When Light is faint | 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 early evening on Friday the thirteenth, at the rabbit patch. Will and Jenny are out of town, so I am staying home for the second weekend. There is no shortage of things to occupy my time, though I miss Lyla already. I did get the chair from the barn, painted. Tomorrow, I will pot a few chrysanthemums. It will soon be cool enough to place pumpkins on the porch, without fear of them spoiling. Today was much cooler than the past few. The first hours were especially cool and fog was well settled over the countryside. It made leaving the rabbit patch especially difficult. Then, I thought, spring mornings have the same effect on me . . and so do winter mornings when the pines are laden with ice.

    Though, it was the thirteenth on a Friday, I had a good day. Tonight, it feels good to have a light blanket. It is very dark at the rabbit patch, as there isn't a single star to wish on. I love a quiet night. It is a good time to sort things out. Peace and quiet are conducive to restoration, also.

    Saturday

    I did not rise as early as is my usual custom. The morning light was faint and it could have been anytime when I awoke. Cash and Christopher Robin were curled up together on their bed. During the week, they are both up when I am rushing about. They follow me from one room to another, til finally we all end up at the back door. Cash did stir, when I went to the closet. When he saw the bucket of paint, he went back to his bed.

    There is a mist like rain falling, but I painted a lamp post anyway, before eight o'clock. When it dries, I will add some autumn leaves and a bow. When the chrysanthemums are potted and on the porch, only pumpkins will be left to add to the autumn celebration. Even the old oaks are doing their part, casting off their leaves and scattering them hither and yonder over the territory.

    I came back in and poured another cup of coffee with a heaping amount of table cream. I moved the morning table and sofa, as I am painting the den floor. It is an old wood floor that was painted when I bought the house. I am painting it to look a weathered gray so it is a two tone job-really three, if you count the poly shine that comes last. It all started, because I painted the chair, and noticed then how shabby the floor looked. When I asked Christian to help me move the furniture, his face went to that familiar look of "here we go again". I reassured him that one day, I would have a little cottage, that didn't require my life spent on doing such things-and we laughed. Looking back. I do not know what I was thinking when I bought the rabbit patch. I was a single woman with two young sons, still at home. I had vision, but very little skill. I saw the beautiful territory, and never once thought about mowing it and tending to vines and weeds. I saw the big old rambling house, and did not consider the keep up or cleaning it! I never thought about loose tins on the barns and doors that would just fall off! I never even thought about the boys growing up, as the rest had done, before them!

    At one time, the house was full. Brant, Tres and my grandmother lived under one roof, with Kyle, Christian and I. The barns had chickens, miniature goats and horses-and a lot of rabbits. It was a happy season and the rabbit patch served us well, in those days. Grandmama passed, and the oldest boys left, first one, and then the other. I mourned the end of that season in the years that followed. Thankfully, Lyla was born and with her came a new season.

    While the floor was drying, I started a pot of soup. I decided on spinach and potato, as Kyle is not here. He does not like spinach.

    By early afternoon, I had potted the bright yellow chrysanthemums. As always, I regretted not buying more, for they brought such cheer to the rabbit patch. I cleaned out more beds of spent flowers . There are just enough leaves in the yard to proclaim, it is autumn. The sun never did shine brightly today, but it did not feel gloomy in the least to me. When light is faint, it brings a feeling of calmness and serenity in the countryside. The little lamp on the morning table was a soft glow through the window, beckoning me to come in- still I continued working, determined to make the most of my time. I liked the coolness of the very still air. I liked watching Christopher Robin playing with a captured leaf. I liked knowing the territory was drowsy, and soon to have a well-deserved rest . . .and I remembered how much I like to plant flowers.

    Dear Diary, I am glad for quiet times and soft light. I am glad for work-and I am glad for rest. I am glad for " a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which has been planted". . . But, I am more glad for a time to plant.