In August, days at the rabbit patch begin with morning clouds.  The clouds seem to alter time, all because they alter light.  Fog seems to whisper “good morning” tenderly.  As a child, I rushed outside , when fog covered the farm.  I wanted to ” play in a cloud”.  I knew that farm like the back of my hand, but the mist of a foggy morning made it mysterious and unfamiliar-and I liked that. Now -a-days, I am apt to drink more coffee and take my own sweet time about doing things when the rabbit patch is covered with fog.  The morning clouds make me quiet.  It is a good time to write by the soft light on the morning table. 

The mower is high and dry at last.  After Sunday Dinner, Daddy was determined to get it out of the fish pond.  Kyle and Christian were coming home later but I couldn’t convince Daddy to wait on that.   I never have had much luck at “convincing” him of anything.   The grass could stand to be mowed again anyway, I noticed yesterday.  I also noticed the ginger lilies.  They show no sign of blooming this year.  It is a shame as they are one of the best things about August.  Their flowers are far from spectacular, but their scent is divine.  When they bloom, the neighbors know about it.

I almost set the clocks yesterday at the rabbit patch.  I have been working the last few days at school but without a schedule as I don’t have to officially be there til the 18th.  I decided against it and left batteries off the shopping list I had given Kyle.  When I was young, the school calendar was set around the crops.  If the crops were late, then so was school.  Either way, we never started school til after labor day.  I spent the late days of a summer in the packhouse barn.  The barn was full of dried tobacco.  To this day I love the smell of tobacco drying.  My mama would work all day taking the tobacco off the sticks it had been “cured” on.  Grandmama and an old lady named Ida, graded the leaves and sorted them in piles to be packed and taken to the warehouse.  I learned nursery rhymes and songs in the packhouse.  I guess in a way I was “raised in a barn”.

When folks started grading tobacco, school was about to start.  My older cousins were in school a while before me.  I wanted to wait for the bus with them-and I wanted to hold Chuck’s lunchbox while we waited.  Chuck did not want to be seen waiting for the bus with a little girl-and he did not want me to touch that lunchbox.  His mama, my Aunt Josie made him give it to me anyway.  When the bus came around the curve, he would snatch it fast and run.  I learned to let go quickly. Chris, Chuck’s younger brother , had a new bike and he always showed it off to the school bound children on that bus.  Chuck had “school clothes” too and they sure didn’t look like what we were wearing.  Chuck wore sweaters that matched his pants.  His hair was combed and he carried a book sack.  I have never forgotten the day, that Chuck did not get off the school bus.  This was way before cell phones and security cameras.  Chuck was lost!  There was panic on that farm, when the bus rolled by and he didn’t get off of it .  The adults were scared and started rushing in all directions.  The kids were told to sit quietly-and we did in great fear that Chuck and all his accessories were gone forever.  I don’t remember any details about who found Chuck.  All I know is he had started walking home and showed up at suppertime.  Chris and I decided we were never going to school!  It seemed very unreliable.

Last night, when I went out, a fingernail moon was shining a faint light on the rabbit patch.  The air was hazy and thick.  I saw Venus shining all alone and  doing what it could to help the moon out.  Just that bit of light made a difference to me.  I thought about that again this morning when the blanket of fog was covering up the sun.  I saw that the morning glory vine had flowers, when I went to the car.  Morning glory has been a long time favorite of mine since I was young.  Farmers do not like them, as they get all tangled up on the tractors.  I have some that grow as they please on the rabbit patch and they show up cheerfully in the morning clouds of August.

Sometime, I may need to remember that just a little bit of moonlight, a single star shining and morning glory blooming are all it takes to light a path.  A little light makes a big difference and I will carry it with me -when I leave the rabbit patch and the world  is mysterious and unfamiliar – and is covered with morning clouds.

Saturday was a pleasant time, all day long. A lot of things happened and they were all good.  I spent the day with some of my dearest friends-and our mouths were filled with laughter, for the better part of the day.

Jo Dee and I rode to the village of Bath.  Bath is the oldest town in North Carolina.  It is on the Pamlico river and it looks like a  vintage postcard.  It is quaint and charming-and full of lovely people-one of them is Janet.

Janet is loved by everybody-especially Jo Dee and I.  Janet has a new house on a little creek in Bath.   She and her husband designed it-and I think the creek is glad about it. The house makes you think that it has been there all along.  I have known Janet a very long time.  Whatever house she has lived in seems to fall under her spell.  I named this newest one , the “enchanted cottage” while her husband was building it-and after seeing it, I wasn’t far off.  Jo Dee and I stopped by that Saturday morning to see Janet’s house.  We were just getting started on our tour when another friend, Rae called to say she was on the way.  Rae was there, by the time the coffee was ready.  Jo Dee, Rae and I agreed that Janet’s house belonged in a magazine over breakfast.  We went out back to enjoy the morning.  There were three boys in a small boat pulling crab pots up in the creek.  They looked to be around twelve .  I felt like I was looking at a painting.

