I rarely leave the little rabbitpatch on Bonnet Street.  I go to work.  I go the grocery and I visit Mama and the grandchildren.  I love to be home.  On Saturday, I broke this habit and ventured more than a few country miles, to attend a brunch honoring  our “bride to be”, niece, Hayley.

  Mama, sister Delores and my other niece, Dana and I, all rode together.  After a pleasant drive, we turned down a winding lane, in awe of the massive house, looming ahead. Emerald wheat fields were on either side of the historical home,  Old trees completed the scene.  Two roosters strutted about.  It was as beautiful a place as I have ever been. 

We walked up on the fantastic porch to be warmly greeted by the grand lady with the grand house.  I was so stunned with the beauty of the place, I could hardly speak.  The foyer was a generous space.  Fresh greenery and flowers were placed in all directions.  The brunch was lovely and Hayley was so happy.  Sister Connie was too.  She and the grand lady have been the best of friends for a long while. 

I thought of Connie and what a special time this was for her .  She too, is facing a new season. I am glad that Hayley will be her neighbor .  I know that Hayley will be just fine-and so will Connie.  All of the guests were friendly , but I was especially glad to see dear Stephanie. 

I loved her the first time I met her-and her darling son.  We have so much in common.  Stephanie is very bright and has such interesting conversations. 

I knew that Stephanie was as in awe of the place, as I was.  We were both delighted when “Lady Jackie” offered to give us a tour. 

Every room was decorated perfectly.  The staircase in itself was a work of art.  Jackie certainly had a flair for  choosing just the right pieces, and  I was convinced her home should be show cased in a magazine.  As we toured, she shared the history of the home, which was also impressive.  I just loved that house . . and  the “Lady Jackie”.

When we all finally left, the first thing that I said, was “I feel like I have been on a holiday!”

The next day, I decided to make pasta.  I have never done so-and do not have a single gadget for the endeavor.  I like doing things by hand, but goodness the kneading was a work!  The dough is stiff and requires at least ten minutes of vigorous kneading.  I served it last night.  It was good enough to make again.   . .and I do not intend  to buy a machine. but  I do intend to practice more.    . .I have also been making ice cream. 

I do not have any sort of churn, but a hand mixer works.  There are just a very few ingredients necessary, but how lovely to make whatever kind you desire.  The hardest thing about it . .is waiting  for it to freeze!   

These simple things-along with rooting all sorts of plants- have really helped me avoid those awful doldrums, I was experiencing. 

The closing for the house, is scheduled for Thursday, therefore, that has kept me busy too.  I have at least another load of things to collect, and then I want to clean the place up a bit. 

Conclusion to a love affair, is tricky business.  Being very sentimental, does not help, one iota.  When I moved there, fifteen years ago, I could not have possibly imagined, that so much love, would spring up, in my time there.   . .and that is what I tell myself now about the next place.  I might just fall in love again . .   .it wouldn’t be the first time. 

Now, on   the eve of the closing, I am exhausted, excited and grateful, all at once.  Had it not been for my sisters, Mama and niece Dana-and Christian, I could not have accomplished all that had to be done. 

I came home today, to about fifteen flower pots filled with flowers from my grandmother, neighbors passed and a dear aunt.  They also raked the yard!  I am so awed by their love. 

I am also grateful for the years I had with the first rabbitpatch.  I learned so much while there and did a lot of healing, too.  It seemed to demand a certain “way’ of living just to be there.  I coined it “the rabbitpatch” way, for I did live amongst a thriving community of wild rabbits.  They owned the  young woods in the far corner, after all. 

The remnants of a farm served as a shelter for many of my loved ones.  I also met some of the finest folks.  The soil fed us and I declare now, that I have seen  raw and pure beauty.  I have trod on a blessed path and did not find it lacking.  Oh, what parting gifts, that path provided! 

Living on that rabbitpatch,  really –was time well spent.

 

And just like that it is spring, when “flowers appear on the earth”.   The dogwoods know better than any calendar, as do the violets, when it is spring-  The grass knows when to green and so do the trees.  Now, new leaves, small and jade like will stop you in your tracks, if you are just inclined to look up.  The shade of young leaves is dappled now, making lacy patterns with the  gentle sun on the tender grass, beneath. Rainy days are a “dime a dozen”, now  The golden days, are too.  I have been on spring break the past week.  I spent the Easter weekend at Jennys’ home, and the next four days, that followed.

