I am still so very glad to be back at the “morning table” writing in the diary . . .but it is long past morning as I write this.  My favorite time to write, is early morning, but on this fair day, I was on the front porch in the early morning, with yet another bucket of paint in my hand.  How I ever expected it to be finished in a day, is beyond me.  That was a “lofty notion”.

Of course, I did not take into account, that the ceiling was so dirty and needed cleaning.  I did not factor in that the front door needed painting, either.  The house itself looked shabby with all of the fresh paint-and so I painted the walls.  I had to move a small stack of wood back to the woodshed, as spring came so early and late October is a good ways off.  The more I painted, the better it looked and that inspired me, in spite of my weariness.  Thankfully, the porch is shaded and today, a cool breeze was blowing.  Cash, my dog, walked twice through an area not yet dry, but I took it in stride . . .because of that breeze, I think.  

I have all of ten days, before an appraiser visits the rabbit patch.  I will be in Elizabeth City for several days, starting tomorrow.  The whole while, I was working, I made a list, mentally, of what else ought to be done.  The more I thought of someone “inspecting”  the house, barns and property, the more anxious, I became.  I  imagined a person with a clipboard, writing every transgression and saying , after great thought -“Run for your life!”    To calm myself, I  repeated. “Look at the birds of the air” and “Consider the lilies”.   I called Jo Dee on a “break” and she cheered me on.  She was certain that “all was well” and  convinced me of that.

 When a shower arrived, I came in to the old house and did housekeeping chores. On the way to the back door, I noticed the yard looked just awful.  With the mower in the shop, I needed to hire someone again.  I tried not to think about how much money, I have spent on paint this month.   There is a lot to do, still.  I couldn’t have had a garden, if I wanted to this year.

 The appraiser was very clear that the house should be as sparse as possible, so  I started packing away some lovely dishes with roses, that I  use in the spring.  They have a special cupboard  for display, so now that “cupboard is bare”.  I  have some beautiful Christmas ornaments stored in pretty boxes on an armoire , that I packed away, too.  I know full well that I may be right here at Christmas- and Easter -and the appraiser is going to have lots to complain about, anyway-but dishes with roses and pretty boxes will not “be on the list”.

As I packed and “considered the lilies”  I heard a mower.  I went out and lo and behold, my neighbor, Susan, was mowing the rabbit patch.  All of my weariness flew right out of me, when I saw her. When she saw me, I was clapping my hands and “happy as a lark”.    I almost cried with relief.  The “lawn” at the rabbit patch  takes hours to mow.  It is no small affair.  When you get behind on the mowing, days make a difference in whether you need a mower  . . .or a tractor.   How lovely the property looked when she was finished.  I thanked her several times.  I suspect, she was unaware of the difference she had made in my heart.  Somehow, that act of kindness renewed my hope.  I did not tarry long, but instead went right out to finish the porch.  Supper was going to be scant . . .and late.

Dear Diary,  I  am glad for things that comfort-words that calm,  a cool breeze, when I am weary and kind neighbors that are gracious enough to help out when needed.  I am glad for dependable friends that convince you “all is well.”  I am also glad for birds . . .and lilies.

At last,   I am back at the “morning table” writing an account of life on the rabbit patch.  I have not written in  the diary for a week-and “something felt missing”  because of it.  It surprised me to find out, that I have become so accustomed to the internet.  While we were waiting for a new line to be installed,  I collected all sorts of questions.  The topics ranged from “african violets”  to “sea glass.”   I also wondered how everyone was faring.  I care for the  people that read the diary and consider them “friends”  though I would not recognize many faces.  I do not know what sort of houses they dwell in, yet I “know them by heart”.  It is a beautiful thing to consider, I think.

My son, Tres got quite a bit accomplished on his weekend visit.  I say again, without shame, that he is wonderful.  I have been painting-again. The awnings are a cheerful sight, with their red and white stripes.  I have only a few minutes of work left. and then it will give me great pleasure to put that ladder back in the barn.  I am halfway through the floor of the porch.  I ran out of paint and so must go get some more, today.  Oh, what a difference paint makes.  A freshly painted porch with geraniums, is a pleasant place to abide.  I painted flower pots for zinnias at the back door.  When the appraiser comes,  I hope they take notice of my efforts.  

