rabbits

A Sunny Mid-Winter Day

Rae Spencer8 Comments

Shadows Jan 7

Today’s bright sunshine lured me into the yard, where I spent the afternoon starting (but not finishing) a number of chores. My first job involved two small bird houses, which have become a winter refuge for spiders. Determined to avoid more encounters with black widow spiders, I wanted to clean out the webs and evict any venomous guests.

Spiderweb Jan 7

I’ve been dreading this task, and I was relieved when a clump of weeds with tiny white flowers gave me an excuse to put off confronting the spiders.

Weed Jan 7

After photographing the unfamiliar weed (I believe it might be hairy bittercress), I crawled through patches of henbit and speedwell, trying to capture their enchanting beauty.

Henbit Jan 7

Speedwell Jan 7

I crossed half of the yard on my hands and knees before I remembered the bird feeders. Dusty and empty, all of the feeders needed attention. Under the second feeder, I found a cicada molt.

Cicada Molt Jan 7

A short time later, I moved into the front yard. Before reaching the final bird feeder, I stopped to take a photo of paperwhites.

Paperwhite Jan 7

Beside the paperwhites, a single hyacinth was trying to bloom. Trying unsuccessfully, for the moment, because something has been grazing on it.

Hyacinth Jan 7

Hyacinth Jan 7

A quick search for suspects found a rabbit hiding in the irises and a squirrel trying to hide in a nearby tree. They both looked guilty to me.

Rabbit Jan 7

Squirrel Jan 7

Distracted by rabbits and squirrels, I never finished the last feeder. I also didn’t get to the windows, which are disgracefully dirty.

Cat Jan 7

But I don’t regret my disorganized day, which ended on a sunny, sleepy note.

Cat Jan 7

I can clean bird houses, feeders, and windows some other day, some cloudy day when the yard doesn’t sparkle with wonders.

Ready for Winter

Rae Spencer2 Comments

Robins pipe a shrill warning whenever I enter the yard, freezing rabbits and squirrels and warblers mid-meal.

Rabbit Nov 27

Their tense silence intensifies the pear tree’s rattle, the dry wind-notes that flash red and gold in chilly sunshine.

Leaves Nov 30

Perhaps an early snow will muffle it all, an icy blanket for the long dark hours ahead…

December

Days Like Yesterday

Rae Spencer10 Comments

Yesterday was sunny and mild, a perfect mid-October day. A perfect day to work in the yard. To weed the chronically late paperwhites, encourage tiring daisies, and add a few fall flowers.

My husband had purchased chrysanthemums and pansies on Saturday, so everything was ready and waiting. I started my list with the mower, trimming ragged tufts of grass, sowthistle, and knotweed.

All went well until I decided to clean out the cactus bed, where I wanted to plant the pansies. I soon had a glove full of ants. On my way into the house, to rinse my itchy hand, I spotted an amazingly furry moth on the deck. It was a turning point for my day.

(I would love some help identifying this moth. Is it one of the tiger moths?)

While photographing the moth, I noticed a foul odor coming from underneath the deck. A decomposition kind of reek. After tracing the scent to its strongest point, I traded my camera for a flashlight and began surveying the narrow seams between boards.

By aiming a flashlight just so and keeping one eye aligned just so, the space under the deck can be inspected in six-inch increments. It’s a tedious, back-cramping process, one that I perfected during Indigo’s younger years, when her toys often rolled out of sight. Or got buried.

I located the odor’s source, something furry and lifeless, but it was wedged too far under the deck to reach without removing boards. Two hours later, two boards later, I called animal control for a dead rabbit pickup.

To pass the time while I waited, I went back to the cactus bed and pansies. Three black widow spiders later, I threw down my gloves and retreated into the house, thoroughly disgusted with our stinking, venom-infested yard. (I can’t bear to post another black widow portrait. For those who are curious, previous photos appear here and here.)

By sunset, the dead rabbit was gone and my arachnophobia tremors had eased. I returned to the cactus bed, finished my clean-up work, and planted the pansies. Camera time! Except, as I went inside, something under the still-gaping hole in our deck caught my eye. Yesterday’s rabbit was not the first to die there.

I want to believe these bones pre-date us, that the rabbit died long before we moved in. Because I don’t want our yard to be a death and spider yard.

At least, I don’t want our yard to be only a death and spider yard.

Despite days like yesterday, I can’t love a yard that is all flowers and moths. Such a place would never be truly alive.

Rabbit Update and a Publication Note

Rae Spencer2 Comments

The rabbits now spend their days exploring the shed and deck and irises, stretching their boundaries more and more as they grow. But they aren’t so mature that they are willing to skip a meal with their mother. They predictably return to the ginger lilies each evening, where she meets them after dark.

Even though they still nurse, they have become competent grazers. It’s fun to watch them experiment with the yard’s various weeds and flowers.

Publication Note:  My poem “Ink” appeared at vox poetica earlier this month. It’s now posted on the poemblog.

The Rabbits Lose Their Nest

Rae Spencer6 Comments

This is the last image I have of the rabbits in their nest. At the time I took this picture, near nightfall on September 7th, there were three babies visible in the nest and a fourth hiding under the woodpile. Later that night, an unknown predator destroyed the nest and took two of the young rabbits.

What was it? Is there a way to name the hunger that crossed our fence in the dark? And what would I gain, in giving it a name?

The next day was one of uncertainty. How many had survived? One of them stayed visible all day, exposed and exhausted. I feared that it’s inexperience would lure another predator into the yard.

As it turns out, two of the baby rabbits survived. I have no way to know whether or not the rabbits grieve for their loss. All I know is that they go on. They sleep and graze, grow and explore. They live.

I’m sad about the lost rabbits, but less so than I might have been in the past. It’s a matter of perspective, and today’s date eclipses the yard’s small tragedies. Eleven years ago, I spent a week in front of my television, paralyzed with horror.

I felt, then, as if I would never again know joy. As if all of my future hours should be spent remembering and mourning. Except the world continued to turn and I couldn’t sustain my grief. Paper and ashes stopped falling from the sky. Piles of rubble disappeared. Names and stories quit flooding my dreams at night and swirled into the slow current of memory. Today I am able to sit quietly beside those memories and study a calmer reflection, one less distorted by ripples of fear. And tomorrow, when the Earth’s rotation delivers another new day, I’ll stand in the weedy expanse of my yard and take another picture of rabbits. Because all of my future hours should not be spent remembering and mourning. They should be spent living.