I Remember

May 18, 2016May 18, 2016 ~ rabbitpatchdiary.com ~ 13 Comments

The rabbit patch is wet and full of mud. The air is damp and the garden is not fit for man nor beast-On these kind of days, I like to remember.

I talked to my cousin, Faith, last night. I don’t have much of any memory before Faith. She is just a bit older than me and so has been there all of my life. Faith grew up in a full house-a house full of my cousins. My favorite childhood memories include the big fancy farmhouse with the huge kitchen she grew up in. Her mom, my great Aunt Agnes was always in that kitchen. The kitchen table was huge and the folks around it were loud . Aunt Agnes had made a name for herself as a fine cook. Her recipes are still used today and we declare they are the best every time we have them. She made the pickles in the family each July. Her house would smell like vinegar for days. There would be huge vats sitting around with concoctions known only to her. I was always glad when she was through with that. She wore perfume and played the piano like she was born knowing how-ragtime music and hymns. Faith can too, though she wouldn’t admit it.

Mama Hodges, was Aunt Agnes’s mom, and my mother’s grandmama. Mama Hodges was old when I was born, and lived til i had my first child. She was old a long time. She lost her husband as a young woman and wore black dresses or black and white gingham, every day til she died about forty years later. Her house stayed “hot enough to cure tobacco” year round. She made pound cakes on a regular basis-the kitchen always smelled like one. She raised her four children and a grand daughter too. None of us kids acted up in her sight. We did not “disturb the peace” at her house as we were prone to do when we got home. My sister Delores and I sat in that heat on Tuesday mornings without interrupting the adults nor getting up til we were told we could sit on the porch. Mama had told us that elves lived there and she had seen them, so that helped us out on those long mornings.

There was a brother and sister that lived right by Mama Hodges, John and Dephie. John made homemade wine . He gave me my first violin. Miss Delphie crocheted things for babies and could make flower arrangements from things growing on a ditchbank. Faith talked back to her once and got in big trouble.

Sometimes, Cousin Tillie would send a letter full of details about her travels. She had quite a bit of status because she was seeing the world . It didn’t bother me one bit, that my world was just a few miles wide. There was the Church, the A&P and people like Faith, so I was content.

We had stories too. It turns out my own Grandmama had saved the lives of all her siblings once. They were on their way to school, when the horse pulling the buggy got spooked and ran like the devil was after him past the school and only God knows where else. Grandmama was a little girl-but she climbed on to that horse and changed his mind! That’s a story! It made me fearful of making her mad when I heard it.

My own mama had a story. Once when she was little, she snatched on my grandma’s china cabinet door and ended up pulling the whole thing over! The precious china must have made an awful racket, shattering and breaking up in the little house-and at just that moment, God sent the preacher in the back door. I am sure he saved her life. Thank goodness he had the good sense to stay awhile til things settled down. That must have been mighty hard on Grandmama.

I remember these things now on days like today. This is where I came from. These are people I remember . They had dreams when they were young too. I could not imagine that as a child. Now I wonder how Mama Hodges felt, becoming a young widow -suddenly, and left with four children and a farm. I wonder what Aunt Agnes thought about when she was washing dishes all afternoon. I think about miss Delphie making baby clothes for everybody but herself. When i consider all of it, then I have a sense of pride and courage. I knew these people. They were real and they all had a story-and I vow all over again, that I will remember.

The Church in the Wildwood

May 16, 2016May 16, 2016 ~ rabbitpatchdiary.com ~ 11 Comments

Mostly, days at the rabbit patch pass in an ordinary fashion. I am content with this as I love all things familiar. The world and the habits of humans change by the minute, but the rabbit patch remains constant. The “way” of the rabbit patch is timeless and unhindered by how the world measures progress. There is no status in the rabbit patch either. Wealth, prestige and power are not valued on its’ holy ground. The rabbit patch is my ” church in the wildwood” that I sang about as a child.