Keeping the yard mowed has been difficult this year.  My mower has been “in the shop” quite a bit.  Still, the rose -of -sharon bushes are doing their part-and the mimosa blooms, making the air so sweet.  The roses are reliable and so are the hydrangeas.  If charm makes a difference,  then the rabbit patch,  should have no fear of the formality of an appraisal.  I cling to that-but Tres and Will  are experts at keeping me grounded in such matters.  Geraniums do little to impress them, nor does the peach tree with peaches hanging in abundance,  Will and Tres look at beams and windows.  Still, I hope that things like old trees, do make a difference.

Butterflies are all over the rabbit patch, these days.  It is hard to be grumpy when the air is full of brightly colored wings fluttering about.  Butterflies are friendly and apt to say hello as I toil in the awful heat.  They especially love zinnias and “butterfly bushes “.  I made up my mind yesterday, to plant for the butterflies wherever I dwell, in the future.  I never caught butterflies in my childhood.  I never wanted to, fearing I would cause harm to them.   The world does not need one less butterfly.  When, I go back to Elizabeth City, I plan to find butterflies for Lyla.

In July, the early morning light is soft and the air is damp and cool.   I walked out the other morning and a mist was hanging over the field.  The whole territory was still and silent.  The air bore the scents of blooming things.  I remembered being young on the farm.  Work started early, but no matter how early, you weren’t going to escape the southern heat.  By late morning, it was hot.

 In July you can smell corn growing, when the sun shines on it.  You can smell rain long before  you see it.  You can smell  a patch of watermelons, too.  Old people said they could smell snakes, because  snakes smell like watermelon.   If you smelled watermelon out of season, it was a bad sign.  I do not know if this is so, as the scent of watermelon, caused me to leave from wherever I was, just in case, it proved true.

The other night, I went out to say good night to the world.  I always do so.  I think of what I am grateful for and say a prayer of thanksgiving.  I lift  any sorrows  to somewhere north of the moon -just like Lylas’ bubbles, I imagine them disappearing when they reach the heavens.  In July, there are millions of stars in the night sky.  To stand in “star light”  is like standing by the ocean.  I feel small, but far from insignificant.  I feel humbled, yet, one with the  “Mighty Author” of life.   I think “The Heavens  really do declare His glory”  and I know  . . I must show Lyla the stars, too.

Dear Diary, I am glad for July, when the world is full of butterflies and stars come out in great numbers.  I am glad for the cool shade of old trees and friends that “I know by heart.”

 

  

 

My furlough in Elizabeth City is coming to an end this weekend.  I will travel back to the rabbit patch, where things need fixing and the territory needs mowing.  I will abide in the presence of woodlands and in the absence of sidewalks, once I go home.  I have missed Kyle and Christian-and the animals.  I am sure by now, that my cat, Christopher Robin, is holding a grudge.  He is  inclined to be  judgemental  when I abandon the rabbit patch for more than a few days.

It is always hard to say good bye, after wonderful visits with any of my children-this time was as well.  I had slipped into a routine in the week.  Morning strolls with Lyla and then again in the later afternoon, sometimes-and sharing meals.  Jenny and I had leisure conversations on the front porch.  We talked about flowers and recipes.  We talked about our hopes and made wishes . . we just talked about everything.

I have so many sweet memories of the week.  On our walk, yesterday, a gentlemen asked me “if I knew what time it was?”.   Of course I will not be encumbered with a watch.  I paused and said after great thought, that it was “sometime in June.” I made a note, to verify that, when I got back to Jennys’, as July seemed due to arrive at any minute-and that meant bills would need to be paid . . again.  Lyla and I walked that day til we were hungry, as is our habit.

