I spent this weekend at the rabbit patch, in Farm Life, amongst the old trees, the young woods and the abandoned little pasture. It has been a long while since I was here on a weekend. Needless to say, I was quite behind in housekeeping, weeding and there is always the packing.
Tres came home on Friday night and oh, how good it felt to see him. Tres lives in Wilmington, where that hateful hurricane made landfall. To see him, safe and sound, did wonders for me. Listening to his story and seeing the pictures of the devastation was heartbreaking. Tres said he saw all sorts of things on the way home, that saddened him. Possessions, once treasured, now in heaps on lawns, many old trees felled and homes draped in large tarps, where roofs used to be. The older I get, the more tender my heart grows, and it was difficult not to weep.
I was up early on Saturday. I saw the dawn creep up the horizon, over the tree line at the back of the field, til finally light came tumbling over the oldest barn, and into the ” Quiet Garden”. I drank in the smell of October, the pungent smell of goldenrod and the earthiness of the fallen leaves. I thought about a lot of things, and once collected, these thoughts became prayers. My prayers now, bear little resemblance to the prayers of my youth. They are no longer the substance of what I desire or what I think I need. I no longer give God advice on how to fix something. Hence, my prayers are simpler. I say “thank you” ,” help me”, and “show me” and am convinced . . .this is enough. . .but people ought to pray as they are led to.
i commenced to pulling weeds, in the cool morning air. I cut a few vines and then came in , to make coffee, knowing Tres would be up shortly. Breakfast with Tres is a special occasion . We always talk while I am cooking, while we are eating and then while we linger a long time, over coffee. Tres never fails to provide interesting conversations that cause me to ponder all sorts of things.
Tres left for Elizabeth City, to meet Brynn, not long after the noon hour.
When Tres left, I decided to pack up the china in the cabinet. It is a cream colored china with a large pale pink rose and a bud, in a spray of life like greenery. It belonged to my grandmother, and that is what it makes valuable to me. For all I know, she may have collected it in laundry detergent boxes, years ago. One of my earliest memories, is coming home from the grocery store and opening a box of detergent powder to see the dish inside. You never knew what you were getting and we all took turns with the privilege of opening the boxes. It was a delightful practice and it is too bad it got replaced with “stamps”to be placed on little cards for discounts on groceries. However Grandmama got her dishes, I love them. I did not want to remove them as I thought an empty china cabinet, would be such a pitiful sight for all of the “official” people traipsing through the house these days. . . but, the dishes really were some of the few things left, that I could do without. I marked the boxes, “Grandmamas’ china -please be careful.” and then I stacked them neatly in a corner.
I did not rise so early on Sunday. The world was bathed in a silvery fog . Christian was at work, Kyle spent the weekend away and Tres had spent the night in Elizabeth City. I called Mama while I had coffee, to see how their night had been, for as of lately, conditions have not been favorable, for Daddy – therefore Mama, too. There are several stories now, not yet ready for telling. Details are missing and waiting to be revealed. . . Daddys’ story is one of them. Thankfully, they had a good night.
I took pictures off the walls, and started packing them up. Later, I went back to the yard, then I came in and packed some more boxes. Tres stopped by briefly, on his way back to Wilmington. He said Brynn had taken several naps in his arms. Lyla had done a fair share of entertaining him, too.
When Tres left, it seemed to me that the weekend was over. Even the sun dimmed in agreement. I thought I smelled the faint scent of rain, coming through the open window, by the “morning table”. October, true to every month of the year, has behaved oddly. It remains hot and frost will likely be late, this year. No one dares carve a pumpkin just yet.
At last, I ran out of packing tape. I put things back in order and started preparing for tomorrow, for it is Monday, after all, and that changes everything. . .out of the kitchen window, I noticed a light rain was falling.