It is that time, when bells are ringing and children are singing.  It is the Christmas season, the most wonderful time of the year, many say.  It is hard not to declare this a truth, when kitchens smell like cookies and twinkling lights wrap around porches like southern vines.

Winter break begins on Wednesday, and until then, the rabbit patch corners are piled with presents to be wrapped, pretty paper and ribbons and possibly more lights.  The “morning table”  has a list beside the lamp, which is significant, as I never make a list for anything. . . unless it is Christmas.

Moon Shine, has decided he is a proper house cat now.  Maybe, Christmas is a factor.  He is the worst thing to wrap presents with.  Cash and Christopher Robin are content to nap or watch from a safe distance.  Moon Shine is underfoot hoping a scrap of ribbon falls his way-he feels the same way about shiny paper.  The scissors have been found in another room altogether because I took a coffee break.  Apparently, he does not believe in Santa nor wonder if “reindeer really know how to fly”.  He is willing to take his chances, on that.  Jenny says the same thing about Lyla.

This morning, I am up early.  The Christmas season at the rabbit patch is so far, foggy.  The heavy mist with the bare trees  gives a wintry picture out the window.  If I glance in the direction of my neighbors,  I see the glow of their strung lights and think what a lovely card it would make- otherwise, it looks like  a scene from “Wuthering Heights”.

Tres and Kelsey are on the way to the rabbit patch, now.  We will leave for Elizabeth City, shortly.  Will and Jenny have been in their new home just a few months, but Jenny knew where the Christmas tree would be, long before she knew where the sofa and beds would be placed.  Today,  I will witness her decision and sing “Jingle bells” with Lyla.  I look forward to showing Tres our familiar  trek by the river and discussing Christmas secrets with Kelsey.  

At Christmas, I gather memories by taking great note of such occasions . I hoard them up like something precious, because to me, they are.  They are the “stories in the making” that I will tell Lyla and the children to come, in our family.  I will deliver them  tenderly and with great honor, as in some sense, they are our  own”gold, frankincense and myrrh” .

The lovely December moon has risen over the field, supper is cooked and I am in another session of gift wrapping.  I am watching “Holiday Affair”, another old black and white film.  There is coffee in a china cup on my “morning table” and on my frequent breaks, I write- and so for me all is well in my world.

I make a Christmas list and tack it on the door of my Christmas closet.  The closet is actually an old wardrobe.  I buy through out the year and so must keep an account of things bought as  I find them. Flowers may be blooming or corn growing, when I find something that suits someone on my list, but such conditions  do not hinder my Christmas spirit- besides, this habit keeps Christmas a bit less complicated and keeps me from becoming desperate-a state I deplore.  I have never once, made a good decision in desperation.

One year, a long while back, I did not have presents to wrap.  The children were all young and while I knew my family would  make sure the children  had gifts-I just could not shake the despair I felt.  At last, I sat them all down to tell them the dire news.  They were as quiet as “little church mice” while I assured them that things were bound to improve .   My oldest son, Brant spoke up and said “mom, could you just get something for the little boys?” Jenny and Tres loved the idea and were chiming in, in full agreement.  Brant was maybe eleven.  Jenny was nine and Tres almost eight years old.  My heart was touched so that, their goodness caused me to believe that surely my children  were as pure as the driven snow.  Gratitude spilled out in tears . . .and then Kyle  around four, piped in and said “I think that could work!”  Oh, “pride does often go before a fall.”  We all laughed about it then and we still do now. 

A dear friend, Julie, gave me an artificial tree that same year.  I put it together, but the thing had the habit of just toppling over at any given moment.  It fell one time too many to suit me and when it did, I picked the whole tree up and threw it out the front door, ornaments and all.  It was poor behavior and the memory shames me.  An hour or so later,  Julie came in with the tree and “spoke not a word, but went straight to her work”.  She corrected my assembly mishaps and the little tree stood upright and steadfast as any “tin soldier “.