 One evening Will blew bubbles and Lyla chased them.  What a cute sight that was.  When one would escape over the fence, Lyla would say “it got away!” That same evening, I told Will and Jenny, the story of Lyla saying I love you to a cat.  When Jenny was taking Lyla in for a bath, Lyla stopped at the top step to the porch.  She turned and pointed at me and said “I love you”.  Now that was the “icing on my cake”.  She immediately did the exact same thing to Will, so we could neither complain any  longer  about that-or anything else either.  Speaking of cake. . .Lyla loves it.  Jenny is a sensible mom and does not want Lyla expecting a cake on a regular basis.  I had found a recipe for a cake that used flax meal and fruit.  I asked Jenny about fixing a “C-A-K-E”,  spelling it out.  Lyla chimed in and said “A-B-8-9”. These are some of things I pondered as I was packing my bag.  

Tres called  as I was gathering my belongings and said he was coming home.  Now that made a nice difference.  He wanted to finish the rabbit patch “roof repair”,  which has gone on long enough now to be considered a plague.  I do hope the day comes soon, that when Tres comes home, it is to eat home cooked meals and sit on the porch.  He has been so diligent in concluding the ruckus at the rabbit patch.  He comes in like a hero and restores order . .  and in the process, restores my hope.  I feel that  this is the way Tres points at me and says “I love you”.

Around noon, I headed home.  I cross three rivers and I pass through several small towns. on the way back.  There are some large fields of corn  along the way and I noticed the corn was “tasseling”  So it is July, I thought.  I drove up to the rabbit patch.  The tiger lilies are blooming and the grass needs mowing, I noted.  Kyle and Christian had kept the old farmhouse in good order.  Only, a few dishes needed washing, but the laundry was done.  Most things were in their proper place.  Cash, my boxer was especially glad to see me.  Even Christopher Robin could not “put on airs” but for so long.  Tres drove up within the hour and that made the reunion, all the better.

 Almost immediately, the boys got to work.   My sons cast the shadows of young men, I notice as they cut new wood.  I hear them discussing how to proceed using a language that I can not make heads nor tails of.  They spend their own money on the supplies, though I argue about that-so,  I decide, we are having fried green tomatoes and sweet corn for supper, as I know they love both. 

  As I write this, there is sawdust in the house. . .again- and, I will need to buy more paint.  I want to complain awfully bad- but I can’t. 

Dear Diary,  What beautiful moments made up the week.  I am glad  for the miles , walked by a laughing river, with Lyla.  I am glad for boys who grow into noble young men and little girls, who grow up to be good mothers.  I am glad  for June, when the tiger lilies bloom and time is not  so dull  as to be measured by clocks.

 

Not long, after waking, I go out to say good morning to the world.  Yesterday morning, I had company.  The backdoor, at Will and Jennys’ home has a small porch.  What a pleasant surprise to find the bunny that lives under the garden shed, stretched out, like “he owned the joint”, on the porch!  As soon as he saw me, he sat up like a statue.  I was very quiet and eased back in the door, so as not to frighten him, further.  I smiled at the thought of him, traveling up the seven steps to the door outside of the kitchen.

The morning was “picture perfect”.  The sky was bright, and the grass was greener, on both sides of the fence.  There was a cool breeze, that reminded me of early May. I was anxious for Lyla to wake, so we could be on “our merry way” along the streets of the riverside village.

One of my first missions, was to visit Miss Thelma, with Lyla.  I did not take a basket of strawberries this time.   Instead, I concocted a large pitcher of “orange ade”.  Lyla does not care for orange ade, and so I thought we could make ammends quite easily.  I also, did not allow Lyla, to think for a moment, that the orange ade belonged to her.  Lyla was there to observe the transaction.  I am happy to say, things went along nicely and I left without the need to apologize.

Lyla is saying all sorts of things these days.  She will attempt anything she hears.  A few weeks ago, Lyla said “I love you” to her Papi.  Since then, we have all been hoping we were next.  I have begged and pleaded, several times daily.  I am in the habit anyway of saying “I love you to her” dozens of times a day.  She smiles sweetly and will often wrap her little arms around me, at such times, and I know that means, “I love you, too.”  On our stroll, a cat that looks like my “Moon Shine”  came out as usual, to greet us.  Lyla said “Hi” and waved as she always does.  When we said good bye, Lyla called out, “Bye . . I love you!”  I had to laugh aloud at that.  The cat was not fazed and waltzed back to the shade.

