Very Early on Sunday Morning

By seven am, I was gathering more branches on the rabbit patch territory.  I have two more piles to gather and burn, and then will be caught up-for at least a week.  There is no rest for the weary on a rabbit patch.  I did see that the cape jasmine is in full bloom, along with the lilies. 

Cash, my very loyal boxer, went with me.  The morning was especially cool.  I surveyed the property and felt grateful for all the work done this week end.  Finally, at long last,  order has been restored on the rabbit patch.  Things are in their proper places and mostly the  territory looks tidy.  This is no small feat.  Old trees are dear to my heart, but they do make a mess.  Still, I will not complain with a tree.  The barns, I will complain with.  

There are five barns in the back yard-several are really big open shelters.  I like them all to be orderly as you can see their content.  The rabbit patch requires a lot of tools, besides wheel barrows and mowers etc. There are also water hoses and cages for tomato plants.  There are buckets and bushel baskets-what a commotion it all causes.  We are all in the habit of working til we are very tired and so a rake is liable to end up where a bucket ought to be.  I have read, and believe, that “love covers a multitude of sins.” . . the same can be said for a barn door.

This morning, somehow , when there is a bit of “rabbit patch glory”,  I am not sorry in the least, for the work.  Christian and I worked together for hours.  In the evening,  we stood basking in our accomplishments.  We were both tired and dirty.  We both agreed that we hoped one day soon, we would find that cottage, with a sidewalk in front of it. We both went to bed early . I couldn’t tell you what I dreamed and I am quite sure I was asleep before everyone got blessed.

I did get a nice surprise, last night.  Jenny called and is bringing Lyla for a visit.  Jenny has a baby shower to attend and so I will tend to Lyla.  We are meeting at my parents’ house, so we will  have a nice visit- and probably for best part of the afternoon.  Baby showers are not what they used to be, after all.

 It used to be that showers were for women and little girls, mostly.  There would be a pretty table with glass dishes, which were collected by older women and lent out to the hostesses.  Of course, I have a collection myself,. (When people started using paper products, the thick cut glass  lost its’ appeal and were “a dime a dozen”. )   The food was always the same.  There were little decorated cake squares, nuts, lady fingers, sandwiches made with cucumber and  others made with pimento cheese.  Chicken salad was served in cute little pastry cups.- and the best  and always home made mints in pastel colors.   There was a corsage for the expecting mother and punch was served.  It was an almost formal affair.  Some one wrote an account of the gifts, because thank you notes were a must!  They were all the same. Gifts were chosen by those attending.  There were no lists of desired items. sent with the invitation, telling you where to buy them.  Most often, we didn’t know the gender, so there were bibs,sleepers  and receiving blankets in mostly green and yellow.  Someone always crocheted an afghan, to give.  Wedding showers were conducted in the same fashion.  What sweet occasions, showers were.   I suppose my memories truly tell my age . . .and I do not consider it a foolish endeavor, to give an account of an old tradition.  One thing remains, as it always was-there is a young mother, full of hopes and dreams, at everyone of them-or a joyful bride, fairly glowing.

Sunday Afternoon

Things did not go as planned in the afternoon.  Lyla was not well and so Jenny did not attend  the shower-  so. I headed for the woods.  I do not like to work in the woods, this time of year.  As a child, the woods were forbidden once it got warm outside.  Threats about  redbugs, poison ivy,  ticks, snakes and ground bees  were cited over and over-and I know now, it was all true.  Forts and secret places were abandoned in the spring and not to be revisited until after a few “hard” frosts-still,  if I didn’t tend to those vines, the battle would very soon be lost -and so I devised a plan. I used the mower to create a ruckus and cut the vines sitting while the motor roared.  Of course, I came out battered and scratched, but the victory was mine, on this day.

I finally declared a truce with the rabbit patch after that ordeal.  Tomorrow, I must enter civilization again, after all.

Dear Diary,  The days have  not been full of fires and thorns only , but lovely things too .  The Cape Jasmine blooms  and so do the lilies.  I remembered something sweet from long ago and felt glad-I made a wish on the star closest to the moon and all things considered, it might just come true.

