I’m a bunny killer. Last week when I was weeding in the asparagus I startled a baby bunny. I thought how bold that wascally wabbit mama was to nest right smack in my garden but I just kept pulling the tall grass and didn’t give them another thought. My garden is big enough that I can share. The deer are also frequent unwanted visitors volunteering to prune the tops of my tomato plants and beans.

A few days later when I was mowing in the paths between my raised beds it happened. I heard a big thud and knew I’d run over something, a dirt clod maybe? Until I saw the chunks of …well, I’ll spare the details. I instantly stopped the mower and went in the house. I went to the sink and got a drink of water and told Zeke what had happened.

Here’s the bad part. I made him go out and clean it up. He didn’t want to and we argued. I said it would gross me out and he said it would gross him out, too. I told him I just couldn’t do it and he said neither could he. I told him I knew he could and then, well, I basically guilted him into it. I didn’t say it, but I implied that this kind of task is one of those things that men must do for women. He said he was going to throw up… but he did it anyway. …I’m so ashamed.

Today when I was mowing again, I replayed this horrible scene in my mind again. I don’t think it was the hunks of bunny remains that I couldn’t deal with but the guilt of having done it that made me feel that I just could not go back out in my garden that day.

I let my stupid guilt over the killing, even this purely accidental thing, rule my behavior in the way I treated my son. It’s not that it hurt him to clean up the mess (nor would it have hurt me). I was selfish and threw away my values there for a minute. That scares me. I teach my sons about equality and that guys must carry their household load, too, and that women work in the world now and can do man-stuff, too. Then I revert to the weaker sex when it is easier to do so. It was one of those hypocritical, do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do kind of things.

Guilt.

I hate it and I‘m not one that has much use for guilt generally. I let things go pretty easily …forgive myself and others, too, because I know God does. We are who we are. But now I’m thinking guilt can be a useful tool for change, can’t it? I learned a lesson here and it won’t happen again. Sometimes I think that is what life is about. The lessons.

The month of March was the third warmest on record here in Missouri. They told us that it wasn’t going to last but I had been lulled into the hope of an early spring.

I watched as the peach trees bloomed. I planted the cold-hardy veggies, and sneaked in a few of the later ones, too. The cherry tree burst into bloom followed by the pears. I was harvesting asparagus…in March! My water lily leafed out and floated gracefully over the heads of my fish and some tadpoles that have hatched out. Even the lilac began to bloom!

Then it happened. Not just a frost but a hard freeze! Predictions of lows down in the 20°s were realized. …And there was nothing I could do but watch.

I drove off to work and noticed all the tulip heads hanging. They looked as if they were deeply saddened. They seemed to be praying, every head bowed. The timing was perfect (as God’s timing always is). Holy Week.

Those flowers reminded me how only a few days earlier they had been beautiful and proud, rejoicing in the light and warmth of the sun… just like the people had on Palm Sunday so many years ago. I wonder what the disciples must have been thinking…”Ah, at last! He is getting the recognition and priase he deserves!”.

Jesus warned them repeatedly that he would die, that they would fail him. They just didn’t get it. My brain knew that the cold weather surely couldn’t be over yet… but I wanted it so badly. Then the cold streak hit and it has taken its toll.

The tulips bend almost to the ground in their sorrow. The disciples must have hung their heads like that in their shame. They surely all wanted had thoughts of their failure. They may have even wanted to kill themselves just as Judas did.

In the afternoon on my way home from work, SURPRISE, the tulips had raised their heads again. The sun had come out and got their juices flowing! They were not standing so tall and proud now… just a little bent. The Son came back to the disciples, too. He gave them hope again. They finally got it. They went on, humbled now, understanding what true sacrifice is. Understanding what Grace is. They had hope and humility and faith. They did go on living and spreading the Good News.

We are forgiven. We can start over again knowing that. We can raise our heads again. Jesus is here with us! We can keep on going in hope and in serivtude and in joy! Happy Easter to all of you, my friends.

I planted today. I had turned the beds earlier last week on a sunny day near 80°s. It felt so good to be outdoors working in the sunshine. I was sweaty and had to stop and rest now and then but I felt so alive! I never really feel alive until Spring comes along. I am like a Daffodil bulb resting in the earth, soaking up the winter rains and snowmelts enough to survive. They prepare me for the time when the sun will finally shine and the earth will warm and I can come out again to do what I am meant to do. Most of the time for me winter is somthing to be survived, tolerated, not enjoyed.