The Easter bunny had hidden brightly colored eggs for the little girls to find on Easter morning.  The darlings rose bright and early, and ready to shine.  What a commotion ensued, as the girls donned their little frocks and shoes , in great haste, to find those eggs.  Tres came for Easter dinner.  It seems the rabbit had left chocolate at his house too . . and so he bestowed his nieces with delightful eggs and bunnies-

Tres’ days in Elizabeth City, are in the short rows.  He graduates in just a few short weeks, with the highest gpa in his field.  He starts a job, in Wilmington, three days later.

Jenny  has been like a “second mother” during his stay there-and the little girls are just smitten with their uncle. . . Will and Tres became the best of friends, so I expect tears in abundance, when he leaves. I know that I will cry, for it was of great comfort to me, just knowing they were together and had one another.

The week was filled with good meals together, stories for the little girls, books, dolls and at long last, ice cream.  I tucked the sweet memories deeply in my heart, for they were too beautiful, not to.

I came home on Thursday evening, to a warm welcome, from Christian, the boxer and the naughty gray cat.

The next day, as I was sorting out the affair of tasks, after time away, my head was swirling with business.  No matter how much tidying, laundry, or unpacking  I attempted. I could not stop the rush of  thoughts about documents and big decisions-an unrealised, old dream and a new unfamiliar path, looming ahead. I finally, worked myself in to a state of gloom and was certain of impending doom.  It had been decades since, I last had such dreary notions.

Certainly, I had to think such thoughts.  The old farmhouse sale, is scheduled for May 12th, after all- surely, I had to consider housing, at my age!  on a very limited income.  . . and the price of everything, sky-high!  On top of that, my decisions would impact my loved ones, as well.

Oh, what a toll worry takes.  It is like a thief, really-and I had apparently left a window up, and a door wide open.

I  now,  truly felt ill. . . Then, something “out of the blue happened”.  A dear friend, of over thirty years called .  She uncannily always catches me at crossroads. I had thought about calling her for several hours, but decided to sulk, instead.  She listened to my woes and wondered if God allowed me this time to ramble so that I could , with clarity, proceed, as I ought to.  I could have deemed it, a divine exploration, I supposed later.  This was sensible and I no longer felt the fear of being  left to my own feeble devices.   How foolish, I had been!

A bit later, Tres called.  Tres calls to check in, but rarely to have a long conversation, on a phone.  After we confirmed plans for our upcoming gathering, Tres talked about his own future.   I did not say a word about my quandary . He talked about his first plan to live out west, then another idea he had was to move to a large city in NC-things took a turn and a better opportunity arose. . .much closer to home-and his Sarah.  He was glad that he had entertained different options.  He had  calmly and methodically, evaluated each one-unlike me.  He told me these things, without any idea that I had been diligently  brewing a “tempest in a teacup”  for the the last few days.

Somehow, the spell of despair was broken, by these conversations and the house was tidy, as well.

The next morning, I awoke to a lavender sky.  Birds were already singing as I was collecting dishes to prepare for our gathering, at mid day.  We would all meet at Mamas’ house and spend time together before Monday came and changed everything.  It was a lovely day.  We all agreed that the meal was especially good and Mamas’ cake was a fine grand finale.

We all ended up outside afterwards.  Delores had bought Jenny a quilt she had made for her. (Delores has made a quilt for each of us}   . .  and sweet tokens for all of us.  Everybody got something.  Delores is a thoughtful person and is especially good at finding just the right thing for everyone.  She gifted me with geraniums.  They were in bloom and boasting with large apricot colored blossoms.

Moments later, I opened my April birthday card.  Delores had hand written a message inside . ,” If you weren’t  my sister, I would  want you to my friend.” was written within the message and jumped out with flashing beauty.  That sentiment meant something, that I never want to forget.

When you are young, you are so very accustomed to change.  All experiences are new, after all. After a very long while, one sorts through their collections.  We draw conclusions.  We can see in hind sight, which ones we manufactured and which experiences, we did not.  Often, we classify events -some are regrets, some are triumphs-some bear repeating and some do not.

Our response to both heartbreak and victory-really means everything.  This lesson is a tiresome one-and a life long one.  “Sometimes “Silver linings”  are as slow as “molasses in January” to appear.

Since, I have faltered, in this lesson, I know first hand what Not to do, now.  Until further notice. I will bake my bread, find more flowers,  and try my best to “look to the hills”.   . .which I should have done in the first place.

