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.
A lot happened on Saturday at the rabbitpatch. First of all, there was not a single branch left on the territory, by the time the sun set. Even the little pasture, is better off than it was. Oh how good it felt, to see some order restored. While I was cleaning the yard, something was cooking at every hour. By the end of the day, Mama, Daddy and Kyle, would have supper every night of the week.
Mama tends to Daddys' every need, ignoring her own. At least, she will not have to worry about supper and Kyle . . . well, he is working long hours and not about to have a slow cooked anything for his supper. It doesn't hurt one bit, that he is always so very grateful, either. When Christian came in, he had several choices for supper and clean sheets on his bed.
In light of all that, I did not disturb a single cobweb on Saturday.
Mama told me on Saturday night, that the remnants of a storm from Florida, would arrive early Sunday morning. She was right, for it was raining before five am. It turns out, that it was a good thing that I hung laundry and did the yard work on Saturday. The rain and light wind made it the perfect morning to sleep, but I sprang out of bed like I was in my youth! This time, I would listen to every verse of the "Water Music"
and watch the darkness give way to a silvery morning . . . and take my own sweet time, about it. At daybreak, I looked out the window, by my "morning table"
. There were a few fallen branches hither and yonder. I had to laugh.
I made coffee and had a large slice of homemade bread smothered in butter, and listened to the rain. It was a time of serenity, for me.
As much as I write about the value of work . . . well the same can be said about rest too. There is more information available, now than ever before, to mankind. The news is full of heartbreak and discord. There is always some sort of fear, too. Most everyday, a new one. There are dire predictions, which give us something more to worry about. Under such circumstances, we must make a gallant effort to defend ourselves from the bombardment of "doom and gloom"
. We must take rest. We must find solace.
For me, this means focusing on what does not change . . .what does not threaten. It is for this reason I am apt to linger under stars. it is next to impossible, for a star to provoke fear, after all . . . and since old trees do not quarrel, they make for good company. More than ever, we ought to all ramble on occasion, whether it is by a "laughing river"
or an old field, or down a sidewalk . . . without any specific purpose. It never ceases to amaze me, that happening upon a patch of wild violets, can work such wonders, for the spirit. The world is bigger now than it ever was and solitude is more valuable now, than ever.
I have had such habits since I was just a child. They probably were fostered by not having something or someone to entertain me, every waking moment. In those days, I was liable to climb a tree and sit for a while or sit on the pasture gate. I walked through the fields, while Mama cooked supper. I did not count my steps nor worry about my heart rate . . . or wear headphones. There were no cell phones to stare at, either . . . so I did not miss the songs of the woodland birds nor the "golden apples of the sun"
. I had no idea that such a practice would become a part of me. Nowadays, I need this "balancing act"
as much as I still need supper, on any given day.