In Rain and Shine | 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.

    Once again, I woke to the sound of rain . . .and once again, it was wonderful. I could put off the process of cleaning the biggest barn without a bit of guilt. The rain afforded me permission to tarry long enough to see the royal wedding, after all.

    I was in the barn, before the newlyweds were back at the castle. I do not enjoy cleaning a barn out after winter. So many critters will "set up housekeeping" when the barn is mostly unattended. In light of that, I do not like plundering in the dark corners. It is also an especially dirty job. Thankfully, the barn wasn't nearly as bad as I had expected. In no time, I had cleared out some old wood and started a fire . . .promptly, a heavy shower came. I came in and did a little housekeeping, but was disappointed that I did not make a good deal of progress on the barn. I really wanted that chore behind me.

    The rain fell heavily on and off all day. I abandoned the notion of cleaning the barn. I had at least started. There was a light, cool breeze and if it were not for the blooming foxglove, one might have thought, that it could have been any day in September.

    I decided to deep clean Kyles' bedroom. That was only a bit less daunting than the barn. Kyle goes by the theory "out of sight, out of mind", If you took a peak in, you may foolishly believe that all was well. Several times a year, I clean and organize his closet and dust under the bed. I know full well that Kyle is all grown up, but it does not seem to make a difference in his tidiness-and with the house up for sale . . . I am just bound and determined that the place be in good order.

    Sunday

    I may sound "like a broken record" . . .but again it was raining at dawn. I imagined that the territory around the rabbit patch was soggy, though this hardly ever happens, as the rabbit patch is on"high ground". Rain is in the forecast for several more days, as well. It is a good thing that I love rain.

    Of course, the grass grows daily and mowing will be slow, when it does dry out. I imagine supper will be late a few nights this week, again. Confined to the house, I will concentrate on household chores that I tend to put off. There is always the job of moving furniture, which is always a disappointment . I am always shocked there is any dirt left on the rabbit patch at all. . . and do not think this is an "annual" task, but instead, is performed regularly . . . and to no avail, it seems.

    Between the Showers

    Once I was headlong into cleaning-and had all the contents of a closet strewn about-and had the bed moved to the middle of the floor . . . the sun came out! I paid little attention, as that has been the trend for a week now. I expected thunder at any minute followed by a drenching downpour. I moved a dresser and kept strewing . The sun kept shining. At last, I was convinced that I might work outside a bit and so I left the mess in the house, to take advantage of the sunshine.

    I did not come back in for four hours. I was able to mow after all. Only one area proved too wet, as it turned out. I was terribly dirty, and so this inspired me to go back to cleaning the barn. I decided , to try to accomplish at least a bit. I was pleased to walk out several hours later . . of a clean barn. Somehow, I finished the bedroom, as well. Naturally, supper was scant and late too.

    Oh how wonderful it was to bathe with a fancy soap, and to put on soft "house" clothes, at long last. I suppose the lack of glamour at the rabbit patch , may not sound like a rewarding life . It was not the life I dreamed of in my youth . . . it is far more, than I knew to desire- for in youth "all that glitters, must be gold" .

    There is something humbling about being in the shade of trees, massive with age, that I did not plant . . . and to stand in the presence of fields tended for a century. I did not know in my youth, the unspeakable value of solitude nor the satisfaction that hard, physical work yielded . . .like cleaning an old barn, built by the hands of a man I never met, but who left his initials and a date inside the door. I did not know to ask for such things , for "when I was a child, I thought like a child."

    It is sheer irony to me, that youth is often spent on collecting things that in later seasons we discard with great fervor. "Things" are lost or broken and become out dated at an alarming rate. "Moth and rust doth corrupt" rings true. If we do not act on it, then our dear homes become "closets" really.

    For me, I have been concentrating on what it is that I really need. I have found I need little, in terms of possessions. How odd it is to get older only to find out you need less . . .and to understand that you really know less than you thought you did, decades ago. Youth has swagger and the later years have humility, it seems.