At long last, I have been able to visit my grandchildren.  One weekend, I went to Elizabeth City.  Another weekend, Mama and I went to  Raleigh.  It is with gladness, that I can write, all is well, with  our family. 

Lyla is growing up, right before my eyes-and I am still shocked!  She has lost several teeth now and does not have a single ounce of “baby fat”!  She reads books!  She will be a seven year old, in April.  Oh, these golden, shining seven years , have zoomed by.   . .cruelly fast.  Little Brynn is still cherub like.  She loves to pick flowers.  Jenny said a dozen dandelions were in her book bag yesterday.  One day, she and I took a stroll by the laughing river  She learned the names of several flowers and bushes.  . and has been using them in conversations.  Ryan hasn’t grown an inch, but he is bright and agile and sweet as any pie, ever made.  I introduced him to Bob Ross, while I was there.  That was an instant success.  I also read “The Tale of Mr Jeremey Fisher” .  It was a favorite of his Dads’-and Ryan loved it, too..  He retold the story, with many details, afterwards. 

Seeing my grandchildren, acted like a tonic on me.

Days are mostly mild now and showers are liable to pop up. . .quite fitting for this time of the year.  I wouldn’t yet plant tomatoes, but there is no harm in thinking about it.  The geraniums still come in at night, sometimes. 

The very small yard has clumps of green grasses in places, that are growing in an uncivilized manner.  There are songbirds now, singing sweetly-and a small community of squirrels making hasty decisions, as they avoid cars and folks.  That is about all the “wild” going on . . on Bonnet Street.  I have seen the rabbit a time or two more.  I wonder how he likes sidewalks.   .  for, I fear, I am “homesick”. 

Maybe, it is because of spring’s arrival-maybe, it is the “sidewalk”. . .but, whatever it is, I just can not deny it.  I miss the countryside with its’ big sky over the old trees.  I miss seeing the sunsets, and rain coming across the fields-and the millions of stars that are hidden by street lights.  The sight of the moon, and its’ milky light, falling through the windows , is an awful loss.  Then, there are the whispering pines and the dainty violets along the garden path-and maybe, most of all -is the quiet sound of the territory.  Silence . . that is often only broken by the mocking birds, and at night, the whip-poor-will calling out.  I no longer care, that the grocery store is just minutes away.

 It was bound to happen.

Now, I am sensible enough to know, that we do not always get what we want.  I know that I can have happiness, wherever, I abide.  I know the farmhouse is big and needs big repairs .   . . and I am just like “that old gray mare”,  as well.  There are a lot worse things going on in this world than a homesick heart-and I remind myself of that, when I am whining about fields and trees and birds.   . . .but, I have found that it is best to be truthful at all times. I know that, too.   

After thinking about such things, I realised that it seems to be a lack of encounters with nature-wild things in wild places -and solitude, that bother me most.  Even a small , sleepy town is just too civilized, to suit me, it seems.  I suppose, that to me, there is just not enough liberty in a town, as well.  God forbid ,the trash can is not properly placed! 

 In spite of all this . . . something wonderful has happened.

  I know more about myself, than I ever have known.  In some way, when you know what aggravates you, you discover what you love.-and what you need. 

I liken it to , when I moved into the house on Bonnet Street. Some boxes did not make the move. 

I had to sort through and figure out what things  meant the most.  The truth is for now, I am here , on a small lot in a small house, surrounded by friendly folks, with a sidewalk a few  short paces from the porch.  Since ,I believe  that experiences are  the “great lessons” in life,  I am not a bit sorry.  Instead, I must seek beauty in new ways. 

The other day, I scavenged the yard for little wildflowers, to press. (I have several projects in mind to use them)  In those moments, the world was hushed and  quite serene.   The same can be said when I am baking bread.  I find it very satisfying and besides, being better for us . . it is better to us. 

I know these things are small steps, but they are making a difference for me.  Living close to the earth and with the earth . . is all I have ever known.  All else, just seems shallow and artificial, to my primitive spirit. 

It really is much easier to live on a street in a small town-easier on the body.   Yard debris  goes to the street instead of a garden, to be burned on the rare day, when the wind isn’t blowing. Thorned vines do not thrive in “tamed” spaces, so there is no endless battle, going on.  You can order food, already prepared, to your doorstep.  If you need anything, it is just five minutes away.  I know such things are endearing to many people.   It is really  a sensible argument  . . . oh, if only ,  I was sensible! 