Not always does Christmas come with the best circumstances- This year , as  I wrap sweet little tokens and place them under the tree  I remember  that Christmas.  It  offered more than broken ornaments .  Family and friends reminded us ,that prosperity reveals itself in more than one form.  Things did improve, after all-and I have never since had the notion to throw a Christmas tree out the front door.

 

No other holiday, is remembered with the same magnitude, as Christmas. Christmas has so many more details and the older you become, the dearer and clearer, the memories seem.  I am not old yet, but I am well on the way-at least far enough, to know that there are some memories, I hold in my own heart, that bare little resemblance to Christmas, as it is now.

The Christmas season was well defined, just  a few decades ago. when I was a child. Other than a birthday, a child never expected presents- of course shopping was different altogether.  The butchers’ shop held no allure for me , nor the seafood market.  The A&P sold food and the hardware stores sold tools and fertilizer-and these places were our regular stops.  In my earliest memories, commercials were for tonics and tobacco, for grown folks.  I just never had a notion to think about toys, til just before Christmas, when the Sears & Roebuck catalog came in the mail.

One does not need to be as old as me to remember that event.  The Christmas edition had a section of toys.  Mama gave us an ink pen to circle our favorites, so Santa Claus would know.  I always chose a doll-not a Barbie, but a doll baby.  Little girls loved their dolls a long time ago.  I think it is much easier to love a doll, when you have just one.  My doll family grew slowly over childhood.  They were my children.  They played under the grapevine with me in July and said their prayers at night.  They had to nap when I was away and they got sick in the winter.

Usually, Santa brought real glass tea sets.  My sister, knocked my first tooth out with a tiny cup that had delicate blue flowers on it.  There was always a game or a puzzle, fruit and nuts.  We woke to the smell of fruit and knew Santa had been.  I asked mama about this, when I grew up.  She said, when she was young, apples and oranges were only available during the Christmas season in the grocery stores and so she had kept the practice, because of her memories.  I like that, and so I buy fruit at Christmas too-enough that you smell it, all over the farmhouse.  I can not say the same for the nuts.  I remember my sister and I working with a hammer for the longest time to crack the shells of those nuts.  We smashed our fingers and broke the cinder blocks we used to crack them on.  When we finally got one open-well, it was just a nut-and not as good as the pecans we were used to.

Christmas trees were cedar and fresh cut.  I remember Daddy would find them and keep his eye on them for years, til they were big enough.  Most often, they would have a “bad side, which we turned to the wall.  I clearly remember, the year grandmama decided to get a “modern” tree.  We went over to see it and were speechless.  It was called an “aluminum tree” and was silver with bright blue ornaments.  It folded up and came in a box.  I thought it was the most unnatural  thing I had ever seen-and it probably was.  I remember thinking, that it must have come from “Hawaii” which was the furthrest place away, I knew of and I reckoned things were different there.

We always  went to church on any given Sunday, but at Christmas, we sang the carols.  It was my favorite music of the year-it still is.  I wondered why we could only sing them at Christmas.  We sang them a Sunday or two, only and we never had time to sing all of them. Thankfully, my aunt Agnes could play the piano .  Her music was lively and unlike the church music.  She smiled and sang while we stood by the piano, mesmerized. When we sang “Joy to the World”, we meant it!   She always had cakes and pies on the “deep freeze” and she cooked as well as she played the piano.  Little elves lived at all my relatives’ houses and Aunt Agnes’ house was no different.  If I dared hurried while in a house-as if I MIGHT run, an elf saw me every time-because mama saw them. She could describe them with full details down to what they were wearing-because I always asked.

The simplicity of the Christmases past, does not make them less memorable, but instead more so, I realise.  Maybe, being a child, is all it’s cracked up to be and no matter how much we strive for  a bigger version, we do not hinder the truest form of Christmas Spirit-but I will buy fruit anyway this year, as my mama did-  and I will tell Lyla. . .”Once upon a time,  people were grateful for apples and oranges.”

