Interludes at the Rabbit Patch | 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.

    Winter came in last night with a cold and mighty wind. It matters little to me that the calendar does not yet declare it is winter at the rabbit patch. All of a sudden, the wind blew with a force, that sent branches flying against the farmhouse and there were even snow flurries of wild, fine flakes . This morning, a substantial amount of autumn leaves had been mercifully swept away to places like the patch of young woods, in the far corner of the territory. What was left of them, lies in heaps, hither and yonder, as if I had raked them, myself.

    This morning, the ground was frozen and the faint smell of wood smoke hung in the air. The temperature was in the twenties-and sure chilled my southern blood. The school children donned mittens and cheerful hats with fringe and tassels. We were all disappointed that the snow did not stick and that we had to carry on as usual. In the south a snow day is like a holiday. My friends from up north, that have relocated here, all tease us about this. In Farm Life, and most all of the rural communities, it is the farmers that clear the roads. We are likely to lose power, too. I have no clue how to put chains on tires, and it doesn't matter, for none of us are going anywhere.

    I came home today and made a small fire in the den. Christian has been sick, but he kept the fire in the wood stove tended. Sitting by the fire, I came to a decision. I have decided to take the rabbit patch off the market, until late January. We are in such a state of disarray with the floor repair and the painting,- and until recently the untidy condition of the yard, it just makes sense , to me, to consider an "interlude". Of course, I have cleared this with my sister, Delores, who is a realtor, in Raleigh-and with Will and Tres, (pronounced Trace) who are business minded and dependably advise me, in such matters. It is Christmas, after all and I am not likely to enjoy any aspect of selling a house, during the holidays. My realtor is in agreement and so we made it official today.

    When things are in good order, and Christmas has passed, I will once again post a "for sale" sign under the old oak tree and hope for the best. Until then, I will continue readying the rabbit patch for the new lives that will call it their own, and dream of my next rabbit patch with a cozy cottage, where I will plant roses-and maybe tomatoes. Winter is a good occasion to dream.

    Kyle is determined to get the Christmas tree up. The living room is about finished and I see no reason, not to go along with him. Once the tree is up, I will wrap the secrets in the Christmas closet, in pretty paper. I love to wrap presents and take measures to make sure they are attractive. The papers all match in an odd sort of way and ribbons are hand tied . Name tags are hand made and so it is quite an affair altogether. People either love to wrap gifts, or detest it. There seems to be no in between.

    Thursday

    How happy I am to announce that the carpet is being installed as I am writing this. I did not get anxious about such a small inconvenience, really-but I am quite relieved and happy that order is being restored. I had gotten used to gathering my clothes and shoes from the hall way and my dresser, which was in the middle of Christians' room. I learned to adapt to the conditions while I waited for the new floor. Living on the remnants of an old farm has been of great profit to me. I have learned what to do with "interludes" (or how to wait). I suppose "practice makes perfect" rings true in facing minor adversity. . .still, I am so very glad the ordeal is almost over.

    I am hopeful that in a short while, Kyle will have his beloved Christmas tree . . .and I will have my shoes, back in the closet . . .and maybe, when order is restored and at last, the Christmas tree twinkles, I will muster the courage and try again, to make cookies.

    Dear Diary, I am glad for shelter when a cold wind blows. I am glad for the chance to hope and dream. . . I am glad for Christmas trees and" interludes". . .and I am very glad for for lessons learned from living on a rabbit patch.