The sound of a “strawberry moon”  sounded like a beautiful event-but it did not start out in that manner at the rabbit patch.  It was the kind of morning that seemed determined to make you think the whole day might be full of  aggravating moments-and it was for a good while. One thing went wrong and then another, but around two o’clock, things took a turn.

I finally made it to my parent’s, having fixed most of what had gone wrong.  My sister and niece from Raleigh were there. Jenny and Lyla were too.  I had already seen my sister and niece, from the Lake in the morning, so things were looking up.

Mama had done her best to have a good meal on the table-and she did.  It was eaten in shifts though, as things had been a bit “off” for everybody in general. Some of them were eating at two, when I got there.  Lyla was sitting in the same high chair that I used to sit in!  Jenny said she had been a rascal all morning, but she was pleasant and cheerful at her great grandparents home.  

We ended up in the yard just after the last of us had eaten.  The shade was so cool and Lyla sat in a swing taking it all in making Jenny look like “a storyteller”.  Daddy was doing maintenance on my car for a while -he was  “born a mechanic”, and remains convinced that I am as irresponsible as ever when it comes to any sort of task involving tools.  He is right. He joined us afterwards, and we sat there a long time.  Jenny had school assignments to do, but she put it off, which is not her nature-but I am glad she did.   It has been a long time that we have all sat in the shade together-four generations, and none of us had another thing pressing.  There were other things that needed doing, but for a while , none of us cared.  Once upon  time,  the act of sitting in the shade with the family was a common occurrence -it was about a daily ritual, unless it rained.  

The adults would sit talking while the children ran around.  We were not allowed in the circle when we were playing games that involved dashing and hollering-and mostly that is what was happening.  Even if you went in to retrieve a ball, we were accused of “disturbing the peace” and those were the exact words.   If you stayed with the adults more than five minutes, you ended up shelling beans  and I  avoided that.  If you ran in the shade to tattle or whine, you had to take a bath and get ready for bed.  We kids learned to solve our own problems.  I remembered that time yesterday and wondered how it had ceased.  I felt very sorry it had.  Sometimes, it seems to me, that modern living , with all of the advantages it offers, is just a” wolf in sheeps’ clothing.”

I don’t know how long we stayed under the shade tree yesterday.  I do know we moved the chairs and the swing twice to avoid the bright sunshine.  I know that daddy’s dog, Casper chased a ball til he was tired, much to Lyla’s delight.  I saw my mama so happy to enjoy this time.  She was completely content and I understood.  Lyla “took a shine ” to my fourteen year old niece, Dana and Dana was happy about that.  My Jenny got to sit and rest.  She never had to chase Lyla, the rest of us did and took great satisfaction in keeping leaves, bark and flowers out of her mouth.

Last night, I went out to see the “strawberry moon”.  I really like that name, though the strawberry season is over, here.  It seems like a named moon is a special one.  It was lovely, and the Cherokee did great justice in bestowing such a sweet name .  I stood in the moonshine and declared I did not understand why the morning time was so hateful.  I also declared that the first afternoon  of the summer was too beautiful for words and that I was grateful for it.  I love the moon light.  It has such a way about it that it can make an old pile of wood  look like a  magical place where fairies surely dwell.  I thought to walk back to the field of clary sage behind the big barn.  I wasn’t sorry.  The long and mostly white spikes of blossoms shone fairly in the soft light.  It was like witnessing a secret wonder and as far I know, only me and the whippoorwill were in on it.

So I spent a fair amount of time yesterday,  sitting in the shade with people I love.  I watched a dog chase a ball and heard Lyla laugh about it. I saw mama “sitting pretty” and daddy feeling satisfied.  My sister and niece, loved my grand daughter and claimed their place in her life.  It turns out that the time of the “strawberry moon” was just as beautiful as it sounded. It was a lovely time  and a nice way to spend some of my life.

The last Friday of spring dawned gray over the rabbit patch.  I dismissed my plans to mow as it was damp and grass will clump and look untidy under such conditions.  It was a good time to pull grass from around the flowers and I did so for a while.  I watched the clouds passing over the rabbit patch. There was no hurry in them-and I knew it meant rain.  At that moment I had a notion to make a cake.

