There are a lot of ways to spend our time.The rabbit patch provides plenty of options. I rise early, but not quite “ready” and so I use a bit of time just preparing for the new day. I hardly ever listen to the morning news as it seems the most of it is about things that went wrong in the night. I feel bad for everybody involved and their parents too. I remind myself that I can’t fix any of it, but it bothers me still-so it’s best for me not to be in the habit of letting the whole world in to “Sweet Home” all at once. I prefer to wonder instead, if the peach tree, with all of its tiny pink promises might bloom today. I hear the birds making a ruckus in the yard declaring the glory of the heavens and the sound seems to urge me to send hopeful wishes out to the whole world. I read something beautiful for good measure- and it makes a difference. I leave the rabbit patch with its serenity and comfort, determined to bring some of its goodness to the world. My own world isn’t as big as I once thought it to be. In youth, I had lofty intentions of having an important impact on the planet-but as it turns out, I do well to be a good neighbor and friend-and as it turns out, that is enough. That is what I can do for the world. I think the world could use some “cheer” and we ought to do our part. It’s a pleasant task, after all. My return to the rabbit patch provokes a celebration of sorts, for Cash and Christopher Robin. They both spend a fair amount of time “showing-off” for a while-especially Christopher Robin as he has a new collar and is quite proud of that. I start cooking as soon as I put my pocket-book down. The minute the stove “gets on its own” I check the laundry status. It’s always the same, so I put on a load. I have noticed the days are remarkably longer and soon I will not be able to ignore the untidy yard. Evenings at the rabbit patch are born in stillness. Quilts are still necessary and the country air can not yet boast about honey-suckle and jasmine. ” Jack Frost ” will show up for a while more with his “bucket of shine”, so it is not time to plant. It is still a time to rest. After “supper” is over and the kitchen “put back”- I have coffee,which does not hinder my sleep as it does for some. I try not to watch TV-but if there’s a good black and white movie on the classic channel, then I am happy to indulge. The plots are usually simple and usually end “happily ever after” like a good bedtime story ought to. I stay up long enough to sit quietly for a bit. I think of the things that were right in my world today. On the best of days and the worst of days too, something has to go right. If I have any difficulty remembering that, then I go out and look up into the last of the winter night skies. The constellations jump out boldly in winter and I like that. The peace of the night settles in my heart like a lullaby. . . “remember the best, it is time to rest.”
Time will not change in the rabbit patch. Life will not be hindered in the least as the coming and goings of that community do not care what hour it is. A rabbit patch is no place for such nonsense. Oh, to live in a rabbit patch! I have never understood the benefits of “daylight saving time”. I will not argue about it now, but will continue to harbor some resentment. The birds are noisy this morning and seem to be making great plans. They are country birds with a lot to do. The bird feeders are unattended and lonely often here at the rabbit patch. Only sudden changes in weather draw a crowd. It is as if the birds would just rather do things themselves! My friend, Rae lives “in town” and has a complete feeding station in her backyard. The city birds put on quite a show at that place. In the summer, where clocks don’t live, she and I passed a few hours watching the antics of the birds with great amusement. Of course, she had given them names, being on such friendly terms. She takes bird-feeding quite seriously-and her birds seem happy about it. When the shadows fell low and the birds had long been gone-the holiday was over. I drove home in ” moon shine” many nights, feeling pleased with myself for “using time wisely”. Morning birds have a morning song. They sing in celebration. They work frantically and sing about it. They make squawking sounds when they are fussing-much like people, I think. If an argument gets too chaotic, birds just fly away, like people ought to, I think. Once, I was sitting out back of “Sweet Home” filled up with despair about a turn of events. Birds were flying with their music loud. They seemed to be drowning out the sorrow I was lifting up and I didn’t like it. They seemed to take no account of my pitiful state and I was sure the heavens didn’t either with all that ruckus going on-so i gave up. While i was sitting there, trying to complain, I had taken notice that the barn looked shabby. I found some paint and cleaned up a small section with white-wash. It looked better, but I thought to paint birds too-and then I thought, what about some cheerful words? I never have a plan when I write anything just because I want to write. I didn’t have a plan on that day either-I ended up with a verse and it is still there today. “The heavens declare the glory of God”!. When it was finished, I looked up. Things had changed. Light had shifted creating evening shade and the birds had all flown taking their music with them . I did not know when all of that happened! As I was cleaning up the paint and brushes, I realised that somehow I didn’t feel so bad, after all. The time had changed and so had my heart without any gallant effort on my part-and I liked that.