We came back at lunch.  Will comes home most everyday.  He declares this a “perk” of working close to home  . . . and it surely,is.  Will is a good father and a good son.   After lunch, I tried to convince Lyla that pulling the spent canes from the long row of lilies was fun.  She however, decided early on, that exploring the lane, alongside the house was a better use of her time.  Untethered from a stroller, or my hand, she wandered about, making my work slow.  I did not have the heart to stop her, as I wandered lanes half of my life, as a child . . and I have never been sorry for that.

After my task was completed and I had coaxed Lyla back inside the fenced back yard, we set off again-this time to rivers’ edge.  There is a wonderful grassy area where one can sit as long as they please, in the presence of  the  Pasquotank river, that I call the laughing river.  I just could not pass up a cool day in June with a blue cloudless sky, overhead.  It seemed sinful, not to be outside.

It is a short walk to the “meadow ” by the river.  The river was as smooth as glass.  The laughing river only giggled on the occasion of a passing boat.  I, who price things like mustard and buy most clothes second hand, felt like a millionaire, at that moment by the river . . .because, in that moment I was.  I was as content as a person can be.  Lyla and I sat there in silence.  We often do that by the river.  Sometimes, after a while, we will look at one another and smile.  Words just do not seem necessary on the banks of a river.  Lyla got drowsy and so I started for home.  She was asleep when I reached the yard.  Jenny was on the porch and so we opted to let Lyla nap in the cool shade of a a grove of young trees.  A pair of cardinals were quite curious about this and lingered on the lowest branch peering at the sleeping child.  They cocked their heads from one side to the other  a few times-and then flew off without any further ado.

Jenny had put a roast in the slow cooker for supper.  I fixed potato salad, the only way that Will likes it-with bacon , garlic , cheese and sour cream, so it really is a far cry from “potato salad”. We had squash too . It was a nice hearty meal and a a good conclusion to a mostly uneventful day . . unless you remember that, a little wild rabbit slept on the back porch, and a little girl, slept in the shade  , in the company of cardinals.

Dear sweet rabbit patch diary,  I was glad for this day.  I am glad for the blue sky to walk beneath and the cool breeze that blew.  I am glad for little shady lanes and grassy meadows by  rivers.  I am glad Miss Thelma got her orange ade without having to battle . . .  and I am glad for Lyla, who loves cats.

J

Monday

On Monday, the wicked heat lifted.  The sky became a bright blue after dawn.  The morning was bright and cool for June, in the south.  It was the kind of morning that made you want to forget housekeeping, altogether and abide outside instead.

We all rose early enough, to spend a few minutes on the front porch, before Will left for work.  The laughing river was blue as ever and sparkled in the morning light.  The sidewalk was busy with people walking dogs and plenty went by on bikes.  There was an older couple who walked holding hands.  All had a greeting or a kind word to share with us folks on the porch.

Lyla wakes up smiling and hugs us all”good morning”.  After breakfast, Lyla and and I went to the the little playground, just a short walk from Jennys’ house.  The park is set by the rivers’ edge.  Usually, there are geese grazing in the shade.  We were the only ones there yesterday.  Lyla took full advantage of that.  It was not for long, though, as the sun warmed the slide and everything else up quickly.  For a while, we watched the cars on the bridge.  We watched clouds, too.  One looked like an angry troll with horns, lying in wait for the only child on the playground, but right before our eyes, it then became a lamb with a sweet expression.  As I sat there watching clouds and geese, I thought, that life had some grand moments.  Lyla got hungry, otherwise,  we may have stayed all day.