It was cold and windy this morning and rain threatened, yet I planted. Poking the peas down into the cold soil happily. Sprinkling the tiny lettuce seeds in the fairly straight rows I had just marked and then patting them into the earth. My hair was blowing all over the place and my fingers were almost numb but all was well with the world... at least at that moment in my mind.

It's raining now with a warm up to follow in a few days. I can almost see those little wrinly peas sprouting and reaching up toward the warm above... Busting through the thin crust at the very top into the sunshine. I'll bet they'd shout "Hallelujah! Spring is here!" ...if sprouts could shout.

I wonder if I would appreciate Spring (and life) so much if there was never winter. I wonder if I would appreciate God so much if my soul never experienced winter.

Finally rain. I hadn’t kept an eye on the weather reports, but I thought it was coming. It has been so hot and the ground already had dry August cracks begging for a drink to green things up. It’s not supposed to be like this in June. June is the rainy month. I remember when I used to teach swim lessons there were weeks at a time when the pool would be closed for rain…or we’d be standing in waist deep water our teeth chattering trying to coax a child into relaxing enough for a black float while the clouds gathered overhead. But yesterday it finally rained.

All week it has been so hot and humid and rumors of that building into a thunderhead and somewhere in the city or the suburbs it had…but no rain for us. The lilies are trying to flower but the buds are wrinkling instead of blooming. The last cherries on the tree look like raisins hanging there.

Yesterday I took my morning walk with coffee in hand, picked a zucchini, popped a cherry tomato in my mouth and noticed how heavy the air was. I reminded God how badly we need rain. By afternoon as I wandered out to the mailbox the sun was hiding but it was still so hot. “hey, God, we sure could use some rain.“ I carried the trash out to the barrel in the evening and I thought “It’s gonna rain. Oh, how we need it!”.

Sure enough, I was cleaning up the kitchen and notice the chickens all run for cover at once. I dropped what I was doing and ran outside. A downpour! Most of that would just run off the hardened earth but it was better than nothing. I sat down in the old wooden chair by the door, glad I’d found it at the garage sale. I just sat there and soaked it all in. There was some distant thunder but the rain song came from the rain hitting all those leaves of the many trees surrounding our house as the reached out the gather in every drop.

I was only sitting under an overhang so now and then I’d get some cool spray but mostly the rain was coming straight down. The smell was fabulous, too. Did the rain smell like cilantro? Yes, it was pounding my herb garden and the plants were giving up their scents readily.

It moved though quickly and in less than ten minutes of heaven on earth I found myself wandering bare foot through the fresh and tender grass. Only this morning it had been dry and hot. Amazing what a drink will do. The rain gauge registered only about an eight of an inch.

But that was just the first chorus! It cooled things off a bit for the fireworks show and held off ‘til it was over. The clouds made a beautiful backdrop for those fireworks! A gentle rain followed with showers all night long. Perfect for the thirsty, dangerously dry on the 4th of July world. Two inches!

Thank you God for giving us what we need when we need it. Would I have appreciated that rain if it had come as usual? Would I have cursed it for making mud where I want to dig and rotting my cherries before I could get to them? Why do we appreciate you and all you do so much more when we suffer first? Thank you , God, for this good rain.

It has been the most beautiful Spring in memory. It came late, no false Spring this year to fool the daffodils, red buds and fruit trees into being nipped in the bud by frost. It went straight from winter to warm weather without those March and April cold and rain. Because Spring came late many flowers bloomed simultaneously. Everything came to full bloom starting witht the crocuses and daffodils followed by grape hyacinth, tulips, violets, peach, cherry and pear and Redbuds. The woods were full of Dutchman's Breeches, Jacob's Ladder and May Apples. Now it is the dogwoods, Sweet Williams which both make a beautiful contrast to the bright green seen everywhere right now. The Lily of the Valley are blooming, too, and they are so fragrant!

Even Beau came in one afternoon and mentioned how beautiful the flowers werer. Hey, when a 16 year old boy driving down the driveway notices the flowers it must be obvious. Even better he likes that we have been harvesting asparagus for a few weeks now...a favorite of all the boys, roasted in olive oil and sprinkled with parmesan cheese.

Thank you, Dearest Lord, for the beauty of the flowers and the colors of Spring. Thank you for the sounds of the Spring Peepers in the evening, the Whip Poor Wills in the dark, and the turkeys at dawn. And, Oh Lord, how beautiful it all smells as we wander through Spring. Thank you for making the beauty so wonderful that we just can't miss it! Now, dear Father, a little rain please....