 

 

 

 

Friday Evening

It is late in the day at the rabbit patch.  One of the first June evenings, this year.  I have been home for a good while.  I have stacked a small pile of wood, picked up branches and small limbs all over the territory and commenced to make a small fire with them.  I gathered a bucket, a rake and a few other items scattered about and restored order, something dear to my heart.  I also washed the ceiling in the laundry room and now I realize,  the little den ceiling needs washing too.

 All of this happened, after work, and the sun is still shining.  At this very moment, the rabbit patch looks gilded in gold and amber.  There isn’t a cloud , nor a star in the sky.  The sun, as it slides behind the woods. makes the trees look black.  It is a lovely and familiar sight- and the repetition of it does not make the sun set one iota less than “holy” to me. . .every day.

Living on a rabbit patch, does have advantages . . like watching the sun set over a peaceful pasture.  I drive in from the small town, where I work, and it feels like the place has been waiting for me , when I get home.  Birds are singing and the air is pure and fragrant, especially now.   Of course, my boxer, Cash and the cats, Christopher Robin and Moon Shine, make a big commotion at my arrival. What a contrast to leave a hot asphalt parking lot and step into cool shade with tender grass beneath you, a few moments later.  There is an immense amount of work, I remind myself, when I get sentimental about selling it.

 I was mowing yesterday- a small pasture that had not been mowed this year.  It was an awful job and it was hot.  I had several limbs to remove and more than a few briers were growing along the fence.  They scratched me hatefully.  When the mosquitoes came out,  I gave up and went in the old house.  Supper would be late this night.  I really can not wait to find my little cottage with a smaller yard,  I thought.

I will not stroll by the laughing river this weekend.  Tomorrow, we work on the oldest barn floor.  I also have to cut some overgrown bushes and more hateful briers down the wooded path.  I will likely disturb the rabbit community, on account of that.  I remember when we blazed the trail in the patch of young woods.  It was slow and tedious work, with primitive tools.  Every foot gained required a lot of hard work.  Each year, I go to great lengths to maintain the path, that meanders by three old barns once used to “cure tobacco”, years ago.  Doves live there now.

Early Saturday Morning

I intended to sleep a bit  later today, but I woke with a start, and couldn’t decide if it were Friday or Saturday.  After a few rounds, I decided it was Saturday-by then I needed coffee.  Cash and I went outside and found the morning shine, especially lovely on the fresh cut lawn.  I looked at the old barn.  It is what is called a “pack house.”  These barns are big and usually two story -and there are less of them than there used to be.   They were used to store dried tobacco, corn, hay  and such.  In the fall, the barns buzzed with crews removing the dried tobacco from sticks, to be graded by “old people” who knew how.  I remember my grandmother -and Ida, so old , no one including her, knew her age, sorting the leaves by hand, for market.  Little children had contraptions that were  really, screened large play pens, to have their snacks in and to nap, so flies wouldn’t bother them.  I have one, that I converted to a place to store food while we picnic.  I learned my nursery rhymes, in an old barn like this one.  My sister and I played in the barns, in the winter, with our dolls.  We set up housekeeping and spent many hours in the coldest months tending to sick dolls and teaching them rhymes and verses.  I guess, I really was “raised in a barn”, after all.

The old packhouse at the rabbit patch is white, with a wreath painted on the door and some of my favorite verses are painted on the sides.  It is dirty and cluttered and then -there is the floor.  I always knock loudly on the door, before entering, just in case there is a varmint inside.  

In recent years, the old barn has been used for family reunions.  Once, neighbors used it, when it rained on the day of their own picnic.  It stores furniture too, and even has little curtains at the windows.  The upstairs has a beautiful view of the fields of sage and the little orchard.  There is three days worth of work, in that barn, at least.  Just considering that makes me want that little cottage with the smaller yard, all the more, -because really a garden shed is all I need now.