A dear friend, Jo Dee, came to Sunday dinner . We drank tea in fancy glasses and talked freely about whatever came up. We have “no fences” between us. Our hearts are “open books”. We ate chicken and rice at a kitchen table yet I do not believe that royalty dines any better than we did this past Sunday-at that time I was every bit as wealthy as anybody.

On Monday, I had car problems. I drive an old car and can not complain. It seems to be minor and I hope the mechanic will agree with me on that. It did change my routine. With my extra time, I went on a walk around the property. I was delighted to see that the fields behind the rabbit patch were a mass of lavender, white and pink blooms of sage. Looking at acres of flowers with that big sky overhead all at once , about brought me to my knees-it was that beautiful. How nice to get a pleasant surprise on a Monday morning. I was suddenly glad that the car had not worked properly today.

A trip to the mailbox yielded something else sweet. A friend had written a letter! I do not know the last time that happened. On the envelope she had written a verse of inspiration. Inside was a cheerful message and a question about goats! This was a far cry from the usual fanfare of the mailbox and I took great delight in it. Long ago, the women before me had a “correspondence table” and I declare that I want to do the same. The art of writing a letter should not be lost because then the happiness of receiving one will be lost as well-and that would be a shame.

Life on the rabbit patch is far from glamorous, but it is not short on beauty nor selfish with its’ treasure. It knows the language of love and speaks it well. It is a place of tender mercy at times and it can be a mighty fortress too. It is my “Church in the Wildwood”, where friends come to eat chicken and rice-and the fields of sage bloom all around it.

While There is Light

May 14, 2016May 17, 2016 ~ rabbitpatchdiary.com ~ 19 Comments

The light on the rabbit patch is as beautiful as it has ever been these days. Fog and light seem on the same mission. They are casting an enchanting spell-and I am taking note of this occasion.

Morning makes its’ presence known without hurry. The nature of fog is slow and it has no shame about that. Fog mutes the color of the days’ first hours or the day altogether, like a silver shadow. Like its’ cousin, rain, fog begs for our attention-and with dependable success, we notice.

Once in my life, I saw fog roll in. It is not the same as when fog seems to fall. It came across the field on the north of the rabbit patch and moved like an ocean wave. It is odd for me to describe fog as having a “force”-but on that day it seemed to, and I have yet to forget it.

When we were young, my cousins and I played hide and seek in the fog. The usual chores on the farm were delayed on the foggiest mornings, so we loved fog. By breakfast, one of us had already gotten hurt or somebody was mad about something. Still, playing hide and seek in the fog remains something I like to remember.

I am in the habit of going out after dark to see what the night looks like. This week, the moon and the stars shone through the fog . The silver of the fog made the stars look like little, scattered pearls . It made me want to gather them, but I was sure it would offend the moon.

Fireflies are back and I have seen them. When I grew up, we called them “lightening bugs”. Either name is a good one for those little bugs with flashing lights. The fireflies love pine trees and when they conjugate in one, then the pine looks like a Christmas tree, even in May.

Children take great pleasure in catching fireflies in mason jars. I gave that habit up early in the game. I caught them as a child, regularly in the spring. I was never able to collect many. I was too careful not to harm one, and it made me slow. We always let them go before we went in-but one time, I decided that a mason jar full of “lightening bugs” would make a great night light. I fell asleep and woke, only to find to every little one of them had perished. I felt just awful. I was ashamed and I felt selfish, all at once. I never caught another one. I have been content for many years since to watch their shine from a distance. The world does not need one less firefly.

Today, the rabbit patch is a bright and shining place. The sun is out with a golden glory. The sun does not whisper, as the fog does, but shouts its’ light. Nature has a lovely sense of balance and the light tells the story to teach us the lesson thoroughly. Light changes as it needs too, and we ought to do the same. To me, light is a natural clock and I hope that one day, I can acknowledge that . I dream in a “far-fetched” fashion and I am well aware of it. . . but while there is light, there is hope. Live happily, ever after.

Things Growing Wild

May 13, 2016May 14, 2016 ~ rabbitpatchdiary.com ~ 15 Comments

There are all kinds of beautiful moments in life. Most every day is full of them. I look for them diligently and am rarely disappointed. It seems that whatever we set out to look for, we usually find and so I think , it may as well be something lovely that I seek. Usually, I just need to get still-and there it is right before me.