The last few years, I have been through one rabbit hole after another.    I have prayed and  tried to figure out  about where my next home is.  My financial situation is lacking any fanfare.  That must be considered.   . .as well as several other important matters. 

I have always had difficulty knowing when to “let go and let God” as is often said.  It seems when I have exhausted my heart and mind, is when I can “let God”-and sadly, not  a moment before. 

Until further notice, I will be listening to the gentle church bells, and gathering flowers and  celebrate, “This day, that the Lord has made”. . . .and bake.

Snow on the little rabbitpatch was a lovely sight to behold.  The cottages on the Bonnet Street , grand or not, all had lights shining from their windows, making the place  charming and cozy.  There wasn’t a bit of movement and so silence filled the air.  Kyle and Christian went out with the boxer and then the world wasn’t as quiet.  I made snow lanterns while the boxer leaped about.  The boys had a wild snowball fight. We must be the only children on the block, for not another soul was in sight.  We came into a house full of the smell of fresh baked bread.  That was a nice day. 

That night the powdery snow became ice.  We did not lose power, thankfully.  Jenny told me the adventures they had with snow.  The girls could not get enough of it and were exhausted by evening.  Brant has to work in such conditions, but Sydney and her parents made sure that Ryan enjoyed the day.  The pictures they sent proved it was a memorable event, for all of them.  They built a snow family, with a cat-and when Brant arrived, Ryan had sled rides.  It is safe to say, that not a single one of the grandchildren went lacking in joy, this day! 

I do not work on Mondays, and schools were closed.  I have a lot of reading to do for my job and a bit of paperwork. There are also a few little projects to do in the house.  An extra good supper is planned, for I have the extra time.   

My youth was full of bigshot dreams.  Life winnowed them out, until at last, I ended up right where I ought to be.  I wouldn’t have guessed how much pleasure could be derived from just tending the house and cooking for my loved ones.  I never thought big enough to understand the joy of growing flowers or having pets or writing about such things.   No one ever says, ‘I want to be a grandmother, when I grow up”, yet it is one of the best things that could ever happen to us. 

Today I sit in another drafty, very old house as content as I can be.   . . and thinking about what to cook for supper.  It does not take “fame and fortune” to live happily, as it turns out.   

By Wednesday, only remnants of snow, in shady nooks, remained.  There was sunshine-clear and brightly shining -but it has been cold ever since the grand event. 

Believe it or not, another winter storm  is in the forecast for the coming weekend.  There is a chance of snow again.  Snow or not, it will be brutally cold.  Kyle asked if I would make crepes again, at the prospect of snow. 

Thursday, was a busy day.  I left school, later than usual,  then I had several tasks to accomplish.  I felt unusually tired . . but it was the headache that stopped me altogether.  I do not suffer with headaches . . not even occasionally.  It was the worst headache, that I could have imagined.  My eyes hurt, so that I could not hold them open.  My ears hurt, my throat hurt- so I went to bed before seven! The next morning, which was Friday, I woke with body aches and weakness.  The headache was better.  A test confirmed my suspicions  . . I had covid.  With the headache reduced to just an awful memory  now, I just feel like I have a cold-or a mild flu. 

As I was remembering my elders, that morning, I thought first of Aunt Josie, for it was her birthday.   Aunt Josie, my moms’ sister, had married quite young.  She married an especially handsome man who was in the army and off she went so far away, from everything she knew.  Aunt Josie was either very brave or  madly in love (or both)  to  go halfway across the country-away from the farm-away from her family.   Back then, folks did not travel as they do now.  Both Kansas and Texas seemed like foreign soil, when I was very young. 

Maybe, I was four or five, when Aunt Josie came back to the farm.  By then, she had two little sons.  There had been so much cleaning and scrubbing going on, that I was quite certain these people were quite special . . and they were.  I still remember meeting them for the first time in Pop and Grandmas’ living room.  I do not remember when, but my cousins, Chuck and Chris became more like brothers to me than cousins.   They remain that way, to this day.

Aunt Josie was a cheerful aunt with a beautiful smile and the handsome uncle Charlie, had a distinct laugh.. . and he laughed a lot.  Aunt Josie had learned some new dishes, that were quite unfamiliar to us country folks.  She made goulash and spaghetti!  In the summer evenings the adults would play cards and listen to Hank Williams, while we  untamed kids ran wild as rabbits.  . .left to our own devices.   

