There are few things as pleasant as waking when you please, to a choir of songbirds. Add to that, an open window, with a soft breeze blowing, causing the pines to whisper . . .and a faithful dog sleeping by you.
Duty always calls at the rabbitpatch, and today is no different. I started several tasks yesterday, that need to be finished, not only the garden fire, but I also started on another deep cleaning in a room. . .I hope to finish today. There is just something about the liberty of doing things, when you see fit.
When “the spirit moved me”, I pulled the bed in the bedroom, that I was cleaning, to the center of the room. You would have thought, this had never been done before, for it was beyond dusty. All of this was cleaned before Christmas, when Kyle was on a “leave of absence”! He came back just a few months ago and couldn’t possibly have accomplished this mess! I declare, I could have grown potatoes right there in that corner, the bed stands in!
Oh how wonderful I felt, when a few hours later, the room fairly sparkled and smelled so clean. clean cotton and orange may be my favorite housekeeping scent. I smelled clean, too, for I sloshed a good deal from the bucket, on myself- and I am sure there were cobwebs in my hair. There are two rooms left, for the next time, “the spirit moves me”.
At noon, I still had some gumption, so I decided to finally clean up a corner of the rabbitpatch, which I had been dreading for months. Everything not nailed down through the winter, was in that corner. The leaves were a foot deep and odd shaped things poked out in places. Only God knew what lurked in the heap, so I hit the pile, with a broom, and made some racket. This alerted the boxer, who came bounding to protect me from . . just some trash and branches. I admired his gallant effort, anyway.
I had dumped three wheelbarrows, when the rain came. Big droplets fell hard and quite suddenly. There were at least a dozen more loads left, but at least I had started.
I was cooking a quick lunch, when the rain stopped. It took some convincing, but I willed myself to go back out and pick up where I left off. I was already dirty and so it made sense to work til another shower fell. I could not burn, but I could haul. Truthfully, I was never going to be in the mood to do this task. . .my track record was proof of that.
I do not know how many trips, I made to the garden-more than the dozen, I had guessed. At one point, I seemed to be in a mechanical trance. I would dump the load, smell the cherry blossoms and trudge back to the shrinking heap of now, muddy leaves. Oddly, I do not remember thinking about anything as I worked, except being too cool, from the raindrops and willing myself to go on. I kept waiting for rain, so I could stop without feeling guilty. It never rained again. The temperature dropped, the wind picked up, but not a drop fell and so I finished . . .and I was glad.
Now you can believe, that I slept soundly that night. I knew Monday was coming . . .and that always changes everything.
This Monday, was a work day for teachers. I usually take those days off, to stroll by the “laughing river” with Lyla or bake cookies. Sadly, Will lost his grandmother, a few days ago. The funeral was this weekend in a town southwest of Wilmington-about three hours away. This is Wills’ third significant loss, since Christmas. “Miss Mildred” was so dear to him. I admired Will, for all the times he visited her, even at that distance. Will has lost his mother, grandmother and his oldest friend in just a few months. What a series of tragedies, for this young man. Such seasons are life altering and I intend to comfort Will, as best I can. I consider Will my fifth son, after all.
When I drove up to the rabbitpatch, after work, I immediately saw that the pile of wood and shingles had been put away. These things were left over from a previous repair. They had set there, for months, ruining the look of the place. I almost cried, I was so happy. Kyle and Christian, spurred on, by my work yesterday, had moved them to a proper location, in the barn. Clean up after the winter, on a property this size, is not for the faint of heart. . . and we are not finished, by any means, but I have hope now- and Dear Diary, hope is so very golden.
On the drive home, I had noticed the fields of winter wheat. This is my favorite crop to watch grow, though when the cotton blossoms, that is lovely too. Just now the tender wheat is an emerald green. In the shade, it almost looks blue. In a few months, the wheat will turn golden . No matter, the stage of the cycle of wheat, it is bound to make you want to kneel right there.
Daddy has an appointment today. The forecast was for a cold rain and a lot of wind to follow. The mountains got snow, and so I thought of my friend “Sweet Anne”.
Sweet Anne is a hostess to somebody constantly . She walks everyday at the crack of dawn, and watches her little neighbor, board the bus. Otherwise, she is visiting waterfalls, dining out or listening to world renown choirs.
Now, the cold rain fell as predicted, all morning. Thankfully, Daddy got a good report. It took everything in me, but I went to the grocery, afterwards. I really tried to think of something I could cook tonight, but we were out of milk, which stopped the biscuits and the pancakes and the creamed potatoes. I did not have tomato sauce, which meant no spaghetti and besides that, we needed dog food! No matter what I could concoct for supper, it always came back to that dog food. There was no way out of it, I was going to the grocery.
I drove back , past the winter wheat field, that I love, to the rabbitpatch where things are blooming and the yard needs mowing -where supper would soon be cooking -and the roof wasn’t leaking . . .where a warm love abides and takes the chill from a cold, April rain.