This week is an especially busy one for me. I have all sorts of obligations right now and the rabbit patch is a bit more demanding this time of year, too. Grass is growing and so is the garden. The flower beds are waking up and so are the weeds. No matter the “state of the rabbit patch nation” and all of the world around it, I get still and quiet anyway.

When I got still on Monday, I saw children catching tadpoles and it made my heart glad. They were very serious in their work. I watched them peer into their little buckets for a while and then they poured those little tadpoles right back in the same pond they came from. I remembered doing the same thing a long time ago. It was a good thing to be reminded of . I felt like something lost was found- and it was.

Honeysuckle is blooming . Old abandoned barns, half-gone fences and every patch of woods around is decorated with the sweet smelling blossoms. The evening air bears witness to the presence of the beloved wild honeysuckle vines. The vines sold in the civilized nursery must be a very distant cousin to the ones in the woods. The wild variety is far superior in fragrance. They grow as they please, and some people complain about that -even so the one that cuts and tears the vines can not help but smell the sweet blossoms. I have a place where honeysuckle grows wild because I love it like that.

I love clover too . The flowers are good for honey bees and the scent of clover is shamefully under rated. Clover smells like green and sweet all mixed up. Little girls make necklaces and crowns with the lowly flowers and wear them proudly. People complain about clover too, but I let mine grow for a good long while. In evening, the rabbits come out and eat clover in the moonlight. It is a beautiful event to see. If I were a rabbit, I would do the same.

The iris is back. Someone before me planted them and so my heart is grateful for a stranger, that loved flowers too. Mine are shades of blue and lavender. They look like a living watercolor with their soft colors. Some way or another, there are irises in the edge of the young woods of the rabbit patch. It is a charming mystery , and I have spent a fair amount of time wondering about it. If there is such a thing as a wild iris, then I know where some grow. Sometime, in the dead of winter, I will remember the iris.

There is an art to living well and the older I get, the more I reflect on that. It seems we spend a good part of our life collecting. These collections add up, and then we begin the process of discarding what has lost its’ appeal. Finally, we understand that “All that glitters, is not gold.”

Time has a way of defining authentic “shine” for us.

When days are busy and complicated, it is good to get still, even if it is just for a brief moment . It gives you a chance to find your shine – Mine , is when wild things are blooming and rabbits are playing in the moonlight.

Live Happily Ever After

Roses and Strawberries

May 11, 2016 ~ rabbitpatchdiary.com ~ 20 Comments

The “sweetest month” is here. . .and it came bearing gifts. Roses are blooming and strawberries are ripe- and the world is better for it. The beauty of May is showing up everywhere and refuses to be taken for granted.

The strawberry fields are ” alive and well”. They are happy places for all ages. Nobody leaves a strawberry patch empty-hearted or empty-handed. Most people end up picking enough to share. Twice this season, I have been gifted with a basket of the sweet berries-both occasions made a nice difference in my day. Strawberries are pretty to look at and their familiar fragrance is nothing short of delightful. A kitchen full of strawberries is a happy kitchen. A meal that ends with strawberry shortcake, is a good one. There are plenty more options of things to do with strawberries and none are bad. Last night, I made a strawberry bread pudding and it felt like a holiday at the rabbit patch just because of that.

I used to grow my own strawberries, but I couldn’t get enough to make a pie because the rabbit patch community seems to like them as good as we do. I am generous by nature, but to say it was a “fruitless” endeavor is about accurate. I did throw the scraps of the berries out last night and the first-born bunnies of this year found them quickly. I have only just started seeing baby rabbits these last few weeks. Cash, my boxer, and I go out at the twilight time and watch them . Cash has too much pride to be mistaken for a “rabbit dog” and so does not hinder their play.

The smell of roses is heavy in the early night air now. The “Quiet Garden” is bragging like “nobody’s business” and without shame. I best like small flowers, but the rose is one of my favorites. It is hard not to love a rose. I love the fragrant varieties best, but any rose is worthy of adoration. Roses seem to have a language all their own-one that is felt, not spoken and not easily forgotten.