I called a few friends .  They agreed that it was a good day to eat cake.  We decided on a time-which was “afternoon”,so no one would have to worry about being late-(there is no “late” at the rabbit patch.)  I gathered what I needed to make a chocolate raspberry cake, and then I took to the woods for elderberry.  I was determined to fill a vase with those fragrant, graceful blossoms that the Irish hold so dear.  The woods were “lovely, dark and deep” but that did little to comfort me.  I kept a watchful eye out for snakes and regretted not inviting Cash on the venture, quickly.  I found wild strawberries and blackberries. They have a sinful amount of thorns but I cut some anyway.  They scratched me without mercy and I disturbed a family of rabbits in the process.  They made such a ruckus in the bramble, I was convinced it was a snake and it took me a minute to recover.  I cut some honeysuckle and thought how pretty that would be with the elderberry.  I was halfway down the path and hadn’t seen elderberry, but I smelled it.  It was getting hot and mosquitoes were buzzing about.  I knew my friends did not expect me to take such measures, but elderberry has a short season of blooms, and there is nothing else like them.  I hoped I didn’t get ticks-or redbugs.  Thank goodness I am not allergic to poison vines.  I finally found the elderberry.  It was growing in a thicket  so overgrown that I don’t even think the rabbits could get through it-let alone me.  I resorted to  roses and gardenias, which were growing in more civilized places.  I had  gathered quite a bouquet and  knew it would require a large vase.  I arranged them while the cake was cooking.

The kitchen floor was littered with small leaves and twigs, and I was a mess- and needed to check for ticks.  Somehow I got the floor scrubbed and myself presentable by afternoon.  Things took a turn, and Rae was the only one that made it.  We ate a lot of cake on little china plates- being I had gone to so much trouble and we talked a good long while.  I have been knowing Rae almost thirty years.  Our children were young then, and so were we.  There is an “understanding” between us and mere words won’t do it justice,  but it is beautiful and solid-it is genuine and precious and my heart is grateful for it.

We strolled leisurely around the rabbit patch afterwards. I showed her the acres of clary sage in the fields behind the barn.  I also showed her the sad state of the garden.  I learned that she calls running vinca “snow on the mountain” and I like that name better.  I showed her the “see through” flowers.  As we strolled from flower to flower, we wondered aloud about some things.  There is no risk when we speak our truth. A friendship, that has spanned decades, is of great comfort.  Life changes are unsettling no matter your age.  I often say, that now  that the kids are grown up, I feel as if I am fourteen again, unsure of how to proceed and needing to find my identity all over again. 

The sky was silver over the rabbit patch when Rae left.  Light had changed very little over the course of the day and it truly seemed timeless without shadows and sunlight.  I went back in the kitchen.  It was a pretty table after all, even without the elderberry.  I washed the china plates and felt happy as I did it.  Only, the cake tattled that a wonderful occasion had taken place earlier, right here in the kitchen, while the clouds passed over the rabbit patch.

Today is the first day of summer vacation at the rabbit patch.  This is my eleventh summer here ,on whats’ left of a once prosperous farm. There is a 4 acre yard, a patch of young woods and an old farmhouse, right at one hundred years old. There are seven barns, old trees and a garden. We have peach, fig, apple, pear and pecan trees as well as grape vines that have massive, old  trunks.  This is where my heart calls home.

I have worked day in and day out every summer that I have been here.  I have cleaned barns, cut vines and planted roses all over the place.  I have a nice herb garden that is naturalized well, now.  Perennial flower beds are tucked in mostly everywhere and there’s a white picket fence all around it. The rabbit patch is not short on charm. 

I know every inch of the place personally because I  have been there.  I know the birds that live here and what the sky looks like at all hours.  I know where the wild violets like to grow .  I am rarely surprised here these days with few exceptions.  A few years ago, some tanagers showed up that I hadn’t met-but mostly, days pass in old familiar ways.

It sounds lovely-and it is, but it is a far cry from easy street, to live on the rabbit patch.  By August, I usually have scratches from briers , bites of every sort all over and paint in my hair.  Still, I love being at home painting flowers on my barn and canning tomatoes.

