Where There is Smoke | 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.

    The "old people" used to say "where there is smoke, there is fire." They said this often, when something seemed obvious, hoping we kids would learn the art of deducting facts and making conclusions. This old saying can be taken literally, as well-and I can prove it.

    Yesterday, I came home and went right to work at the rabbit patch. I put a chicken on to roast, with turnips heaped around it and started some peas on the stove. I started some laundry and decided to clean the car out while the appliances were put to good use. The cold wind on Sunday, had all but eliminated the leaves in the big yard. Somehow a few mounds lay here and there as if intentional. I decided to burn a bit of them in the garden, while I was dusting the car out.

    The sun was already casting slanted rays and just before slipping below the trees at the back of the field. There wasn't a bit of wind and I looked up to take note of the peace that evening affords. I thought the light seemed odd. It seemed to flicker. . . and then I smelled smoke. Behind a small barn, where the garden used to grow, light was jumping about. I dashed around the barn as best I could to find the garden on fire. There was spitting and hissing-and Cash took to racing around and around, almost knocking Christopher Robin sideways. Christopher Robin took refuge on the garden bench and watched the whole affair with a very judgmental air about him. Moon Shine fled like the devil himself was after him. I thought to wet the perimeter of the garden, but the water hose was hiding in the shadows between two other barns. Kyle drove up just about this time. He rushed to the crime scene, stricken with panic and yelled out about how foolish I was to undertake the task of burning the garden alone. Christopher Robin seemed to take his side, perching all high and mighty on the garden bench, waiting for my explanation.

    Kyle is a handy person and he was as good as anybody to show up. He took over, and when I remembered supper and ran to the house yelling "chicken!", he was not phased. Supper was saved and as it turns out creamed turnips are as good as I had heard they were.