Aunt Josie and I were close, to her last day . . and I still miss her. 

 The wind was blowing with a vengeance, when I woke today.  It was eight degrees and there was but a slight dusting of snow was on the rooftops. 

I wasn’t going to make snow lanterns anyway. 

I was waiting for snow, the last time I wrote . . . I still am!  There were a few snow showers, last weekend, certainly nothing to brag about.  Now, a winter storm is forecasted this weekend.  Everything here is closed.  We are all waiting for snow and ice.  Snow is welcome -but ice with all of its’ beauty is known to break old trees and hinder power.  We are as unequipped as ever, in the south and so we all stay home.  Only those who must, go out.  Our emergency heroes, first responders, linemen and other such noble servants, brave these unfamiliar elements so the rest of us are safe and warm. 

When the forecast first hinted at inclement weather, I turned my thoughts to my usual agenda for such occasions-food and books and writing-maybe an old movie or two.  We are supposed to have this thing upon us for several days.  I made haste to get to the grocery store, as I knew full well, pickings would soon be slim.  The stores are never at full capacity these days, storm or not.  I did find what I needed to make crepes and pizza.  Most things needed were already in stock in the little house on Bonnet Street, for I am likely to make anything, anytime. 

Jenny had a birthday on Thursday.  I used to call her “my little snowbird”, for it was likely to snow on her birthday, the few years that we get snow.  Today is further proof of that.

What a treasure, my only daughter is.  She was born with the heart of a mother-and a quick mind.  These traits show up now, for she takes care of all of us.  Jenny pays keen attention to our needs-and acts on it.  If I need advice, I go to Jenny, for she has an understanding of my heart, second only to God, I think.  I believe her brothers would say the same thing. 

Now, Jenny is a mother-of two little girls.  She is a sensible and loving mother. The “extra mile” does not intimidate our Jenny and so she knows it by heart.  Of all the things that a daughter can accomplish, being a good mother “takes the cake” to me.  What could matter more, after all?   

I went over the day of her birth, all day  yesterday.  How clearly I remember the details.  Some memories are recalled with precision, even after decades.  I had another name picked out for the baby-two in fact for in those days, we did not know if the baby would be a boy or a girl. You had to be prepared for both.  The name that I  had chosen, for a little girl, was only loved by me.  Her father accepted it, but I didn’t think he was so fond of it, either.  When I looked at this bundle of wonder I abandoned my first choice.  I decided that she looked like a “Jenny” and so she was named in that way.   I remember rocking her, by the woodstove, those first days home and neighbors coming in, full of excitement.   . .to see our Jenny.  Now, here I sit waiting for snow, just as I did on her first birthday, all those moons ago. 

While I waited, a pot of soup simmered. I was constantly looking out the window to see if snow was falling from that silver sky.  It was about thirty degrees,  not counting the wind chill.  I have only seen snow falling  a very few times, in my life, for it usually falls at night, here-if at all. 

When the silver sky, grayed, sleet started.  It made a tinging sound on the tin roof.  We ate soup and then had a dessert of pancakes with fried apples and caramel sauce and whipped cream.    I went to bed soon after . . .still waiting for snow.  Kyle woke me at some odd early hour to say, it was at last snowing. 

I got up before dawn to a beautiful winter scene.  I think we had about four icy inches.  My first thought was of the little grandchildren.  Lyla has been wishing for snow for two years.  Brynn does not remember snow, as she is just three.  Ryan saw snow falling last weekend, but has never walked in it or really touched it!  I am sure though, that this morning, all are building a snowman and maybe Ryan-a snow fort-knowing Brant. 

I am not sure how icy the snow is, for I have been drinking coffee by a window.  While, I was gazing out at Bonnet street in winter, a little bird flew up to say good morning.  I had never seen his kind.  He was gray on the back with a bright yellow stripe on either side of his breast.  We stared at one another in a friendly way for a few moments and then he flew off, as if he had an appointment.  Straight away, I sought to identify the lovely creature.  He was a Myrtle warbler, it turns out, and he is welcomed back anytime.   

Now today, the crepes are on the menu-and Kyle wants brownies.  Christian chose the supper.  Until further notice, I will be reading or making snow lanterns, writing or in the kitchen  . . .and every time I glance out the window, I will keep my pealed on the silent beauty of a snowfall . . .and for my new feathered friend.  