The summer holiday has started off in a beautiful fashion.  Jenny and Lyla came for breakfast.  While Jenny worked on her college school work-I took Lyla to see Miss Sylvia, my neighbor and the first friend I made when I moved here.  Miss Sylvia is well known for her helpfulness to any and everybody-and for cooking “peach jacks”.  Up until recently, she fed all of the widows  in the community every month.  There is no telling what else she has done that I don’t know about.  She is eighty years old and was going to can string beans when I left.

On the walk back, I introduced Lyla to “Ace” -probably the first real horse she has ever seen.  Ace put on quite a show for us. I pulled grass for him, and Lyla laughed about that.  I never did convince her, that Ace wasn’t a dog.  When we were going down the drive at the rabbit patch, I stopped to pull grass from around a rose bush and Lyla laughed again.  I picked some gardenias and white roses.  Lyla smelled them for a while.  It was a perfect way to end a morning-the first morning of my summer.

I have big plans to plant basil this afternoon.  Later I will cook supper and take as long as I please to do so.  Christopher Robin, my kitten needs a bath and as always there’s grass in the garden.  I have to come up with a plan for some home repairs that needed to be done yesterday and I will vow again to downsize after that.

This life is not for everybody-but it is mine and I am quite satisfied.  I would rather be looking for the red tanagers, than taking pictures in Africa. I would rather hear Lyla laughing than hearing the mighty Niagara waterfalls- and Miss Sylvia is as good company as I  know of-Ace too.

This is the way  the summer passes, here on the rabbit patch. If you ask me what time it is, I will tell you it’s “June” and that it is a lovely time- a beautiful, ordinary time at a rabbit patch, with an old house on it that needs fixing. It is the place  where I live. . .  and  my heart  calls it home.

A day at the rabbit patch is a lot longer than it was, just a few short weeks ago.  The night does not come swiftly.  It falls without hurry. The elderberry is blooming in the young woods  Well hidden nests have hungry chicks instead of tiny eggs. . . and white moths are on the wing, for I have seen them in the twilight. 

Springtime is all but passed and summer all but here.  Screen doors and window fans have lost their charm these last few days.  In two days, the alarm clock-and most any clock in the house will count the hours in vain.  School will be over, even for music teachers- and summer is about timeless at the rabbit patch.  It is quite liberating to have a season without clocks and schedules.  I have plenty of obligations, living on the rabbit patch, but somehow, when you measure time by grass growing and tomatoes ripening it seems natural and quite acceptable.

Summer at the rabbit patch does not allow for rushing, unless a storm is coming across the fields.  Then there is a mad dash to the clothesline -and then to the front porch to batten down the chairs and any thing else that is liable to go flying in a summer storm.  

Otherwise, the summer is reserved for a season free of chaos and clutter of any sort at the rabbit patch.  In early summer, I will have a morning garden party or several.  I plan to spend a good part of my summer drinking tea in the shade of the sycamores with loved ones .  I will have long conversations with cousins not seen in a while and I have several neighbors that I want to visit with.  In the country, neighbors can be separated by farms and live a few miles away-still they are the closest ones to you.

In the summer, I have time to think great thoughts-and silly ones too, if I am so inclined.  I may be cleaning a barn out while I am doing so, or shucking sweet corn but I am not hindered in the least by such tasks.  The yard and garden alone require regular attention.  There is always something to be mended from the white picket fence to the barn doors-so summer lends me many options on how to spend my time. Therefore, I have no qualms with spending hours in the shade of trees on a regular basis-and I wish everybody could do the same.

The biggest advantage of the season will be spending time with my children, my first grandchild and my parents.  Everything else, takes a back seat in comparison to that. Age has an uncanny way of defining what really matters in life-it has done this for me anyway.

As spring retreats and summer arrives, my thoughts turn to such things with great expectations -and a determination to work, play and rest with a sense of balance.  The time to pick vegetables in the morning and eat them a few hours later is upon us-The time to gather with loved ones for an outside supper is here.  I know for sure, because the gardenias say so , the hydrangeas agree -and* when white moths are on the wing, summer is just a short while away.

*W.B.Yeats

There is no sign that a river ran through the rabbit patch garden just a few short days ago. These last few days have been bright and beautiful, and have erased any evidence of such an occurrence.  The only  proof of the crime that remains  is no one has been in that garden in a good while. Grass and weeds are claiming territory and they seem to mean business.  Supper has been late  this week on account of that,  and laundry has been done at odd hours.