Another lovely person in Bath, is Jo Dee’s mom, our “Miss Alethia”.  She too is well known in Bath.  She has a “Christmas Shop” called the  “Pirate’s Chest”.  I think having a Christmas Shop, must be one of the best jobs in the world.  She makes a lot of the ornaments herself.  There are Christmas books, old fashioned toys and wreaths.  She has wind chimes, soaps and jewelry-she has a lot of beautiful things.  Everyone is happy in a Christmas Shop. I bought Lyla a book.  I saw some crocheted items and was rummaging through them. I found a potholder that would be perfect for Janet’s kitchen and showed it to Rae.  Rae said “What is that?”  I looked at her in disbelief and started laughing  til I had tears!  Rae is highly intelligent, creative and one of the most loving people I have ever known.  Rae eats ice cream for meals.  She does not cook-and not knowing what a potholder was is proof of that.  I may have laughed too long because then Rae said “I KNOW what it is! You wash dishes with it!”  This tickled me to no end and almost caused a commotion in that dear shop.  When we were leaving , Rae said she was going to start a blog and write a story about me, and say I was mean. If she does, I will learn how to “link” at last.  

We got to meet Jo Dee’s sister, Tina and her son Jacob. They were visiting Miss Alethia.  We have heard about them for so long, we felt like we knew them.  They are every bit as delightful as Jo Dee had said.

On the way back, we stopped to get ice cream.   We stopped at a little store  Janet knew about.  The lady that worked there was grumpy-Rae asked for a flavor that wasn’t available and that seemed to start things out wrong.   The lady asked “Do you see that?  You get what you see!”  Rae was so gracious and ordered peach instead, so did Jo Dee and Janet.  I took a big chance and ordered chocolate.   I have never met a grumpy ice cream lady.  We got our ice cream and thanked the lady and wished her well-then broke out of there.  We made a pact not to hold it against her and vowed to come back with our best manners, as we ate the high quality ice cream.

I got back to the rabbit patch as night was falling.  The mower was still in the fish pond-and the farm house seemed older than ever after Janet’s beautiful home on the creek.  I sat for a while and planned “Sunday Dinner”.  I went out later to say good night.  The absence of the moon made the rabbit patch seem like a mystery all over again.  There wasn’t even a star to wish on. The night choir was singing and I could smell the yellow rose bush.  I had thoughts of gratitude for Miss Alethia and her Christmas Shop and  even the grumpy lady that sold ice cream.  I thought of my friends.  I did not realise many years ago when I met them that I was gathering pearls.   They are as tender as kittens or  as mighty  as warriors depending on my needs.  They are constant. They are wise and silly. They read my rabbit patch diary and clap their hands .  They are my “steel magnolias”.   On this day, as many others, our mouths were filled with laughter, as the Psalmist wrote.  I thought of this as  I made my way through the “pitch dark night” back to the farmhouse, no longer caring, that there wasn’t a star to wish on.

 

It is almost time to set the clocks at the rabbit patch.  The last week of the summer holiday starts tomorrow.  I have been attending to the last minute details of the rabbit patch with great fervor.  The sycamores have started dropping the first of their massive leaves-and a garden spider is spinning a web beneath the eaves of the farmhouse.

There isn’t time to plan a trip to Wilmington but I do hope to go to Elizabeth City for at least a day.  I must make peace with clocks this week. . .and buy batteries.

I like for the entire rabbit patch to be in good order before I go back to work.  It is a ritual I have observed for the decade that I have lived here.  The lawn mower has worked on and off the whole summer-I have kept my dad busy.  I also broke a rule and borrowed my neighbors’ while mine was being repaired.  I tore his up too that very day.  When you have a four acre yard, a lawn mower is a little tractor and it is a terrible event to get behind on mowing.  The grass shows no mercy for your predicament and grows tall and thick quickly.  Then you must mow slowly- and for most of the day.  It is likely when you do mow that something will be in the grass, that ought not to.  That is another problem.  

Last week, the mower ran out of gas about midway through the effort.  I decided to take a ten minute break.  The mower never runs out of gas near the house, so I lugged the gas can to the edge of the woods to fill it up.  It wouldn’t start.  Mechanics make no sense to me.  The mower was dead and only clicked when I turned the key.  I had been careful not to leave anything on so it was quite a mystery. I would have given it a jump with the car, but the car was being repaired for the second time of the summer, as well.  Christian pushed the mower up to the house and under an old tree.  The grass kept growing.