All is merry and bright at the rabbit patch.  There is a Christmas tree by the farmhouse window -and at long last-full of shining lights.  Today, I hope to wrap presents and add the ornaments I have collected from places like Miss Alethias’ Christmas shop in Bath.  Each year, for a long time, I buy five ornaments, representing my children.  Today, the humble tree will proudly bear witness to that habit.  I will hang the snowflakes and remember that Jenny loved them best, when she was five.  The five little birds, are there because my grandmother loved birds- and on and on I will go, til the last ones are hung.  

The kitchen table will not have room for even a sandwich today.  It will be littered with scissors, tape and ribbons, instead. I expect “Moon Shine”, previously known as “the wild kitten”, will be in the midst of the scrap paper.  Rest assured, he will only see the tree through the old french door, if I can help it.  Moon Shine is curious and playful and apt to reap havoc.  I am sure that the red glass ornaments, Kyle picked out would erase all of our efforts to make him a civilized cat.

I find that people either love to wrap  gifts or detest it immensely-of course I love it.  I take great pains to find just the right paper and ribbons.  This year, I am only using red and white in various forms.   Bags are a last resort, no matter how pretty they are.  There is something magical about the minute it takes to unwrap a present.   Whatever paper is left-and I buy accordingly- will be used to wrap Brants’ presents as he has the habit of coming in Christmas Eve with a satchel of unwrapped presents, in a state of panic.  I smile, because my Brant is home-and I just happen to have the kitchen table cleared .

While, I am wrapping presents, I will  have an old Christmas movie on.  I strongly prefer the old black and white movies.  The themes are so much more tender.  Today, it will be “Little Women”  and maybe “It Happened on 5th Avenue”, if time allows.  I will drink coffee out of a fancy piece of Christmas China.  It is “Winter Greetings” by Lenox and   so very expensive.  I bought this piece on clearance and will look for another piece this year-in January.  When there is a sufficient amount of presents wrapped,  I will call Christian to place them under the tree.  He is an artist in every sense and will place them in a pleasing order.  It will be a lovely sight when all is said and done.

Before the baking day and before the pine boughs are brought in, there is today- when the tree is decorated and stories are told- and when ribbons are tied on pretty boxes full of Christmas secrets.  At the rabbit patch today,  truly, all is merry and bright.

 

There is almost, a Christmas tree at the rabbit patch window, which I am sure was placed, for that purpose.  A good while back, someone bought me one of those pre-lit trees.  I love real trees, but it did seem practical and it was very handy, eliminating the fuss with the lights that I  always dread.  Up until now, the little tree has behaved nicely.  This year, it proudly boasts eight working lights.  I  love Christmas, anyway.

Meanwhile, Miss Susies’ House, looks like a postcard.  It is hard for me to imagine her quarreling with lights-if she does, she wins every time.  This little community has high standards for decorations and I am quite proud to be a part of it, even if the odds are stacked against me.  

As much as I adore Christmas lights and wreaths on doors-as much I love ribbons on lanterns and bird feeders too-It is the feeling that Christmas stirs in my heart, that I love the most.  I think all of the details evoke a sense of celebrating with gratitude.  We have never exchanged extravagant gifts at the rabbit patch.  Gifts here, are more like sweet little tokens-and I think we are all better off for it.  I am a practical person, by nature and I have found it a good habit.  Even, when the children were little,  I took great pains to keep Christmas an experience instead of an occasion to collect enough things, to be happy.  This may be why my grown children ask for  things like socks,  guitar strings or a nice candle, every year.

The kitchen is the one place, that I act like “a big spender”.  Everybodys’ favorites are somewhere on the counter.  Jenny will have a cheesecake and Kyle will have fresh baked bread.  Tres will have fancy coffee, Christian will have eggnog  and I will fry pork chops at any given hour, if Brant wants them.  We gather  around a softly burning fire and have been known to play carols on guitars and violins.  If it sounds quaint and old-fashion, it is, but the memory lingers far longer than anything with a price tag.

