The Wonderful Time of August | 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 is now the last week of my summer break, For more than a decade, I have spent the last week of summer, putting the rabbit patch in good order. I am not as likely to clean a barn out or paint anything, once I go back to work. This year, however is not the usual affair. I have turned the rabbit patch "every which way but loose", this summer. Surely, this week would be fairly easy compared to every one before it. The only thing left on my agenda, was to paint two closets in a guest bedroom- and to mow the territory . . again. I consider these chores "child's play" and so I did not not work too much on Monday.

    On Tuesday, I started early. I had the covered picnic area quite tidy before nine, of course, there were a few items piled in the yard, to be donated or discarded. I went in ready to paint, and thought to put on a load of laundry. It started to rain and I thought it would be a good day for a slow cooked supper, and made plans to do so. I had been painting the closets a good while, when I thought to check the clothes. They were there in the machine, in the same state they were when I left them. There was water, but the machine was not agitating. I tried every trick I knew of with not a bit of luck. I had an extra machine in storage and thought, well there is one more thing to discard now. I went to the pantry to get a pot for the beans-I would still cook a nice meal, after all. I saw on the shelf several jars of something, I had canned in summers past and decided if I couldn't remember when, I would discard those. Time is such a trickster for me these days. Last year could have been five years ago. I took to cleaning them out and decided while I had the paint out, to touch up the shelves. In just a short while, there were several bags of trash in the kitchen, a washing machine in the yard and a mud in the laundry room. I was shocked at the disarray, but the beans were smelling wonderful and now the chicken chimed in. By supper, all would be well, I thought.

    Kyle came home in very muddy clothes. He is a landscaper and it is necessary to never get behind on laundry, on account of that. Kyle immediately hooked the washing machine, from storage up. When the agitator started splashing the water, I was thrilled and started sweeping the pantry floor. Tomorrow, Christian would dispose of the old machine along with the jars of something and I could clean the floor in the laundry room. I put on some potatoes to roast and noticed an eerie silence. The washing machine was not spinning! Kyle tried everything to remedy that, without success. Now there were TWO machines in the yard, mud on the floor and dirty laundry. . . but supper was going to be good.

    I confess, that I was cranky in the evening. I went in to the pantry and it was so clean and orderly. I shut the door, without a bit of satisfaction in that- and went out. Clouds covered the shine of the stars. I knew the moon was behind the pines, but I couldn't prove it, this night. The evening breeze was cool for late summer and it felt good to stand in it. It is almost the time of the ginger lilies. The roses will rally again, as they always do. Apples and figs are starting to ripen, and the grape vines are laden with fruit. Rains' cousin, fog will blanket the countryside, shortly-and bring a hush, with it. August is a wonderful time.

    The wind rustled through the sycamores and it made the pines whisper. I do not know how long I stood there-as neither the pine nor the wind kept time. I only knew it was August. I wondered if when people had disputes, it might help them to come to friendly terms if they spent some time by a river, or in the midst of roses . . or under a pine on a summer evening. Such things take all the fight out of me.

    I went back in and I thought, there are worse things things than old appliances sitting in the yard. . .and so, I decided if anyone wanted to come see the house, they could-and I would just tell them, "this really could happen anywhere."

    Dear Diary, I am glad to wait for ginger lilies and late summer fruit. I am glad for an August rain and the song of wind in pines. . . but, I am glad mostly. for the kind and generous Hand that bestows His love in such beautiful ways.