Christian can hear a song one time-and then play it , on several instruments-He does not do lawn mower repairs, excepting the most simple ones.  He vows to learn more every time we are in that state of affairs-I vow to downsize.

Kyle came home and I told him, “we are selling this house!”  He asked what was wrong with the lawn mower.  He got it running yesterday so I mowed slowly and carefully, looking for whatever mischief the fairies had decided on this time.  Mowing is a good time to think.  The motor drowns out any chance of interruption.  Sometimes I “write” while I mow.  On this day,  I remembered the summer.

I felt “homesick” for my oldest boys-and even the splashing fountain I had sat beside and watched the wild geese swim.  The ancient oak that grows not far from Brant’s front door will have dropped its’ summer leaves by the time I see it again.  I remembered the “Sunday Dinners” that had happened on any given day for a while-and I thought of strolling with Lyla by the laughing river on Tuesday mornings as long as we pleased.  Well, I had worked myself into a sad condition.  Cash bore witness to this, as he follows me all over the rabbit patch while I mow-from a safe distance.

I mowed thoroughly with great care, knowing in the weeks to come, I would mow with great haste.  I mowed the little pasture and loved the old familiar smells the of the dog fennel and the “rabbit tobacco”.  Finally,  I got to the Quiet Garden.  The coolness that August had brought, had done the roses some good. I noticed that and then in the back corner,  I saw the black-eyed susans.  They were blooming like their life depended on it, and there were so many of them-it looked like a sunrise .  Some cone flowers joined them.  It was a cheerful scene and I felt better at the sight of it.  I did not plant either of them.  I did not think they belonged in the roses-only Quiet Garden, but I was glad to find them.  I admired them and felt grateful. . . and ran the mower right in the little fish pond while doing so.  The front wheel dropped with a jar and broke the spell I was in.  I have never done this before.  The boys weren’t home.  I cut the engine and tried my best to unlodge that wheel.  It did not work.  It is still sitting there this morning and I dread when the boys see it.  They will wonder how this could have happened and asked what I was thinking.  They will strain and grumble and tell me I need to be more careful etc.  I will say we need to sell the house! They will repeat”what were you thinking?” several times.

I will not run on about me remembering the summer and all the things I will miss.  I won’t say how much I dread relying on clocks in the too near future and was considering that.  I will just say, that I had a “golden moment” when I saw the bright yellow flowers. . . and that as it turns out, it was just what I needed. 

Once again, I spent some time away from the rabbit patch.  I came back and the time we call August was here.  In some ways things are as they were when I left.  The grass needs mowing again and the geraniums still brighten the front porch-but it is now that the bright yellow “swamp flowers” bloom without shame  in spite of their lowly name.  The loosestrife is full of buds awaiting its’ turn, because the purple loosestrife blooms in August as well .

My time away from the rabbit patch was work related and I only stayed away from home because my car needs a repair.  I stayed with my friend Jo Dee as we work together at the same school.  Jo Dee is the kind of friend you need when you are in a bind- and when you aren’t.  

The first day of August brought some relief from July’s stifling heat.  Jo Dee and I  took full advantage and sat on her porch a good while after work.   Her home is a lovely place and corn grows all around it.  There is a field of it across the road from her, and a field behind her.  A field of corn  is a quiet neighbor, so we could have told secrets, if we would have  had any.  When a rain shower fell, a little wind came with it and blew the rain on the porch, but we stayed anyway.  We decided to take a ride to “Eddie’s”-a little country store a few miles away.  They sell old fashioned candy-some that I had forgotten about. We ended up with a small bag and vowed to come back in the near future.

The rain and its’ beautiful song ended- but the sun set gave us quite an encore .  At first, the sky was shades of orange, deep and bright.  Moments later the light changed and  it reminded me of “fools’ gold”, which I have always loved.  Few value “fool’s gold” on earth, but  in the sky,  it will make you cry.

After supper, all was quiet.  We talked a short while  in the way good friends do-without pretenses or airs .  

The morning dawned early and clear.  We drove to work down winding country roads with corn growing on either side.  We came to  a  pasture. A small herd of cows grazed peacefully.  In the corner, next to the road, we saw a cow cleaning off her newly born calf. The little calf was getting his first bath. By all appearances, he was but moments old.  It was a sweet surprise and I was moved at the sight of it.  It has been a long time since I have seen such an occasion.  It felt like there was a beautiful secret on this morning and we were the first to know about it.  For me, this would have been a good reason to be late for work, but on account of a clock-we did not linger.

The institute  ended in the afternoon and my son, Kyle picked me up afterwards.  I have two weeks left of summer.  Jenny and Lyla are coming today and we plan to visit with my parents.  I am cooking a big supper to celebrate.  

