From Whence I have Come | Eastern North Carolina Now

    Publisher's note: Please join me in welcoming Author Michele Rhem, who presents us with her poignant memoirs of the Rabbit Patch, where her diaries weave tales of a simpler, expressive life lost to many, but gathered together in her most familiar environs - the Rabbit Patch.

    It remains unseasonably warm, so much that the flowers meant for March are making their presence known. There are reported sightings of daffodils and hyacinths - and I have seen first hand the spirea. Today, I saw a tulip tree in full bloom, as if it were Easter. Cherry trees are blooming too. The blue irises are up at the rabbit patch, I have noticed. It is expected to remain warm for another week. Oh, I fear this is a "false spring" which will "throw everything off". . .only the heavens are not convinced, for the stars remain steadfast in their assigned winter places.

    I can not boast that I am not stirred by these mild days, for I am. I have put away the winter china. Though, we have had snow in March, on several occasions, I also put away my collection of gallant snowmen. . . and it takes all my efforts not to think of pink geraniums. It seems, I too have fallen under some sort of spell, and I find, I can not fault the cherry trees for blooming.

    Today, we had a half day of school. It will come as no surprise to those who read this diary, that under such circumstances, I am heading north, to Elizabeth City. Elizabeth City is a delightful small town, with all the charm, a town can have. It is also the where my daughter, Jenny lives with her husband Will and my only grandchild Lyla. Once Lyla was born, I began strolling with her regularly, and just fell in love, with the town by the "laughing river"- that others call the Pasquotank. One of the first things I noticed was the large community of rabbits living there. They were a friendly lot and unhindered by the presence a baby carriage, rumbling along the streets. Not long after Lylas' birth, I began the "rabbitpatchdiary" , named partially, for the many inspirational hours Lyla and I spent exploring the small town full of friendly folks . . . and rabbits. Also, Lyla was born on an Easter Sunday and that was the first day, a young dogwood bloomed , the wind had planted years before. My maiden name "Warren" means literally, "where rabbits live", so what else could I have named the diary, that made good sense? This month marks the anniversary of the diary, now two years old. I hope to mark the occasion with a long meandering by the river, where the rabbits live.

    The Afternoon

    Not too long after mid day, I had crossed the three rivers and was driving through the quaint Riverside Village. Little buttercups lined the drive and patches of them bloomed where they could. The laughing river was still, as if it were dozing in the sunshine. Shortly after I arrived, Lyla and I were walking the familiar streets. We were not alone, as many people were walking dogs or biking. Birds were out and about in good numbers. We stopped when we got to the large flat rock by the little bridge and listened to a pair of doves for a while. Most of the early bloomers are shades of lavender or pink-but the forsythia is the exception. The bright yellow bush demands attention with its' stark contrast of color.

    My grandaddy "Pop", loved the forsythia, but he called them "goldenrods". When I grew up and became a gardener myself, I learned ,what I thought were goldenrods, all of my youth were actually forsythias. I told Pop, but garden books did not change his mind. He called them goldenrods and so now I do too. I do not see one, without remembering Pop . I missed him today.

    Lyla got just as lazy as the river, as we walked. She stopped waving to cats and dogs, and she stopped informing me of redbirds. She was asleep, and I noticed a tire on the carriage was almost flat, so I headed back.

    I passed many camellias, who always bloom in February. Their red and pink blossoms remind me of roses. I saw a young mother with a new baby sitting on a porch. She was admiring her baby, and unaware that I had passed. Later , I saw an older woman, sitting in the sunshine, with her face turned up, to the sun. She too, looked so content. Contentment is a high commodity, and maybe the most desirable attribute to aspire for, as my dear friend "Cobs", recently spoke about. Contentment seems to settle in the heart, and is not governed by moods nor events. Contentment remains steadfast, in spite of circumstances, which are bound to change, at some point. Contentment is most often quiet, and can cause you to hum, as you go along, quiet streets in a village . . . by a river.

    I have written all of my life. Only, the last two years have I kept a "public diary". I am not stirred to write about causes or current events. It is not my "calling" to inform or "set records straight". I am not so lofty as to have solutions to world problems, though I think about such things, with a heavy heart.

    I collect encounters with natural beauty- and recipes . I share memories of growing up in a simpler season and always, the difference that being loved has made. For just a little while, amidst the chaos of modern times, I encourage readers to dwell on subjects like hyacinths and laughing rivers, rain and redbirds.

    I believe, as Tennyson, that "More things are wrought by prayer, than this world dreams of." I am also prone to wish on dandelions and the first star.

    Thank you to all who read my accounts and inspire me to seek beauty and peace. . . To celebrate something daily, and to keep my heart grateful. . .to live with less and yet have "more" . . .and to love, generously . . . you have only increased my Faith and given me "something to write home about" in my beloved, Rabbitpatch Diary." love, Michele