the 1950s.  Jubal embarks on a journey, early in the book, to join his brother, who has just enlisted and stationed in  North Carolina.  Jubal, in utter brotherly devotion, takes off without a clue of where  Fort Bragg is or how to get there.  He is  that determined to help his brother fight,  for whatever enemy shows up. The adventure unfolds with every paragraph.  Jubal has his fair share of companions on his journey.  Rich dialogue ensures, they are everyone memorable-and the journey, is nothing short of an epic adventure.

In a bit less than 300 pages,  Jubal Simpson evolves from a  young and gullible boy to a noble young man while he is wandering.  Nothing that happens is predictable. What does happen, influences Jubal for the rest of his life.

Jubals’ small hometown in Virginia sends out a search party , who  in reality, are chasing Jubal from one strange destination to another.  They don’t know where they are going either, but they do not escape getting caught up in the same sort of escapades, that Jubal experiences. Somehow, Bill Thompson, weaves all the journeys in to one exciting tale.  This is a  story where things unravel and then bind up again-and you won’t see it coming.

There is mystery,  drama and   fantasy in Chasing Jubal, and the elements combine in a seamless way.  Raymond, Jubals’ best friend records, the accounts- and he can’t tell the difference either.  Raymond, like everybody else,  had his own encounters with all sorts of oddities, as he is chasing Jubal.

I started reading Chasing Jubal and was hooked right off.  Bill Thompson is an artist with words.  He paints pictures with them, and will make you choke on the dust of the back roads and smell the rain that falls on the way.  If you are looking for a book that you won’t be able to put down, for love nor money, this is the one.  It is a good thing to read a well-written book with a good story- and Chasing Jubal is all of that.

* Chasing Jubal   is available at Amazon.com-barnesandnoble.com – the Indigo Sea Press website -or for an autographed copy, contact Bill Thompson at 3815 Sam Potts Hwy,  Hallsboro NC  28442

January is more like itself today.  There is a cold wind blowing,  pruning the winter trees and warning the daffodils all in one breath.  I saw a little sparrow puffed up twice his size, trying to make sense of this Januarys’ behavior, when I got home.  He was perched on a post in the picket fence and I wondered how he stuck to the place in the fierce wind.  Nature never ceases to amaze me.

 I did not tarry to the back door of the old house on the rabbit patch.  Christopher Robin did not even try to escape this time.  Moon Shine, who used to be wild, has never attempted to brave the elements, since his civilization.  When the door is open, he runs  in a state of panic, to his “spot” as if he needs to claim it all over again.  

I have not been at the rabbit patch, on a week-end, in a good while.  There is plenty of yard work, if the cold wind stops blowing.  Branches  are strewn there and yonder .  It will take a fair amount of time to gather them, for another fire in the garden, some still, cold evening.  There is a large cabinet in the laundry room, that can stand a thorough cleaning, if the wind  “stays on like a week-end guest”-so I have a variety of tasks to choose from.  

I also have a new book to read.  It is  “Chasing Jubal” by Lylas’ paternal grandfather, Bill Thompson.  I was almost late for work this morning, because of it.   I was on page forty, and had lost all desire to make money .  There is something so completely satisfying about holding a good book in your hand-and turning a page with great curiosity.  January is as good a time  as I know of to get lost in a book.   A winter day with a cold wind blowing, seems to give you permission to read for hours if you are so inclined-and I often am.

Once, my mom and I were at a yard sale, when she spied an entire box of books  written by an author she said her mama loved.  I grew up with my maternal grandmother but she died suddenly one night when I was just ten years old- and so I bought the box without a moments’ hesitation and commenced to reading them.  They were well written historical novels by Victoria Holt.  Somehow I felt like I was visiting with my grandmother as I read them.  We went to tea plantations in India, castles in Ireland and royal gardens in England, that summer.  I imagine those books were  about the only way, Grandma ever got off the farm .  I still have them.  They are safely stored behind glass- paned doors in an antique  cabinet, in the rabbit patch library.

