Rabbit Poop Wholeness

how to test your sanity so you know it's real

“Life begins the day you start a garden.”

—Chinese proverb

Photo by Gabriel Jimenez on Unsplash

Shchunk. My back bends, channeling my weight through my foot as I drive the shovel head through the net of grass and roots and deep into the soil beneath. Dropping to one knee I lift the wedge of sod and soil from its home and crumble dirt back into the hole with gloved fingers, sorting out the rocks as I go. These I toss forward onto the patio, sparing a glance to be sure there are no children or cats or rabbits in the way, where they skitter across concrete. Rena and Lee will pick them up later and add the new acquisitions to the rock museum they are compiling in their playhouse. Piles of rocks already cover the inside of the playhouse, and the top and bench of the built-in picnic table, making me wonder when they will decide enough is enough. Being a homeschool mom, I feel a twinge of guilt that I haven’t yet taken the time to join them in their museum with a bucket of water to clean off the rocks and a field guide to help identify them (are there rock identification field guides, or did I just make that up?). Maybe after the garden is in. Or maybe not at all. I spent most of my childhood in the woods, the barn, or hiding away reading, so I understand the importance of learning that isn’t structured or even assisted by an adult. Or is that just a cop out because I’ve never been particularly interested in rocks? I lift the chunk of severed sod and let the shovel assist my rising. Ugh, I need to stop being too busy for yoga, this woman is stiff.

At the moment the girls are sprawled on the soft new grass beneath the early bearing apple tree behind me, lost in their own imaginary world. Their voices are like birdsong, a pleasant background to the afternoon. I walk past them carrying the mat of sod I just dug up and place it with earlier ones around the roots of the apple tree, where the girls’ play and too much shade have left bare patches in the lawn. Filling in these patches to prevent runoff and further exposing the roots seems like a small way to repay the tree for feeding me and my family for three summers now. Looking up through the branches of the old tree, noting the tight pink buds amid tiny green leaves, I spy a pair of songbirds in a nest. One of them cocks its head, looking back at me. They probably feel exposed with the spring growth barely begun. I should get a picture of them to identify and add to the backyard field guide of plants and animals my nerdy man is putting together with help from the girls. When we go for a hike he’ll spend half the time taking pictures of new plants and using the app on his phone to identify them. It’s so sexy when he does stuff like that. Maybe later I’ll bring my camera out. The birds will be here for another month at least, but my tomato plants are outgrowing their windowsill containers. I return to my shovel.

Dig in, lift, sift, carry: an easy rhythm that makes me sweat just enough to keep my focus and still my mind. A rabbit hops up to sit a moment and contemplate my progress. This is no wild cottontail, but a black rabbit named Natalie who used to belong to my sister and now belongs to Lee. Rena is holding the leash of her rabbit, Andrew, who was once my other sister’s bunny. We inherited them just last month for the girls’ enjoyment and for their poop, which is excellent garden fertilizer. And because I feel whole when I have animals to care for. Raising kids and critters and plants all together feels right in a profound way I could not describe until reading Dr. Brene Brown’s definition of spirituality:

“Spirituality is recognizing and celebrating that we are all inextricably connected to each other by a power greater than all of us, and that our connection to that power and to one another is grounded in love and compassion. Practicing spirituality brings a sense of perspective, meaning, and purpose to our lives.” (first published in 2010 in her book The Gifts of Imperfection: Your Guide to a Wholehearted Life¹)

That sense of “inextricable connection” is exactly what I feel when we’re all outside together like this (although, admittedly, I lose that feeling when diving through bushes trying to catch the damn bunny so we can put them away and go in for dinner). Natalie the rabbit hops across my bed of carrot shoots and I straighten from my work to shoo her away. We’re going to have to find some way to contain her when she’s out before my garden really starts growing, or we’re gonna have one hell of a connection problem. She heads for her favorite bush and I watch her go, enjoying the adorable bounce of her furry butt and long ears. I used to think that everything a bunny does is cute (especially yawning, OMG. And cleaning their ears. And washing their faces…the way they shake their paws first…*insert about a dozen heart eyes emojis here*). Now we also have two indoor baby bunnies (I might have gotten carried away with the whole “spring means rabbits” thing this year), and I suddenly remembered that there is an entire list of not cute things that rabbits do: