What beautiful memories I am collecting during these days by the sea.  The sun comes up in a “blaze of glory”  to start the day.  There are no old trees to cast shade, and so the light gilds everything in gold.  The sand sparkles, and the water glistens as much as any opal ever dared to.  That is what the morning looks like.

By noon, the sun is the color of butter and the ocean along the shore is a pale jade that steadily increases in depth, til it is aqua, then turquoise and at last a cobalt blue where it meets the horizon.  

Lyla is not fooled by the call of the happy ocean to come and play.  She gazes as I do, and is every bit as charmed, but keeps a safe distance, from the churning, beckoning water.  Lyla digs in the sand and draws pictures with her little fingers.  She lays sea shells out in patterns and is constantly filling her buckets with sand, only to dump them in a few moments, and start again.  She is working – and takes it very seriously.  No matter how “toys” have changed, childhood remains the same.  Children love to play in dirt, no matter the variety of it.  It is a reassuring fact for me. 

I feel the same way about the sand, as I do the delicate shells.  Maybe it takes a thousand colors to make a handful of sand and no scoop is the same as another.  The shore changes with the crest of every wave, and every gust of the constant sea breeze.  In this way, the sea is always a modern landscape, yet remains ancient, as well.  

 

On Tuesday, the sisters came – Miss Claudias’ sisters, Julia and Mary Ruth.  Mary Ruths’ daughter, Missy came too.  I always enjoy gatherings with the sisters as they are a lively and friendly lot.  It does my heart a world of good to see a loving family, in action.  They tell stories of remembered times and what a treasury they have collected.  We have been hearing about the breakdown of the “American family” for a long while and sadly, it has some truth. . .but in the case of these sisters, they are doing their part to rid the world of such “speculation”.  I think what this will mean for Lyla.  I hope Lyla will hear their stories and will one day,  know them by heart, for they are her stories too, really.  I think it is a wonderful realization, to know all the love that brought us to life.   

Brant and Sydney came on Thursday.  Brant is my oldest child.  How good it was to see the ocean with him too.  Brant has been working on the rabbit patch  and made all sorts of progress.  He had barely got his things unpacked, when he started on a few projects here, at the cottage.  This is his way.  Brant loves to help others in whatever way he can. Wherever he lives, the senior neighbors find out he will carry their groceries in or move heavy furniture.  I do not take this lightly.  Very few people truly devote their life to giving to others, and do not need praise nor recognition .  Very few people tackle humble tasks with such zeal, for the sheer satisfaction of serving others.  It is a form of nobility and nothing less.  

Though the cottage hosted a full house -(there were eight of us in all), it never felt crowded to me.  Lyla followed her cousin Mia, around like a mid day shadow.  Miss Claudia nearly glowed, at having  both of her children, Will and Mary, under the same roof.  At times, we were all together, and at times we were quite separate.  It was a nice balance and the time flew by as it always does, when you are having fun.

Friday came quickly to me . . .and with it, a “schedule”.  Brant and Sydney left early, for they both had to go back to work.  I immediately missed them and started feeling that something beautiful was ending.  After breakfast, everyone gathered their things.  The coffee canister was empty and I had all but finished reading my book.  Both events  seemed fitting, given it was our last morning there. The refrigerator was cleaned out,  cars were loaded and good byes were said .  

Soon we were back in the world, where yards were green and had  old  shade trees.  . . . and a laughing river tumbled by.   Zinnias brightened the  sidewalks  and ever so often  there was a roadside stand, selling things like cucumbers and watermelons.  Rain clouds had gathered overhead as Jenny had said they would.  The air no longer smelled of salt but held the familiar, sweet, green smell of inland summer. .. and I supposed, somewhere, someone was frying pork chops.    

 

 

The last few days have been a “far cry” from the usual routine of most of my days.  On Saturday, Jenny, Lyla and I left the ” inland” to spend a week at the beach.  Will and Miss Claudia were just behind us and carrying as many provisions as we were.  A lot of things happen in a week, so we all packed accordingly.

Elizabeth City is less than a hour from the Atlantic Ocean. Miss Claudias’ sister, Mary Ruth,  has a cottage that she invites us to use and for the last two years we have taken full advantage of this wonderful gift. . . of days spent by the sea.

What a different world lies, just a short ways off, from the rabbit patch.  First, there is the ocean, vast and powerful.  It roars and the earth roars with it.  As far as one can see, there is water and we are apt to imagine the distant shores beyond .  I imagine sending a greeting to my dear friend, Cobs, who lives just across the ocean.  I wonder , what if the clouds passing by could tell me what they had seen as they drifted along. I look at the shells scattered in the sand, and collect a few, to keep for an hour or so.  I will toss them back to their rightful home, before I leave.  As I examine them and feel their slick surface, smoothed by the ages, I ponder who else might have held this same shell and where did they come across it?  The ocean stirs up thoughts, as well as sand.  

It does me good to know there are some mysteries left and will always remain, in this world.

The “early service”, by the sea,  does not include robins and mockingbirds, nor roses, nor rabbits.  I have had the company of a lovely, but shy, tuxedo cat.  He watches   me from a distance, and seems curious . . .but does not venture an inch closer, on any given day.  He seems to be at home everywhere, but nowhere in particular.  There are noisy gulls and little sandpipers gliding on the ocean breeze. Their announcement of morning seems more like an alarm, than a song. 

There are no lawns, at least by my definition of a lawn. Sand is everywhere .   Wild grasses grow in  wispy patches and are always doubled over by the constant wind .  There are some stalwart flowers, that manage to bloom, in the sandy soil .  There are the brightly colored “Joe Bells”, named for a sea captain, who loved them enough to strew seeds as he traveled the coast decades ago.  The lantana flowers bloom too and seem to thrive.  These flowers must be quite versatile, for they also grow in the shade, along the edge of the young woods at the rabbit patch.  I am very partial to the lantana. The blossoms are clusters of multicolored little flowers in lavender, pink and yellow at the rabbit patch, and have a citrusy, spicy scent.  They bloom from late spring to  the first hard frost, whether you fuss over them or not.

Kites fly everywhere here, almost on their own.  I see them tied, to porches, unattended and left to their own devices.  Lyla loves the kites, especially. Beach towels, in every hue, flap wildly, strung on makeshift lines, hanging on for dear life. On the shore, there is  a trail of umbrellas in the  brightest shades of every color.  . .  and it does not matter which direction you go, you are likely to see cottages in colors like salmon, turquoise or mint green. What a colorful place! . . . even in the absence of roses.

Having grown up on a farm, I learned how to cook pork, beef and chicken a variety of ways.  I have always been satisfied with plenty of fresh vegetables as side dishes served with a slow cooked roast, yet at the beach, it seems I ought to be frying fish and potatoes.  I think of what sauces could be concocted with fresh dill and lemon.  One day, this week, I will try a recipe using oranges  and coconut, that is a family recipe, from  Miss Claudia.  I think it is the salt air that puts such notions in my head, for the salt air has a specific scent. It  will be the first indication, that you are approaching the coast.  Chances are, you will smell the ocean, before you see it.

A typical day here varies, depending on who you are. Will and Jenny take Lyla to the beach every day, not long after breakfast.  The afternoons are for napping or in my case, reading.  Often, Will and Jenny take Lyla to some activity designed for tourists with children, in the later afternoon.  I opted to decline any invitation, unless it involves ice cream or bakeries.  Meals are light , though I am itching to “leave my mark” on this kitchen.  Bacon and eggs just aren’t satisfying and sandwiches aren’t either, for such a domestic heart.

The short walk to the shore is hot.  The sand burns your feet, so you must wear shoes.  Only a few families share the beach with us, but in the distance it looks like a “state fair” in either direction.  I like to walk down the shore.  I declare a landmark, so I can keep my bearings straight, for at the ocean, distance is as sly as time.  If I am in a dreamy state, as I walk, I am liable to walk further than I meant, for there is the long trek back, to consider. . .and truthfully I am always in a dreamy state at the ocean.

I do not believe my brain can perform a single calculation, while I am gazing at the ocean.  I can not think about my “shoestring budget”  or selling the rabbit patch.  It is  as if a force of nature, such as an ocean, keeps you suspended in the moment.  As I walk the path, where the ocean meets land, not a single thought will pop in my head.  I notice the little shells and feel the cool spray of the  heaving, curled ocean water.  I listen to the  waves colliding with the earth.  I look at the sky and note what sort of clouds are present,  but that is it.  . .as far as my awareness goes.  I am completely and thoroughly in a very “unworldly”  trance “. 

It is odd and beautiful,  to traipse a crowded beach and yet feel such solitude.  For  while I tread through  sand and sea, I  have no questions .   . .and that may just be the purest form of peace.

 

 

 

 

Today, started out beautifully.  It isn’t as cool as it has been, but it is pleasant.  It is July in the south, after all.  In the peace of a lovely morning, I got a phone call.  The home inspector would be here around noon.  There are tools and paint in several rooms and there is a spot in the floor, in the process of being repaired.  Of course, there is also the absence of any sign of housekeeping.  The grass needs mowing, too. 

I have never dealt with a home inspector.  I am sure he is a nice person, but he sounds mighty official to me.  Jenny says he may spend the afternoon and will look high and low for all sorts of issues.  That is the way she comforted me.  She said also, that inspectors were there to help.  I decided to take her word on that.  Brant moaned, when I told him and quickly called out to God.

Since, the rabbit patch was in total disarray, I started back on painting the kitchen.  It was the only course of action that made sense to me.  I had completed the ceiling around midnight.  With the ceiling such a clean, stark white, the walls looked dingy, so I decided to paint the walls-and that meant the cabinets, too. 

At some point, I had to laugh at the irony.  Just a month ago, I was quite proud of the rabbit patch.  Everything in place, closets and cabinets orderly-even all those wretched barns.  The lawn was tidy.  Flowers were blooming and birds were singing.  . . That was a short lived affair.

Brant had an appointment and Christian high tailed it out of here, as he is every bit as terrified of official anything, as I am.  I was on my own -and I felt stranded.  I knew then and there, that we were having left overs for supper.

 

As it turns out, the inspector was a friendly fellow.  He was not wearing a badge and he chatted like a “regular” person.  He went his way and I went mine . . .back to painting the kitchen.  Hours later,  he drove off, telling me not to worry and that he “really liked this place”. . . .that I call “a Rabbit Patch”.

I spent the afternoon finishing the kitchen.  It did make a nice difference and I was glad I had persevered.  When Kyle came in, I asked him to please remove that ladder from the kitchen and far away from my sight.  Now there was the clean up to get started on.

It was drizzling rain at the early service on Wednesday.  It has been a while since it rained here and I was up for a rainy day.  Housekeeping sounded delightful to me, after climbing a ladder for two days.   Besides that, the rabbit patch is not “out of the woods” just yet,  as  this is the early stages of a complicated process. I expect more official visits in the future.  What a lot of business!   Selling a house is not for the faint of heart. . . in a lot of ways. 

While I scrubbed the kitchen floor, I remembered the merry days of times past at the rabbit patch.  Once upon a time, the many bedrooms were full.  The kitchen table was bigger.  The barn housed miniature goats and a miniature horse.  There were chickens and rabbits.  That was a special season,   but the sons grew up,(as sons do) Grandmama passed and a hurricane turned the chicken house  over.   One thing happened and then another, til at last the present circumstances prevailed. 

 Though, I love remembering,  I knew it best not to dwell too long on how things used to be.  It is an awful habit of mine.  I can not bear to look at old photographs for very long, for I will inevitably sink in to mourning.  Knowing full well, my typical behavior, I let my thoughts wander instead, to what might be next.  I hoped for a little cottage that would be lovely at Christmas.  I thought of a yard that did not require a tractor, to mow.  I wondered a lot, as I scrubbed.  One thing I knew, whenever and wherever I go, I will plant flowers.

Eventually, the floor was clean and the kitchen was fit to cook in.  I did get a fair share of housework done.  As I was folding laundry, I thought,  the present moments were beautiful,  just as they were.   . . .They always have been.

   

 

 

I must say it again . . .it is chilly at the rabbit patch!  Last night, I went out to see the sky as I can not stay away from the view.  There was Venus, bold and stunning.  Jupiter was bright  and with them thousands of stars .  I saw “where the dog ran” and I saw a shooting star.  It was absolutely fantastic and I was sorry for anyone that missed it.  I have never seen a summer night sky in sixty degrees, in all of my life.  I inhaled deeply to see the effects of this air, on the scents known only to summer.  I was reluctant to go in, for the unfamiliar beauty was surely some spectacular fluke and it beckoned to me with a lovely persuasion.

How lovely  it  was to wake to the cool of the morning.  I half expected to smell a faint whiff of wood smoke!  The early service was especially  brief as today, the long awaited roof project was on the agenda.  Though, the leak was fixed, months ago, the cosmetics had never been addressed, hence a bright blue tarp alerted the public, that  we were a procastinating lot . . or just plain lazy.  

While Brant and Christian worked on the roof, I started sanding the kitchen ceiling.  It is a messy job and my arm started aching within the first twenty minutes. Every time, I took a break, the silence tattled about it.  Finally,  when the end was just in sight, the contraptions’ battery died.  That is when I came into my own, for I started supper.

How pleasant it was to slice the yellow squash and onions.  This is one of our favorite dishes -and so are green tomatoes.  Green tomatoes are hard to come by, unless you have a garden.  Very rarely, you can get them in at a farmers’ market.  Last year, a locally run grocery carried them, but only  on occasion, so your best bet is to grow them.  Mama and my sister, Connie, each gave me some this week and so the boys will have a generous helping of them tonight.

It felt like reliving times past. . .once again cooking for my children on an ordinary day.  Supper has always been a special time, for me.  We always ate as a family.  Only pleasant conversation  was allowed  and it was limited to happy subjects.  Supper was not the time to tell bad news or to quarrel.  I still feel the same way about that.  I would rather eat late than break that rule, to this day. 

Another fact is, the cook ought not to be angry while preparing the meal, or else all will suffer.  Biscuits are likely not to rise, and the chicken may burn.  I have heard this from experienced cooks and have proved the theory true myself.  I suspect there is some science that could explain it.  . .but, whether it is fact or fiction . . it is best not to upset the cook and most especially, if you want gravy.

Tuesday was another cool morning.  I have heard the coolness will not linger much longer.  I am happy for every moment thus far.  What a reprieve it has been, from the oppressive, southern heat. 

I all but missed the early service this morning.  What fragment  of it, I did attend was absolutely glorious.  Who can not love a cool bright morning?  The world is full of hope, in the morning.

I was painting a corner of the ceiling, before eight.  I still had a bit of sanding left.  I have learned that I do not like ceiling work in general.  The sanding is awful, as I noted yesterday.  I dislike it more now than I did then.  Painting is almost as bad.   . .and there is the ladder.  Climbing up and down a ldder completes the weariness.  I am sorry to say, I was quite grumpy and  had to take great pains to remedy that. 

Brant and Christian, however, had renewed vitality – and youth, to start their morning chore.  Neither of them seemed the least bit worse, for the wear and tear of yesterday.  Brant walked around the house and pointed out several more projects that needed tending to . . .and quite happily, I might add.  He is the most tireless individual, I have ever met.   I am confident, Brant could have “built Rome, in a day”, if just given the chance.

By noon,  the boys were hungry and I was glad to have a valid reason to get off the ladder.  I did need to go to the grocery as we were dangerously low on coffee and completely out of milk.   I decided to bring back lunch, too. 

The break did me good, and somehow I mustered the strength to start again. The boys ran into a setback on the roof right as it was near completion.  They were both disappointed as they had hoped to finish today.  They decided to start again tomorrow .    There was a trailer of debris that needed to go to a landfill.  The thing had been here as long as that awful tarp and  a tire had gone flat, in the meanwhile.  The boys went about fixing the tire and then drove off, satisfied they were at least accomplishing this task.   I was so glad to see the empty spot where the trailer had lived.

 Meanwhile, I returned to the cluttered kitchen.  It was quite disheartening to see the kitchen littered with tools, rags,  paint .  . .and a ladder. I had gotten a lot done, I told myself.  Brant and Christian returned within an hour with the trash in tow.  The landfill was closed.  I did not like seeing my sons disappointed for the second time, this day. . .but I  was very careful to remain cheerful, as it was too close to supper to risk a poor disposition. . . for all our sake.   . .and  “Tomorrow is another day.”

 

 

 

Not in my wildest dreams, did I expect an “early service” in July to warrant a light sweater!  I did awaken, earlier than usual but even now, an hour later, it is in the mid sixties (F).  This is all due to a beautiful breeze from the north.  Needless to say, the windows are up in the farmhouse.  

With the mid week holiday, and it being summer, I must make great effort to keep “my bearings” straight.  I hope that “Sunday Dinner” will reset my internal clock, for the last three days, have all felt like “Saturday”.  If it were not for bills, I would no doubt, remain blissfully ignorant of the passage of months.  I know it is early July, and that satisfies me . . .and that is what I would answer if someone asked me the time, though if hard pressed, I may say something like “it is just after supper”.

Since the breeze coming in the kitchen windows,  could be likened to the earliest days of autumn, I decided to bake a meatloaf and have the cheese biscuits, that Mama loves.  Both require an oven and I avoid such meals when it is so very hot.  When I had pots simmering and the meatloaf baking, I decided to cut a few more branches, that were bothering a young cherry tree.  When I came in, the pots were boiling, Thoreau had come out of the woods and “Mr. Collins was proposing to Elizabeth”,  -for I was watching  Pride and Prejudice and reading passages, just enough to ponder, while I concocted the meatloaf.  

I am always doing several things at once. My sister Connie is the same.  Her husband Mike told a story, that he was working on a project that required heavy lifting and realised he needed a certain tool.  Connie took off to get it for him.  Mike waited and waited  some more until he finally stopped and went to look for Connie.  She was weeding a flower bed.

It always amuses me to think that the same traits, we bear can be at times a shining strength and at other times a weakness.  When I listen to a sermon, I have to constantly reign my thoughts back to the subject.  Otherwise, I’ m thinking about making gravy for the roast to be served or letting the dog out, the moment I return.  Even lengthy, group prayers are difficult, for I start on my own prayer and end up missing what we were collectively asking for.  It also happens when I am painting a room or mowing.  I have several areas going at once, which really is less harmful than missing a sermon. Yet, when my five children were young, it was quite a strength to handle the many necessities that showed up all at once and every job I have ever had, required the ability to jump from one thing to another. 

There are a few things that allow me to focus deeply.  A canvas, a sonata and a good book are some of them. 

Sunday Dinner, which is served at mid day, on the rabbit patch, was a nice time.  Mama and Daddy came and we took a short walk outside afterwards.  I could not believe the way the wind was sweeping across the yard  and the coolness of it was another shock.  I do not ever remember such a cool spell in July. . .and I will not forget this one anytime soon.

Sunday dinner never gets old to me.  How can gathering around a table, laden with  savory dishes,  and loved ones in every chair, ever be anything but “golden” ?  Such moments make gratitude well up in my heart like a  happy fountain.

After Mama and Daddy left, I went in with the intention of writing in the Rabbit patch Diary.  I was asleep in a very short while.  It was a good, deep, sleep and I have no idea how long it was.  I woke up very disappointed to have wasted such an unusual afternoon.  I used to never nap, in the broad daylight!  That has not been the case for almost a year now.  If I eat a hearty meal . . .and then attempt to read . . and a window fan hums lazily .  . . I am  more likely to take a nap, than Lyla.

I did go back to the edge of the young woods, and waged war again with the vines and bracken til at last, I declared victory.  . .  and  I have the battle scars to prove it too.  

,

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

Every month comes bearing their own unique gifts to the season. I thought of that, this morning, at the “early service”, for I found myself having a sense of dread, to open the back door. The heat of July drains me and then there are the mosquitoes. I am not the only one that complains, for the geraniums do too.  So does the periwinkle.  Both need sunshine to thrive, but neither can stand much of it . . .in July.  I move the pots around several times a day.  It is a sad sight to see them wilt or wearing scorched leaves. 

 I would love to plan a garden party, but it would be about impossible to enjoy a delicate sandwich and berries, without the fear of swallowing a fly, in July.  I will wait for September, I think, in that case.  

 I always blame July, when I can not get the clothes to dry on the line.  Still and humid air are not ideal conditions for drying clothes. Even sheets, take longer than usual, but there is nothing that beats sleeping on sheets that carry the faint scent of the outdoors. . . .especially when the mimosa blooms.

With this poor attitude, I went out to the early service.  The morning air was cool enough,  . . and there were butterflies making their morning rounds.  The locusts were singing as if they were performing a cantata. (these are not the locusts that destroy crops) This  winged chorus is always reserved for July.  It is an echoing song that I have heard since childhood.  I had forgotten that butterflies flock to the rabbit patch in July . . .and that the locusts sing too.

Already, I was regretting my former notions, for next I remembered cucumbers, tomatoes . . .and sweet corn. I can not deny that  the creamy cucumber salad gives July  some clout amongst the months.  Corn picked, shucked in the shade of an old tree and eaten in a few hours , never tastes any better, than in July.  Maybe, my favorite is the yellow summer squash, for I could eat them three times a day. 

The Black eyed Susans, light up a corner in the “Quiet Garden”, now.  They were not invited, for I really wanted a garden for roses only.  But one July, years ago, they showed up.  Now, they claim a large corner, and somehow convinced their cousins, the rudbekias to join them. 

These things persuade me to make amends with  July, . . .but it is still too hot for a garden party.

 I could not mow, as it seems the mower now, needs a new belt.  Instead, I cut the lower branches on the sycamores and dragged them to the burn pile.  I cleaned the front porch and then moved inside.  Reluctantly I started scraping the paint from the kitchen ceiling.  I do not mind most tasks, but ceilings are my least favorite.  Besides standing on a ladder, there is the neck to consider and all the while a terrible mess collects on the floor.

    There is always something to do on the rabbit patch, but at night when I saw *”Where the dog ran”  streak the night sky, I felt privileged. . .after all, you had to be in the country . . .and it had to be  a clear night in July, to have seen it.

 On Friday, the blessed rain came.  It all started with a strong wind.  I went out and stood in it.  I brought Cash, knowing he would take to running around the territory for he always does when the wind gusts so.  The wind was bold and cool.  It stirred up the apple mint and the smell of it was everywhere.  In the country you can smell rain and  see it coming across the fields.  I stood there mesmerized watching the wind rush through the trees.  Cash bolted  about enjoying the event of a summer storm.  When small droplets began to fall, Cash and I hurried for the back door.   

For some reason, I did not mind returning to the task at hand -which, of course, was the kitchen ceiling. Cash napped lightly on the floor, as he frequently had to dodge the falling debris.  Christopher Robin, the royal cat, napped unconcerned and out of harms’ way, which is his habit.

On Saturday, the effects of the rain could still be felt on the territory.  It was a cool morning and overcast.  Not long after the early service, I cut the hateful thorned vines that were attacking some azaleas in the shady corner.  I picked up a few branches, the wind had loosened and then went back in to the ceiling. 

When at last, that was finished, I planned to be a genteel lady,  for at least a little while, who spent her time painting, with shades of lavender –  or reading fine literature. To appease my notion, I painted a lamp a faint hue of lilac.  I am drawn the palest forms of color.   I always think yellow is my least favorite color, until I come face to face with it, in an almost, yellow rose.  Then I am hooked and declare it as beautiful as any other color. 

The little lamp cheered the mantle up and I was pleased. Next, I read some passages by Thoreau.  Thoreau wrote like a poet and I never fail to profit from his journals .  However,   as much as I enjoy, solitude, I do not  desire to live in the woods, with the pines as my only company.   I could stand it for a while, and probably enjoy it, but not for years.   Still, if there was ever a human that was brave enough to live his own truth, it was Thoreau. . .and I place great stock in that. 

A light rain fell steadily with only slight pauses. On one such interval, Cash, Christopher Robin  and I took a quick walk out, to the edge of the young woods.  There in the bracken, I found a pink rose-of -Sharon, blooming and nearly choked by wild grape vines.  Every other rose- of -Sharon on the rabbit patch is purple, so the bright pink blossoms surprised me.  I went to work to cut the vines away and the bush bobbed and bowed with each cut from the dull trimmers.  The rain came before I finished, but the bush had more liberty than before. I promised the young plant, I would return when conditions were better.

  I felt like a “fair weather friend”, as I  hurried back to the house, in the case of  the pink rose -of Sharon . . . .and in the case of July.

*”Where the dog ran” or the “way the dog ran”  is the name the Cherokee  gave to the Milky Way.

 

 

 

 

 

    

 

  

The “early service” on Tuesday morning was a peaceful affair.  A very slight breeze brought the faint smells of summer, with it.  Someone had cut their grass and that scent mingled with the  mimosa blossoms, loaned a sweet, green fragrance to the air.  I heard the song of the tanagers, but they were well hidden, being so shy.  I startled a squirrel and he made a frantic dash to the young woods.  Country squirrels are not social like their city cousins.  Country squirrels stay in the woods.  The only way you know about them, is when you find half eaten apples or  pansys tossed array, missing their roots . . .or you get up mighty early.

It was a beautiful morning, but my stomach hurt, for today I had an “appointment”.  Today, I had to renew my  drivers license .  I should have done it in April – a year ago, when they expired.  I realized this sometime in June.  I kept putting it off, as is my nature.  It is an awful habit of mine.  I will plan a Sunday dinner, a week ahead of time and I have the “Christmas Closet”  bumping full of secrets.  We do not run out of things like butter, at the rabbit patch either.  It makes no sense to me why I wait months past the last minute to attend to business. . .so the peace of the morning escaped me, altogether.  

All morning, I moped about.  Jenny called but, had no sympathy and chided me, for my strange behavior about such a simple task.  She did not call to cheer me up, but instead to deliver grave warnings full of doom, should I back out.  

Not long after noon, I got ready.  I had not eaten a bite all day.  I took a book along, one of my favorites, for I would surely collapse in that official environment, where rules are posted on every inch of the walls.  I needed a distraction.  When I walked in, uniformed folks were everywhere.  Their friendly greetings did not fool me.  These people love regulations and legalities and were liable to pounce, at any given moment.  I took a seat and began reading. All of a sudden, a thought flashed in my head – What if the car wouldn’t start when it was all over?  Maybe I had locked the keys in the car ?  Oh, to be stranded there would just finish me.  I found my keys and quickly went back inside my book,(where there were meadows surrounded by laurel) determined not to panic .

When my number was called, I walked stoically to the examiner.  He was a young fellow and quite polite, but I was sure that would change in due time. He looked at my license and we talked about something (I can not remember what) as he typed away.  In several minutes – or a year – he asked me to sign my name, for my renewed license. I did so, in shock.  Then he asked me to date it.  I was so surprised at the ease of the process, that I had to ask the date . . now he looked shocked and said “July 3rd” in a matter of fact manner – at that moment I remembered our “small talk” was about the fourth of July.  I felt very unpatriotic. Still,I walked out with my license.  I wanted to run, in case I got called back.  But alas, I walked out  in freedom, and the car started up, as it always does.

I am quite sure, I suffer from some sort of condition.  I truly am not a nervous sort at all.  In complicated times, I am known to remain calm and level headed . . .but,  I will probably do the same thing again,  when the property taxes are due.

The fourth of July dawned clear and mild.  I had a banana cream cake in the oven, in the first hours, for a picnic at my sister, Connies’ house at the lake.  Connie has always had a large gathering on the fourth.  Lake Phelps is one of the most beautiful bodies of water I have ever seen.  The water is crystal clear revealing a clean sandy bottom.  It is a shallow lake and perfect for swimming and fishing. 

At the last minute, I decided to make a sauce for the hotdogs.  It is really a rue and does not take long. It is mustard based and folks  either love it or hate it.  I grabbed a mixture  of lemongrass  and eucalyptus oils, just in case of flying, biting pests, which can ruin a picnic.  I also grabbed a book, for I always take one with me.  By the time Mama and Daddy drove up, the basket was packed . . . but my hair was soaking wet and there was no time to dry it.

The lake is only about forty minutes from the rabbit patch.  There was sunshine and a steady breeze blowing.  We sat under Mike and Connies’ huge picnic shelter.  They had a very large fan blowing, which cooled and kept the insects at bay. I thought, how nice and practical, to have such a fan.  The children played in the lake.  Mike manned a large grill and Connie ran the kitchen.  Connie is used to cooking for large groups and wasn’t a bit bothered. The food was ready, right about the time it started to rain.  No one cared about the rain, for we were eating wonderful food and were “high and dry”.  

When everyone was full to the brim, the sun came out again.  Little boys splashed in puddles while the older children headed back to the lake.  I enjoyed visiting with Mikes’family, who I claim as my own, as well.  Who knew, years ago that Stephanie and I would become “fast friends” and  kindred to the core  – and that her son, Zane would have such a special place in my heart.  Then there is Mikes’ mom, Miss Louise who seems like a very dear aunt.  She cheers me on, and never fails to encourage me.  A picnic is seldom anything but pure fun and today was proof of that.

  Tonight, fireworks rang through the countryside, for several neighbors went to great lengths  and put on quite a show.  Cash, my boxer did not like it a bit.  He pricked his ears up and  trotted all over the house, unsure of what danger the racket indicated.  Christopher Robin, my cat,  sought cover and bid us all good luck, but  he make it very clear that”we were on our own”.

When the last of the fireworks were over and the familiar silence restored,  Cash settled in, having been totally exhausted, in his effort to guard the farmhouse, at any cost.  Later, Christopher Robin sauntered out and joined him.  

Now tomorrow, I will tend to cobwebs, for spiders are  relentless creatures .  . .and the yard needs  mowing.  There is always laundry.  There is always a floor to scrub . The picnic basket will be put away, for a short while  . . .for if all does well . .  . I will use that basket again, soon . .  .on the banks of the “laughing river”.  

 

After, the anniversary celebration, for my parents, yesterday, today was quiet and as ordinary as a Tuesday.  I did make the “early service”.  A mist shrouded the countryside on this first morning in July.  I caught a glimpse of a female tanager flying from the top of a pecan tree.  The sight of  the golden yellow bird is not a common occurrence, here on the rabbit patch.   I was hoping to catch a glimpse of her mate, as he is a handsome bird as red as a cardinal, but he was no where in sight.  I gathered a small  collection of sycamore limbs.  These trees show no mercy and are constantly dropping something.  They are shedding bark now, as well as branches and in a few months it will be round pods of seeds.  Then, for the grand finale, sycamores drop  leaves the size of dinnerplates, in the early fall.

Tres spent the night at the rabbit patch, so I did not tarry too long.  Tres never sleeps late.  When Tres is here, we always drink fancy coffee and breakfast is likely to last a while.  It is a tradition now, for us to talk about the details of our lives while breakfast is cooked, eaten and put away.  

When, I came in, Tres was grinding coffee beans and the kitchen smelled like morning.  

The conversation over coffee, lasted til the mist had cleared and the territory was bathed in a hot sunshine.  I was not having a “Sunday Dinner” today.  I suppose most of the family, was having left overs from the anniversary party, as everyone left with containers of things like potato salad, cole slaw and the lovely carrot cake.  

I did do some laundry, but  mostly, I took the day off to read.  I listened to a few lectures and researched the tanager birds. I try not to feed birds when the world is full of berries, as it seems in some way, I am hindering their natural inclinations . . .(except, when conditions are quite unfavorable or we have left overs, that it would be shameful to waste) . . but if I did, I now know that the rarely seen tanagers would enjoy grape jelly.

The heat and humidity drain me of motivation to tackle yard work.  I finally cut the air condition on, which meant I had to close the windows.  I miss hearing the songbirds and tractors rumbling in distant fields.  The house will not smell like magnolia blossoms nor the sweet mimosa, either.  I so wished the summer vacation took place in months like October.

I am now in the habit again, of saying my prayers, outside each night.  There is something so sacred about it, for me.  No matter the constant changes in life we must endure, the heavens remain steadfast.  The moon may be waxing, but it rose over the field in a majestic manner and  it was almost pink.  It joined Venus, which has been a “showstopper” as of lately . . .and at least ten thousand stars.  I am always in awe of the sky, but there is something about the night sky  particularly, that does “declare the glory of God”.Since it is now July, I do not care that today is Monday.  It was already hot at the “early service”.  I did do a little weeding and when the spirit moves within me, I will venture out again.  I do have to pay bills and have a “business” call to make.  I dread both tasks.  I do not like “business affairs” at all and put them off til the last possible moment, which makes it all the more nerve wracking.  I deem anything that is”official” on any level, as “business” which includes getting the oil changed in the car or having my drivers license renewed.  I would much rather do battle with the relentless southern vines than have “an appointment” of some sort.

In my meandering, around the territory this morning, I saw that the last iris is spent.  I already miss them, for they are like old friends to me.  Spring seems fleeting every year, but this year we had record rainfall and just a few short weeks of delicate temperature.  One lone foxglove is blooming, I noticed sadly .  How did such a sentimental heart grow inside of me!  I so wished June could have lingered a bit longer.  I did cheer up when I saw that the “rose -of-Sharons” are full of blooms and a new one has sprung up.  My aunt Carolyn gave me the seeds in a brown paper bag, not long after I moved to the rabbit patch.  I could not think of planting a thing at that time, and so they got tossed in a drawer without much thought.  When I came across them again, I felt ashamed and so I put them in a pot and wished them luck.  I was on a mission to make the farm house livable and it took every waking minute. That first summer, every article of clothing I owned, had paint on it and  I was covered in bites and scratches, when school started back.  I did not have one moment to plant flowers.  Somehow, the seeds sprouted and so I planted them in the yard and again, wished them luck.  Aunt Carolyn passed a few years later.  Today, her “rose of Sharons” give shade.  I am  especially glad for the one that “volunteered”, for I can take it with me to the next “rabbit patch”.  Flowers are a lovely way to remember somebody.

I spent the afternoon doing all sorts of jobs, that I do not like.  I went through my filing cabinet, which is really a dresser.  I can never figure out just how long to keep a receipt.  I am always sure the moment, I throw one away, some dispute will arise and I will have tossed the only proof of my innocence.  The truth is, technology has really done away with such archaic methods of “proof”, mostly.  In this case, I decided a year was long enough to satisfy my need for a paper trail. 

Next, I cleaned the freezer out, which really did not take long, as I am determined not to waste food, and so I keep it orderly, on a regular basis.  Later, I started supper, for at last, the left overs from the anniversary party, were gone.

The diary of a country woman is anything but glamorous. It may lack mystery and thankfully, dramatic conflicts.  This diary is just an account of  what I have found to be ” true, noble,  right,  pure and lovely” .   . . with high hopes,  that others will “think about such things” , too. 

 

 

 

On Friday, Jenny and I packed up and left Elizabeth City.  Jenny does not travel lightly, as I do, for she has Lyla and a dog, too.  The both of them require all sorts of things for just a few days away.  It was mid afternoon, before we left the Riverside Village, on the “laughing river”.  Everyone is coming home this week end, for my parents’ Sixtieth Anniversary gathering.  

I have been in Elizabeth City since Monday.   The weather has been especially hot and thunderstorms pop up quite regularly.  People walk their dogs mighty early under such conditions.  Miss Thelma, Jennys’ ninety-something year old neighbor, feeds  the birds at the crack of dawn.  I get up early, by nature . . . to brew coffee.

A little robin, has evidently fallen from his nest, in the back yard, at Jennys’ house.  His parents still have some in the nest, and are frantically trying to keep all of them satisfied.  Every morning, the parents are dashing about trying to collect breakfast  for their young, but no amount of rushing seems to be adequate, for the nest makes quite a commotion and the fallen robin hops along squawking throughout the ordeal, wanting every morsel, they find.  I took to throwing strawberries and whatever else we had left, out, to aid the plight. 

