Last week I wrote about my sister Elizabeth Ann Wiles. A memorial service was held at the Pump House last Saturday, with a preacher, a tent and lots of good victuals catered by Bill Collins. His mom was one of my sister’s good friends.
Ann’s brother-in-law, Ben Wiles, a regular at our Friday lunch group, read a piece from a memorial to someone in the Saturday Review. “Without dignity, our lives are only blinks of duration. But if we manage to lead a good life well, we create something more. We write a subscript to our mortality. We make our lives tiny diamonds in the cosmic sands.” He felt, and I agree, that it pictures Ann as he and I knew her.
The children and grandchildren relived some of their remembrances with great clarity, humor and emotion. Some others added a few of their bits of recollection also.
Mr. Lemon had a busy morning last week. It was a little cooler, so he went out at 5:36 a.m. with a bit of vigor in his step and proceeded to trap a critter under the mower deck on top of the wooden platform on which I park the tractor. Lemon attempted to crawl up the discharge chute and when he got close, the animal cried. It sounded a bit like a bird, but I think it was a juvenile rabbit. They cry like a bird when they are badly frightened or done in by a predator.
I later spotted a hole just to the east of the platform in the crushed stone. We have had several holes around the lawn, about 2 1/2 to 3 inches in diameter, and I think little rabbits live in them. In fact, I know Mr. Lemon has caught and consumed some of these rabbits in the past. I put a strong leash on him and dragged him off to his roost in the back of the Tahoe, where he eventually calmed down