                    

The first light this morning was a pale golden quiet color.  How softly the sun proclaimed the day . . like it was telling a secret, in a whisper.   . . meant only for the early birds.

  I spent the new year with my three oldest children-and the grandchildren.  The weather was unseasonably warm.  We exchanged gifts right off and then had all sorts of fancy snacks.  It reminded me of “old Christmas”, though it was too early for that.  The whole time we were together seemed like a constant celebration and I think we were all sorry when it ended.  Cold, windy weather was coming and a slight chance of snow, with it.  In the south, even a “slight chance”  causes a commotion. 

I left early on Monday, in thunder and lightening, wind and rain . . .and it was cold!  That afternoon, snow fell on the rabbitpatch, but not a single flake stuck.  I spent time just watching it fall and paid no attention to dust and dishes. 

 I have mentioned before, that I do not make New Year resolutions, for first, I can not keep them .   . .most especially if the resolution requires some rigid routine or restrictions of any sort.  I am weary of them by February-and disappointed in my self.  I do self reflect and revaluate and clearly define my priorities,  regularly. Once, I am convinced of something, I am likely to be successful . . .but it could happen on a Tuesday in May!  Prompts seem to spring up , when I am least expecting them!  I became a vegetarian, one year in October and  I did a massive decluttering, several  years back, in the hot month of July- I stuck to those things. 

Oddly, though, just before Thanksgiving, this past year, a “prompt” popped up “out of  the blue”  and another one, this week.  One, is another way to simplify-and the other adds more enrichment in my life.  I value authenticity and both ideas support that, so now I am once again pondering “lofty notions”, while I peel  potatoes. 

I finally took down the Christmas decorations.  I always wait for “old Christmas” to do so.  “Old Christmas” helps me admit that Christmas is really over and it is always a very spiritual thing for me.  There are less distractions, for one and I find that I really can focus more on the Gift, the grandest of all, bestowed on this world.  I take it personally.  While I disassemble the tree and pack away the wreaths, I  feel melancholy and grateful, all at once. 

 Now winter seems to have finally settled in, in the little coastal town, that I now abide.  Skies are often pewter and the trees hold no secrets.  I love their bare branches and want to be like them, for their beauty changes , but is constant, in all forms. Jade leaves in spring, scarlet in fall, blossoms, fruit or  nuts , resting or not . . . I love trees.  In winter, their shadows fall in lacy patterns  and I have yet to see two tapestries alike.

Winter is the time to make creamy soups and stews.  It is a time to make bread and roast potatoes.  . .or make a good pot of beans   The smell of a kitchen in winter is cozy and warm.  It is a happy time, when the family walks in to such a kitchen . I remember well how good it was to come home from school to Mama frying chicken.  Daddy would pull up from work and every day we celebrated, when all were safely in. Those were “golden” days. 

I am often accused of being old fashion-and with good reason.  People my age certainly know about progression, for we have lived through it and have  seen the results.  Some of our new  methods are wonderful . . .and some are not.  It is just that simple.  As the world  rushes on, I will pause, as needed.  I will daydream by still waters and grow hyacinths and read poetry and linger with wild things in wild places . . .so maybe I am old fashion, after all. 

The time of winter is a time to remember what things matter. The heart may be fickle at times . . . but not always.  Somehow, regardless of intellect, culture or worldly status . . or whether or not we are listening- we know our truth, for it rings out like a church bell. . . and most especially in the quiet of winter. 

Now snow is in the forecast again and what an uproar   that causes, amongst the southerners  ! Southerners either love it or they don’t.  It is only a “chance”, but those of us who love it are clinging to it.  No one has to shovel out their drive way, for the place shuts up altogether.  If we get any snow at all, it is gone quickly, so I am not sure what all there isn’t to love. 

 In light of  even the possibility, I am already plotting.  What will I read, what will I cook and most of all, what will I ponder?       .  

 

 

 

We are almost settled at the little house on Bonnet Street.  Of course, now it is the holiday season, and even the most established routines are altered in the season. The only way a place starts to feel like home, is  to live in it a while.  It has to rain, and likewise, the sun has to shine til you know where light and shadow falls  and the kitchen has to smell like supper cooking.  Like every other genuine treasure in life, it takes time.  One day you suddenly realise  . . . you are home.  The little house on the corner is starting to feel like home. 

Mama and I went to see sister Connie the Saturday before Thanksgiving.  She was cooking supper for about fifteen people and with ease, she moved from one pot to another without a trace of worry.  Connie is a sensible person and her feathers are not easily ruffled.  She is steadfast and we are all blessed to call her our own.  It was a lovely time on that perfect late autumn day. 

