I am beginning to “sound like a broken record” . . . but, it is raining at the rabbit patch. It is funny to me to say that, as that phrase may not be understood by younger readers, now. I did not even go out last night to bid the day farewell. It was raining . Lightening flashed and thunder boomed, so I stayed in and made a cake, though it was an odd hour to do so. Such things are permissible , in the last days of summer break.
I took a few more boxes to donate yesterday. It baffles me to think of the amount of things that have left the rabbit patch! In the future, I must avoid thrift stores, unless of course, I have a real need, of sorts. I will also avoid stores that sell pretty china and to the best of my ability, book stores. It has been a difficult, but very liberating experience, altogether. Peggy, a friend of mine plans to do the same thing and says she will only keep what “makes her heart sing”. That is the spirit, I think.
While the old farmhouse is tidy, the territory is quite shabby. The twin broken washers are still in the yard while the grass and weeds grow without shame in the soggy earth. The roses have also gotten a “second wind”. They are blooming along with black-eyed susans, rose of sharon and lantanas. Ageratum is presenting itself with great fervor, claiming every spare inch of soil . I love ageratum with its’ periwinkle blossoms. They are like the violets in early spring, that surprise me on the way to the clothes line. Violets and ageratum are likely to be anywhere. The ginger lilies , that I highly favor, are as full of buds as they have been in years. The flowers are white and far from spectacular, but the fragrance of a ginger lily is unforgettable.
When the ginger lilies bloom , the neighbors will know, for the scent, while delicate, spreads like a wildfire, in the air. I still remember the first time I encountered the ginger lily. I was standing on the porch, on a late August evening. I could not rest until I discovered the source of this fragrance . It seemed an impossible mission as the scent seemed to surround me. Finally, days later, my neighbor, “Miss Jenny” told me, it had to be her ginger lilies that I was taking such delight in. She was an avid gardener and her yard was living proof of it. It took me a while to find the precious -and expensive lily, but I did and at last, I have a nice stand of them in the little garden just outside of the back door. They are in good company with a few roses, loosestrife, day lilies and a fancy variety of hydrangea that has turned a few different shades of pink, this year.
The morning glory vines are climbing every thing they can. If they can not find a suitable post or unsuspecting bush, then the vine will sprawl like a ground cover. In September, their “true blue” blossoms herald the approaching days of autumn, in a cheerful fashion.
Fog blankets the countryside til late morning and sudden showers are likely to pop up at any given moment. It is impossible to predict the right time to mow the rabbit patch, especially since it requires a fair amount of a day to complete. It is often after noon, before the heavy dew has dried on the grass. Wet grass clogs the mower and lies in awful clumps, long after the mowing.
It seems shocking to me, as it does most years, that it is time to start back to school. Hours and days pass without consistency. If one is busy or having a grand time, then time is fleeting. Gloom, worry and idleness seem to extend hours. The way of how time passes, seems to depend on circumstances.
This past summer, for me the hours were greatly varied. I had to come to terms with where I am in my journey. I am almost sixty, my children are all grown up and I live in a big old house , on the remnants of a farm. I have a grandchild, that I adore. I have learned a new way to love, because of her. I would rather be spending time with Lyla, and my future grandchildren than mowing all day. I would rather see my sons more often and cook for my parents than stack wood. In light of all of this, I have decided to “sell the farm”, long before I am desperate.
There truly is “a Peace that passeth understanding”. I know this first hand, for I have felt this Peace. Like a loving and loyal friend , He has stood beside me and has not allowed me to falter, whether I was packing books and china , cleaning a barn or whiling away time on the banks of the “laughing river”.
So, seeds were sown this year, though their destiny remains a mystery. Somewhere, sometime, they will sprout. By all means, I will continue The Rabbitpatch Diary, for beauty and wonder does not limit itself to a single territory. . .nor a single season.