For the first part of April, go here.


Easter Sunday, April 21, 2019

HAPPY EASTER!

Bless you, friends, on this good Easter Day! The sunrise came right on time and brought with it the bluest sky I think I've ever seen, and not a whisp of cloud. Someone left the Door open to the light. 

Union Baptist Church, Sautee-Nacoochee Georgia

Until next time,

The Head Rabbit

Tuesday, April 23, 2019

Butterfly in the Garden

This over-active month of new grass and blossom frenzy has already crossed the halfway point and staged our yard and woods for a proper lush summer.  Redbud trees have been blooming, cherry trees, dogwood, and that southern-most symbol of the south, wisteria vines climbing ever so high everywhere with purple blossoms.  

I like that wisteria doesn't seem to be exclusive or pristine.  It just shows up boldly wherever it pleases, all purple and perfumed, and says, "Hello, I'm from the south!"  Why, if it had arms, it would be sipping sweet tea. 

I once visited a friend who had a large wisteria vine covering a twenty-foot arbor to her front door.  It was spring, and the vine was covered with new blossoms.  The first thing I noticed as I walked toward her door was the buzzzzz in the air. 

Hundreds of bumble bees surrounded the entire arbor, swaying and singing in the vines.  They looked focused and overfed.  

I hesitated at the front of the arbor.  "Is this like a gauntlet,?" I wondered.  My friend opened her door and waved while I pulled my arms to my sides and ran quickly inside, head down.  Such is the challenge of wisteria and living in the south. 

It's tricky business getting everything trimmed back and planted in that short window of time we have between cold rain and temperatures too hot to do any good.  I worked fiercely outside these last few days--my gloves and trowel and I--all the while telling myself I was heading straight for one of those most perfect of life's pleasures--a cat nap. 

Yes, one of those charming, healing cat naps that come only once in a while when you're bone tired. . . a nap weightless and deep like space swimming.

From a painting by Kristy Larsen

In spite of such talk, I don't take a lot of naps.  I always felt they should be guarded with moderation and respect. . . saved like fine wine--not tossed around willy-nilly.  I do, however, have two memorable naps that stand out in my mind. The timing was perfect for both and both were sorely needed. During one it was raining soundly outside, about dusk. The other was on a sunny afternoon and I was in my loft studio. The sweet, calm letting-go of tired muscles and complex cares was complete in each nap, like a hot water shower in winter. 

It's been a while since those two naps, so when all this hefting and dragging is finished outside and April has finally set all things right, as it should, that's exactly where I'm going to go, floating like a cat.  

"Goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight noises everywhere."

Margaret Wise Brown, children's author, from her book "Goodnight Moon"

 

Until next time,

The Head Rabbit

Friday, April 26, 2019

 

* * * * *

I'm going to spray Gabriel orange today," I told my husband. 

"Excuse me?" he said.

"Gabriel.  The stone rabbit statue at the front door. . . I'm going to spray paint him a nice clay color this afternoon."

Gabriel

It was a project I'd had in mind for quite a long time, ever since the sun and rain washed his color into the dirt like a chocolate shower.  That was several years ago, and it was time for some new skin.  Besides, next month we would be entertaining company from across the sea, our son and daughter-in-law from Japan, so I wanted everything to be just right, even rock rabbit.

By 10 AM Wednesday morning this week I had rolled the heavy statue into the back yard on a green metal dollie.  The sun was straight up.  A light breeze kept the air fresh.  Tucker the Dog was forbidden to be involved, so instead he watched nervously from behind the living room doors while I opened the can of spray paint. . . "Rustic Orange. "  Gabriel  would soon be a new man, I mean rabbit.  

Poor, poor Gabriel.  The "rustic orange" turned out to be more neon than rustic, and  as my sister observed, "He looks like he fell into a can of paint."  I must say, it was a perfect description.  

I tried sanding some of it off, but it just looked dusty.  What's sad is that he trusted me and I let him down.  He looked like a hugh glowworm.   

I decided to run an errand and see how he looked sitting at the front door when I got back.  Maybe time would help.  Maybe I was only temporarily stunned.  Yes, that was it. But when I looked back at Gabriel while pulling out of the driveway, he  reminded me of a large circus peanut candy, and I was sorry I hadn't done better by him. 

Back at the house again after my errand, the sun was setting with a quiet golden glow, leaving dappled shadows on Gabriel's little peanut self.  "Hmmm," I thought.  Not so bad.  He was still stunning, of course, in his neon way, but with more dignity than I noticed at first.  I told myself that against the red door, his glow was a focal point.  Space-like and futuristic.

Gabriel On Alert

It's hard to see ahead to the end results of a creative project. Choosing colors or fabrics or shapes is the fun part.  Who knows what it will all look like when it's finished?  It's a game of hide and seek.   I've found that to be especially true of quilting, weaving, drawing.  Everything, really.  So you jump in and see where it goes.  Sometimes it works better than at other times. 

I'll let you decide which side Gabriel is on.  

"Mistakes are the price of an interesting life."

Sophia Loren, actress

Until next time,

The Head Rabbit

Tuesday, April 30, 2019

Red Bug in Summer

* * * * *

Pack your bags; it's time to be on the road again.  

 

The days are getting noticeably longer now and I love to watch the sun set against the Garden Out Back.  It stirs up that wanderlust I get once or twice a year, usually as I remember the days when I bought my first VW Beetle.  "Hit the road," we all said, "and see where it takes you."  So I did.

It took me around and about Tennessee, Florida, North Carolina, and Georgia mostly.  What a free feeling it was to turn up the music and learn about small town living on little forgotten two-lane roads.  I could sail so unincumbered then.  

That's what I remembered today while the wind passed quickly but easily through the blueberry bushes and I heard the bamboo chimes jostle in soft, hollow tones from the edge of the roof.

When we moved to the southern appalachian mountains, it was easy to find places to wander to.  There were cool creeks with slick, elephant-sized boulders; trout and black bears, pottery shops and tiny white churches; apple orchards and wild muscadine grapes, and plenty of gourmet-worthy barbeque.  

"I think we're going to like it here," we said. 

We're a wandering-close-to-home kind of people in north Georgia, with our jeeps and trucks and patchwork sports cars.   April starts that season as soon as the rain lets up.  The sun turns warm and the woodthrush begins its beautiful liquid song, high up in the pine and sweetgum trees.  Nights are cool, and if I time it right I can stop along the way to harvest sassafras for winter tea.  

You can come along if you'd like. 

Mt. Gilead Baptist Church, White County, Georgia

"I'm on the run, no time for sleep.  

I've got to ride like the wind

to be free again."

 

Chistopher Cross, singer

Until next time,

The Head Rabbit