This is the reason that I go steadfast in to battle with those undependable strands of lights  on the tree.   The tree says “Merry Christmas!” to the world, shining  through the farmhouse window.  .  . and welcome home to my children.

 With renewed courage,  I will finish  the task tonight and the humble tree will become a blazing beacon to all who happen by the rabbit patch, this season.   Maya Angelou said “You can tell a lot about a person, by the way they handle tangled Christmas lights.”  I know exactly what she meant.

At last, the rabbit patch declares that the Christmas season is upon us.  There is a wreath on every door with little twinkling lights that brighten the late autumn fog.  I added a little tree with lights tonight, to the porch of the farmhouse.  The affect is cheerful, as it ought to be at Christmas.

I have tied red ribbons on bird feeders and lanterns in the yard.  Not long afterwards, a strong wind started blowing and the ribbons are tattered because of it.  Still, they add a charming touch. Somehow they seem in the natural state of things on the rabbit patch.

There is a lot more to do still.  Tomorrow is Kyles’ birthday and the day the tree is put up.  This tradition started when he was around four and now it seems “a law” of sorts.  I suppose I will always abide by it, as it would not feel right  to do so on any other day.

I do have more than a few presents to wrap.  The shopping trip with my mom, sisters and niece was a sweet success, in more ways than one.  We arrived in Rocky Mount in the first part of the morning.  At the first store, while checking out, I discovered that the credit card had expired in November.  I am not in the habit of using it-or checking the mail either, so such a thing could be expected.  At this  very moment, I remembered my bank card was on the morning table-at the rabbit patch. I had a little cash, so it was my destiny, to do a little shopping.  Actually, I shopped more carefully and focused more on visiting, than usual.  This may have been my favorite trip.  I have been striving to live more simply and without money, this was assured that day.  I did manage to buy some fine chocolate to improve our spirits-and it worked.  We cast our weariness aside and headed straight a way for a donut shop.  

We shopped longer than the sun shined that day.  Hayley and I browsed in the book store together and I was thrilled that she is still writing-though she said “not the way you do”-she writes in a journal and prefers prompts. I was glad to hear this and also to hear she still enjoys crafts.  Connie, my youngest sister , loves pretty dishes as I do and so we spent some time admiring kitchen items.  Delores and I purchased the chocolate and shopped for fancy soap.  Mama told the story of her mom, buying me my first coat-a red one, and later a high-chair from a store that closed a long while ago.   She told it tenderly and I realised that no matter how many Christmases have passed, she still misses my grandmother.

    I had no problem falling asleep last night.   I thought how the day was a good one.  I thought of all the little parts of it that made it beautiful  and it seemed to me, that a lack of money did not prevent me from getting gifts, after all. 

 

December has come-with its’ shining lights and sugar cookies.  I love December with all its’ lovely details.  For me, December is a happy month and a holy time.

 The rabbit patch is not yet decorated.  The Christmas chest holds unwrapped presents awaiting a tree and there are still pumpkins on the porch waiting to be collected for the compost .  Not one pine branch has been brought in the farmhouse and not one wreath has been hung on the barns.  I have high hopes this weekend to remedy a bit of this.

Christmas at the rabbit patch is not too complicated.  I take great pains for the holiday to be pure and simple.  Fine coffee, books and french milled soaps are typical gifts under  the tree.  There is never a rush for the latest gadget or the “last”anything on the shelf.  I am never convinced that a doll must be hard to find or expensive, to be loved.

I do love shopping at Christmas.  Jenny and I shopped last year with Lyla.  Lyla was amazed with the lights. We searched high and low for the original “Old Spice” for my dad. We never found it, but Lyla saw Santa Claus that day, for the very first time.  When she was tired, I sang “You Better Watch Out” and she laughed every time.  

My mom , sisters and I will shop together, this Monday.  We meet at a central location, a town about an hour from the rabbit patch.  We have done this for fifteen years.  My niece, Hayley comes now too, and she and I spend a good hour in a book store while the others are on their own missions.  It is amusing to me how traditions are born.  Mama and I will linger at lunch, while my sisters go to a salon. She and I will record our purchases and assess our current state.  I always laugh at mama, who starts out so intent on the finding the best gifts at the best prices and then after lunch, when we find something on her list, she interrupts our details and says “I don’t care, just put it in the cart.”  Several years, I have bought bedroom shoes and wear them the last few hours, without shame.  I declare that nobody knows me in this town anyway.  My sister Delores, could be a professional shopper.  She takes to “flying about the stores” determined to know EVERY item they carry.   She is known for rummaging through bins of every thing from ornaments to key chains -often enlisting our help to find a certain number of a certain kind-and then changing her mind about buying them! Connie, my youngest sister is quite no nonsense and goes about her business with a noteworthy diligence.  We have all vowed to stay away from candle shops as many have side-tracked us for hours.  I am not a shopper by nature, unless it is Christmas and so I gaze in wonderment at the contents of the kitchen and linen departments.  I always think “the country has come to town” rings true, in my case.  I really look forward to Monday.

 I really look forward to Christmas.  I love the way it looks in Farm Life, where barns are decorated along with the houses.  I love the smell of fresh cut evergreens and gingerbread.  I love the way the world sounds at Christmas.  It cheers me when the lady that sells me a cup of coffee and the UPS man says “Merry Christmas!”.  . .and there is the music. Last night, our school hosted the annual holiday concert.  The classes sang Christmas songs from around the world and more than two hundred children played violin for the grand finale.  Christmas music, itself lends magic to the season, for me.  “Silent Night” seems to proclaim “holiness” and “Jingle Bells” is sheer merriment.  When a child sings “Away in a Manger”,  I am going to cry.  When two hundred children play their violins, even those not enamored with the season, may cry too.  It is, for me, the beautiful sound of Christmas.

 

  

I found the rabbit patch in early spring, just over a decade ago, though I often think now the rabbit patch found me.  I remember the wild irises were blooming in the woods, though I had to stand on a felled tree from a long while back, to see them. I love old trees, and there were the oaks, calling out to me, it seemed.  There were several old pecan trees and all sorts of fruit trees.  The sycamores were just starting to shade the back door with their new leaves.  I knew I could love this place and the Farm Life community has always had  a sterling reputation.  I loved the massive yard, with its; grass starting to green-I still do.

I never thought about mowing-and I never once imagined late November, with its’ bushels of leaves.  The house stayed cool til July-winter seemed so far away, then- and I am not in the habit of “borrowing trouble from tomorrow”.

In late November, I remember how my affair with the rabbit patch unfolded.  The honeymoon was over in late autumn-but not the love.  The trees are mostly bare now and the mower with the mulcher,  did not survive my last mowing.  The yard looks as wild as “Moon Shine” the new feral kitten, did when I first met him-like something man has not yet touched. For now, I am armed with a rake and some boxes.  At this rate, it will be well into December before the rabbit patch looks “tended” .  Many “a autumn fire will burn” between now and then.

Jenny and Lyla are here for a few days.  We visited with mama and daddy a little while today.   The night was warm so Lyla and I went out.  We could only see Venus, but that was enough for us.  I thought of Wordsworth and his poetic line, “Fair as a star, when only one is shining in the sky.”  

On the drive home, I saw a few trees still clad in bright leaves.  The yellows and corals made you think the tree was in bloom-and with Venus shining bright and bold-well it was lovely. Everyone was starving when I got home.  I had planned on this and had a roast cooking slow that just needed gravy.  I went to work in the kitchen and fed the animals as all were sure they would have perished, had I been a minute later.  While, the potatoes and peas simmered,  I went back out and commenced to burning leaves and thought  ” late November is a nice time.”

Officially, Thanksgiving, has passed.  Already , Christmas trees are up and twinkling in windows in many homes and reindeer graze in yards-with a little imagination.  I love Christmas!-but I am not yet over Thanksgiving.  The “dust has not settled” for me and so the pumpkins will grace the yard and the leaves will tattle that the mulcher is on the blink, a while longer.

