"There is a Season. . . " | 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 "" comes a lot earlier than it used too. I wake with light, by nature, and unless it is raining, I am ready to "find my day." It is early now, and the light is still soft at the rabbit patch. The old trees are full of new leaves now so I watch the shade and sunlight duel for territory. The effect is charming and I remember that I love light and shadow too.

    Today, I will stop by the town of Windsor, on the way to Elizabeth City. It is a small town, about twenty minutes from here. A cousin "threw a family reunion together"- at the last minute. Her daughter says "it is her nature to do such things". Cousin Dotsie, will not bother herself with mighty plans and details-but I expect it to turn out as if she did. I have a cousin from New York that is down and I think that inspired Cousin Dotsie' idea.

    I have not been to Elizabeth City in three weeks. I have missed strolling the historical river village with Lyla. I know that the mock orange is surely done blooming, but I bet the cocky mockingbird is still singing. We may see young bunnies. Elizabeth City helped inspire the name 'Rabbit Patch". I have never seen so many rabbits in any one town. They are not at all skittish, like their country cousins. Some one dear to me there, claims a mother rabbit was nursing babies in his yard last year-and I believe him. Lyla and I get practically close enough to the rabbits to introduce ourselves properly as we walk in the evening! I have never heard any of the residents of Riverside speak a word against the rabbit community-but I notice, they do not grow strawberries there.

    I am packing light today, as this is a short visit. Usually, I cook meals ahead of time for Kyle and Christian, but this time they are left to their own primative devices. They will probably scramble eggs. I will leave the house in good order as usual, excepting the wide hall, where the roof is being repaired. There is a hammer and a crowbar on the shelf beside my books and plant-and a large pile of debris in the floor. The yard needs mowing too, but I am "throwing caution to the wind", and spending time with loved ones, instead , this week end. I am older now, and would rather watch rabbits with Lyla, than most things.

    Life has a way of helping us define, without great effort, what we truly love. There really is a "time for every season" as Solomon wrote. I am at a place, never imagined in my youth. I thought "old people grew flowers, because that is about all they could do". Now I know, old people grow flowers because it is beautiful to do so. In youth, we gather, and in time we "cast away" what doesn't matter-we "break down" what we once thought was good and we "build up" what we found was of value. Now we "laugh and dance" in authentic joy -and "we heal" as we need to. We have learned full well, that "all that glitters is not gold." The other day, I remembered a fancy stereo system, that I had actually made payments on. I do not know what became of it . . . however I know which book has pressed violets and sweet gum leaves in it, gathered when Brant and I walked in the woods, now decades ago. I have a basket of rocks and twigs that Tres collected -they did not get "cast out" as I moved about.

    And so, in light of this . . the grass can grow as it pleases, this weekend. It is the "season to love", after all, as well.

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