After lunch, Jenny, Lyla and I ran a few errands.  It was Jennys, friend, Michelles’ birthday and so we bought the ingredients for a key lime cheesecake.  We bought strawberries for a neighbor.  When we got home, I washed the berries and Lyla ate quite a few.  I put some in a basket, for Miss Thelma and Jenny dressed Lyla up for the visit.  What a cute picture Lyla made with a basket of strawberries and a pony tail.  Miss Thelma is in her nineties and is ” as sweet as pie”.  Lyla was fine til, I asked her to present her gift to Miss Thelma.  Lyla, had apparently became quite attached to the basket and said “No!”  followed by “Mine!”  Oh goodness, how  I tried to convince her that sharing was good.  I even brought God in to it-however, Lyla was not feeling very Christian, at the moment.  Miss Thelma was gracious and kind.  When I finally pried the basket from Lylas’ hand, Miss Thelma made good time to dump the berries in a bowl in the kitchen.  She returned with a stuffed frog in the basket.  Lyla wailed at the sight of a frog in her basket, instead of the strawberries.  I could not get away fast enough.  To say, it was harrowing, is an understatement.  Lyla walked in the door at Jennys’ with a long unintelligible explanation, that I think may have been “Honeybee is hateful.”

Lyla soon recovered-and so did I.  Later we had a light supper.  Michelle and her family came over for dessert.  Michelle and Danny have two boys.  I watched them oh, so carefully catch lightening bugs and then quickly release them.

The night before, we had all taken a walk at dusk.  We saw a small colony of bats come out of a chimney.  Lyla and the boys were quite impressed at the sight-so was I.  It had been a long time since I had seen such an event.  The adults talked about all of the horrible and unjust myths about bats.  I agreed with every word. . .until one flew right at me.  Just before contact, he darted off, as if nothing had happened.  I was shattered and decided maybe bats will “make a nest in your hair”  after all.

The boys splashed in every puddle and walked along the shore of the river.  Lyla was content to watch-and so was I.  I picked her a mimosa blossom and we smelled the white crepe myrtles.  The blossoms of the white variety, smell like clean cotton.

Jenny said Lyla fell asleep, while she was putting her pajamas on her. Jenny and I stayed up and actually watched a movie.  We chose “Lion” , which is based on a true story.  

Dear Diary, Especially in summer, I am determined not to be rushed.  I do not want to miss clouds that turn into lambs.  Summer is a time to imagine what seems impossible-and I am glad for that.  Every firefly matters to me and so do the diamonds on the river.  I am glad for hours that meander without haste . . .and strawberries.

 

Friday

I arrived in Elizabeth City, yesterday morning.  Elizabeth City is another rabbit patch and it is where my only grand child, Lyla, lives.  When Lyla was born, just over two years ago,  I quickly became familiar with the village by the laughing river.  I  have strolled it countless times-past rows of cottages, that seem planted, like cheerful  rows of tulips.  There are historical homes with old trees where moss hangs and sways in the breeze.  There are also rabbits everywhere and they are less skittish than the country rabbits, where I live.  Jenny feeds a young rabbit, now, that lives under her garden shed.

Not long, after my arrival, Lyla and I started on one of our familiar treks, the one by the laughing river.  It was hot, though there was a breeze blowing.  We met people along the way, and everyone had a greeting followed with a complaint about the heat.  We  saw several cats sleeping in the shade and they did not even rouse when we passed.  Lyla said “shhh”,  when she saw them.  A lot of doves were flying about and we watched one bathe in a birdbath, surrounded by lilies, in dappled shade.  Lyla was quite amused . . and so was I. 

We finished our morning walk by noon.  Lyla had lunch and then Jenny put her down for a nap.  I went to the grocery, just minutes from Jennys’ house.   I was so thankful that there wasn’t an old barn on Jennys’ property-or anything that needed painting.  It was very liberating, and so I decided we ought to have a special meal. We ended up having fried chicken, creamed turnips and potatoes, green beans and cucumber salad.  I added bacon to the salad so Will would try it . .and it worked. The little rabbit under the garden shed ate good that night too.

After Supper, I visited with Wills’ mom.  She is fun to cook  for as she praises my efforts , dependably.  She is always grateful, too.  I didn’t leave, til it was nearly dark. Lyla had been bathed and was in her night clothes, when I got back.

Saturday

I did not rouse til eight o’clock on Saturday.  It seemed like all the work had caught up with me, and rendered me lazy.  Within an hour, we had breakfast.  Will, Lyla and I headed for the garden center, soon after, while Jenny completed an assignment.