Redbirds are all over the rabbit patch and everywhere else now-a-days. Cardinals are a noble bird. They will perch in flowering trees with “airs” as if they are lending some prestige to the tree-and they do. A male cardinal must be a very brave bird. It matters not if he rests in an old magnolia or on a ditch bank-he is easily spotted with his flashy feathers- which ensures the safety of his wife. Cardinals mate for life.

In a world full of schedules with quick ticking clocks and all sorts of obligations, it is good to remember that the roses, redbirds, young rabbits and strawberries of May, come without demands and price tags. Things in the wild do not honor such systems- and the world is better for it.

The Heart of a Mama

May 8, 2016May 9, 2016 ~ rabbitpatchdiary.com ~ 9 Comments

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There isn’t another place on earth like the heart of a mother. It is a place of immeasurable love and unlimited forgiveness. Her heart is a storehouse of memories . You can safely store your secrets there too ,without the slightest fear of betrayal. The heart of a mother, is the first miracle we encounter in our life on this earth.

I have been blessed all of my life to have a constant dose of women, who were on a mission to make sure that I was loved like the first child ever known. It has made all the difference in my life. Besides having my mother, I had a great-grandmother and great aunts- as well as grandmothers and aunts to help me grow up properly. Mama had learned from them the way of motherhood, and she learned it well. Those women were like a book of life when combined. I am quite sure, that as a unit, they knew mostly everything. They had seen it all and there was “nothing new under the sun” to them-when it came to raising children.

My mother was so young when I was born and I was her first child. People had hardly started writing ” manuals” on raising children at that time. She loved me instinctively because her heart knew how. As much as I love books, some things are not in them and a mother’s heart is one of them.

The women in my family all came bearing gifts, like good fairies-each unique and equally important, when I was a child. They were a generous lot and gave as naturally as they breathed. Character was of utmost importance. A little southern girl had to be well-mannered too. They taught me work ethics, generosity and gratitude. I learned compassion and how to practice it. Wastefulness was to be avoided and cleanliness was to be embraced. It may seem old-fashioned, but they weren’t wrong. Some things do not change, but instead are worthy through out a lifetime. They took their duty seriously-I was that precious to them.

My mother did all of that-and took me on picnics too – and I mean real picnics with a basket full of everything and a pretty cloth to sit on. She talked to me about things as they came up and that wasn’t on anyone else’s agenda. I told her my secrets without fear. I told her “my truth” and she listened. On top of all that, she explained “the world” to me-while we were cutting paper dolls out, picking strawberries or hanging clothes on a line. A mother’s heart is always open for her children, no matter what else is going on in her world.

When I had my first child, it seemed like a light came on. I realized how much I had been loved and it was about overwhelming. Something changed inside of me that I had nothing to do with-and it was beautiful. I loved my own mama even more in just that moment.

Now, my own daughter is a mother. I see her with all of her countless details in a day-her world is in that little daughter. Her mission is to raise her well and she thinks long and hard about how to accomplish that. The conditions sure have changed in the last fifty years, but the mission has not altered a bit. The heart of mothers is a dependable force.

If you had a good mother, you were born with a “silver spoon in your mouth” and nothing less. The wealth of a mama ‘s love is endless. It shows up her entire life and takes different forms, depending on the needs of her children. Children grow up and with them goes a lot of “busy”‘-mamas get still, so everyone else can move. `A mama will not leave you stranded when she “goes home” either . She leaves her story, a tale of love as constant as the North Star and every bit as bright.

I Remember Rain

May 5, 2016May 7, 2016 ~ rabbitpatchdiary.com ~ 8 Comments

Springs are full of rain-this one especially. Rain will stop a picnic and it will ruin a clean floor. Rain makes a clothesline useless and it makes shoes muddy. Treehouses are empty and swings are still when the world is full of rain.