I plan to cook “Sunday Dinner”, this week-end.  It has been a while since I have done so at the rabbit patch.  It is the kind of weather to cook  foods slowly and deliberately, after all.   I have a roast that will work nicely and if all goes well, I may bake a pie.  Pie is especially good, when mama and daddy are here -otherwise, it is just pie.

I sure hope I can finish Chasing Jubal, before the Sunday dinner.   A good book has, in the past, turned   my great expectations in to pipe dreams, on occasion.  A good book has caused me to burn a pan of  biscuits.  Once I scorched a pot of beans to the point, I had to throw the pot out, all because of a good book. . . and so,  I declare here and now, not to have that book anywhere near me or the rabbit patch kitchen, this coming Sunday- especially,  when I attempt  to make the meringue for the pie.

The rabbit patch has been full of shine, these last few days.  Rain, and its’ cousin fog, seemed to have “hightailed” it off the territory and in its’ place has been  bright  sunlight .  The days have been every bit as mild as an Easter Sunday. It seems that the daffodils and the foxglove too, have foolishly fallen for winters’  “white lies” about the season.  The foxglove is well up and the daffodils around the edge of the barn have joined them.  I am hoping they do not encourage the peach tree to do the same.  Last year, the peach tree bloomed its’ pale pink blossoms-the day before an ice storm.  The blossoms are like lovely little pink promises and I especially love them-but they had but a day of glory last year.  The morning after their debut-they became brown straw-like flowers-and peaches were scarce in July.

The twilight hour comes a bit later now.  The sunsets have been stunning.  The world can argue all day long, but the evening sunset has the “last word” on the day.  Its’ beauty, is there for the tender hearts and the cold ones too.  In this way, we are allowed to agree on something.

When I was young, my family attended church services every Sunday.  Mama curled our hair and we wore our “Sunday dresses” and patent leathers.  I detested the itchy laces and my hair did not hold curl past the “Sunday School” hour, no matter how  hard mama tried.  One Sunday, I was at my Aunt Agnes’ house.  She had five children and it was quite a battle for her to make sure we all were clean and properly dressed for church.  I remember walking out the back door, and the horrible shock  on Aunt Agnes’ face , seeing my oldest cousin in “dungarees” and walking towards a tractor.  Aunt Agnes commenced to fussing with him, though he never broke his stride.  Finally she started pleading and then threatening that surely the crops would dry up and die in light of his sinning.  My cousin told her, that she needed to read her Bible. “The rain falls on the just and the unjust”  he said smugly.  Aunt Agnes let that sink in and then stammered for us to get in the car, before we were late.

My neighbor, Miss Susie, that grows flowers and shares them, tried the apple salad recipe.  She used almonds and pecans in her batch.  She sent  some of it to the rabbit patch-and it was wonderful.  

In January, I miss my sons an awful lot.  It is the same every year, when  Christmas is over.  I know well, that children are meant to grow up and find their own way of life-but it feels dreadful at times.  I think  Christian has moved out, too.  He doesn’t have the heart to say it,  but he has been “staying” at a friends’ house for three weeks, because they work together-and “it’s just easier”.  My sweet youngest son, has always felt bad, that he would be the one that “made me be alone”.  Of course, that is an unfair burden and I told him so.

 The rabbit patch seems bigger in January and sometimes I get the notion I am “stranded” here.  Thank Goodness for sunsets and kind neighbors-for kind words and winter skies.  I can only remain grateful under such conditions-and I am glad that the rain falls on the “just and unjust” because I have been both, on occasion.

Lately, the days have been mild and more like April than January.  The snow and ice, a few weeks ago have been about the only reason to have a “winter coat” so far.  Of course the bird feeders on the rabbit patch are now desolate in the absence of snow.   The hearth at the rabbit patch has been cold for a while-and should stay that way for the rest of the week.  Of course, there is the rain that falls on a good many days.  The sun hasn’t cast a shadow for a long spell.   

I made a  pot of soup before I left Elizabeth City, on Monday.  Will and his mom both have a cold and I think chicken soup is good for a lot of ailments.  Jenny was rocking Lyla in the nursery.  It is a beautiful thing to see your daughter rock her baby.  

