It Happened on Sunday | Eastern NC 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.

    On Saturday night, I was in the rabbit patch kitchen- the same could be said of Sunday morning. This past Sunday, was no ordinary Sunday. It was Mothers' Day, after all.

    Mama and Daddy were coming , my sister, Delores, and my niece, Dana. I set out to serve something everybody would love. I ended up with Jo Dees' barbecued chicken, as the main course. Everybody enjoys it and once you put it in the oven, you can just forget about it and go about other things. I had peeled at least a peck of potatoes, Saturday night and made potato salad. Mama loves my potato salad. I had also concocted a trifle of strawberries, pound cake and cheesecake dressing-because, Mama likes strawberries, too. On Sunday morning, only a big pot of green beans had to be cooked and cheese biscuits made-because Dana loves cheese biscuits.

    While the kitchen filled with aromas that foretold of a "special" gathering . . .I washed floors. Later in the morning, I went out to gather roses. Right on time, the "Mothers' Day" rose was in full bloom. It is a rambling vine, with small pink roses that cascade over the picket fence, in a delightful fashion. When paired with red and white roses, and the white fragrant spikes of the spice bush, it made a lovely arrangement.

    The cheese biscuits were made at the last possible moment, so they would be piping hot , as biscuits ought to be. A few of them were eaten just as everyone arrived-and before the blessing was said. As, we were eating, Delores said she had finally made it to Sunday Dinner and I suspected, she thought that ought to be mentioned in the Rabbitpatch Diary. She was right, as she lives several hours away, and besides, this was no ordinary Sunday.

    We had a nice visit . We ate the trifle and not long after, we said our good byes and vowed to spend time together in the summer. The kitchen seemed especially quiet. My oldest sons had to work, but called in the afternoon. I couldn't help but miss them. At some point, I felt too sentimental, and so I took a walk around the territory. Taking a walk, is as therapeutic as peeling potatoes or washing dishes and my spirits were soon restored. Besides, I reminded myself, in a few short weeks, they will all come home for the "Memorial Day" holiday.

    The moon took its' sweet time rising last night. It was a particularly beautiful shade of amber. I had walked by the fields of clary sage, earlier and decided I had to see them in the moon shine. I stood before them, moments later and was glad I had come. The fields seemed aglow as if a spell had been cast -a spell that rendered a stillness and a sense of well-being. Fireflies flickered here and there -and all I wanted to do was pray, under such conditions. It was a wonderful grand finale to the day.

    Dear Diary, I am glad for roses and fields of clary sage. I am glad for slow rising moons and strawberries . I am glad for tables laden with foods served in pretty dishes, with loved ones gathered around-and I am glad for Sundays- all of them, but most especially the ones that are far from ordinary.