I was ready to give up on the garden, but a small pepper changed my mind.  There it was right at the end of the row in plain sight, hanging from a small plant-so I went in and started pulling grass.  It came up easy and the next thing you know, I had finished that whole row.  I am now about half way done. I have done a bit every day after work and I am down to the “short rows” as my Pop used to say, meaning  I am about to be finished.  There is no rest for the wicked nor a gardener-but a gardener does eat better.

The world in a garden is quiet. Cash  and Christopher Robin fell asleep while I worked in the dirt. I smelled the gardenia bushes mixed up with scent of the earth and felt happy.  I thought how good the  vegetables were going to be and started thinking about feeding the people I loved.  I thought that soon the kitchen would smell like a garden and how I love that.  I caught the fragrance of elderberry blooming in the rabbit patch as there was a spring breeze blowing my way and it bore such tender gifts, just liked it meant them for me.

I kept pulling grass and thinking about things I love in my life.  The more I thought, the more things came to mind-especially the people I love.  There’s a lot of reasons to love people.  Sometimes we love a person because they have helped you or they have been generous in some way. We love people that we admire .  In a broad sense, I love everybody as I ought to-some people just make it easier than others to do such a thing.  I realised how blessed I was to have so many people all around me, everywhere I go that I love, easily and with all my heart. I think what makes a person so dear to me, above all, is the way they treat others .  When I witness acts of kindness to strangers or the ability to have compassion for others it touches me deeply. I admire people that treat others with respect and value.  It says more than enough to me about the condition of their heart. They “wear their sermons in their shoes” .  I think how easy it is to love those that are like yourself.  We call them “friends”-and they are.  We like the same things and enjoy one anothers’ company.  It is lovely, but it doesn’t require any great effort. We get something back, after all. Well, this has been written about before, but it came up when I was in that garden .

When I finally looked up, it was almost dark.  The night air was cool and the breeze was just a sweet memory.  Killdeer were flying about as is their habit.  Lights were on in the kitchen window and I couldn’t see the difference in weeds and vegetables anymore.  

Cash led the way to the backdoor of the farmhouse.  On the short walk back, I knew two things-there would be a garden at the rabbit patch this summer, after all and that of all the things that truly matter in life- “The greatest of these, is love.”

I woke up this morning to the sound of rain falling .  It was coming down in a gentle way and the world was gray.  I was thinking how lovely it would be to linger in that state. Cash and Christopher Robin were in no hurry to find their day.  What a pity, I thought, to be a human-and then I thought about the garden. Surely it was drowning.

I declare that this spring has been as rainy as any I remember. I love rain, more than most people do, but it sure can dash a gardeners’ dreams of marinara sauce for the winter!  Such is the life of the one who tends the earth. I have learned a lot of life lessons in that little patch of earth .  The garden at the rabbit patch is like an old friend and I have no secrets from it.  I have prayed, cried and laughed in that garden. I have seen the sun rise on it-and the stars appear above it. There may be a “river running thru it” now,  but the heart of a gardener is patient and hopeful.  We learn to “wait and see” and we can accept the mystery-much like the way life works.

I had gardens in my youth, when the children were young.  They were mostly disasters as I couldn’t invest the proper time in them.  There was a lot of laundry back then-and supper is no small affair when you have five children.  We managed to eat out of the garden, but not much got “put up” for winter-and the well-stocked pantry is one of the greatest benefits of a summer garden.

There is a rumor, that gardens are for “old people”.  There may be some truth in that as now there are farmer markets everywhere.  There was no such thing when I was growing up.  If you had land, and didn’t grow a garden-well, folks might think you were lazy.  Of course, I grew up in a farming community where everybody had a big yard and a tractor.

I went out last night as always -and I looked at the garden. Light rain was falling.  Two bunnies were making their way through that swamp.  They were sandy colored and I knew my former pet, “Cookie” was alive and well and I felt glad.  She escaped a long while back and naps under shade trees , boasting about her liberty on summer days. I have taken a lot of bunnies that grew up and weren’t appreciated  for that-Cookie was one of them.  They had a little pen that allowed them to feel the grass under their feet and plenty of space to bask in the sunshine-as rabbits ought to.  I don’t like to see anything caged up.    My grandmother, lived at the rabbit patch in her last years. She would sit by the pen with iced-tea and watch them with amusement.  I miss those days right now.