Lyla and I made coconut macaroons on Tuesday.  Miss Claudia had an easy, no fail recipe . . .and so I doubled it with the idea to share.  I think we made at least a hundred of them.  No matter, how many I packaged up, or ate, we still had coconut macaroons.  It did not help, that Will did not like them.

Finally, on Wednesday, Lyla and I enjoyed a walk around the village.  Of course, we delivered macaroons, as we went.  The “laughing river” was a steel, gentle shade of blue.  We had the river and the rock, all to ourselves.  I read once, that humans crave expansive views.  There is something that is very beneficial about gazing at the ocean or vistas from a mountain top, it seems.  I think the same can be said of fields –  and laughing rivers.  It is hard to view such wonders and not feel  the “Blessed Assurance” that southern choirs sing about.   . .nor feel a Holy Presence, mightier than any earthly shackles. 

On the way back, I chose to walk the way of “Raleigh Street” where the best smelling rose grows.  Every year, I look forward to it and consider it well worth walking a bit out of the way, to do so.  The rose is not far from the sidewalk, nor the front door of the cottage, that tends it.  Lyla was delighted that we passed under a canopy of crepe myrtle trees.  She loves when a breeze loosens some of the tiny pink petals, for they fall like snow and – some land on us, as we go. On the walk back, we looked for lilies, which is her newest botanical accomplishment.  

While Lyla napped, I started on supper.  Miss Claudia was coming and that turned a week night supper, in to an occasion, for me.  Wills’ mom is one of my favorite people to cook for.  She is full of flattery, for one thing.  Besides that, we can brag on Lyla, without pretense and in total agreement.  . .besides that I have come to love her.

Lyla still has no interest in cooking things like potatoes nor peas, so the kitchen was not nearly as lively, as it was when we made the macaroons.

On Friday, a door shut squarely in my face.  I had been entertaining a certain notion and it had seemed like progress was being made in that direction, when all of a sudden, the “door closed ” – and rather abruptly.  Now in my younger years, I did not take such things lightly and was apt to pout and fuss.  I think I may even have felt  cheated.   On this day, I actually laughed, for the turn of events were remarkably odd, but so precise.  It seems, I am finally convinced that things work out as they ought to, for I have witnessed this.  Instead of feeling slighted, I feel loved . . and protected.  Dare I say, “I went down a rabbit hole”, that I did not belong in?

Saturday

Today is a “red letter day” for our family.  Today, is the day, my parents are celebrating their sixtieth wedding anniversary.  They married so young.  A lot of things happen in sixty years. . .heartbreak and triumph, joy and sorrow . . .hope and despair. 

Certainly,  they would neither one, consider themselves any thing but ordinary . .  . but, I say different.  I think they are champions . . and ought to be crowned.  They are living examples of a long-standing fortitude.  A union of sixty years can not be taken lightly, for the privilege, to claim  it, surely requires  a stalwart devotion,  a generous amount of grace and a love that can “move mountains” as needed. 

  

Mornings in June, are especially lovely.  The air is cool and thick with some of the years’ most beloved fragrances.  The magnolia and cape jessamine-honeysuckle and mimosa persuade one to breathe deeply.  If you are in the presence of even one of these, you are not likely to forget it, in your lifetime.   Dappled shade and light playfully fall on the lawn while the sky changes from pewter to silver and at last to a gentle blue.  Song birds sing as if their life depended on it . The whole affair of a morning in June really is especially lovely.

With the mower, out of commission and the barns clean, my dog, Cash and I sat outside long after the “early service”.  After a week of awful heat, today has a cool breeze stirring through the territory- enough to make the pines whisper.  I read for a little while, in the shade of an old tree and remembered doing the same thing as a child.  In those days, children read the classics.  Books were not based on cartoons or centered around toys.  The rich vocabulary of “Louisa Mae Alcott”  and “Beatrix Potter”  sounded like music to me, as I read the words, now many years ago.  I still remember reading “Anne of Green Gables” and wondering if I was “impertinent”.   I became quite a snob about what books I deemed worthy, as a child-and remain so today.  I was quite particular about the books my own children read.  I am the same way about Lyla and will “turn my nose up” quickly at books meant to support television programs or that promote the purchase of “toys”. 

Today, I was reading ” The Best of Still Meadow” by “Gladys Taber”.  Cash laid beside me, in the overgrown grass.  He perked up, when the rabbits came out to graze.  A dog is good company.  I love boxers, especially.  They are loyal and protective and their face is almost human at times, with expression.  Boxers want to please and so are very trainable.  They are however, “eternal puppies” and require diligence on the part of the owner.  It could be a nightmare, otherwise, as the breed is energetic and muscular.     

I did need to go to the grocery today, for “the cupboards were bare” in the rabbit patch kitchen.  Reluctantly, I closed my book and left the sweet country air to go inside and change in to “town clothes” .

Since, I am contemplating going to Elizabeth City, again, I bought plenty of groceries. I am always certain that my sons and animals will starve while I am meandering by the river, therefore, I take great precautions.  When everything was put in place, I went out   to pick up branches- the aftermath of a recent storm.  The air had become humid.  The coolness of the morning had vanished.  The sky was thick with clouds.  They were the color of a very pale blue pearl and muted the shine of the sun.  Even the morning breeze had ceased so that the pines no longer whispered.  

When the branches were gathered and tossed in the burn pile, I returned to the farmhouse.  The fan whirled with the familiar hum I am so fond of.  Not yet has the farmhouse been uncomfortable, though it came close at the last Sunday dinner.  I always dread starting the air conditioner, for then the house is shut up like a dungeon.  You can not smell the fresh cut grass of summer nor hear the rain showers.  Last summer, I never did have to resort to such measures, but last summer was not as hot as the most of them.  The year before was awful and I felt every bit as confined in July as I did in January.  I was glad for air conditioning that year. 