Most of the day, was uneventful. There was no rush or hurry on this day in June.  In the evening, Will and Jenny went out to eat.  Lyla and I strolled and it started sprinkling.  We walked in the light rain and neither of us minded.  When we walk a long while, I will stop and ask her “are you having a good time?”  or sometimes, I just say “Isn’t this nice?”  Yesterday,  Lyla said “honey” clear as a bell, when I stopped.  She has been saying “Bee” a while.  Of course, I almost danced in the street, when I heard her (loosely) say “Honeybee”.  My dancing and clapping only encouraged her to say it over and over.  She laughed-and I laughed.  It was a bright and shining moment, I won’t soon forget.

Will and Jenny brought a slice of chocolate cheesecake home, for me.  It seemed reasonable to eat it, right then.  Lyla ran to find a spoon and so she and I shared it.  How fitting and proper it seemed to celebrate  the day-with cake.  

Dearest Rabbitpatch Diary,  I am glad to have walked in a June shower.  I am glad for  the shade of old trees . . .and I am glad for hours sweetly passed, with bright and shining moments .  

 

 

 Sunday Morning

Dawn broke with a muted light. The kind of light that does not rouse the world with any sense of urgency.  These kind of mornings, come “softly and  tenderly” like the old hymn says Jesus calls.  Even the birds sing more gently on such mornings.  They do not chatter this  Fathers’ Day  morning,   but instead sing in hushed verses-all except the purple martins.  The martins sing in cheerful trills, as only they can.

It gives me great joy to write, that there is finally and at long last, no wet paint in the old farmhouse. Of course this is a short lived affair, but the most of the painting is behind me.  I have been painting for weeks-at night before school was out, and since then, every day.  The farmhouse, is as old as it has ever been, but painting has not hurt it.  I have also painted an old wardrobe and the china cabinet, a stark white.  I do have a table left, if the spirit moves me, as well.

The yard has been neglected  because of all the ruckus in the house -and all of Farm Life can attest to that.  I plan to work outside, this week.  There is still the barn, too.  There is a bit more, for Kyle to do.  I will clean up behind him and then paint roses on the stair case.  Hopefully by then, I will spend some time with Lyla, by the laughing river.

I have a huge pot of chicken simmering now and another pot of butter beans.  I still have a cake to cook, and cornbread to fry, at the last possible moment.  It is Sunday- not just any Sunday-but Fathers’ Day, after all . . .and Daddy loves chicken and pastry. 

After Sunday Dinner

Mama and Daddy came in the back door, just as the last piece of cornbread  had been taken up.  The simple meal  was relaxed and easy, much like the morning light had been. I had fixed a cake, that I know Daddy especially likes- a cinnamon raisin cake.  I added diced apples today as I had two that needed to be used.  It was good enough that I talked him into taking some home.

Daddy, does not like a lot of fanfare.  He has never craved attention and has always shunned “big productions” made about him.  He is the  reigning patriarch  of four generations now and none of us want to disappoint him-not because he “rules the roost”  with fear, but because, he has made himself worthy of our respect.  He has never had to convince  us of that.  Daddy “wears his sermon, in his shoes.”

 Daddy carried a lunchbox to work for over thirty years.  I simply can not fathom that.  His days were long as  he often worked “overtime” and it was an hour to get there, and an hour to get back home.  I remember that when Daddy left to work night shift, we would wave good-by from the front door.  Mama would blink the porch light and daddy would honk the horn, as he drove off.  It meant ” I love you.”  We would all blow kisses -and we did so every time.  We never needed to call a repairman for anything , from bicycles to the stove, when I was growing up-  Daddy could fix everything and all of that meant “I love you” as well.   We could always depend on Daddy  and I think that may have been the loveliest thing of all.  I think it is safe to say, that I did “grow up privileged”.  I would just as soon sit in the shade of the sycamores, with daddy,  today, as anybody, I know of.

I have always lived a simple life-but I came from extraordinary people-and my own father, is one of them.

Dear Diary,  I am glad for mornings with soft light and  I am glad for the humble kitchen table, in the old farmhouse . . .especially on Sundays, when Mama and Daddy are there. . .because it means “I love you”, too.

