A Time to Be Still | Eastern NC 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.

    A lot has happened in the last few days-so much that I was still in Elizabeth City, on Wednesday. My mission to care for Lyla. . . and to be the "chief cook and bottle washer" . I saw a good many robins . . .and buttercups, on every day, as well. I sat on an old rock . .. and attended the "early service" on a regular basis.

    I do not think it proper, to share the details of all of the circumstances of the week, for the sake of those, who are still recovering, but first one thing happened, and then another- and it took a toll on Jenny, who is expecting her second little daughter, when summer ends.

    Oh, how much it meant, to have an "early service" . They were mild, beautiful affairs, and so very restorative, though the young squirrels scampered about with recklessness-much like humans do in their youth. I did not fault the little squirrels for disturbing the peace . . .but the cardinals did. The male cardinals were quite gallant, in protecting their nests, and a row often ensued, as a result. In the midst of the chaos, dogwood blossoms rained down like April snow, falling on the tender grass.

    The grand finale of April was sweet and May took up where April left off, with mild, sunny days. In the mornings, Lyla and I would visit the playground, that is just a short distance from Will and Jennys' house. Often we took cereal or stale crackers for the ducks and geese. There was an unfriendly goose in the lot, who hissed between gulps of our "peace offerings"- which were not working. Most days, Lyla and I had the playground to ourselves. Thankfully, Lyla would get hungry before noon, and so did not make a fuss about leaving.

    After lunch, Lyla and I would strike out again as it seemed sinful not to. The climate was just perfect, and besides, the irises were blooming. We walked to the river passing manicured yards. Each one had neat flowerbeds tucked in selected areas. Some of the porches had wind chimes that tinkled in the light breeze. Picket fences marked the property lines, so daintily and in such a friendly manner. Even the sidewalks were swept clean. I did not have to jump a single ditch, nor tangle with briers, on this walk. Everything was so tame and civilized, unlike the territory around the rabbit patch. When we came upon the river, I realised that the river was a wild place, after all, rolling along on its' own accord.

    -Several times, this week, Lyla and I sat on the flat rock, in the secluded nook, by the bridge. The rock arches out of the water and several folks could take refuge there, if need be. It is a good place to "get still" . Lyla and I are always quiet, when we sit on the rock. I did not teach her to sit in silence,-but we are both affected , and do so. We listen to the "laughing river", we feel the steadfast rock beneath us and leave the place with a satisfying peace. One day, Lyla said "the river has the hiccups".

    We took the long way home, every day, for the mock orange is blooming. It is well worth the time and energy to go out of your way for the mock orange, in May. It is a "show stopper" in spring. The blooms are one of the sweetest fragrances I know of. On the long route, we encounter two of that, I feel it is safe to say, are now "old friends of mine". We brought Jenny a sprig most days. Lyla is always determined to gather flowers for her mama, when we are out. Lyla has been very disappointed with the clover flowers, that she especially loves, for they lack fortitude and wilt promptly.

    By Wednesday night, things had settled some, and so I prepared to leave, the next morning. I drove straight to work and so it was late afternoon when I actually got home. Kyle had mowed the lawn and the roses had joined the irises in proclaiming the season. It was a lovely sight. Cash. my loyal boxer, made a big production over my arrival. My cat, Christopher Robin, did not bother to act sullen, this time, but instead preened, purred and strutted like a "big shot" . . .and he is every bit as important, as he thinks he is, if only at the "rabbitpatch".

    After an especially good supper, I went out to say good night, to the world. The stars were bright and shining brightly-and had the same effect on me as the old rock. I did not need to utter a word . . . yet my heart "spoke volumes". . .about all sorts of things . . .even old rocks.