All the Difference

~ rabbitpatchdiary.com

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Today is far from ordinary, at the rabbit patch.  On this day, three decades ago, I became a mother.  My oldest son, Brant was born on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, while the mimosa trees were blooming.

 I have never forgotten the details of that day.  When I held him, a deep sense of love came over me- a kind of love that I had never known.  For the first time in my life, I truly understood how my parents loved me.  It was  a bigger  and more beautiful concept, than I could have imagined.  I was very over-whelmed with gratitude and wondered how could such an enormous kind of love existed without my knowledge of it.  That day changed me, and I am better because of it.

I remember the day, I brought Brant home.  I don’t think any mother forgets that.  I took him to the mimosa, that I had sat beneath, waiting for him.  I wanted him to know right off, that he had come to a world, with such lovely things, as mimosas.

Of course, as he grew, I continued this process.  I made sure, he didn’t grow up too civilized-and he didn’t.  He spent a good part of childhood in the woods.  Brant had a great respect for nature, and he still does.  He knew a male pine from a female at five years old.  One year it snowed, and Brant came in with a little sparrow in his hand!  I still don’t know how that happened.  Brant held him a while, by the woodstove, and then took him out and the little bird flew off.  Nothing has changed since then. Animals take to Brant, as if he is a charmer of sorts- so do children.  

Today, is also the first day of the summer break for me.  Kyle and Christian are at work, and the oldest children are all in Wilmington. -so I am having a quiet celebration at the rabbit patch.  There is plenty to do.  I hope to finish cleaning the barn, but it  is awfully hot, out.  Clothes are hanging on the line, and I always like that affair.   I listened to a purple martin”s  “trills” as I hung out the laundry.

  I plan to wash some antique glass dishes today.  I love to wash glass.  It is calming for me.  I love the way they sparkle in the sunlight, while drying.  It is not a job to hurry through, either, but instead demands slow , careful movement.  I have found that I think slow and careful thoughts as I wash-well, you can’t hurry your thoughts, when washing glass, either.  I remember who they belonged to,  and all the fuss that went on, when an occasion called for glass dishes, long ago when I was just a child.  I never helped in the clean-up after such events.  I was nervous and was sure I would be the one that cracked the bowl, that belonged to my great-great aunt, or some other saint before her or God forbid, I break the last platter of its’ sort, left in the world.

 I have painted a flower pot this morning.  I plan to paint pots and buckets this summer.  Of course, I must wait for rain, to spend a day painting.  The rabbit patch territory can be selfish, like that.  Weeds, grass and thorned vines are a relentless lot altogether,  and have no mercy on the ones that tend the land. Of course, under such conditions,  something happens between myself and the land.  We become entwined and speak our  own language.  I know where and when,  shade falls.  I know how the soil varies from the edge of the woods to the far side of the “Quiet Garden”.   I know where the morning star shines . . and I know where the wild violets bloom.  

In the Evening of the First Day

 It took longer than I expected to wash the glass and so I had ample time to entertain lofty notions.  Cash and the cats napped in front of a window fan.  The breeze coming through the windows stirred up the kitchen herbs and I breathed in the smell of basil and thyme, as I washed the pretty relics from the women before me.  I decided then and there, that it was a good thing to grow herbs on a sunny windowsill, and wherever I live, I will do so.

I did work in the old barn, after all, in spite of the heat.  I started a small fire in the garden where beans usually grow.   I watched the fire til it was reduced to embers, so did Cash . .so did Christopher Robin.  I thought of the simple moments that had made up my day.  The complexities of the world seemed far away from the clothes line-and the old barn.  A country woman keeps a diary of simple content, I thought, 

I thought of Brant, as I walked in the old house with the clean dishes.  His birth changed my life-His life changed the world.  He is one of the most kind hearted people I know.  He is known to give things to strangers, he buys shoes for children that need them and feeds any hungry animal that he comes across.  He knows every older neighbor around him and helps them bring groceries in.  I started writing, when Brant was born . 

Dear sweet Rabbit Patch Diary,  I became a mother on this day, long ago . . . and that has made all the difference.  Happy birthday Brant.

