The sun is up at the rabbit patch, and the wind is brisk and has a chill. The old house is as silent as it can be. There isn’t a bit of news, other than Sunday dinner is cooking and the house smells like it. The green glass and a clean tablecloth will soon transform the lowly kitchen table. I will gather flowers for a vase, shortly, as yesterday, I ended up scrubbing the kitchen cabinets. After all, I was moving dishes around and the task seem to come about quite naturally, as they often do.
While Gathering Flowers
I went out to gather flowers for an arrangement, while the stove earned its’ keep. I found the day true to what is expected in March, at the rabbit patch. The air was pleasant with only a slight chill. The air of March is like that. The day was bright and the territory was dotted with all sorts of flowers. The pear tree is blossoming along with two young peach trees. The oldest peach tree bloomed last week and a few cold nights have burned the tender buds to an awful brown. Wild hyacinths are blooming in their familiar places. The wild variety is not as spectacular as their hybrid cousins, but they have the same wonderful, sweet scent. The Japanese roses are breath-taking now. When I walked around the barn, their bright yellow flowers almost startled me. Truly the “rose” looks like a carnation. The flowers bloom along the slender branches, before the leaves appear. It looks like the flowers are floating and the effect is very fairy-like. I cut some branches for the vase, and then was off to the daffodils. Of course, the spireas are a favorite. Their blossoms look like tiny roses and the bushes are full of them. Christopher Robin walked with me, and true to his good nature, did not complain a bit.He laid briefly, on a bed of running periwinkle and that made a charming picture.
In the Afternoon
The green glass did make a pretty table. The arrangement was pretty too and quite complimented the setting though it did not compare to Pansy and Ivy, in Elizabeth City. ( I declare that Mandy has Divine help in her arranging.) Mama and daddy got to the rabbit patch just as I was putting the cheese biscuits on the table. While we ate the creamed turnips, we remembered my grandmother. When we got to the pie, daddy was telling stories about his childhood. I grabbed my book and wrote them down in fragments, to be composed later into a story that makes good sense. Today, Mama and Daddy talked about their memories of the Ice truck. Mama said, that when the ice truck came, her mother made iced tea for supper, that night. It was something she looked forward to, as a child. The truck came every two weeks. Daddy remembered he and his brother running to catch up with the truck when they saw it. They gathered the broken chips that fell as the blocks were broken apart.
While, I washed the green glass, I thought about the stories, my parents told, at the little kitchen table. I thought of Mama, as a little girl waiting for supper happily, as she would have ice in her tea-and daddy running fast, as a young boy, for a handful of ice.
I kept thinking, once upon a time, people were thankful for ice and this thought humbled me, greatly.