Last night at the rabbit patch, I was thinking of the many things I have to be glad about.  It seemed an odd collection of things.  The fool’s gold” sunset, a bag of candy, the birth of a calf, in a strangers’ pasture and a dear friend, who opened her home to me, when I needed it.  An authentic friendship is worth its’ weight in authentic gold and I was especially glad to have that.  The last few days have held an abundance of beauty . It has seemed that good things were coming in from every direction.   The time we call August is here  . . .  and  it has come bearing gifts.

Saturday was a quiet day at the rabbit patch.  Kyle and Christian had plans and I did not.  I kept myself busy-a little.  I did chores leisurely and without a bit of hurry.  Time passed slowly and sweetly.  Cash and Christopher Robin were on their best behavior and were content in front of the window fan. I cleaned out my closet without mercy.

 I spent most of the day thinking it was Friday,  That started on Wednesday, which I thought was Tuesday. The sanitation crew did not pick up the trash and I wondered aloud to my daughter, on the phone.  That’s when I found out that it had been Saturday all day long.

Tres called just after dark.  He was thirty minutes away from the rabbit patch.  What a sweet surprise!   I hung up happy and then thought of the huge mess I had made cleaning out that closet.  I dashed about like the devil was after me cleaning that up.  Cash and Christopher Robin took cover as they have seen this before.  I threw some sheets in the washing machine with some lavender soap.  I remembered that I had  made some small paint splatters on the floor from earlier in the day so  I tackled that and did a good job-but it made the rest of the floor need scrubbing too-so I got a bigger bucket.  I was hot and tired by this time.  Cash was on high alert.  Christopher Robin seemed nervous.  I had knocked the window fan over taking out the trash.  I don’t think either of them had fully recovered from that.   Having  had short notice, I threw the sheets in the dryer regretting  that they wouldn’t have  the smell of the lined dried ones-and then I lit a candle in the lantern at the back door.

I showered and was drinking coffee when Tres and Kelsey came in.  I wished I had made a cake.  We had a long sweet conversation  and I was as happy as a lark .  Peace was restored at the rabbit patch, though Cash and Christopher kept a safe distance from the window fan for the rest of the night.

Sunday dawned with a gentle light.  I made a pot of my best coffee, reserved for such occasions and sang while I did it. When my kids come to the rabbit patch and we sleep under the same roof, it is nothing short of beautiful for me- so this last day of July felt like a holiday.  

The morning was a bit too short to suit me.  I blamed it on clocks, in general.  Tres and Kelsey left before noon and the day became ordinary.  A few hours later, the sky darkened.  I hoped it would rain-softly.  A short while later it did.  It had not done so since late spring.  Kyle came home and I convinced him to take a walk  with me.  It did not make good sense to him to walk in the rain-it made all the sense in the world to me. He gave in and we walked to the field and back.  It was short and sweet, much like the morning had been, I thought.

When I went out to say good night, there wasn’t a star in sight.  Instead the rabbit patch was hazy.  The night song of the night choir was hushed like a lullaby.  I thought about the day aloud-how good it  was to see Tres and Kelsey.  I was glad for the walk with Kyle with a soft rain falling.  It had seemed like a holiday, after all.  It was a generous day and I had been given just what I wanted.  Big raindrops started falling.  It sounded like an applause when they fell on the leaves of the sycamore.  It seemed even my good night was to be short and sweet, so I shouted out “thank you!  How good!  I got just what I wanted!” as I ran by the sycamores and into the house.

It is now late summer at the rabbit patch.  I haven’t seen fireflies for several nights.  The sun sets a bit earlier day by day and the apples are starting to fall.  Soon, I will not be able to tell the time in this fashion and will resort to clocks that count every minute and urge me to hurry with alarms and flashing lights but until then,  I will gather apples.

Apple trees have marked the last days of summer for as long as I can remember. My grandparents had several that grew along the pasture and next to the garden. Mama and grandmama spent many summer mornings in that garden.  My little sister and I would work with them for a short while, before being banished to the shade of the apple trees. Sometimes, they said it was too hot for us but I suspect now, that they were telling secrets to one another. 

Delores and I did not mind as we had friends in that pasture.  There was a small herd of ponies and a small herd of goats.  There was always a mean cow and in my earliest memories a huge, but kind mule.  Delores and I would throw apples to them for a while. We were only allowed to throw the apples that were going bad.  A “bad apple” was soft and mushy and usually had yellow jackets buzzing around it-so the process was a tricky one.  We made sure that everybody got something in that pasture-and  even if it meant throwing one that should have gone in a pie.  We threw them at each other too on occasion which would break up the soft conversation in the garden.  I still remember the spicy amber smell of the fallen apples, with great fondness.

There was one summer, that the apple trees bore enough fruit to feed three counties. It was good fun at first.  We had apple pie twice a day-and fresh applesauce too.  If we needed a snack, we were handed an apple.  My grandmother used to sometimes say “you get tired of potatoes if you eat them three times a day.”  That phrase came up at the oddest times, I thought, as a child. People would laugh but it made no sense to me.  I started understanding some of what she meant, that summer.  I figured the same could be said of apples.  

One year, a while back the apple trees at the rabbit patch pulled the same stunt.  My other grandmother was living here at that time-and Tres too.  Grandmama had taken a bad fall and was in the bed because of it.  Uncles, aunts and cousins visited the rabbit patch all summer on account of that.  It was wonderful, but busy.  Cooking and laundry had tripled.  My aunt Carolyn who was prone to ramble around the yard and start small fires, noticed the apple trees in all their glory .  She rushed in the kitchen and wanted to know what I was going to do about it.  We neither one believed in wasting anything-but that year, I was willing to do so.  She was horror struck and took to delivering buckets of apples to the kitchen door.  I came in from the clothesline to find my mom and every other woman in the house, peeling apples.  I am quite sure that some of them had not done so for years, but no one wanted to be sinful-so I ended up with enough apples for the winter because of that.

There aren’t too many apples this year at the rabbit patch, but I can not complain.  The apple tree is the only fruit tree that did anything this year.  The peach, fig and pear trees did not participate in summer this year because of  late spring ice.  I will not have apples to put up for winter, but I will have enough for a cobbler and a few pies.

The soft pink apple blossoms of an apple tree herald the spring and the apples themselves declare the late summer.  In the winter, the apple tree bears its’ soul, gracefully,  providing a lovely place for the moon to shine through.  An apple tree is not a “fair weather friend”  but gives year round in one way or another.

 Last night I went out, as always to say good night.  The night air had a slight touch of coolness.  In the sky, I saw the milky way.  This is rarely visible,  so of course  I went out to the field to get the best view.  There were more than a million stars  out and I made a lot of wishes.  The familiar scent of apples in various stages filled the air.   I stood amongst the fallen apples and under a  trail of stars for a good while. . . . and when I was able – I said good night with a grateful heart.

I will not soon forget the summer.  I have  been on the rabbit patch a bit more than a decade now and have never seen a summer the likes of this one.  Yesterday, the weatherman claimed that this location was the hottest in the state-and I believe it with all my heart. It was reported that it had been 116 degrees with the heat index .  I hope the burrows in the rabbit patch are deep where the earth is cool.

I have spent the best part of the last few days inside.  This is not my habit by nature, but it is as of lately.  I have worked in heat all of my life, but this summer is “a horse of a different color” .  It is quite helpful that my interests are many and vary greatly.  The confinement of the last few days has led me to do the things I usually do in January.  I have been reading and painting old furniture.  An old table and a dresser are now “sitting pretty” with a fresh coat of white paint. I am also working on a wooden tray.  It is white too, but I intend to paint flowers and a rabbit on it-if the heat doesn’t let up, tomorrow.  

I also decided to wash a small collection of glass  that I have.  I find washing pretty pieces of glass quite therapeutic.   Only the summer allows me to spend a Tuesday morning doing such things.   There are only a few pieces and they are in shades  of turquoise, blue, periwinkle and aqua.  There is an old bottle, a bird and even a small antique oil lamp in the collection.  One piece came from Egypt and the piece beside it, from an old barn.  I washed them all and took great satisfaction in the way they sparkled in the sun that spilt  in the window.  The sunshine through the glass made a watery rainbow of blues and greens-this I thought is the color of summer.

The latter days of summer are a good time to wash the heavy linens used in winter.  A clothes line is quite handy for this.  I have a line full of soft blankets now, that were hung in the early morning , when the day was new and the scent of the mimosa filled the air up.  The practice of using a clothes line is fading fast-and with it will go the pleasure of sleeping on line dried sheets.  Hanging clothes out is a peaceful task-and you are liable to solve a problem or say a prayer while doing so.  I have done both.

I will make pimento cheese today .  Summer is an especially good time for that.  It is a simple process and I may think about Christmas while making it.  Cash and Christopher Robin will lay in front of the window fan hoping  that I will cook chicken in some form next-and if I do it will be in the morning, only requiring warming up later. The only exception is if it is fried.  When I was a child, my grandmother and every other woman in the county cooked on summer mornings.  We had a big dinner and a good rest in the middle of the day.  When dinner was over, a table cloth was spread over the entire table til supper when a fresh pan of biscuits and dessert was added to the meal.  We did not have an air conditioner in those days-of course it wasn’t as hot then.  Food was mainly fresh without preservatives also, but we stayed alive anyway.

 I find that sometimes processes  themselves can be of great value.  I have never said a prayer when putting clothes in a dryer.  Soon enough, summer will end and the details of life will increase at the rabbit patch .  Then and always,   I will be glad for the memory of  a Tuesday  morning spent washing little glass objects in shades of blue and seeing the color of summer because of it.

 

Yesterday was  not the day to pick roses or the lovely black-eyed susans that were blooming.  I did not feel the least bit inclined to sit in the shade either.  I found out in the first part of the day when I was hanging sheets on the line,  that the heat was already hateful.  I glanced at the garden and hurried back to the house .  Today was the day for housekeeping, I thought.

 Somehow, I got on a mission to declutter-again.  The older I get, the more I realize the folly of using the home as a closet.  I think back to possessions I have had over the years.  I think of the many things that I paid good money for and I don’t even know where they are now, and don’t even care!    I have never been a trendy person. I am not enticed by “popular at the moment” things.  Still, I have ended up having more than I needed at times.

I collected a box of things to give to a local church for their annual yard sale.  I read some poetry by Keats and then I decided to paint.  I have not done so all summer, so my roses ended up looking like peonies. Painting is like writing.  The picture, like a story unfolds like it has a life all its’ own.  I often feel like I had very little to do with  either effort at the conclusion .. . but I really did want to paint roses this day.  

The thought of cooking supper did not cheer me as it usually does-but I did any way with more of the “food bought by the road” from my trip home with Jo Dee and Joehn.  I went out after supper and stayed a very few minutes as the air was hot and heavy as sin.  I sat down to write and realised the battery needed charging on the computer. I plugged it in-and the whole world went dark and silent.  I looked out and could not see “Miss Susie’s light either so I knew the power was out all around me.  All of my tidying up came in handy as I  remembered that I had put a candle on the “morning table”.  I sat , hopefully thinking it would come back on in moments.  The house got hot quickly, so feeling like Florence Nightingale, I walked to the back door  with the candle, looking for fresh air.  There were plenty of stars but little light.  I regretted not picking sticks up earlier.  I stood there admiring  the stars and a breeze stirred up!  It was actually cool and very constant.  I heard Christian playing his guitar and found him on the front porch.  I sat with him and listened to his magic.  The next thing I knew, I was stumbling through the house to get my violin.  We played for a long while on the porch with the cool wind blowing.  It was pitch dark and I had to “get my bearings” straight on the violin. It was quite a good practice for me, I thought, and found myself enjoying it.  Ever so often we would stop and talk.  Christian is my youngest son.  He is a young man now, and I knew to tuck this memory in my heart, for safe keeping.  I was just as disappointed when the lights came back on, as I was when they went out.  We played a while longer.  It was midnight when we finally came in. 

Sometimes, the best part of the day takes its’ own sweet time showing up.  Keats wrote “A thing of beauty is a joy forever”.  I read that today and at midnight,  I found it to be every bit as true  as it sounds-right there on the front porch of the rabbit patch , singing a song at midnight while a cool breeze was blowing.

I came home on Friday evening just in time to see the sun set on the rabbit patch.  The sun was in its’ glory .  It lit the field up for a while before it  slipped behind the pines, and took the day with it.

 “Over the rivers and through the woods ” is a fairly accurate account of the way home, from Elizabeth City.  My car was being repaired so my dear friend Jo Dee and her son, Joehn picked me up.  I was in good company and it made leaving more bearable-still I knew I would need to  go to the quiet garden when I got home, to sort things out.  

I wanted to show Jo Dee all of the charm of Elizabeth City and the beautiful river that runs through it, so we took a drive.  As it turns out, Joehn has an uncanny sense of direction and we never got lost because of it.  He took us places that I didn’t know about!  Joehn is a well mannered young man with a beautiful heart and apparently brilliant too.  When he was a toddler, I remember he knew the names of all the tractors-and the names are complicated and numerous.  We made jokes that he may have to drive us “Miss Daisys” around in the future.  

Jo Dee had seen a roadside stand selling vegetables on the way and wanted to stop.  Joehn, did not.  He did not think it wise to buy food sold by the roadside, by total strangers!  No amount of explaining the process convinced him that it was normal and we laughed about it a lot.  We did stop but Joehn  still thought it was peculiar altogether and I wondered if he would eat the sweet corn she bought.

Cash came out to greet me when we pulled in the drive at the rabbit patch.  He is a happy and forgiving boxer, and I expected that.  Christopher Robin , in the last of his “kitten” days , is a different story.  The last time I had left, he put on airs for days !  We had just got back on good terms, when I left this time.  He came out and watched from a distance as Joehn and Christian unloaded my things.

I found the rabbit patch in good order and praised Kyle and Christian for it.  Christopher Robin had not broken anything.  The grass needed mowing and so I knew what to do on Saturday after my time at the “morning table”.

Saturday dawned and with little coolness.  When the dew dried, I got started mowing.  It takes a good part of the day to mow the rabbit patch.  I do a lot of thinking while I mow.  The rose of sharon bushes are blooming and I noticed that. My aunt Carolyn had given me those seeds when I moved in and had more work to do than imaginable.  I had hastily tossed them in a pot and hoped for the best.  Months later they were transplanted just as carelessly.  I had the house to paint and the barns too.  They grew anyway.  Aunt Carolyn passed a few years back . Her rose of sharons are doing great justice to her memory.  I am ashamed now that I planted them without ceremony, for their value is noteworthy now.

Saturdays are the eve of Sunday dinners, so I planned a good dinner  while I mowed.  I am going to cook food sold by the road.  Mama and daddy are coming and I am glad of that.  

It is getting to be “late summer” and just weeks before I go back to work.  I thought about that too.  I still have cousins to see and Rae’s little grandson-and Janet’s new house!  There are roses to be painted on a barn door!  It seems a calendar can act like a clock at times, making you feel the need to rush. Not one clock works in my house now, so I am never late for anything-but a calendar does not require batteries and keeps a record of time  whether I like it or not.  Sometimes, you  “can’t win for losing”.

I have great plans of making the last part of summer count.  There are important things I need to do, so I can be comforted  when the nights of winter fall early. Things like sitting under the mimosa tree and smelling its’ pink, feathery blossoms -and listening to  the sound of the world singing on a summer night. I will watch the rabbits stealing the fallen apples when the first star comes out and I will sit in the shade of an old tree for a good long while and write about how wonderful it is to live life on a rabbit patch.

 

There is something about moonshine-something magical, something enchanting-something beautiful that nothing else can claim.  When the moonshine falls on roses, it will make you glad to see it and if there is a rabbit under the rosebush-well,  you are in “high cotton”.

Yesterday , even the morning was a miserable affair.  I found out early, while hanging diapers on a line, that I would not be strolling by the river for a good while.  It was a disappointment, as I would be leaving the next day, so I decided, I will walk in moonlight and that consoled me.

Jenny, wanted to fix supper for a friend , a few doors down.  We started rambling through the kitchen to come up with a menu.  We found just enough of everything we needed-down to the last bit of sugar-3/4 of a cup to make ice-cream, for dessert.  Every time, we thought something couldn’t be done, we would find the missing ingredient.  It was almost peculiar . Jenny  brought up all of the nice things her friend had done for her, while we cooked.  She took great pains to make every dish just right.  We packed the food in a basket, making sure the fresh bread was at the top. She carried the ice cream and took off at a quick pace, so it would’t melt.  I watched her and realised how glad I was at that moment.  Children give us many reasons to feel “proud” of them.  They excel in some fashion and Jenny has done her fair share of that.  I will not list her virtues, but they are many.  She is devoted to her husband Will and their Lyla -that alone is so touching and does wonders for my spirit, but as I saw her carrying that basket to her friend, a peace came over me.  I felt as proud as a mom has a right to-and if Lyla hadn’t been crying for her mommy, the entire time-I would have cried too at the beauty of that moment.

Lyla and I took out the trimmings from some vegetables for the rabbits.  We watched them come out to eat.  The rabbits in Elizabeth City are social for wild rabbits.  Some one had just told us that he had seen a mother rabbit nursing her bunnies in his yard!  Lyla could get pretty close to the ones we were feeding. When  the sun was making slanted shadows,  we  set out in search of the moon.  

We walked down to the river and counted rabbits the whole way.  A cool breeze was blowing by the time Jenny joined us and so we walked for a long time.  We kept looking for the moon over the river til finally darkness started falling-and Lyla started fussing.  We headed for home.  I was in disbelief that we couldn’t find the moon!  I had heard it was extraordinary the night before-and I set great store by such things.  

 The stars were appearing right before my eyes and I was taking notice of that when Jenny’s house came into view.  Jenny took Lyla in and I went out in the backyard.  Over the top of an old oak, I saw the moon rising.  Soon  there was moonshine falling on the roses and some young rabbits playing beneath them.   The house that sheltered my daughter and her family, was quiet and the moonshine fell over it, too.

   I stood in the night and considered the day .  It was good, I remembered  and my heart was grateful – most especially for the Hand that casts the moonshine on roses, rabbits and the people I love.

July was a bit kinder yesterday morning.  Lyla and I got an early start and set out on our familiar route by the river. We walked under old trees that shade the yards of old houses.  The houses boast of the charm that belongs to yesterday. They are numerous and seem to unite to paint a lovely portrait .