I remember the rain in my childhood. The men worked on tractors under tin roofed shelters when it rained . The shelters were dark and dirty. I couldn’t even tell them dinner was ready without getting some sort of stain on my clothes-or worse, disturbing the sacred order of their tools. A bolt was sure to go missing in the brief moment I entered and they acted like it was the last one in the world. If the dogs followed me in, and they always did, then the men took to hollering about that too. I was always so glad to get back in the house with mama and grandmama, even with the stain on my perfectly good clothes.

The little farmhouse was the place to be when it rained. The women knew what to do with rain and children. There was a wooden chest full of yesterdays’ trends for my sister and I to dress up in. There were pocketbooks with Avon lipstick samples. There were shoes with heels and there were sheer scarves. We played for hours in the “front bedroom”. We had dolls that looked like babies-almost. The dolls got sick and had birthdays too. They got scared and needed their mamas. Sometimes they were naughty, but we loved those dolls and took our mothering seriously.

When the dolls napped, my sister and I went dancing. There was a record player and quite a grand selection of records by Hank Williams ,Patsy Cline and Loretta Lynn. We had to dance carefully or the record would skip.

Grandmama had a “button box” that we could play with, if it rained. There were hundreds of buttons in it. We always sorted them out, which took a good long while. It was quiet work, so the dolls kept napping. They never woke up til we finished. I understand what “cute as a button” means because of that button box and a rainy day. The buttons looked like pearls,roses and crystals. Some had pictures painted on them. Mama still has that box of buttons.

Often, the smell of a cake filled the house up, even if it was the middle of the week. . . if it was raining . This sent my sister and I tossing the neat piles of buttons carelessly back to the box they lived in. We never got a piece of cake before supper, but we still went to the kitchen, just in case.

So the rain did not mean a gloomy day when I was a child and it does not do so now either. I simply can not complain about rain . All is well at the rabbit patch- and a cake is in the oven. I see the lights on early in the homes of my kind neighbors and it cheers me thinking they are all there safe and sound.

Rest assured that I love sunshine and it will be a welcome sight when it falls on the rabbit patch- you can also rest assured that I will wait for it with a grateful heart, for I remember rain and I know what to do with it.

May Song

May 4, 2016May 4, 2016 ~ rabbitpatchdiary.com ~ 8 Comments

May is known as the “sweetest month” and it may very well be so. May days are usually mild and gentle. The birth of spring is an extraordinary event, but can have some reckless occasions. In May, things seem to settle . The days are born mild and peacefully- and the hours pass like a tenderly sung lullaby. It is the only month that begins with a song and dance in honor of its’ arrival.

The garden is planted at the rabbit patch. Every year, I vow to tend a smaller one, yet I never do. A garden is a lot of commitment. Once someone was complaining to me about how dull life could be and about boredom. The condition had caused numerous problems and consequently she had ended up in some unpleasant situations. My advice, was to plant a garden. A garden will present enough tasks to keep you out of all sorts of trouble. It will take a lot of argument out of you too. A row of tomatoes is a good place to solve a problem or devise a new plan. Another thing I know to be true, is that the hands of a gardener are not idle.

May is a good time to use a clothes line -if you’re inclined to do so. The dryer is worth its’ weight in gold in January, but it hasn’t any charm for me once May days are here. My week-end guests are always treated to line dried sheets to sleep on. In the morning, they predictably ask what I use in the laundry. There is no product in the world that can rival the scent of sunshine on linens.

The flower for May is lily-of-the valley. The blooms are not spectacular, but they cast a rich scent. Many women before me wore perfumes concocted of Mays’ birth flower. How fitting that the emerald is the birthstone for this month. By May time, all the earth on the rabbit patch is green. Clover springs up everywhere and has the sweetest smell in the night air.

May is a time to stay out of the woods. Children were taught to abandon their forts by this time, when I was young. To hear the adults talking about all of the things that could go wrong in the woods, would scare us in to submission til the first hard frost had fallen. The winter playground of country children was closed in May. There was also a certain date in May for going bare-footed. I can’t remember which day, but it wasn’t safe til then, to do so. I never go bare-foot now, but I did then. I think I broke that rule every year and always got caught as I would get stung by a honey bee in a patch of clover.