I drove home under an almost lavender sky.  A flock of blackbirds, at least a mile long flew overhead just as I entered a long stretch of the highway.  I noticed the winter wheat fields had greened more deeply .  Snow will do that .  Soft lights twinkled in the homes along the way and so time passed in a pleasant way as I made my way back to the rabbit patch.

What a commotion occurred when I walked in the back door of the old house.  The cats inspected my bags  thoroughly with great suspicion, while Cash pranced around and around.  The boys were not home and so this was the “welcome wagon” committee-and they were all hungry.  It is always the same.  Cash, my boxer will run to his food bowl and gobble the food, he left from breakfast as if he were starving.  The cats lift a chorus, “singing for their supper” as if they will surely perish before I can get to the pantry. Christopher Robin will sometimes “put on airs” and look at me full of judgement for a while, when I return – but on this day, he did not.

I made some coffee and sat by the morning table. The dog and cats, with their full tummies claimed their usual napping places while I looked through the window at the untidy rabbit patch territory.  Novembers’leaves are still scattered about and now Decembers’ branches join them.  The “Quiet Garden”  lives up to its’ name, especially in January.  Flowers sleep in January.   The whole countryside was quiet  and so I gazed out the window and dreamed “like a big shot”  for an hour  . . . . or maybe a year.

Winter is often a peaceful time and allows us more time for wishful thinking.  We have time to gather our thoughts and decide our priorities.  It is a good time to listen for what rings true for our own heart and then consider how to proceed with integrity, in that understanding.  To be   “true to thine own self” requires a lot of thorough contemplation, after all.   The task is not for the faint of heart- nor to be taken lightly, but I take great stock in such things-and in January, while the flowers sleep, seems as good  a time  as any to do so.

This week began with snow and ice at the rabbit patch.  The wind caused quite a commotion with its’ chilling gales.  On Monday, schools and businesses closed.  Snow is as common as a “blue moon” in the south, so in light of that, we just stop things altogether. On Thursday, the weather made you want to plant a garden.  It felt like a day in  late April.  I put the windows up in the old farmhouse  because of it.  Now it is Saturday and a silver sky is sprinkling us with icy drops of rain-  This is why nobody planted a garden on Thursday.

Jenny and Will are taking an overnight trip without Lyla, so I am in Elizabeth City .  Jenny took great care to assure Lyla, the family dog, Jada and I would  wait in great comfort, til their return.  Our food, my coffee, chocolate in the case of desperate hours and written directions on remote controls were all covered .  I also got lessons on the various ways  to operate  each remote.  What a complicated affair it is to watch a television.    I just wished I could get Lyla “hooked” on Downton Abbey.

I had planned on having Wills’ mom, Miss Claudia over for coffee and pumpkin bread, then later for grilled pimento cheese sandwiches and my Aunt Agnes’ version of a “waldorf salad”.  As it turns out, Miss Claudia has an awful cold and  is not up to social events, though she assured me this morning she was up to help out, should circumstances demand it-and she would.  Too, there is Danny and Michelle  just around the corner and they would be here at “the drop of a hat”-or   if I  ran out of coffee.

While Lyla naps. I am sitting in Jennys’ dining room, at a large table.  A beautiful chandelier of cut glass, casts light as the whole day has seemed in a shadow. There are   two large windows I face  as I write this entry.  A crepe myrtle, a camellia and a large empty lot, block the street view and I like that.  The lot would be a lovely spot for a summer garden, I think.

The house is especially quiet, while Lyla sleeps.  I thought about this weekend  in the weeks, before now.  I wondered how Lyla would fair, without her doting parents close by.  I had hopes of long walks by the river and even a picnic, but you can not depend on doing such things in January and today is proof of that. 

Today is the day to watch the winter birds at the feeder from the window in the nursery, while the neighbors’ cat watches as well.  It is the kind of day to give your grand child a warm bath after supper and then put a little gown on her, that your own mother gave her.  Then you read Goodnight Moon, as you have done a thousand times before-and you are glad of it.   Some things , truly, do not” wear out . . . ” nor  will “moth and rust corrupt them.”  

While Lyla sleeps in her new little gown,  I will watch the January moon rise and I will count this day a good one.  The day had its’ silver-and the night has its’ gold. . .and I spent it well.