There is a long stretch of the walk that affords a grand view of the Pasquotank River, thanks to the forethought of the residents decades before.  There is a little bridge in a curve and yesterday wild geese were swimming by it.  We stopped to watch them for a good long while.  I was careful not to speak as her gaze was steadfast, and she was content.  The geese seemed in on it, as they glided around without any chatter either.  For a while, the world and its’ chaos  had no bearing on us.  I think such moments could help heal a lot of what ails us.  It is hard to feel harshly, while you are watching wild geese swim by.

On the way back,  I kept smelling something faintly sweet in the slight breeze.  I kept looking around and eventually noticed that every time I took account,  I was in the midst of crepe myrtles.  I have known about these trees all of my life, and never considered them fragrant-I have been wrong.  Of course we took to smelling the flowers on the low branches.  The white variety has the most scent.  It smells like clean cotton with a bit of sweetness.  The lavender is a close second and then the darker pinks are very faint.   It was a good thing to know, I thought-a beautiful thing to learn, really.

The sun grew bolder, so we headed home thinking about things like   wild geese swimming  and the way the crepe myrtles sweeten the breeze.

Today my youngest sister, Connie, has a birthday!  I am eleven years older, so Connie was like a living doll to me when she was born.  She was an especially pretty child, too.  I loved her dearly though she told secrets about boys, I thought were cute and took bubble baths with my expensive shampoos that promised to change my life. I think, that I quit playing  with dolls when Connie was born. Though they behaved in a nicer manner-the dolls could not compare to my little sister, whom I was sure for at least a  short while , was heaven sent. Now, I know for sure she is.

My friend, Rae is a very new grandmother!  As it turns out,  her little grandson will share my sisters’ special day.  It is nice to think that Rae and I may take strolls together in the near future, with our grandchildren.

It is half past the summer anyway you look at it.  The bunnies born in  the spring move swiftly now.  Young squirrels  leap with ease in trees-quite fearlessly and young birds are learning to use their wings.  Tomatoes are turning red and black-eyed susans are blooming.  The summer is at its’ peak so the mockingbirds sing  songs of glory for it.. and a baby was born- while the wild geese were swimming.  The beauty of summer is endless.

A bit over a year ago, I became known as “Honeybee” to a very small, but important segment of the population. Lyla was born in April and is my first grandchild.  This week finds me in Elizabeth City-a very large rabbit patch-and Lyla’s hometown.

Lyla was born on an Easter Sunday morning. While staying with her mom, that April, I noticed that Elizabeth City was a beautiful town, with a tremendous amount of culture-and it is full of rabbits.   I have spent a good deal of time here, since that Easter Sunday and a bit over a year later, I find Elizabeth City as charming as ever- and still full of rabbits.

I became known as “Honeybee” because of a silly rhyme I made up. Lyla laughed some of her first laughs over the nonsense and I became her honeybee because of it.  

The business of being a honeybee is a  lovely one and I take it very seriously.  Thank Goodness I am not in it alone as there are plenty of people to love Lyla and they all come bearing gifts-beautiful gifts, at that.

July is not the best time for strolling.  Today we waited til there was no shine left in the sun and it was cooler-but there were bugs of all sorts that had waited as well.  We didn’t stay out long, but we did hear a mockingbird.  We saw pink clouds and smelled freshly cut grass, too.

My friend Rae, is waiting for her first grandchild-any minute now.  I remembered waiting for Lyla.  The first time I held her, I felt overwhelmed with gratitude.  I hoped I would be a good grandmother, but I was quite unsure of how to proceed.  I never let on, but I was nervous.  It is common for a new parent to be nervous-but it never occurred to me that becoming a grandmother would be.

I wondered what in the world I was supposed to do for her in the big scheme of things.  What would I have to contribute to this precious child?  As it turns out, I decided she deserved the best and set out to consider what that meant.  I thought about it while I was hanging diapers out, so Lyla and her mom could take a nap.  I considered it while a good supper simmered and would be ready when her dad came home from work.  I thought about it when she and I were sitting in the cool shade of a magnolia and again when we strolled by the river and heard it sing a lazy song.

When we see a flower, we stop everytime to smell it. I sing beautiful songs to her and she listens-and I recite rhymes full of nonsense and  she laughs.  As it turns out, I realise that I am telling her about the things that I love and maybe that is what it means to be a “Honeybee”.  In one way or another, we are all telling each other about the things we love.

I finally know that listening to a mockingbird in the twilight of a July evening is a lovely thing and worth sharing. I am glad that becoming a “honeybee” helped me remember. First chance I get, I am telling Rae.