 

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32 thoughts on “All the Difference”

  5. How nice. We always remember the day that each child comes into this world. Your son sounds like a wonderful person. Mimosa trees are so beautiful. They are in full bloom here in Arkansas at the moment. Very lovely post.

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  9. All your posts are great, but this was especially lovely. Happy birthday to your son who helped shape you into a beautiful mother. I love your private language with your land. I tend to talk to the mountains.

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  10. It is true….being a mother is the best thing . I wouldn’t trade any of my sons for all else the world has to offer. Are you sure you want to leave? Sounds like a connection to the patch that should be life long. .just a thought.

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    1. I need to leave-I just can not maintain the work nor the money it takes. I do love this place, but I will be happy wherever I end up. I truly would rather be with my family than work everyday here. Thank you for your compassion in this-how dear you are-and you are so right about motherhood! thank you so much xx

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  11. Happy birthday Brant! And happy mom day to you! I love this post. I so understand those feelings of becoming a mom for the first time. My oldest is 33 and I cannot figure out where all that time went. The years kind of blew away like smoke. You have no idea how I love coming to visit at the Rabbit Patch my friend!

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  13. A truly beautiful post Rabbit.
    Like you, I remember that rush, surge, download of love which happened when I became a mother, and like you, I couldn’t believe this new, amazing love which had taken hold of my heart, mind and soul. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before.

    I also remember my first few hours at home with our new baby . . . I was absolutely scard witless!
    How could the hospital have let me, ME of all people, bring a baby home . . . without sending someone who knew what they were doing, with me???

    I cried . . . I was so afraid of doing things wrong. I can remember telling my husband how ridiculous and scandalous it was that they let any fool become a parent and bring home a brand new, incredible, baby, when no one had come around and given us an exam, checked our home over to make sure we were acceptable!

    Crumbs … if you want to adopt a dog from a rescue centre, here in the UK, you have to be checked over and your home and garden visited to ensure that you’re a suitable owner. Yet they let just anyone make baby and then once born, they give them the baby to bring home!!! That cannot be right, surely.

    But you, dearest Rabbit, wouldn’t ever have needed a home check, for you are one of natures amazing, natural mothers. And couldn’t be a more perfect mother if you tried.

    I loved this post – for it allowed me to share that special moment when you became a mother for the first time.
    Love you Rabbit. ~ Cobs. x

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    1. and now I am laughing! You need to write a post about bringing the baby home!. You do have a good point-I was scared too and asked for another day in the hospital, I KNOW you are a great mom-you have such love in your heart! xx love you always, Michele

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  15. What a beautiful post. Reading about your son reminded me so much of my older son. I, too, tried to raise him to appreciate nature, and he more than once has held a wild bird in hand…he is like an animal whisperer, and kids love him as well:) Sons are such a wonderful gift, as is parenthood:)

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  17. What a loving tribute to motherhood and a worthy son this is; and I like the way you twined washing antique glass and having a relationship with the land you work around it. The three strands flowed together to make a beautiful piece.

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    1. oh thank you, dear friend-I am so tired now from all the chores here-and I can not stay caught up on the blog, it seems-It may rain tomorrow and that will help-still working in the barn-ugh, I wish I was washing glass! ha! thank you always for the kindness! xx

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  18. Alas, we find another distinct parallel in our lives. My first-born (a son) also came to us in 1981.
    He’s not my eldest, as my wife “came with” a few, but he was my awakening to all those things you so eloquently observe.
    Fathers rarely get enough credit for thinking so sensitively and cleaving to the tiniest memories…the “french fry warmer” we placed him in. The balloons I brought with names, one girl, one boy. Though we could “know” in advance even then, I didn’t want to know. A boy or a girl, I’ll take either one, and I wanted the good old-fashioned surprise of not knowing until the child first greeted the world.
    It’s true we gain a renewed appreciation for everything our parents were and did when we have a child of our own.
    If not overstepping, I would like to say I think his father would be quite proud of him, and all your little rabbits. As a father, in his stead, may I express this joy?

    Seek peace,

    Paz

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