Sometime in the afternoon, as I was doing laundry . . .or reading by the fan, I decided I would go for a quick visit to Elizabeth City.  After all, the next few days are forecasted to be cooler – and Lyla is growing up at an alarming rate of speed.  I will not squander any possible moment with her. I’d as soon sit on our rock with her, than do most things.  I found out recently, that the little bridge, by the rock is about 100 years old.  I wonder whom, besides Lyla and I , has sat on that rock and watch the river tumble by, while thinking great thoughts.  There is no telling how old the flat rock is, after all.  Lyla always gets sleepy as we sit there and wants to curl up like a kitten and nap.  I do too, but the thought of her toppling in the water, keeps me awake. 

Mama and Daddy will be celebrating their sixtieth anniversary on Saturday, and so we plan to mark the occasion with a family gathering.  I am reserving Friday for cooking and other lose ends. I cannot divulge any thing more at this time, as Mama reads the “rabbit patch diary” faithfully . . .and encourages friends and strangers alike, to do the same.  She is as “steady as that rock”,  in that way.  

As it turns out, I will not need to mow this week as my neighbor Susan, showed up on her fancy mower, while I was cooking supper.  She has a full time job and still mowed my yard.  I was thrilled at the sight of her mowing so carefully around the herb garden.   What relief I felt, as it is no small task to mow your neighbors yard when it is at least several acres.  I am already plotting how to return the favor.

Dear rabbit patch diary,  I am glad for good books and good neighbors.  I am glad for cool mornings to sit with a loyal dog under an old tree.  I am glad for rocks and rivers  . . .and the lovely month of June.

 

Sunday

The “early service” this morning, was a gentle affair.  Light fell across the territory in rays just bright enough to cast faint shadows.  Certainly, I was thinking of my father, on this day and thought how he too, rose from a poor little boy on a back road to a noble man . . .quietly, without fanfare .   .yet with a mighty impact.  No one wants to disappoint “Grandaddy”.  I think that is  a high level of respect, for loyalty out of fear is a temporary state . . . but loyalty out of love has a fortitude, that  endures.

Sunday dinner was in the making, just after the mockingbird sang.  A pot of beans simmered and a large bowl of raisins were soaking for a cake.  There was no rush to this morning.  I had the pork smothered in gravy cooking slowly and thought  I could afford another cup of coffee . . .  and so I was sitting under an old tree, watching the morning, when Tres came in.  What a sweet surprise that was!  

The meal was especially nice.  Mama brought the first fresh summer squash of the season and they paired well with the butterbeans and creamed turnips.  I fried cornbread at the last minute, as I always do, for cornbread is best that way, served hot and straight a-way, from the skillet.

The afternoon was quiet and  peaceful, a far cry from most days at the rabbit patch.  How good it felt to pack leisurely, for my trip the next day to Elizabeth City.  I was especially happy about this particular trip, as this time Brant was going, too.

Each night, I have practiced my “fair-weather” habit of going out to bid the world good night.  The sky is filling up with stars as of lately and planets also. Now we clearly see Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn.  The crescent moon hangs over the field like a magnificent charm, casting a spell of peace, hope and a sense of well being. 

Monday

It was mid morning, when I turned in to the “Riverside Village” nestled by the “laughing” river.  It felt like a holiday for of course we had planned special meals.  Will and Brant had  a list of projects  to accomplish.  One task was restoring  a dresser for all the little dresses Jenny will need the first of September.

Lyla made a “big production” about my arrival.  For a few moments, the kitchen was filled with dancing and clapping for I joined in the celebration in the same manner as Lyla.  Oh, to be a “Honeybee”is a wonderful thing. 

In the afternoon, Lyla and I made Brant a birthday cake, while Brant and Jenny painted the dresser.  It was a “banana split” cake and did not require baking. We listened to the Brandenburg Concertos, which are my favorites.  Lyla is now convinced that you must listen to music when you make a cake, for we always do.

Brant chose rutabagas for  his belated birthday supper.  He also chose pork chops and parslied potatoes.  Lyla has no interest in cooking such things and abandoned me in that pursuit.

Rutabagas are a root crop that are the most difficult thing I know of to peel and cut.  They were a staple, when I was growing up.  Now, the vegetable hardly ever shows up on a menu . . .or a kitchen table.  I suspect this is due to the tedious preparation and the length of time they must cook.  Despite, the process, rutabagas are worth the trouble.  They taste like a cross between a carrot and potato, but a bit sweeter in flavor and as it turns out very nutritious. 

Will came home early from work, which added to the “holiday” atmosphere.  The evening meal was a huge success, and Lyla presented her cake with great ceremony-while she sang “Happy Birthday” to her Uncle Brant.

Tuesday

Tuesday was hot.  Brant cleaned out the shed and Will mowed the yard.  This delighted Lyla and she was eager to help.  She swept the little shed and carried branches for a good while.  Jenny did laundry and I kept an eye on Lyla, besides relaying messages and assisting everyone at some time or another.  

All of the activity reminded me of my childhood, on the farm.  Everyone busy and working together “for the greater good” of the family.  I still remember those days vividly and with great fondness.  I doubt  that Mama and Grandmama knew  that I would remember them picking squash,  for decades . . nor that  the memories of Pop and Daddy bantering, while repairing a tractor, would strike me so tenderly, now a half century later.  The contents of a life  are never a collection of things acquired, for new cars get old and  even the grandest wardrobe is discarded piece by piece, due to to tatters and frays.  Gadgets break or get lost altogether . . .  no, the contents of life are comprised of deeds done and who we share our seasons with, I think . . . and do not decline in worth.  Even the bittersweet memories, can offer us some advantage.

Shortly after noon, the heat was unpleasant enough, so that everyone pushed to complete their chores. Brant went back to work on the dresser, on the shaded porch, that faces the river.  Lyla gave some dolls a bath and Will went shopping for supplies for more projects.

As is likely to happen on sultry southern days, a thunderstorm popped up in the evening and cooled the air.   I sat on the porch while everyone caught up on the World Cup, feeling quite content.  

Dear Diary, I  am glad for crescent moons and birthday cakes.  I am glad for memories  sweet enough to make you cry and keep your heart tender -and  I am glad for cooling showers in June . . .and dances in the kitchen.

 

 

 

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