Under the Flower Moon | 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.

    I do not believe, I have ever seen a more beautiful spring, for this one lingers. Mostly, a southern spring is a few weeks of pleasant weather and then it is hot and full of humidity. Not so, this year. The whole week has hosted days filled with sunshine and nights just cool enough for a light blanket. The mornings warrant a light sweater. Birds sing day and night. . .and now the magnolia blooms, lending a sweet fragrance to the air. Rain has tapered to an occasional shower, making each day, the perfect day for a picnic.

    It remains busier than usual at school. The grand event, of the dances from around the world, is tomorrow and so that will lighten my duties, considerably. There are mere weeks left in the school year anyway. I tell myself, that someday soon, I will read books again and think about things like geraniums and curtains. , ,and on some morning, maybe a Tuesday, I will stroll with my grandchildren. by the laughing river. These are the kind of things, I hope for.

    The contents of a life have great variation. What satisfies one person, seems dull to another and unfulfilling. Even a single lifetime varies from one season to another. What was once necessary, no longer is. What was once sought, is no longer desired. Our needs change and our values may as well. Sometimes, we must broaden our former thoughts and sometimes, we may need to use greater precision. Hopefully, we refine our lives as we go along and discard accordingly, else our own authenticity may be hidden from plain sight. I have often wondered if finding our own truth, and daring to live it, may be the quest of mankind. What if it really were as simple as that?

    On Friday, the day dawned bright. The forecast promised ideal weather for the open air program. Since, one of the dances, featured a may pole, this was especially good news. I spent the whole day consumed in details and answering questions. It was more exhausting, than dancing with the children. . .and a lot less fun.

    The program was held in the evening, just as the sun hung low on the horizon. Every class performed exceptionally well and so I went home "as happy as a lark".

    Daybreak on Saturday, was a far cry from the cool dawns of the past week days. All of my bragging about the spectacular weather, must cease now, as the temperatures have risen to "about hot" and is expected to remain so, from here on. In this case, I packed the rest of the blankets away, today. The prospective buyer, who has seen the house before, is coming this week-maybe tomorrow. I have been in a state of limbo, for such a long while, that I am used to it. Of course, it would be wonderful if the thing works out, but if it doesn't . . .well there are worse things, than living on this rabbitpatch. Up until a few short years ago, you couldn't "have moved me with a shovel"! When ever, the affair, is over, I will write about the "accident" that landed me here, in the first place. . . (and by "accident" I mean, "Divine Intervention").

    Will and Jenny came in town for a birthday celebration. They met me at my parents' house, to drop the little girls off. Brant and Sydney were with them, and so there was a "short, but sweet" reunion for me. Sydney is "fairly glowing" these days. Being "with child" agrees with her. It has been several long weeks, since I have seen Lyla and Brynn, which is way too long for any of us. It nearly melted my heart, to hear Lyla call out "Honeybee!" and dive in to my arms. Brynn, was a bit unsure, but managed to smile, when I started to sing, "You are my Sunshine".

    Mama showed Lyla a bird nest, full of baby robins. What a pretty picture, they made, walking "hand -in hand" in the long slanted rays of late day sunshine. Later, there was "hide and seek" and then supper. Brynn was growing less tolerant and finally, she cried. No amount of swinging or singing consoled her. Brynn wanted her mama, and no one else would do. Mama built a tower of wooden blocks, and Brynn did hush and watch intently. In moments, Jenny walked in and all was well with Brynn, again, at that moment.

    I drove home under the "Flower Moon", - whose name has a lovely ring to it. There it was, above the fields like a golden lantern, shining its' light on all peoples, animal wild and tame, wildflowers and fancy roses . . .old trees and saplings, alike. Oh, if we were all as generous as that dear "Flower Moon"!

    Dear Rabbitpatch Diary - I am grateful for nests of baby birds and magnolias . . and days fit for picnics. and . . . the light of a blue moon.