Dear Rabbit Patch Diary,   Good Morning!  I am especially busy with an old barn today.  There is a fire to tend-and I fear supper will  be late, again . . and scant.    Today, I must give my all to the rabbit patch . . . so please send my warmest regards to the laughing river 

 

 

 

Today, the children will start arriving at the rabbit patch.  It feels like Christmas Eve, but it looks like May.  The sun is not yet over the barn, but already Christian and I have loaded a pick up truck with things like old lamps and broken chairs.  He is on the way now, to dispose of them at a landfill, twenty minutes from here.  I got at least two acres mowed after work, yesterday-so there is that to finish, and linens to wash.  

The refrigerator is bumping full of things for the picnic on Monday-so is the top of the freezer.  There are many tasks at hand, besides the mowing, but today, I feel propelled to accomplish them . . .because the children will be gathered around the same table, once again.

There are five of them.  I have four sons, one daughter and one grandchild, Lyla.  All of my adult life, I have been raising children.  Brant, my oldest is thirty-five and Christian my youngest, is twenty-four (as of recently).  It has taken me a long time to get used to the fact, that they all “grew and flew”.  I mourned pitifully for a good while.  The farmhouse got bigger, all of a sudden- and the clothes were always folded.  I did not know how to cook or even shop at the grocery store, anymore, as there was less than an army to feed..  Friends said that a grandchild, would make a difference . . .and as it turns out, they were right.  Lyla is just two  . . .and she has made a  wonderful difference.

I find it notable, that all of the work that is necessary, today, does not cause me to grumble.  Instead, I find myself humming as I go about the chores.  I know it is due to the arrival of my family-but I think I ought to adopt this practice under lesser circumstances, as well.  Humming is certainly better for the spirit than grumbling.  This inspires me to remember that I can perform the same chores , on any given day, in the state of mind, that I choose. Today is surely easier than most, to consider that.

 I have always believed that the heart and the mind are so closely entwined- and that is why, we must often search, to distinguish their separate contributions in situations.  “As a man thinks in his heart…”  comes to mind and proves to be true.  It is beneficial to have a happy heart .  I always teach young children this concept.  I say that when you are troubled about something, to try quickly to remember something you are glad about.  A few years back, I had an awful knee injury.  It was painful and took a long while to heal.  As I was walking between buildings at school, the pain became about unbearable. I stopped, wondering how to proceed, when two little children seeing my despair, came running.  I did not want to alarm them.  Children have such compassionate hearts.  I fought tears just to remain standing there.   I just could not take a step.  I explained to them, that I was waiting for the hurt to go away, when one of them piped up and said-“Quick! think of something you are glad about!”  This was no small task at that particular moment.  But, I said- “I am glad it is not raining.”- and I was.

Today does not require such lofty effort.  I will hang the sheets on the line and be glad of sunshine.  I will scrub floors and give the animals a bath.  I will mow where roses abide . . and beside the fields of sage and I will probably sing an out-of -season rendition of “Joy to the World”, as I do so.

Dear Diary,  The children are coming home.!

There has been a lot of “rain and shine” on the rabbit patch  as of lately.   It is not the time to plan a picnic or hang clothes on the line.  

I love rain.  Some folks declare  the event of rain, a gloomy affair causing a sense of melancholy.  I find it calming-of course there is the leaking roof.  The hallway is still a horrid mess.  The leak was an insignificant repair, but the entire ceiling was effected.  The old farmhouse was built almost a century ago with materials that are hard to match and so replacement is never an easy task.  Thank goodness, Kyle has progressed enough, that at least,  it does not “rain in the house.”

There ought to be more than a few four-leaf clovers, on the rabbit patch territory, just now, as the whole land here,  is covered in mounds of the sweet smelling flowers.  The daily showers have put us in quite a predicament.  It is just too wet to mow.  It wouldn’t be of any consequence, except the yard is close to four acres.  Hence, I smell the clover blossoms in the night air and think  I should enjoy the time when the world is full of clover.  Besides, I have seen the first young bunnies.  They are finding the world, beyond their burrows and how nice that they are greeted with every rabbits’ fancy-  endless tufts of clover.

The holiday week end affords me the delightful pleasure of having all of my children home for a visit.  Not since Christmas, has this transpired -and to say I am thrilled,  would be  quite an understatement.  Gathering five grown children is no small task.  We will also celebrate Tres’ birthday, which is actually tomorrow.  I do not know when he grew up-but like the rest of my children, he did.  I think mothers, may be the last to know such things.  