This morning, Kyle brought breakfast and mama added all sorts of side dishes, for a late breakfast.  Tres, Kyle and Christian split wood afterwards and Daddy supervised.  Mama, Kelsey and I were snug inside and were thankful for it.

A cousin came in-a very distant cousin, if you go by blood only-but his family and mine grew up like brothers and sisters.  The mailman had delivered mama’s magazine to his house and he was returning it.  I introduced him to Kelsey and he explained that we were cousins because mamas’ great grandmother- and his, were sisters.  The beauty of that sunk in-  how the many generations  had remained a unit.  I thought about the sisters tending their children and wondered if they would have believed that more than one hundred years and six generations, later their descendants would still share life together. “Blessed be the tie that binds!”

Kelsey told a story, after he left, that moved me and I hope  to never forget.  It seems that she and Tres, on the way to her birthday celebration, came across an accident, that had just happened.  There was a cloud,  that prevented them from seeing the bus at first.  Tres got out and ran to the scene.  It was tragic.  He went to work pulling a team of young boys to safety and told Kelsey not to get out of the car.  I will not record the sorrows he bore witness to.  It pains me greatly,  for everyone involved.  

 We do the best we can by our children.  They grow up and we pray for their journey.  It is not our own, and it takes a considerable amount of fortitude to accomplish that realisation.   Sometimes, they become devoted mothers and sometimes they write songs.  They may buy shoes for poor children or buy food for hungry animals.  They run trucks in ditches and every one of them have been responsible for some amount of worry -but they are our most beloved  . . . and which ever the present case may be, they are our “pride and joy” .  

Early Morning

Not yet, has the sun risen at the rabbit patch, but I have been up a while.  Moon Shine sent something crashing and shattering- and that worked better than any alarm clock.  After surveying the damage, I went out to a mild morning with a pink, cloud covered sky.  I smelled rain and so will check the forecast shortly.  The turkey is on and I will make biscuits next. Coffee greatly improves my chances of figuring out what to do about sugar. I ran out making pies, last night.

 I am watching “Mr. Blandings Builds  His Dream House” in intervals, while the biscuits are cooking.   I love old movies best.   I found some brown sugar and that will do for any other concoction that requires sugar- with the exception of ice tea.

I was right about rain.  I never did check the forecast.  I knew an hour ago by the sky, it was going to rain some where.  It is a light rain and it sounds so very peaceful-and daddy says the weatherman “didn’t call for rain no how”.  Kyle, went to the grocery store for sugar.  His face looked the same as it did the night of the fire, when I asked him to go.

Mid-Morning

Mr. Blandings got his dream house built and the biscuits turned out perfect.  Kyle survived the grocery store and brought home the sugar.  The stove is full of pots-pots of beans, potatoes -and yellow squash.  The cranberry jelly is chilling and I have whipped cream with maple and cinnamon, for the pumpkin pie.  The rain has been falling the whole time.  It is a good thing that so many tasks are done as I can not rush when the rain falls softly.

Afternoon

Mama & Daddy , Kyle, Christian and I shared a nice meal just after noon.  My friend, Jo Dee had talked about a chocolate chess pie, enough to make me want one, so I fixed one.  Mama and I declared it the favorite.

Everyone has gone somewhere else now, so the kitchen is quiet.  The kitchen is tidy and candles are lit.  Tres will make it home before dark, so the porch light is on and the welcome lantern at the back door has a candle in it.  I love waiting for my children to come home.

Evening

Fog rolled in across the fields as the sun was setting.  This is the second time I have seen this, in my life.  It came in like a wave.  The sun was the color of a tangerine and paired with the silver fog, it was spectacular.  

Not long after, all was safely gathered in at the rabbit patch.  I snuffed out the welcome lantern at the backdoor.  The boys watched football – and Kelsey and I ate pie, while we watched “Anne of Green Gables”.  Truly,  Thanksgiving is a lovely time.