I am thinking a lot these days about words. One of the most comforting thoughts that I have had recently, is that though the world changes at an alarming rate, for me any way-some things do not lose their value or place. Words are one of those things that are of dependable worth. There are so many varieties now of communication-and I do miss some of the less modern modes of exchanging thoughts-but the value of words will never decline, and I like that. I remember as a child, writing letters to my cousin. She was only a few hours away, but telephones were party-lines in my earliest memories of them-and they weren’t installed for children to chat. Getting a letter from my cousin was one of the best things about the mailbox that I knew of. Sometimes, mama would get a letter from a relative and she would have a ceremony of sorts, when she read it to the family. Friends and I wrote to one another as young adults-now 30 years ago that’s been! I do not remember when or how that custom was abandoned, but what a loss. It is odd to me with all of the conveniences and all of the”instant”-with everything faster than before- that we are too busy to even send cards to one another. I am ashamed that I can’t recall the last time I did such a thing ! Now, my mother continues this beautiful practice and so today, my son, Christian will find some love in the mailbox for his birthday. I do feel that writing from the rabbit patch is a good habit for me, and I have a notion that it may inspire me to be much more diligent about future correspondences. I like to share the sweet things I find in a day. Today, as I was rushing to complete a task that required an errand, I looked up from my parked car, to see a calico cat sleeping in a window sill. There she was without a bit of hurry in her,gazing out the open window. I watched her as I waited and the peace of those minutes, about made me drowsy. Driving back, I saw daffodils dotting the edges of fields and woods. I wondered who had planted them long ago. An old abandoned house had quite a few to brag about. Someone used to love it-the daffodils are the proof of that. What a nice legacy. There is a rosemary bush that I walk by pretty regularly. I do not pass it without complimenting it on that sweet green scent it lends the air. Today there were a few little purple flowers decorating it for spring. It was a lovely day we had today and I tried to take great notice of it. The treasures of this season, like ” a word fitly spoken” have a beauty that will not change with time-and I like that.
There are a lot of things to love in life-and more ways to find them than I ever imagined. I love Saturday mornings with its lack of obligations. I rise when I see fit and drink coffee for a long while. I “find my day” slowly and with great consideration of its content. My loyal dog, Cash and naughty kitten,Christopher Robin
I spent the week-end at another rabbit patch. My daughter Jenny lives in Elizabeth City-and that place being so full of rabbits helped inspire the name of my blog. Lyla was born last April and we started “strolling” right off. I was amazed at how many rabbits we sighted every time. They are not skittish like their “country cousins”,but will venture close enough to say “hello and how are you?” On Sunday morning, I went out to greet the day. It wasn’t long after,that a fluttering overhead sounded. I glanced up and a flash of yellow swirled above and then landed in a young tree. It was a flock of small yellow-breasted birds. They looked like little golden pears in the bare tree. It was a pretty sight. They shed some glory on my morning and I stared intently for a long while. I just knew they were going to fly at any moment and regretted not having a camera.I tried to note their characteristics for a sketch. Moments or twenty years later -time has no value on such occasions-they flew away and it felt like the day after a holiday! My friend,Rae gave me a beautiful bird identification guide that I intend to consult as soon as I get back to my own “rabbit patch”. I also intend to ask Will’s mom as she is an Elizabeth City native. For all I know, these small birds may be “old hat” for that community. I spent half of my childhood in the woods. It was my playground. In the summer it was not an option as the adults deemed it unsafe. I can recite the lists of dangers by heart today. From snakes and black widows to red bugs and poison ivy-the woods were off limits. It always seemed a long time for the first frost to arrive. When it did,all was well and I “took to the woods” again. My daddy taught me how to know one tree from another and I still remember that. The annual “leaf collection” for school ensured those walks in the woods. What a sweet memory that afforded.That was time well-spent and though forty years have passed, the memory of collecting leaves in a brown paper bag warms my heart. My cousins and I knew the woods thoroughly. We knew where every abandoned house was as well as old cars and tractors. There were no clocks in the woods,other than the sun. We became experts at telling time by the shadows. They fell certain ways at certain hours-and we were well aware of that. Only the smell of supper broke the spell of our ventures. In the country,smells and sound carry a long way. I wonder now if all of that freedom in my childhood,led me to celebrate a morning full of yellow birds. It surely couldn’t have hurt-and I am glad of it.
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