Tres went from one of the fairest children, the world has ever seen, to a very handsome young man, over six foot tall.  I did notice my son was tall.  Not even, when he started shaving, did I have a clue, that Tres had grown up.  When he moved out of the home, in my mind he was “just staying” somewhere else.  Tres grew up right before my eyes, and it seemed when I realised it,  I was shocked.   It seemed like an entire decade had passed swiftly . . . and in a sly manner.  It seemed to me, that he was collecting rocks and plowing fields with little tractors, a short while ago.  It had been just a few years back, that he had seen the only kangaroo in eastern North Carolina, on the way to the mailbox.  

When Tres is home this week end, I will ask his advice about down sizing.  He will survey the old house and make a check list of priorities of repairs, after all, Tres did grow up, even if it was in “a twinkling”.  

Dear Diary,  I am glad for seasons of “rain and shine.”  I am glad when the world is full of clover.  I am so glad for a holiday when the family can gather . . .but most of all, I am glad for  a little boy that grew up and became a noble man  . . . and calls me “Mom”.

 

Saturday

Cousin Dotsie ‘s family reunion took place yesterday at a little house in Windsor,  a small town about twenty minutes north of the rabbit patch.  Reunions seem to be the sole purpose of the old house, as Cousin Dotsie has another residence in Windsor, as well.  All of  her last minute details unfolded as if she had labored over them a fortnight.  It was a lovely occasion, to say the least.

Somehow, there was barbecue, chicken, many sides and a sideboard full of desserts. I arrived a bit after twelve, straight from the woods.  I had been cutting elder flowers, mint and other such  things, to take to Elizabeth City.  I used coolers to transport them and had wanted to wait to the last minute, to cut them.

Cousin Alice was there from New York.  I met her a little over a year ago but,  it was as if we had know each other a very long time.  Her mother, my  great Aunt Astor, died when Alice was just a little girl.  Alice grew up in New York, where her father was from.  I greeted her yesterday, with band aids from battling briers and I suspect leaves in my hair.  It didn’t matter to her or anyone else there,  I have  never known a one of them to ever “put on airs”  in all of my life.  They are a genuine lot, altogether and it makes me glad  that they belong to me.  I often say, that when you are born into a loving family, you are truly “born with a silver spoon in your mouth”.

I arrived in Elizabeth City in mid afternoon.  There was a very cool wind churning up the laughing river.  Thankfully, I had brought a light jacket.  There was a festival in the downtown commons which is just a few blocks from Jenny’s house.  Will and Jenny went to hear a band , so Lyla and I spent the evening  together-Dear Diary,  what a sweet day!

Sunday

I got up early on Sunday, but not earlier than Lyla.  Unlike me, Lyla does not wake up addle. She does not need coffee, to form a thought. Upon waking,  Lyla is ready for her day and she is hungry.  She wakes up happy and hugs everyone as if she is glad to see them again.  

I did not spend a great deal of time in “communion” this Sunday morning.  I noticed the cedar tree was lovely and was wearing  its’ tender spring boughs.  Birds love the cedar .  Cedar branches are dense and can keep secrets-still,  I know where a pair of Robins are building.  I watched a male robin struggle a good while with an object.  He dropped it several times as he attempted to fly.  Whatever it was, it was  bigger than he was.  With valor and persistence, he made it to the nest to present to his companion.  She took it from him, and immediately tossed it away.  She did not do this in a friendly fashion, either.  The male robin flew off unhindered by the whole affair, on a mission to do better.  “There is my sermon”, I thought.  Apparently, robins do not hold grudges.  

Not long after a light breakfast, we all took off for the little fair, downtown.  The day was overcast, so Lyla saw the colorful lights a good ways off.  The streets smelled of cotton candy and funnel cakes.  Lyla rode a little train-and later a pony.  We had ice cream by the river, after that.  We walked around for a while.  Lyla had a blue balloon and a small stuffed toy, Jenny had won, in the first five minutes of our arrival.  Later we saw a man, with a stuffed bear.  It was huge and we wondered what amazing thing he had done, for that!    I did not feel my years  while at the fair-of course I  had worn sensible shoes.  