For whatever reason, I change my cooking habits about now. Big pots of dried beans, stews and soups are not on the menu-excepting a rainy day. May is a time for berries and spring onions- and the under-rated beet. I do not like them pickled, but with salt and butter instead. Many a spring table cloth bares the memories of beets and berries enjoyed in May, on the rabbit patch.

May is full of gladness for me. The simplicity of linen dried in open air and a kitchen full of strawberries, fill my heart with gratitude. The smell of clover and watching the rabbit patch community running through it, stirs up a sense of peace in me. I hear the May Song- and hope boldly that everyone else does too.

It Happened in April

April 30, 2016 ~ rabbitpatchdiary.com ~ 4 Comments

April’s light is quickly fading over the rabbit patch, but it does not leave me empty-handed or faint of heart. I stay on a mission to gather beautiful things-and what a collection I found in April!

Easter fell early and so did a chilly rain that day. All was not lost because families still gathered around tables laden with a variety of holiday dishes, candles and flowers. It was a sweet event and I tucked that memory in my heart. I met a new friend that day, and now I have someone else to love.

The jasmine bloomed in April along with the dogwoods. They do not care if one is a gardener or not, either way, they share their blossoms with the world. It is about impossible to ignore their generosity. No matter how distracted we are with worldly burdens, the sight of April’s flowers can interrupt gloomy thoughts-and oh how softly they infiltrate the heart. If you have lived for many seasons at your home, you may see them as reliable friends. In unfamiliar places, flowers are like sweet surprises bestowed upon you from an unknown person before you. Whether you care for them or not, flowers and trees, too, will bloom in April. We ought to all do the same and give as they do.

Kittens were born in April and children found them. The kittens may as well have been diamonds. No matter your thoughts about cats-you will never convince a child that finding a litter of kittens is a bad thing.

April is surely a time to build. Consider the birds. Bluebirds, robins and wrens are all doing the same thing as young humans-finding a place to call “home” . The nesting time is upon us and whether or not we intend to, we all give thought to where we dwell in April. “Spring cleaning” did not get its’ name on a whim. We clean the house thoroughly as if preparing for an April inspection-and a woman is likely to buy curtains this season. In April, we had the courage to put geraniums on the porch. The grass turned green and all seemed well when it did.

I started having coffee outside this month. Once, I left a cup very briefly and found several wisteria petals in it when I returned. It was actually lovely to see and I almost drank it anyway. I learned later, I could have. April’s snow of blossoms is something I always love. This year, a day or two of unusually fierce wind about robbed me of seeing the air full of floating flowers-so finding a bit of lavender in my coffee did not offend me, but instead claimed a place in my heart with the rest of my April memories.

I always read poetry in April. I am not a fan of modern verse. I prefer the flow and rhythm of Yeats and Longfellow. I memorize poetry as I have great concerns that this world has gotten too busy to read a poem. I fear that one day , poets will be forgotten altogether-so I tuck poems in my heart too-especially in April.

I went to the fanciest restaurant that I have ever been to this month. Lyla had her first birthday! I had a birthday too. The woodstove got cold in April, and a kind neighbor tilled the garden with out me needing to ask. A friend picked strawberries and shared them with me. April is a wonderful month! I may have even solved a mystery that has been plaguing me a long while. I smelled clover just yesterday-and night before last, I saw a falling star with a red tail! I have never seen that before. The irish in me thinks it meant something wonderful is going to happen.

What a collection of beautiful things that April offered. Flowers bloomed and the wind planted more. A holiday was celebrated and kittens were born. The rain fell and so did a star. Birds built nests and sang while they did it. . . and it all happened in April.

In the Shade of a Tree

April 29, 2016 ~ rabbitpatchdiary.com ~ 2 Comments

If we were having coffee, it would be served in china teacups. We may visit under the shade of an old oak in the back yard.

I would tell you that living on the remnants of a farm, in an old house is a beautiful way to live, some days- other days it can feel lonely especially, if you are the last one left there. Some times, I am inspired that I call the large yard with its’ blossoms and fruit trees my own-other times, I feel stranded in a place that out grew me.

