The Twilight of Winter | 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 Friday again and it seems it was just Friday, a few days ago! Here we are in the "short rows" of winter, already. I notice that seasons, now seem but a few weeks, and the years zip pass, too.

    As a child the time between Christmases, seemed like an eternity - the same can be said for birthdays. Summers were really endless, in my youth, though they were never long enough to suit me. I remember my elders would talk about something that happened twenty years ago, as if it were just last year. I thought they were "mad" for they always seemed startled, when they realised, it was decades ago, that the barn was that old, or since they had seen a certain cousin. Now, I understand fully well, their predicament. . . and as it turns out, I am every bit as mad now, as they ever dared to be.

    It is raining again, as it has most every day, for weeks. The rabbitpatch sits on high ground and rarely a puddle forms here. The yard is a soggy mess now and there are puddles. Some folks can hardly walk in their yards and cars are getting stuck regularly . I have read that we have more rain this year than any other year, recorded - and I believe it. In that case, I am perfectly content sitting under a soft blanket, by the morning table. I still have books to read and I need to write in my journals. I haven't baked bread as often as I wanted too, nor practiced sketching. . . and here we are in the twilight of winter!

    Some people are glad of it. I however, am not prone to "wish time away" . . .well, not entire seasons, at least. I am as guilty as can be, when it comes to "official appointments" of any sort.

    It was still raining Saturday morning, when I woke. I had heard it falling throughout the night. At first light, I looked out the window and the scene reminded me of a black and white photograph. Little silver droplets clung to the old oak and with just a bit of imagination, it looked like the old oak was decorated with tiny lights. It was a beautiful picture and I dwelled on it for a while.

    I decided to make a pot of soup, as I am apt to on rainy days. By now, it is almost a ritual for me. I hardly ever make soup, unless it is winter. I will make the tomato basil in months like June, but again, only if it rains. I was out of carrots, but I did have a small sweet potato, which is a fine substitute . . and so before ten o'clock, the kitchen smelled like home.

    Tonight, Mama and I are teaming up for supper, so I have more cooking to do. I think I will make apple dumplings, for Brant is coming and he especially loves apples. Mama is cooking a pork roast and so I will probably fry cornbread, as it pairs well with pork. Nobody will mind that we had it last weekend, either. I had been thinking to cook a pot of green beans too. They would be a good side with our supper fare, but alas, when I had the pot of seasoning boiling, the greenbeans in the freezer, turned out to be broccoli. It was a shock, as I had planned on the menu, for days. After a bit, the thing became funny-though Daddy won't think so.

    There is always housework, and today I will tackle that. Still, Saturday seems like a soft breeze, compared to days like Tuesday.

    As is always the case, the day slipped by til it was time to make the apple dumplings. I wanted them to be warm when we ate them. They cooked all to pieces. Of course we can eat them, for the taste is really almost divine, but they aren't the usual cute little dumplings. It was just a day of humbling, for me.

    As I got ready to walk out the door, the rain picked up and fell with the most force of the day. Evening came early, with the dense clouds blanketing the sky and so it was almost dark as I traveled the back roads. I did see a few deer, but they were in the fields, grazing safely, out of harms' way.

    The supper was enjoyable, even without the string beans - and even though the dumplings weren't at all attractive. Mamas' roast was tender and the cornbread was golden and crispy. Of course, every meal is better when shared with loved ones.

    It was pitch dark, when I drove back to the rabbitpatch. Thank goodness, the "creeks didn't rise" while I was out, though they might, shortly. The forecast calls for rain again tomorrow, after all. The countryside was so quiet. Silvery fog hung thick over the fields and covered up the stars, without a bit of mercy. Then there were the stretches of the journey through the woods . I thought of all the beauty this world affords us, as I drove along, for mist over woodlands is a thing of beauty. A lifetime is just not long enough to take it all in.

    At last, I reached the friendly lights of the rabbitpatch, and stepped out of that magical, silent world into the presence of a joyful dog, celebrating my return, the way all dogs do. . .then I called Mama to let her know that I was home "safe and sound". Another thing of beauty . . .is to be loved.