The little playground  at the end of the street, was completely empty.  We stopped, so Lyla could take full advantage, and she did.  We heard the music and watched the fair go on-and we still smelled the cotton candy, while Lyla practiced climbing and sliding.

Being, it was Sunday, Jenny and I started working on a nice evening dinner, while Will worked in the yard.  Wills’ mom, Miss Claudia came and what a nice visit we had.  When darkness fell, the little fair said its’ farewell to Elizabeth City with a display of fireworks.  We watched from the front porch as the night sky sparkled with all sorts of colors.  In  the little village dogs were barking and children could be heard squealing in delight , while the sky snapped into  colorful ribbons  of light.

Dearest Diary,  I am so glad for the family I came from.  I am glad for robins and small town fairs.  I am thankful for sweet elder flowers and for the Cedar, that keeps secrets.  I will collect such things in my heart, til at last I have a storehouse of what I love . . .and little room for else.

This week at the rabbit patch, passed swiftly and full of details.  Our annual spring dance performance happened last night.  I do not get to say this often, but I have danced every day of the week, lately.  Supper was from a crock pot several days and Kyle brought chicken home one night.  All week, I slept soundly, which gets me to thinking of the many benefits of physical activity.

The event, normally takes place outside.  Most days were beautiful and I was glad to be outside.  The  stately magnolias on campus and the wild honeysuckle, along the edge of the woods, are blooming.  While waiting their turn to dance, little girls made clover chains and I wore a necklace of them, most every day.   Little boys presented “good sticks” they found and a fair share of bugs.  It was a lovely time.  On Thursday night, the rain came.  The chill in the air warranted a jacket on Friday morning.  I surveyed the campus and called our administration to tell them there was a puddle right by the area where the children were dancing.  They asked about the size of it and I told them in the best way I could describe, “that it would hold three large pigs.”  We moved the performance to the gym, on account of that.

Jenny, Lyla and Mama attended.  Jenny was impressed and Mama praised my work.  Lyla was not impressed in the least.  She was not understanding why her very own “Honeybee”  was putting attention elsewhere.  Several times, I announced the next performance with Lyla on my hip.  If I put her down, she ran for the drums .  Several times, I handed her off to whoever was standing next to me. Still the children danced their folk dances and we were all proud of them.  Jenny said Lyla was asleep  before they were out of the parking lot.

Now, Saturday morning has dawned cool and overcast, and the only  current details revolve around Sunday Dinner. I could not commit to any menu, til now.  In between, the dances, words like “potato salad” would pop in my thoughts.  Now, on this cool quiet morning,  I have a plan and will not need to enter a grocery store and shop desperately.  I will make potato salad, as it turns out.  

Now that, I have the menu for the Mothers’ Day dinner,  I can think about this last week at the rabbit patch.  The elderberry has bloomed. I have a great affection for the flowers of the elderberry.  They are flat lacy flowers that make the night air smell heavenly.  There are plenty of them in the young patch of woods on the rabbit patch.  When the elderberry blooms, the whippoorwills  sing.  I have heard them this week.  The whippoorwill sings in the evening.  This habit, seems to make their song a lonesome one.  I love the sound of the whippoorwill , but  I may become overly nostalgic and lonesome for every thing beautiful that has  ever passed from me, if I listen too long.   My friend, Julie says that springs makes all of us nostalgic , and I have found her to be right on most subjects.

Thank Goodness, for the “Bob White”.  He sings when the elderberry blooms, as well.  I remember my daddy teaching me to identify the bird that sings his name.  “Bob Whites”  sing their name out, like they are glad about things in general.  Their song is easy to mimic and they always answer for as long as you call to them.  I have never been able to whistle, but the “Bob Whites” of my childhood did not mind, and answered me anyway.  I am as likely to call out to one now, as I was a long time ago.

Dear Diary,  Every day in May seems to bear witness to lovely things-things like whippoorwills and Bob Whites-children dancing in sunshine and presenting jewelry made with clovers  and the “best sticks”  . . . and it all happens  in May  . . .when  the elderberry booms .