Today is far from ordinary, at the rabbit patch.  On this day, three decades ago, I became a mother.  My oldest son, Brant was born on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, while the mimosa trees were blooming.

 I have never forgotten the details of that day.  When I held him, a deep sense of love came over me- a kind of love that I had never known.  For the first time in my life, I truly understood how my parents loved me.  It was  a bigger  and more beautiful concept, than I could have imagined.  I was very over-whelmed with gratitude and wondered how could such an enormous kind of love existed without my knowledge of it.  That day changed me, and I am better because of it.

I remember the day, I brought Brant home.  I don’t think any mother forgets that.  I took him to the mimosa, that I had sat beneath, waiting for him.  I wanted him to know right off, that he had come to a world, with such lovely things, as mimosas.

Of course, as he grew, I continued this process.  I made sure, he didn’t grow up too civilized-and he didn’t.  He spent a good part of childhood in the woods.  Brant had a great respect for nature, and he still does.  He knew a male pine from a female at five years old.  One year it snowed, and Brant came in with a little sparrow in his hand!  I still don’t know how that happened.  Brant held him a while, by the woodstove, and then took him out and the little bird flew off.  Nothing has changed since then. Animals take to Brant, as if he is a charmer of sorts- so do children.  

Today, is also the first day of the summer break for me.  Kyle and Christian are at work, and the oldest children are all in Wilmington. -so I am having a quiet celebration at the rabbit patch.  There is plenty to do.  I hope to finish cleaning the barn, but it  is awfully hot, out.  Clothes are hanging on the line, and I always like that affair.   I listened to a purple martin”s  “trills” as I hung out the laundry.

  I plan to wash some antique glass dishes today.  I love to wash glass.  It is calming for me.  I love the way they sparkle in the sunlight, while drying.  It is not a job to hurry through, either, but instead demands slow , careful movement.  I have found that I think slow and careful thoughts as I wash-well, you can’t hurry your thoughts, when washing glass, either.  I remember who they belonged to,  and all the fuss that went on, when an occasion called for glass dishes, long ago when I was just a child.  I never helped in the clean-up after such events.  I was nervous and was sure I would be the one that cracked the bowl, that belonged to my great-great aunt, or some other saint before her or God forbid, I break the last platter of its’ sort, left in the world.

 I have painted a flower pot this morning.  I plan to paint pots and buckets this summer.  Of course, I must wait for rain, to spend a day painting.  The rabbit patch territory can be selfish, like that.  Weeds, grass and thorned vines are a relentless lot altogether,  and have no mercy on the ones that tend the land. Of course, under such conditions,  something happens between myself and the land.  We become entwined and speak our  own language.  I know where and when,  shade falls.  I know how the soil varies from the edge of the woods to the far side of the “Quiet Garden”.   I know where the morning star shines . . and I know where the wild violets bloom.  

In the Evening of the First Day

 It took longer than I expected to wash the glass and so I had ample time to entertain lofty notions.  Cash and the cats napped in front of a window fan.  The breeze coming through the windows stirred up the kitchen herbs and I breathed in the smell of basil and thyme, as I washed the pretty relics from the women before me.  I decided then and there, that it was a good thing to grow herbs on a sunny windowsill, and wherever I live, I will do so.

I did work in the old barn, after all, in spite of the heat.  I started a small fire in the garden where beans usually grow.   I watched the fire til it was reduced to embers, so did Cash . .so did Christopher Robin.  I thought of the simple moments that had made up my day.  The complexities of the world seemed far away from the clothes line-and the old barn.  A country woman keeps a diary of simple content, I thought, 

I thought of Brant, as I walked in the old house with the clean dishes.  His birth changed my life-His life changed the world.  He is one of the most kind hearted people I know.  He is known to give things to strangers, he buys shoes for children that need them and feeds any hungry animal that he comes across.  He knows every older neighbor around him and helps them bring groceries in.  I started writing, when Brant was born . 

Dear sweet Rabbit Patch Diary,  I became a mother on this day, long ago . . . and that has made all the difference.  Happy birthday Brant.