You would hear of my gratitude for the soil that has fed me and those I love, in a most unselfish manner- and for a long while. It has become an old friend. The trees around us, were here before I was. It was “love at first sight” when I saw them, and my love for them remains steadfast. They have held swings and forts. Their shade has been a refuge from the wicked heat in the summer garden. We have celebrated a marriage beneath their canopies-and mourned the loss of loved ones there as well. Trees are never “fair-weather friends”.

I will tell you that just beyond the barn,there is a young patch of woods full of secrets about it’s community of rabbits and birds- and beyond that, there are fields. The view of a field has been highly under-rated and I would want you to know that. A field is proof of man’s courage and determination. When I need bravery, I go to a field.

Having coffee under an old tree is a fine way to celebrate the seasons that I called this place “home”. My sons are now men , and my only daughter is a mother herself- Change is as likely as rain, I tell you. It was change that brought me here and it is change that is leading me from it.

I may need to reassure you, that I will not leave with a heavy-heart,but rather a soul that is liberated and no longer needs to worry over loose tin on barns and mowing a five acre yard. I would rather be strolling with my first grandchild or standing on the beach with her uncles and hearing their dreams. Besides that,somewhere, there is a cello waiting for me to play it. There are pictures that I need to paint and words unfolding for me to write. I am older now, and these tasks not only suit me better, but beckon to me as well. I will tend a smaller garden and be glad about it, I tell you truthfully.

I hope you will leave our “coffee break”, with the notion that it was time well-spent. I want you to leave with enough inspiration to spend your life wisely-and it might take a bit of courage and a good deal of faith to do so. Thank goodness for fields! May I invite you for another cup of coffee and one last look at mine?

The Quiet Garden

April 28, 2016April 29, 2016 ~ rabbitpatchdiary.com ~ 4 Comments

It is just after a “holiday” at the rabbit patch. When I spend four days with my children, it is red letter days on our calendar, no matter when it happens! When it’s over, I go to the Quiet Garden, which now is full of Aprils’ last roses.

I had a grand time in Wilmington, and feel sorry it’s over. It’s always the same for me and about foolish, I think that I get such a sense of melancholy the day after I return. Thank goodness for the Quiet Garden! I named the rose garden after Gladys Taber’s flower garden. I always name things that I love. I am not sure there is much rhyme or reason for this habit, but it is a well-established pattern of mine.

I have had ” a place” since I was a child. No one had to teach me to do so-I just knew it was a good practice. I never told anyone about any spot that I claimed for my own. Imagine my surprise when once, years ago, my then, six year old Tres, shared his own secret place with me. I hope he has one now.

The Quiet Garden at the rabbit patch has served me well over the decade. The roses and violets never hinder my thoughts. They do not make light of my concerns-and they keep my secrets, much like good friends. The picket fence that frames it, strains under the weight of several climbing varieties of roses. The violets bloom where they please. There is a bird bath in the center with roses growing round it. There are black-eyed susans claiming a corner and purple cone flowers make themselves at home there too. They showed up without an invitation but are quite useful when “company’s coming” and I need a vase for the table.

I never intended to have a Quiet Garden, full of roses and violets-like most good things, it just happened as naturally as a late spring shower . Someone gave me some picket fence -so The Quiet Garden was born . My place of refuge and solace or the place for a summer garden party came about because someone cleaned their barn out.

Something I have learned about myself is that sorting things out is very important to my well-being. If I don’t, then I get things all out of perspective and that never turns out well . I often think that if I fill my heart with good things, that I will make less room for undesirable notions .

When I returned from “my holiday” to my beloved rabbit patch- the first news I got was that Christopher Robin had broken a favorite porcelain rabbit in my den. I had just left my children and wasn’t over it and so I about cried at such a crime. That rabbit was named “St. Peter” and had been a gift from my friend, Julie. She had tied the sweetest little ribbon on him and I remember the day she did so. My naughty kitten watched me from a safe distance and proceeded to give himself a bath! He did not need the Quiet Garden to know that his human was prone to odd ways.