The sun is shining on the rabbit patch like it’s making up for lost time this afternoon. I have promised the garden that when school is out in a few days, and the river running thru it is dried up-that * “I will stand and see, ask for  the old paths and where is the good way and walk there in.”

*Jeremiah 6:16

June is a grand time for anything fancy.  It is a time to take the china outside and to fill pretty glasses with apricot tea.  It does not matter if it’s a roof top, a back porch or a sprawling rabbit patch-a garden party or a picnic, June is a  time for a special occasion.

I do such things at the rabbit patch and without fail, they become treasured memories. Thank goodness, for clean white sheets-they make any old table look elegant, no matter the condition.  We usually eat in the shade of some old sycamores at an old table with mismatched wooden chairs.  I painted them all white, so they have that in common and it is enough to make a charming picture.  The china does it’s part, as it has always done for generations, to make the meal anything but ordinary. 

 Queen Anne’s lace is blooming all around the rabbit patch, and when paired with the roses from the “Quiet Garden”, it  will make a pretty arrangement and will live up to its’ elegant name.  I have paired them with day lilies and they were  lovely, as well. Whether Sunday dinner is outside under some old trees or in the rabbit patch kitchen, Queen Anne’s Lace will be on the table tomorrow.

 The last days of spring are here. Rain has fallen at the rabbit patch every other day. The yard here is about five acres and it has been difficult to just keep it mowed.  The garden is muddy and if the sun doesn’t shine soon, and for a long while-I may be at the farmer’s market more than usual.   

The school year is almost over and my thoughts turn to such things as picnics and garden parties.  I plan to drink iced tea on the front porch and read books that will take me to far off places.  When I was growing up , mama would take my sister and I to the library when school was out.  There were huge magnolia trees all around it.  We would get our books and sit under the trees and read til mama got back from her errands.  A magnolia is the coolest shade I know of and the flowers have a smell you will not forget. I do not smell a magnolia today, without remembering those mornings.

Thank goodness mama planned picnics too, in the last days of spring. She would pack the basket and we would walk just a short distance to the edge of the woods. It seemed like a holiday every time though to everyone else, it was just a Tuesday.

I look back on the springs of my childhood with a grateful heart.  I think that reading under an old magnolia and having picnics at the edge of the woods are the best kind of occasions a child can have.  It gave me time to notice my world and take in to account things like Queen Anne’s Lace on growing on a ditch bank.

June is the grand finale of spring and nothing less.  All of the birds born in May, will sing in June. May’s young blossoms keep their promises, turning the rabbit patch in to a garden.  The trees that flaunted tender leaf in May, now casts shade in June.

I spent the last few days of May in good company and doing things that I love. I took Lyla on a few strolls to feel the last of May’s gentle breezes.  When a light shower fell on us we neither one minded.  On Sunday, we had the Sunday dinner. Lyla and her grandmother, Claudia were dressed in red, white and blue and we took pictures of them with an arrangement of roses, hydrangeas and white, fragrant blossoms.  Lyla held a small flag.  It was a sweet picture of time well-spent.

On Monday, we went to a neighboring small town for a traditional memorial day meal at the Donahue home.  The Donahues live on  a tree lined street that could be “main street USA”.  The historical homes have well manicured yards and most displayed the flag. A young boy was riding a bike proudly, without training wheels, but he stopped at every flag to salute it.  It touched my heart to see his dedication to this effort.

The good neighbors from across the street came over to join us and I am glad they did. They are good company -and they brought a salad that was just perfect.  We settled in on the porch and I admired their yard full of gardenias.   The kids ended up playing in the rain on some sort of huge and slippery  surface intended for such play.  There must have been a dozen  children of all ages.  When children laugh in the rain, it does sound like June.  It was a wonderful time and I felt grateful to have been their guest. 

