A Gathering of Redbirds | 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.

    I barely made the early service, this morning. A light rain was falling and it compelled me to linger a few extra moments. When at last, I mustered the fortitude to "rise and shine", I went straight a way to the back porch to find my day. I would not believe it, but today a cardinal was trapped, just as the little wren was yesterday. I glanced around to see if by chance, a bag of birdseed was the cause of these little winged visitors. I could not find the reason -"high nor low" that a cardinal or a wren, would be tempted to visit. I was talking to the cardinal, whom I named "Valentine" when Will appeared to let the dog out. Will was perplexed when he heard me having a conversation at such an odd hour-and his face showed it. When he saw the cardinal, the mystery was cleared up. Will told me later, it did not seem a bit odd to catch me talking to redbird.

    I know that folks say. a cardinal is a visit from some passed-and it may be so, but I have a long history with cardinals, and their visits have never meant that for me. It all started, when I bought the old farmhouse.

    I had bought the house, under a two year contract with the owner. During this time, I was to restore the place so a bank would then finance it. I did not owe anyone any money, at that time, and had a sizable amount to work with. It seemed easy enough. It was not nearly so easy, as it turned out. I had not used a credit card in many years nor financed anything. Banks considered this an awful state of being. I had no idea it worked this way and what a horrible shock. it was. I had spent the most of my money on the house. For two years, we had spent every available minute working on the house and grounds. Now, it seemed I could lose the place, after all. I went out behind the barn, with a cold heart. I cried and I questioned God - I had remained in a constant state of prayer about the purchase, the repairs and yet I felt stranded. I remember clearly that the birds were singing loudly, and I feared they drowned out my arguments. I painted the verse, "The Heavens declare the glory of God" on the back of the old barn, and cried as I did so. After a long while, I settled in to a peace about the predicament, though I didn't understand a thing more about it. Mercifully, I ask God for a sign that He had heard me over the birds. I suggested a cardinal, while I cleaned up the paint cans and brushes.

    I searched for redbirds for all hours after that. I looked for them in the many acres of woods, I drive through, on the way to work. I looked around the school, on my lunch hour. I never saw one. Days later, as I was driving home, I looked again without luck. I had always thought to ask for a "sign" was surely a lack of faith and meaningless, but I am so very human and now I wanted a "sign"! I was full of despair and so ashamed, I didn't dare tell another soul. I told God all of this on the way home and realised I had given up, on redbirds and the farm. When I pulled in the drive, the rabbit patch was covered in redbirds. I had never seen so many in my life! I cried and laughed. I could not speak. I did not know at that moment, if I would save the rabbit patch, or be destitute-I simply no longer needed to know. I have never seen such a large gathering of redbirds since, though more than a decade has passed. . .so yes, I spoke to "Valentine" this morning as naturally as if he had been a neighbor.

    Well, we all know, I kept the farm. . .and rest assured this is a true account.

    When "Valentine" was free and clear of the screen, I came in to start breakfast. When breakfast was cleared, Lyla and I gathered the ingredients to make a cake. This time without things, like avocados. Andrea Bocelli sang with all the charm and grace, the world has ever known, but he could not bring an ounce of peace to the kitchen, this day. Lyla threw "caution to the wind" when she broke eggs and when she added the flour . . . and then when she added the sugar. She did not want the mixing to end and protested greatly when the batter was poured in the pan. Somehow, the cake turned out fine, we all agreed, in the afternoon, while rain fell on the Riverside village.

    The afternoon meandered by as it does on days like Sunday. I took my bags to the back door with the intentions of loading them in the car in between showers, for tomorrow is Monday and that changes everything. I did manage a brief visit with Miss Thelma. I carried her some of the cake, and she was quite glad of that. Night fell without a bit of warning, as we chatted. Not a single star was out to wish on and with the time of the blue moon over, it was "pitch dark", on the short walk back. Little raindrops splattered in the quiet street and on the laughing river, that runs by it. When I walked in the kitchen, Lyla had moved my bags back to the guest room.