 

 

 

It is the eve of Thanksgiving.  I look forward to this day about as much as the holiday, itself.  Today is the day to bake pies and wash linens for overnight guests.  The grocery stores are buzzing and many folks are packing their bags. Fancy dishes are being brought out from cupboards to be washed and   porch lights will be left on, later than usual, to welcome loved ones home.

I am making pumpkin, chocolate and  banana cream pies, today.  I am not sure why, but it just seems like pie is the traditional dessert for Thanksgiving.   When my sister and I were little and took to arguing, our grandmama would say “you two would argue in a pie factory!”  meaning we would rather fuss than eat pie!  I can still hear her saying that, she said it so often.

I am tidying up the old farmhouse and hoping the turkey thaws.  I am making another large batch of biscuits for the “dressing”-and will light the kitchen fireplace to add to the holiday atmosphere.  I have been saving some pricey candles for the holidays and they will be lit shortly.

The weather is perfect- a cold night and a bright day ahead.  Most often the trees are bare for the holiday, but this year a few colorful leaves remain boasting their tribute to autumn.  I will gather a branch or two for the table. There will be wood smoke in the air from the hearth  of the rabbit patch  and frost will cover the pumpkins in the morning light.

I am hoping to be up when the frost is on the pumpkins.  I put the turkey on and drink coffee while the house starts to smell like Thanksgiving morning.  Breakfast will be especially light, so to improve the appetite for the traditional feast.

There is just something about Thanksgiving that stirs me deeply.  I think about the first Thanksgiving, when the Native Americans gathered with those from across the ocean, who had come to make new lives.  I think of the women from both sides, preparing different foods in different ways.  Surely language itself, presented an obstacle.  There is no telling how many practices of religion were present that day, yet in spite of all the differences, they united for a meal and gave thanks  together.  I suppose the children played together, as children still do today without barriers.  I hope tomorrow, hearts across the nation, will unite for the sake of  showing gratitude.  The older I get, the more I think about such things.

There are a lot of ways to live a life, but it seems to me, that practicing gratitude might be one of the best habits we can assume.   Such a habit acts as tonic, I think-  and it goes so well with pie. 

The “old people” used to say “where there is smoke, there is fire.”  They said this often, when something seemed obvious, hoping we kids would learn the art of deducting facts and making conclusions.  This old saying can be taken literally, as well-and I can prove it.

Yesterday, I came home and went right to work at the rabbit patch.  I put a chicken on to roast, with turnips heaped around it and started some peas on the stove.  I started some laundry and decided to clean the car out while the appliances were put to good use.  The cold wind on Sunday, had all but eliminated the leaves in the big yard.  Somehow a few mounds lay here and there as if intentional.  I decided to burn a bit of them in the garden, while I was dusting the car out.

The sun was already casting slanted rays and just before slipping below the trees at the back of the field.  There wasn’t a bit of wind and I looked up to take note of the peace that evening affords.  I thought the light seemed odd.  It seemed to flicker. . . and then I smelled smoke.  Behind a small barn, where the garden used to grow, light was jumping about.  I dashed around the barn as best I could to find the garden on fire.  There was spitting and hissing-and Cash took to racing around and around, almost knocking Christopher Robin sideways.  Christopher Robin took refuge on the garden bench and watched the whole affair with a very judgmental air about him.  Moon Shine fled like the devil himself was after him.  I thought to wet the perimeter of the garden, but the water hose was hiding in the shadows between two other barns.  Kyle drove up just about this time.  He rushed to the crime scene, stricken with panic and yelled out about how foolish I was to undertake the task of burning the garden alone.  Christopher Robin seemed to take his side, perching all high and mighty on the garden bench, waiting for my explanation.

Kyle is a handy person and he was as good as anybody to show up.  He took over, and when I remembered supper and ran to the house yelling “chicken!”,  he was not phased.  Supper was saved and as it turns out creamed turnips are as good as I had heard they were.