June at the rabbit patch, is a lovely time. Honeysuckle vines are hanging full of tiny flowers that sweeten the country air and make me remember my own time as a child.  The birth flower for June is the rose, and mine in the “Quiet Garden” are bragging about it.  Today I saw a mimosa tree full of feathery pink flowers.  Mimosa trees have a bad reputation for a short life-and seedlings come up everywhere you don’t want them to.  If you don’t act quickly to remove them, you are likely to be in a bind as they grow so quickly.  Still, I love them as my grandmother did.  My daughter, Jenny loves them too.  Lyla has napped under a mimosa tree, because Jenny will make sure that Lyla loves the uncommonly graceful tree.  It will be a good place to tell Lyla her great-great grandmother’s story.

It is no wonder, that people get married, often in June. It may be one of the grandest events of the calendar with it’s roses and fireflies .  The pearl itself is the birthstone.  June is full of love-I think it would be especially hard to quarrel  at a time when the earth is in such a state as June. June gives in abundance-things like the song of young birds, children playing in rain and everything blooming at once.  It is May’s encore and the prelude to summer. June is here-and it is a time to love.

                     Live well and happily ever after, love the rabbit patch.

The first part of the day on a Saturday morning is a favorite time of mine.  I “rise and shine” everyday and wait for the morning light.  Every day feels like it’s my birthday, when I get up early.  I love the changing light.  Its’s an old and familiar magic-and nothing less.

The time of very early morning slips away dependably too quick for me.   I love to spend some time hoping for the best- and wondering what that will be.  It is a time to send prayers and best wishes to the world. I remember the reasons I have to be glad about.  This is the shine after the rise.

When I linger too long in sleep,  I feel like I robbed myself of something beautiful-truthfully that is exactly what happens.  Those days start with a hurry, which  I have decided is unhealthy and ought to be avoided .  All day long I miss my lost time at my morning table with its’ books, coffee in a china cup, journals and favorite pens.  That table is neatly piled with things that I love- And on Saturday mornings I spend a good deal of time there.

This morning, I am glad for Magnolia trees.  They are already showing off this year!  I walk by a row of them daily.  They are young trees.  I have been noticing their dear-to-my-heart blossoms in the highest branches.  I have smelled the fragrance that makes me stop in my tracks to breathe it in deeply.  A young friend of mine, Melissa spotted a flower on a lower branch, yesterday and invited me to go with her for a closer look and of course I did.  It was a lovely thing to do and I considered it time well-spent.

Finally, my “Mothers Day  Rose” is blooming.  It is really a pink ladybank rose, but it faithfully has bloomed on Mothers’Day for as long as I remember, until this year.  It is too beautiful for me to complain about that, though.  When the little pink roses hang about a picket fence and spill on to the grass of the “Quiet Garden” I feel like singing an out of season “Joy to the World”!

I plan “Sunday Dinner” on the first part of the day, on Saturdays.  Tomorrow will be an especially nice one  as Mama, daddy, and my  daughter, Jenny is coming with my son-in-heart, Will and our Lyla.  Lyla is just one. Lyla was born on an Easter sunday, which is a big factor in the “rabbitpatch” naming.  She calls me “Honeybee” because of a silly song I made up to make her laugh.  She says “Bee” with a french accent of sorts and it is adorable!  I will show her the Ladybanks  in all its’ glory tomorrow.

I heard a beautiful family story this week.  I wrote about my great-grandmother recently and how her husband died young and suddenly.  She was left with four children and a farm in a time void  of any organized social assistance-but she got some anyway.  As it turns out, the situation was as dire as I had imagined and it came the time that the farm was to be auctioned off.  Mama Hodges had lost her husband, and now she was losing the farm.  When the day of the foreclosure dawned, she and all the farmers in “Old Ford” turned up at the courthouse.  Not one farmer would bid.  They had made a pact that they would stand united on her behalf.  Mama Hodges bought her farm back for $1.00.  The compassion of those farmers did not last just that day.  Their nobility meant something for four generations.  This happened around 1940.  For four generations, that was our Mama Hodges’s house-the house known for its’ daffodils and  where Christmas came every year and called us all home. 

Beauty has many sorts of forms.  In the first part of the day I think about that- and my heart is grateful for  things like ladybanks roses and magnolias, for Sunday dinners with loved ones -and  an old story about a young widow and some noble men who conspired together to become heroes.