My thornless black raspberries are ripe! None of us are great fans of blackberries so they often go to waste. This year I decided to make jam with them. I found a recipe for Bumbleberry Jam in Guidepost Mag in which you use mixed berries and rhubarb to make an easy, yummy jam with whatever berries are available. Sounded good to me. If it turns out well I can use the same recipe for all jams I want to make as the berry season changes.

I went to the Farmer's market to buy the rhubarb and also bought some good looking blueberries. Blueberries are also not a favorite in our family but they are supposed to be very good for you so I thought I'd throw in a pint when making my Bumbleberry Jam.

I bought a couple dozen jelly jars at the grocery store and some pectin. I thawed a bag of strawberries I had frozen in June and went online to check out the University of Georgia's Extension advice on processing jam. I found my huge canning pot in the basement but could not find my canning tongs or jar funnel. My husband had made Salsa several years ago when we had a big tomato glut. He did a great job but who knows where he decided the equipment should belong after he was finished. He is family-famous for not liking where something is kept, or deciding it is not used often enough to keep handy or even to keep at all so I did not spend a lot of time searching for these items. I'd just make do.

Now I was ready! I'd been preparing for a couple of days and was now worried that my berries would be going bad and I must get on with it! I gathered all the items I'd need and set to it! It was all pretty uneventful except the horrible mess made because I did not have the canning funnel. While I was stirring the berries and waiting for them to come to a rolling boil I thought of my first time canning. In my mind it has become the "Adventure in Canning".

I was young at the time. Having been raised a pure suburbonite, I didn't know much about canning or gardening or even cooking for that matter. My new husband, Angus, was city-born and raised and yet we both were country kids at heart and had decided that was the life we wanted to live. So we had settled on 10 acres outside of a rural community that was outside of a town that was outside of the city. In other words, we live in the country but the city is within an hour's drive. It seemed perfect and we were determined to learn the ways of the country life we had dreamed of. Oh, there are so many good stories of the many terrible/funny mistakes we made and the people who took us under their wing and bailed us out!

But I am telling about my first time canning. I had bought an ancient pressure canner at a Garage Sale but, of course, there was no longer the instruction manual that goes with it. I went to the library and found a book that would help and researched my wedding-gift cook books. All of them gave instructions but also gave the advice to refer to the directions with the canner. Hmmm.

My three year old son had helped snap the beans. They were cleaned and ready and so was I. It was nearly midnight by the time I was actually putting the jars into the pressure canner for the last part of the process. I hadn't gotten started until the kids were snugly and soundly asleep. Angus had also gone to bed since he had to arise early to get to his job in the city. I was on my own.

The jars were in but I was having a lot of trouble with the sealing gasket on the canner and the huge, heavy lid that was supposed to be screwed on. I had practiced doing it before there was boiling hot water in it and didn't have too much trouble but now I was having a lot of difficulty. I remembered when I was a child my mom cooking something in her pressure cooker and I also remember the stain on the ceiling of our kitchen that we had forever-after when something tomatoey exploded out. So I knew the danger that could be involved in this kind of liquid-under-pressure experiment.

I finally got the lid screwed on satisfactorily and now I just needed to watch the guage and time it and finish up. I was hot and weary by then but once started you can't just say "Oh, I think I'll finish in the morning." I was wearing a hugh loose sundress (without a bra) which was the most comfortable, cool thing I could find for the long, hot duty... but I was still sweaty.

I was standing close the the stove, watching the guage slowly, much too slowly, move its little red arm higher and higher. The pot was jiggling and hissing which I took to mean we were almost finished and my aching body, and especially my tired, thong-wearing feet, would soon rest.

Suddenly, and without warning, boiling, bubbling hot water spewed out of the pot from under the lid! It shot out 2 feet in every direction like the rays of the sun shooting steaming lava. There was no time to think but my body reacted. My aching feet shot backward, my middle pulling away from the spurting water. It subsided as quickly as it had come once the pressure was released. It took me a minute to realized what had just happened. I was still standing, in the middle of the kitchen now, leaning over at the waist with the front of my dress, totally saturated with hot water, dripping onto the flooded floor.

When I had jerked my body away from the water my loose cotton dress had stayed where it was, hanging like a curtain in front of me. It had stopped the hot water, absorbed some and sent the rest downward to the floor where my feet had already long gotten out of the way. I was stunned for a moment. I was completely unharmed, unburned! It did not seem possible! There had been a few hot splatters on me but nothing else at all. The entire kitchen - stove, counters, floor- was drenched...yet I was not. I sent up a "Thank you, God" and this was the first time I ever thought of the possibility that maybe there was such a thing as a Guardian Angel and maybe I have one.