It was a very short work week, with the Thanksgiving holiday approaching.  I spent Wednesday night at Mamas’ to prepare for the gathering on Thursday.  We spent most of the day in kitchen.  Mama cooked sweet potatoes and pies.  I spent a good deal of time on collards.  I made enough biscuits for the biscuit stuffing-and our supper.  I also rummaged through boxes looking for table cloths.  We were both tired that evening and I went to bed, determined to rise early to peel apples! 

All of our efforts paid off, for when the kids arrived, we only had to cream the potatoes and make the gravy.  It was a brisk and bright day and a lot of us ate outside.  “Baby brother cousin”, Ryan and his “sister cousins”  ran around the yard. (This is how they refer to one another)  What a precious sight to behold-and especially while you are eating pie! 

No one left empty handed that day.  Instead we packaged pie, caramel apple dumplings, collards and sister Delores’ broccoli  casserole, fresh eggs and bread from Connie  . . until the kitchen looked like we had never been there! 

The next day, I decorated for Christmas.  I have always waited til December to do so, but I have not decorated for two years.  Daddy was sick one year-then Julie died last year . . .and there was also all those covid restrictions.  Several of my neighbors had decorated before Thanksgiving and that had stirred me to follow suit.  I loved  the cheerful lights and how happy they all were as they toiled.  I laughed at the celebrations when an old strand of lights worked.  Now this little rabbitpatch is adorned with twinkling lights and ribbons.  I cut cedar from a tree in the yard and made several little arrangements.  I like an almost wild and natural look.  I will use apples and oranges in the house- and candles and soft carols to fill the air.  The tree is not up, but I will work on that, shortly.  First, I must make a trip to retrieve it. 

One afternoon, Brant, Jenny and their families stopped by, for they had not seen the house, except for pictures.  Tres and Sarah came too.  They had helped me move and even they were surprised with the  now, cozy little cottage .  We listened to old Christmas songs-which are our favorite ones, ate cookies that Sydney made and watched the most darling little ones play.  That was a happy time for me. 

I have discovered more things about myself as of recently. I thought that I liked simplicity . . .but I embrace it now, more than ever.   In fact, I am more determined than ever to live as simply as I can.  From food to activities-from possessions to products . . .I am on a mission. 

I like  living in a smaller house. It suits me at this particular season of life.  It makes sense financially, certainly, but there is a lot less housekeeping too.  Also, a big house with vacant rooms feels different-lonelier and hollow, at times. 

I do like old houses.  I just can not convince myself, otherwise.  Of course, new windows in an old house would be even better. . .and more electrical outlets.  I am not swayed so easily by modern conveniences but, I like running water and heat .  I also like to work . “Quick  and easy” tastes just like it sounds.  I derive a sort of satisfaction when I work at something-even if I make mistakes!  Just yesterday,  I worked on an arrangement of cedar for quite a while.  I made a garland with a lantern in the middle of it. When I placed it on the table,  I tried to like it . . and at first, I almost did.  I left it to work on a wreath.  When I came back, I couldn’t deny it.  The thing had gone from “bad to worse”.  I took it apart and what a mess that was.  Still, I had enjoyed working on it.  Work makes me think, whether or not,  I am creating something of beauty or fixing something or cleaning.   It all boils down to    no one enjoys a fire more than the one who gathered the wood, I think. 

I love hearing the church bells ring out the hour.  I love bells and chimes . . not whistles -Sometimes though, I hear the train whistle late at night.  That kind of whistle, I do like.  I do not understand how that whistle can sound sorrowful and joyful, at the same time! 

There is so much to love wherever you go . . but I must declare that I miss the countryside.  I miss the big sky and the sweet air.  There, in the country, are a million stars and the  brightest moons for the heavens own every bit of sky. Silvery , misty fields in the evenings and  mornings are golden when you can see the sun rising   There are  just so many shades of light.  Maybe, I will always favor this landscape, but there truly is so much  to love wherever you go.  I would do well to dwell on this truth . 

For now, I live on a quiet street in a friendly neighborhood and everything is just five minutes away.  Old trees line the streets and the moon rises in a window in the sky just above this rabbitpatch.  Traffic is very light and not constant  . . .and when those church bells ring . . . .well, I just love everything about the little house on Bonnet Street!