Exactly how the rabbits made their escape is a mystery to this day but a week after my eleventh birthday, it was the defining moment in Mary Elizabeth Albright's life. She publicly and loudly lost her mind.
Her house was two doors down from our's, nothing special except for the circular drive her sons had constructed - she'd seen one on a visit to Halifax and for reasons few understood and even less questioned - had decided it was something she couldn't live without. It took all her four boys two solid weeks to clear the ground, dig it up and then cement over it and Mary surrounded the whole affair with wildflowers and small fir trees. Not long after, she added strings of tiny Christmas lights, twining them meticulously through the scraggly fir branches.
Mary's lit up again, the fisherman would tell each and cackle unkindly but most everyone agreed it was a pretty enough sight after dark and despite the season.
The rabbits though - well, they presented a problem.
At first, there were just the two orphans that one of the children had found in the field behind the empty Blackford house. They were so tiny and fragile that Mary kept them in a straw-lined shoe box close to the stove and fed them with an eyedropper until Rowena suggested that one of her nursing mother cats might make a good caregiver. She delivered a young tabby who'd lost her litter to a fox attack and was - according to Rowena who knew about such things - in mourning and poor health, and the blended family was an instant success. Mary exchanged the shoe box for her wicker laundry basket, lined it with blankets and old towels, and watched in relief as the tabby curled her thin body around the babies to keep them warm and began nursing.
Well, she said to Rowena, her eyes wide with surprise, I never. I just never.
They're in good hands, Rowena told her, Maisey'll raise'em right and she's some slick mouser to boot.
Rabbits, though, will be rabbits and it wasn't long before they began to breed. Mary had Uncle Len come by and build her a dozen hutches out of wooden milk crates and wire mesh - she stacked them on the back porch in neat rows and hung plastic tarp to keep out the cold and snow in anticipation of winter - filled each with straw and wrote each rabbit's name in bold black marker on the outside of each hutch. She favored Biblical names she told Ruthie and me, Because you ain't likely to run out.
At some point on a mild July summer afternoon a week after my birthday, the rabbits got out.
When Mary discovered the empty hutches, she ran from her house in just her undergarments and flannel bathrobe, carrying a broom and shrieking Biblical names to the sky. The noise was ungodly. Old Hat came racing across her yard, shotgun in hand. Poor Sparrow was rudely woken from his midday nap and like to fell out his rocking chair when he stumbled over his bewildered old hound dog. The canteen emptied with a rush of curious fishermen still with napkins tucked neatly under their chins and cursing colorfully. Even Uncle Bernie who had been about to close the candy store, ducked back inside, quite convinced the end of the world had finally arrived.
LEVITICUS! JEZEBEL! Mary screeched, MALACHI! NICODEMUS! SAMUEL! ESTHER!
John Sullivan, walking back to his boat with a yoke of water on his shoulders and suddenly assaulted by a wave of rabbits, did a mad dance trying not to step on the furry little creatures.
WOMAN, WHAT THE HELLFIRE IS WRONG WITH YOU? he bellowed at Mary as she darted around the circle of light in her front yard like a headless chicken, sweeping frantically at rabbits and still screaming Biblical names.
CLEOPATRA! AARON! she wailed, JOHN THE BAPTIST!
It was John and Jacob Sullivan who finally caught and restrained her.
Be damned if she weren't in nothin' but her foundation garments, John told my grandmother ruefully, she done fought like a trapped wildcat when Jacob went for the nets and it took every one we had to catch them damn rabbits!
They's everywhere, missus, Jacob agreed, reckon we caught a hunnert or more but ain't no tellin' how many got past us.
I know'd she was two cans short of a sixpack with that driveway thing, Sparrow added, but sweet jaysus, all them rabbits!
Rowena was summoned and managed to calm Mary's hysteria. Miss Clara rode over from her cabin and stayed the night to keep an eye on her. Nana and Miss Hilda volunteered Uncle Shad and Uncle Willie to repair the damage to the trampled front yard and Noah Nickerson and his brothers arrived to sort out the rabbits. Everything was put to rights except Mary Elizabeth who cried herself to sleep and never again lit the circle of light.
The rabbits though - well, they presented a problem.
At first, there were just the two orphans that one of the children had found in the field behind the empty Blackford house. They were so tiny and fragile that Mary kept them in a straw-lined shoe box close to the stove and fed them with an eyedropper until Rowena suggested that one of her nursing mother cats might make a good caregiver. She delivered a young tabby who'd lost her litter to a fox attack and was - according to Rowena who knew about such things - in mourning and poor health, and the blended family was an instant success. Mary exchanged the shoe box for her wicker laundry basket, lined it with blankets and old towels, and watched in relief as the tabby curled her thin body around the babies to keep them warm and began nursing.
Well, she said to Rowena, her eyes wide with surprise, I never. I just never.
They're in good hands, Rowena told her, Maisey'll raise'em right and she's some slick mouser to boot.
Rabbits, though, will be rabbits and it wasn't long before they began to breed. Mary had Uncle Len come by and build her a dozen hutches out of wooden milk crates and wire mesh - she stacked them on the back porch in neat rows and hung plastic tarp to keep out the cold and snow in anticipation of winter - filled each with straw and wrote each rabbit's name in bold black marker on the outside of each hutch. She favored Biblical names she told Ruthie and me, Because you ain't likely to run out.
At some point on a mild July summer afternoon a week after my birthday, the rabbits got out.
When Mary discovered the empty hutches, she ran from her house in just her undergarments and flannel bathrobe, carrying a broom and shrieking Biblical names to the sky. The noise was ungodly. Old Hat came racing across her yard, shotgun in hand. Poor Sparrow was rudely woken from his midday nap and like to fell out his rocking chair when he stumbled over his bewildered old hound dog. The canteen emptied with a rush of curious fishermen still with napkins tucked neatly under their chins and cursing colorfully. Even Uncle Bernie who had been about to close the candy store, ducked back inside, quite convinced the end of the world had finally arrived.
LEVITICUS! JEZEBEL! Mary screeched, MALACHI! NICODEMUS! SAMUEL! ESTHER!
John Sullivan, walking back to his boat with a yoke of water on his shoulders and suddenly assaulted by a wave of rabbits, did a mad dance trying not to step on the furry little creatures.
WOMAN, WHAT THE HELLFIRE IS WRONG WITH YOU? he bellowed at Mary as she darted around the circle of light in her front yard like a headless chicken, sweeping frantically at rabbits and still screaming Biblical names.
CLEOPATRA! AARON! she wailed, JOHN THE BAPTIST!
It was John and Jacob Sullivan who finally caught and restrained her.
Be damned if she weren't in nothin' but her foundation garments, John told my grandmother ruefully, she done fought like a trapped wildcat when Jacob went for the nets and it took every one we had to catch them damn rabbits!
They's everywhere, missus, Jacob agreed, reckon we caught a hunnert or more but ain't no tellin' how many got past us.
I know'd she was two cans short of a sixpack with that driveway thing, Sparrow added, but sweet jaysus, all them rabbits!
Rowena was summoned and managed to calm Mary's hysteria. Miss Clara rode over from her cabin and stayed the night to keep an eye on her. Nana and Miss Hilda volunteered Uncle Shad and Uncle Willie to repair the damage to the trampled front yard and Noah Nickerson and his brothers arrived to sort out the rabbits. Everything was put to rights except Mary Elizabeth who cried herself to sleep and never again lit the circle of light.
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