It did not take a long while among the roses for me to know that he was right. I walked out of that garden with my heart full of gratitude for my sweet children, a gray kitten-and a neighbor who cleaned his barn out.

“One is nearer God’s heart in a garden, than anywhere else on earth.”

South of the Rabbit Patch

April 23, 2016April 23, 2016 ~ rabbitpatchdiary.com ~ Leave a comment

Wilmington lies a few hours south of the rabbit patch. The city is rich in culture and full of artists. There is also the ocean. I love all of those things-but it is the home of two of my sons, and that is why I leave the rabbit patch for a week-end on occasion.

I used to travel some a long while back, and I am glad of it. I saw people that spoke different languages and ate different foods. I took note of the trees and the songs of the birds that were on “foreign soil”. It was interesting to see the unfamiliar livelihoods of the people. The world seemed bigger than I could have ever considered-and it is.

Some things are the same everywhere. People work hard and come home to their loved ones with great satisfaction. We all say the same things though in different tongues. We celebrate and mourn. We build up and tear down. The human heart is quite universal . It was a beautiful realization to know that love is all over the planet and though our methods may vary in our expressions, love remains. Some how this makes the world seem almost “cozy”.

I spend my life mostly at the rabbit patch these days. I prefer to. I have now lived there ten years, and still the rabbit patch has its’ secrets! Angels in Heaven know that I have devoted more than a good share of my life to that place and it is without regret. I know the creatures that call it home and where they dwell. I know what the sky looks like by day and night, and consequently, where the shadows fall.

My two oldest sons live in Wilmington and it is on account of that I venture south ever so often. What a different life lies just a bit south of the rabbit patch! I so love the bakeries, coffee shops and bookstores downtown-and there are young musicians on the sidewalks, pouring their heart out in song for the busy crowds-how beautiful! There are fancy restaurants that serve fancy food and the people are friendly and make you feel welcome. I especially love the historical houses-so grand and surrounded by huge lawns with old magnolia trees. All of the south’s charm and graciousness can be found in Wilmington. And then, there’s the ocean with it’s white sand. The water is especially clear and the loveliest shade of blue. There are a lot of reasons to visit this part of the coast-but my boys outshine all of that for me.

My boys spent their childhood in the woods-I made sure of it. They fished out of small ponds and had animals that lived in a barn. They built forts and played with “Indians” that they called friends. They ate what the garden grew and slept outside under meteor showers more than a few times. It was a grand time.

Now the goal of every parent is to raise their children in a way that allows them to become independent humans. Independent enough to discover their own truths, independent enough to discover their abilities and hopefully contribute to the planet in their unique ways. The theory sounds spectacular and so noble. I have wished many times that this could be done at home-right on the rabbit patch, where I could cook their supper and make sure that they slept on sheets with the faint smell of lavender!

When I first visited them in Wilmington, I realised that my notions were fruitless. The boys were actually young men ! They have nice homes and well established lives. They have good neighbors and good friends. The traffic does not bother them and the city does not seem too big for them. This is their home. I am always the last to know about anything and this news came as a shock. I wondered if they remembered any of the poetry I read to them as children or the words to “Ave Maria”. Did they remember the woods? I wanted them to grow up a bit wild and they landed in a civilized city!

As it turns out, all my fretting was much ado about nothing. Both of my sons, garden and they even still fry green tomatoes. One of them camps out and the other blazed a little trail in a small patch of woods behind his home. One spent many hours restoring my “Pop’s” garden trailor, with its iron wheels. His brother knows the wrens that live on his porch. When the “country comes to town”, they share these things with me, and my heart takes comfort that their time of growing up was as beautiful as I remember.

The rabbit patch will seem especially quiet when I return. It always does. Once I thought I really do live in the “middle of nowhere”. There are not to many places to go and no need to hurry about getting to any of them. We do not have an ocean, but instead creeks. Dogs and tractors are the sounds of the rabbit patch. Still, my love for such things keeps my heart loyal to the way of life I have. It is not “nowhere”-it is my home.